#even if they are being cringe over it SO WHAT

[lenoraslament]

hey! love your work. could you perhaps try writing like a list of turn-ons for the slytherin boys? or a short story about a dance for each of them?? tysm and have a good day.

Slytherin Boys React: Dance With Me

Fluff, Suggestive 16+, Angst, toxic relationship (lol with guess who TMR).

Not proofread because I’m sick.

Mattheo Riddle

“Matty, I don’t care if you win,” you say rolling your eyes as you both walk towards the Quidditch field, “I’m still not giving you a lap dance”. Mattheo reaches an arm over to tug your waist closer. He presses a kiss to the side of your head.

“Come on, what do I have to look forward to after I crush Ravenclaw?” He asked with that teasing grin that left you wild.

“The merits of your victory? Spoils of butterbeer?” You chime in sarcastically and he only shakes his head and kisses you before the game.

It was brutal. Ravenclaw destroyed. Their lead was apparent within twenty minutes, they never let up. The whole time you cringed, hissed in anguish when they made point after point. When the Ravenclaw seeker caught the snitch, you knew it was over and Mattheo would be pissed.

“FUCK!” You could hear from outside his room, then a crash. Then a bang. You sighed and quickly opened the door. Theo and Enzo gave you a weary look as they tried to wrestle the chair out of Mattheo’s hands. Being team captain was a source of pride and chaos for him. Ever since he took on the role the pressure had been insurmountable and Mattheo’s way of handling it wasn’t what you would describe as healthy.

The look you gave his two friends was cautioning. Theo set the chair down not the ground and Enzo patted Mattheo’s shoulder as they walked out of the dorm, leaving you to tend to your boyfriend.

“Not now Y/N, just NOT NOW”. He said and sighed. You saw his frustratation just as much as you sensed his resistance to take it out on you. So you walked to him, looking up at him as you pushed his shoulders softly guiding him to the chair to sit. With a sigh he complied.

His defeated glance morphed into mild amusement as you straddled him on the chair. He raised his eyebrows as you pulled out your phone and put on a sexy song. Slowly your hips grinded into his, you dropped your phone on the floor and hooked your wrists behind his neck.

His lips fell open, your hips moved into a figure 8. Keening against him until you stood up and turned around. You felt his fingers dig into your waist, pulling until you were back on his lap. His fury melted into lust. One free arm thrown around his neck as you arched your back and rode his clothed erection.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t give me a lap dance?” He whispered in your ear tentatively.

“I said I wouldn’t give you one if you won”.

Theo Nott

Theo’s sat stoic in the midst of the thumping party. His eyes latched onto your body, ten feet away you danced with your friends. The way you writhed, the slow figure eight movement of your hips caught him in a trance. A trance that was broken my a smirking Mattheo, sitting on the arm of his chair and passing him a blunt.

Theo took it mindlessly taking a big hit and holding in the smoke. His eyes never leaving you as you twirled. After three more hits he could feel his edges dissolve. It would have been enough for him to stay watching you, feeling light headed and aroused by his beautiful girlfriend.

It was a party but it felt like a private show for him. He didn’t even notice Enzo at first, standing behind you. Probably cross faded as his hand landed on your hip. Pulling you close. Mattheo raised his eyebrows as he watched this exchange and looked down at Theo. The slow rage bubbled beneath the surface and Theo stood up a little too fast.

He was making his way towards both of you only to be cut off by Mattheo who beat him to Enzo. Mattheo nearly ripped drunk Enzo’s arm off as he dragged him away. You were so far gone, swimming in vodka that you missed the chaos. You lifted your hands up above your head and guided them down your body as you swiveled your hips.

Next thing you know your boyfriend was pulling you close, spinning you to face away so he could grind onto your ass.

“Going to keep you close cara mia,” he whispered in your ear. You only nodded with a grin, his breath on your neck as you danced heatedly together driving your crazy.

Lorenzo Berkshire

You both needed a break. School had been stressful, drama and rumors had culminated into more fights, less fun. It felt like it had been weeks since you two had shared anything but resentment.

But you and Enzo had been together for a long time now, one bad month wasn’t enough to break you up. Every now and then the nagging feeling hit you. When you saw him flirt and joke with other girls just for him to be cold and short with you. You got his worse. And in return you gave him hell.

Finally he said no more. You two were going to go on a date this weekend. Talk out your issues and most importantly have some fun. Hand and hand you walked around the black lake trying to find a spot for a picnic. He dropped the basket down as you silently spread out the blanket. It was quiet. A little awkward.

You looked up at the sky darkening above. When you made eye contact with him he immediately got defensive realizing he hadn’t checked the weather

“Don’t start,” he grumbled and you only grimaced and sighed. You sat down together, pulled out your lunches. Neither one of you wanting to be the first to speak. Thunder broke the silence.

The downpour hit before you could nag him. Through the rain you could see him looking at you intently. His hair was sopping wet, your sandwiches ruined and drinks watered down. So you did the only thing you could do. You laughed. So did he.

Enzo stood up and held his hand out to you, just when you thought you would both make a run for it he pulled you close. Together you swayed softly in the summer rain, he hummed a song as you both giggled. Only stopping to kiss and look into each other’s eyes with a renewed sense of adoration.

Draco Malfoy

The Malfoy Ball. Christmas time. The two are nearly synonymous. You wore a pretty white gown with gold sparkles, red lips. They could have placed you top of the grand Christmas tree that stood in the ballroom. Twenty feet tall, adorned with white and gold bulbs. Sprays of silver tinsel and enchanted candles surrounding it. Snow hung above the dance floor, magically dissipating before it touched the throng of dancing couples.

All night your feet hadn’t touched the ground and Draco hadn’t stopped touching you. His hand possessively held the back of your neck, the other hooked around your waist. Lips grazing your forehead as he showered you with praise. The most beautiful thing, he’s ever seen.

“Draco, your parents,” you whisper as he pulls away from his millionth kiss of the night. He only grins and pulls you even closer making you flush. Slow dancing making you feel heated and breathless. Every now and then the gentle brush of his hips on yours makes you gasp.

“My parents are drunk, as are yours,” he teased back, “they won’t notice this” he says as he cups your bottom and squeezes making you smack his arm. He’s in good spirits and laughed as you do. Draco pulls away a little relenting but takes the moment to look in your eyes.

His hand drifts from your neck to your hair, pushing it off your face and behind your ear. His gaze a mix of adoration and lust as his eyes trail past your face to your chest. Your eyes fall to his lips and the hunger that’s been slowly building between the two of you makes your head spin

“Then they won’t notice when we sneak away?” You ask with a smile. Draco raises his eyes brow and takes your hand pulling you off the dance floor and out of the ballroom so you two can steal away to his room.

Blaise Zabini

Three years together. You mulled over this as you slipped the silky pink dress you chose for the night. Then you slipped on your heels and walked towards the door, Blaise was there hand raised in mid knock forcing you both to laugh as you locked eyes.

“Hey babe,” you said with a breathy laugh.

“Ready for tonight?” Blaise asked as his hand cradled you jaw so he could give you a brief kiss. Your head tipped back with a smile, “You know I love when you surprise me”.

He led you to his car. Even made you wear a blindfold until you arrived at a small dance studio. It was there he revealed he signed you both up for salsa dancing lessons. You giggled and squeezed his hand as you lined up with other couples.

It was charming watching how seriously he watched the instructor. Trying to match the steps to the beat of the music. Only stopping to turn and smile at you teasingly. Throw you a wink. Reach over and softly pinch your side while laughing when he saw you miss a step.

After thirty minutes of instruction, you were instructed to pair up so he held you closely. It was a shock to see how smoothly he moved, he held the small of your back pushing your hips into his. Following the steps was easy for him, but keeping his hands off of you was damn near impossible.

“Watching you move your body like that is killing me,” he muttered into your hair as he looked down to smirk at you. You had to admit, he was pretty damn good.

Tom Riddle

He never wanted to go to that stupid Yule Ball in the first place. Tom had told you a million times that he didn’t dance and didn’t feel like having to be “on” for something as stupid as a social event. Even though many saw him as popular, charming, headboy; it was for manipulation purposes only. He knew you knew that, so why you drag him to such a droll event was beyond him.

His eyes slipped down your figure, the dazzling gown you bought. He thought you looked angelic, ethereal, a work of art he’d like to pin to his bed instead of hang off his arm. Tom had his warmest smile on as he talked to Regulus and Theo; as you talked to their dates. Only one hour down, this was tedious.

He began to get into a heated debate with Theo about a potion that they had been trying to develop. It was like an ear worm that nestled into his brain and after a while he couldn’t stop thinking of it. So when you went to get punch and dance with one of your girlfriends he left. He didn’t do it maliciously, he went to his dorm and studied the potion for hours. You, the dance, everything slipped his mind.

By the time he had charged out of his room with the sole intent of throwing it in Theo’s face he didn’t even realize that hours had passed. You were sitting in the Slytherin common room, alone. Like a weeping angel, looking forlorn. The dying fire cast a warm glow on your face.

Damnit, he knew he wasn’t a perfect boyfriend. Not tender, emotionally available but he never liked to see you cry. The urge to start a fight, to yell, to push you away so this uncomfortable guilt biting in his chest would go away was heavy. But your dazzling gown, the way it hung off your body. The tears on your cheeks making you look even more beautiful, it choked his usual toxic habits.

Tom raised his wand, the record player in the common room began to play. La Petite File de La Mer. The music startled you, making you turn your head towards it when you saw Tom standing there. Your gaze was fire, burning into his. Rage and disappointment cut with heartbreak because of course. He let you down again.

There were no words for you from him. His stride was ever confident, his hand held out for you to take. Music flooded the room, weakness flooded your heart. When you were in his arms, tears spilled as he swept you away. Was there a flicker of compassion in his eyes? You couldn’t see it past the water. Quick, quick, slow. You moved. You glided. The waltz. Because Tom knew how to dance; he was very talented indeed. The truth was before now, he simply didn’t want to.

[thevelvetvampyre]

Mental Foreplay- Tom Buckley x Student Reader

Summary: Harbouring a supernatural secret, your professors assistant reveals he’s psychic as the sound of your filthy thoughts towards him pollute his subconscious and distract him from teaching as normally as a clairvoyant can.

Warnings: overall smut + adult content, p in v, oral (f receive), he watches u, he cums fast, mindreading, age gap (reader college aged, he’s like 40), choking, he tries his best to resist, INVOLUNTARY ERECTIONS which frustrate him🙏, he tries to stand on business + movie quotes

Note: stuck in hospital in the 3rd week of meningitis if I had a doc like crane this would be fun but there’s none worthy of sex dreams so this is boring af

🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩

Holding your head in your palm as you remained uninterested at your professor, Dr. Matheson, explaining some physics trick to hack the system of the psychic frauds she analysed, your eyes slipped to the assistant she had recently brought in to help with her lessons, Mr. Tom Buckley.

He’d usually catch your glance, seemingly to perfectly time when he looks at you in accordance to when you’d think of him or when you’d subconsciously moan, rubbing your thighs together to relieve the tension your imagination had pent up.

Practically on key, your eyes dropped from the boring speech to the man who sat just off center, catching his gaze as his lashes fluttered in embarrassment to being caught focusing on you.

Pulling his eyes away from yours, a grin grew on your face as he shifted uncomfortably, taking mental note of how attractive he looked when he was flustered.

At your thought, a deep blush creeped across his cheeks and his eyebrows cocked.

Unknown to you, Mr.Buckley had a psychic, mind reading secret that let him hear all the thoughts that ran through your head about him, ignoring them the best to his ability as his cock swelled at how filthy you secretly were.

From admiring the way his hair fell around the side of his face to imagining him fucking your dripping cunt over the other students papers on your professors desk, hearing your thoughts never failed to make him stiff and heave at the thought of giving you exactly what you wanted.

It was some kind of mental foreplay to him, rushing home after each lesson to furiously stroke himself while picturing what you’d look like gagging around the base of him, remembering your quiet moans that echoed through his head.

It had been a few weeks since he joined Dr.Matheson, strongly withholding his desire to fill your cunt as he remained distant of you.

A few weeks of teaching and torture, he’d curse himself each and every time his tip pulsed and leaked, angry and frustrated he felt so aroused by your arousal.

The feel of his hot blood filling his veins as he became thicker and harder with each passing thought made him tut and groan at how pathetic he was, cringing at how desperately he needed to, but couldn’t, touch you. He didn’t care for how you were half his age, but the morality of him being so needy for a students pussy made him feel guilty.

When he got the news that Dr.Matheson would take leave for whatever personal reason she needed to, his stomach knotted as he knew you would no longer be avoidable.

Taking the role of your teacher was threatening to him, now unable to hide his throbbing cock as he heard you salivate to the sight of him. As he was to stand in front of the whole room, he mentally prepared for his public display of arousal, tucking his already swollen tip under his belt to even slightly hide his growing erection.

Sitting behind the desk as he sighed, swinging his head back and rolling his eyes at how painfully hard he’s already gotten, he waited for the students to fill the room and felt his groin twitch in anticipation.

~~~~~~~

“The setting is important… keep it dark. Always.”

Mr.Buckley was pacing around the front of the room, lecturing how frauds scammed their customers into believing the supernatural.

His eyes scanned and passed you and as they did, a high pitched ringing filled his left ear, wincing at the pain and squeezing his eyes shut.

You held the tip of your pen in between your lips, nibbling at it slightly as you pictured him tearing you into two over your desk right then and there for the whole class to see.

Bringing his finger up and pressing it against his ear, he received the mental download of your thought and felt the warm blood flood his crotch.

Slowly opening his eyes again and taking a deep breath, the students looked at one another confused at his strange behaviour.

“The spirits demand it. You need to concentrate.”

His voice remained loud and sarcastic, he avoided looking at you once more, throbbing unbearably as he found it close to impossible to stand up.

Leaning against his desk to relieve the tightness of his tented pants, his skin prickled with arousal as he heard another one of your subconscious thoughts.

Wet, hot and leaking.

The ringing hit him at a higher pitch this time, physically cringing him as he rolled his chest slightly forward and groaning at the pain. Squeezing his eyes shut once more and feeling the air leave his lungs, the image of your salivating pussy to his voice ambushed his mind and sent him into a frenzy of desire.

After wincing for a couple of seconds, the class went silent and questioned what was wrong with him.

“Out! I need everyone out… now!” His voice was heated and he spoke louder than he ever has before, the sense of urgency causing the students to flock their seats quickly.

“Except you… I need you to stay.” He finally opened his eyes and pointed directly at you, some of the students looking at you with concern as they remained confused by his behaviour.

Feeling a heat prickle along your skin, your heart pounded in your chest as this was the first time he’d ever spoken directly to you, a wave of panic flooding over you as your mind raced with the reasoning he chose to keep you back.

As the students emptied the room, he stayed still on the edge of his desk and you slowly walked over, unsure of why he’d asked you to remain if he’s never acknowledged you before.

Staying silent, he pinched the top of his nose bridge and shut his eyes, sighing as he grew more annoyed at the mental images that flashed across his third eye, your reaction to being alone with him being nothing but sexually charged.

“Do you know how frustrating it is?”

His eyes remained shut and you furrowed your brows, confused and lost on what he was referring to.

“I’m sorry?”

Adjusting your bag, your palms began sweating in the midst of your nerves.

“Every. Single. Day. You sit there, doing nothing.”

His voice was low and stern, a blush creeping on your face as it was true, your lesson time was taken up with fantasies of the man instead of actual learning. Your notebook hasn’t even been touched since he’s stepped foot into the classroom. But how could he have known? He’s never spoken to you before.

“Not once have we spoken. Yet I know you so well.”

His voice remained agitated, your blush now vibrating your cheeks as you grew increasingly nervous. He opened his eyes and met yours, gazing over your face as his erection pulled on his crotch.

“I know what you think of me. Fuck…. I know your every thought.”

Your eyebrows knitted together as you clenched your jaw, embarrassment flooding your panties as you stood there dumbfounded at his confession.

“And I think you’re disgusting.”

Your eyes widened as you became humiliated, your mind raced with the possibilities of how he could’ve found out.

How did he know?

“Because I’m psychic.” The words purred off his lips and your stomach dropped.

Responding to your thought, you swayed anxiously as a million questions ran through your mind.

“How… how did you-“

Your voice was quiet, feeling vulnerable as he sat in front of you, horrifying you with his awareness of your thoughts about him.

“I told you how.”

Your head tilted, if anything you were fascinated with his words and questioned the trueness of them.

“But then… why do you teach-“

“To find more people like me.” He sighed out in defeat, staring into your eyes up close for the first time since he started teaching.

Only now did you realise just how gorgeous the man was, his cheekbones sharp and his eyes icy as they poured into yours.

Biting your bottom lip as you felt your walls clench at the sight of him, he rolled his head back and squeezed his eyes.

“S-stop.” He whimpered out, rubbing his head as his cock leaked into his pants.

Your eyes dropped and you noticed his dick print in his pants, widening them as the size of him made your mouth dry. He was thick and big, your heart fluttered as you couldn’t imagine fitting him into your tight walls.

Your cunt was dripping into the soft fabric you wore, sighing as you wanted nothing more than to have him fill any of your holes and use it to his desire.

Fuck… his cocks huge.

Snapping his head up and rapidly batting his eyelashes at you, hearing the way you complimented his throbbing erection, he stood up from the desk and latched both his hands into your hips.

Moving quickly and impatiently, he grunted as his fingers dug into your hips and pushed you quickly against his desk, your ass sat lightly on the wood as his forehead pressed into yours and he flared his nostrils, keeping his eyes shut as he held your sides in his hands.

Holding you close for a few moments, you felt his heavy breath on your chest and his cock press against your stomach. Exasperated and desperate to finally have you, his lust possessed him into needing you right then and there.

“Touch yourself. I-I need you to touch yourself.”

His voice was a whisper and it shook with his demand, leaving you smirking as you’d never seen him so malleable before.

Humming as you lifted up your skirt, you sat further onto the desk and placed your feet up, Mr.Buckley remained still as his eyes stuck onto your exposed panties. He groaned at the wet patch that pooled onto the fabric, relishing in how pretty you looked spread on the desk for him.

Spreading your knees and leaning back onto one hand as the other snaked down your torso onto your covered cunt, you smiled at the way his mouth fell slightly open and his eyes squinted at the sight of you.

Leaning over and placing his hands on either side of your legs, he gulped as he watched your small fingers draw delicate circles on your clit. His chest began heaving as your face scrunched in pleasure, quiet moans escaping your mouth as he admired the way you were so gentle with yourself.

“Let me see.” He growled, growing impatient and desperate to see your soaking pussy on display for him.

You pulled your panties to the side and exposed yourself and he whined at the sight, wincing as the cold air hit your wet slit.

Continuing to lean over your softly trembling body, he dropped a ball of spit from his mouth onto your mound and watched as it slowly dripped down you.

Using his saliva as lubricant, you began to rub faster circles on your needy nub as you felt your walls clench around nothing, the fast impending orgasm bringing you on the brink of seeing stars.

“Touch me.” You moaned out, your hips bucking at your fingers.

“I don’t… I can’t.” The guilt of watching a student, his student, like this was overwhelming. Yet he couldn’t help but feel his cock twitch in pain as he mentally begged to fuck you stupid over the desk.

“You don’t wanna feel my pussy?” You snapped your head up and looked at him through your hazed eyes, your pleasure leaving you drunk and needy for more.

He gulped as he slowly shook his head. Your eyes dropped to his erection and you sighed out through your grin.

“Then why are you so hard Mr.Buckley?” You moaned out his name and he shuddered, his lust slowly taking control of his mind.

“Why are you watching your student touch herself in front of your face?” His skin prickled with desperation and he could no longer withhold his desire, rolling his eyes as he took a deep breath before dropping to his knees.

Grunting animalistically, his arms latched around your thighs and pulled you closer to the edge of the table, close to his face so he could breath you in.

Immediately latching his lips onto your soaked slit, his tongue began to lap up and down your mound.

Throwing your head back in pleasure, his hot breath fanned over your aching hole as he pulled back to look up at you shaking as his touch.

“Stop fucking teasing me.” He growled. Sticking his tongue against you and sucking at you hungrily.

Your moans were growing louder as his tongue slipped into your hole, shoving his face deep into you and filling the room with squelching noises.

“Oh fuck!” Your back began to arch and your fingers intertwined with his hair, circling your hips as he ate at you skilfully and desperately.

You were on the edge of your orgasm, feeling him hum against you as you pulsed on his tongue.

His hot breath was short as his nose was stuck on your groin, ignoring the sense of urgency to take a breath as his determination to have you coat his mouth with your juices was his only priority.

Feeling yourself fall over the edge, the hot knot in your stomach unraveled as you felt liquid pour out of you and into his mouth, nose and chin. His tongue drew number eight’s on your clit as you shook beneath him, attacking the now swollen nub through your orgasm.

He held your thighs firmly in place, not letting you move away from what he was inflicting no matter how violently you shook as you came.

“That’s it… cum for your teacher.” His words were low and velvet smooth, intensifying how hard you came around him.

“Such a pretty girl.” He whispered, occasionally praising the way you squirted on him through your orgasm.

Feeling yourself calm back down as you winced on his tongue from sensitivity, his sloppy kisses turned into pecks on your slit as he pulled your pussy lips slightly apart. Staring at the shine from your cum, he furrowed his brows and whined at how perfect you looked.

Standing up and wobbling on his knees, his gaze panned to your face and you stared back at him in accomplishment. Mentally thanking him for the way his tongue had fucked you, he pulled a slight curl in the corner of his lips as his fingers fumbled to get his belt off.

Finally whipping it out of his waistband, his fingers impatiently zipped down and instantly gave his cock a release from his constraint.

Pressing down onto his erection and sighing at the pressure on your pussy, he pulled your cunt closer to the edge of the desk once more and pressed himself harder against your wet, tired mound.

“Fucking perfect.” His fingers fidgeted to your shirt, pulling it over your head and praising your tits.

He was grateful you didn’t wear a bra, instantly snatching your flesh into his hand and kneaded you desperately.

Rolling your head back and twitching your hips to create a small amount of movement on his clothed cock, he watched the way your mouth fell open as you mentally begged him for more.

I want you to fuck me so bad Mr.Buckley. Fill my tight cunt.

He groaned as he heard your thought, hooking his fingers under his waistband and pooled his underwear to his feet. His thick, veiny cock sprung out and hit your clit as it did, wincing as you remained sensitive from your orgasm.

Taking his leaking red tip and pulling it over your dripping slit, he groaned at how warm you were.

“Coating my cock so well…” He whined out in praise at how aroused you were. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

His fingers pulled up and wrapped along your neck, pressing into your sides harshly and causing you to choke on your air.

“So bad.” You could only moan, needing him desperately to fill you up and leave you dripping with his cum.

Continuing to lather himself in your liquid, he grunted and tightened his grasp on your neck, feeling unsatisfied with your plea.

“So bad! Please Mr.Buckley… I need your cock!” Your voice was trembling and a tear formed in your eye, practically heaving in need for him.

“Good girl.” He lined his tip up perfectly with your entrance and once again tightened his grasp on your neck, he snapped his hips forward and shoved all of him inside your tight hole at once.

Rolling his chest over your body beneath him as he growled at how well your tight walls took him in, you screamed at the intrusion as your hole had been breached and his tip slammed up against the back of your pussy.

“Oh fuck…” His mouth was near your ear, growling pathetically at how good you felt. “S-so- hm- tight.” His voice had raised and he wobbled to regain his balance.

Dragging his hips out teasingly slow and keeping his tip in, he would repeat this and slam into you repeatedly so you could warm you up to his size.

Your neck would surely be bruised tomorrow with the strength of his grip, seeing stars with each rough stroke and lack of oxygen you received. After the painfully slow thrusts he fucked to give you time to adjust, his head remained buried in the crook of your neck and a frustrated throaty groan left him. He began fucking you animalistically and violently, a string of incomprehensible curse words and praise leaving his lips as your walls suffocated his cock.

“Taking my cock so well honey.” He said breathlessly, using you hard and fast to chase his own high.

Fucking you deep as he was rough, you bounced off each thrust as your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your moans echoed off the walls, feeling his balls slap against your clit as you were pushed around harshly on his desk.

Shifting on the wood, your hole began to ache at how fast he was going, the slapping noises of your skin beginning to sting as he was treating you selfishly.

“Don’t move.” He growled at you, dropping his hand from your neck onto your hip, holding you still as you felt his cock flex inside of you.

Holding you pinned in position, he took advantage of how weak you were on his cock and started to whimper loudly as his thrusts sped up.

“Oh my god- I’m cumming, I’m cumming.” His voice was high pitched as his knees bucked, his thrusts growing inconsistent as you pulsated around him to drain him of all he has.

You felt a hot, white string of liquid squirt and coat the inside of your walls, moaning at the sensation of him emptying his balls into you.

Attempting to continue to fuck you through his orgasm, the sensation was overwhelming as his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth fell open, the look making you think he was about to cry or was in pain as he trembled.

He panted and whined through each stroke, the sound of him so weak was enough to send you over the edge again.

Slowing down the rate and harshness of each thrust, he heaved out whines as his orgasm blurred his mind and emptied out his lungs of air.

Slowly pulling out his softening cock as it fell slightly limp out of you, he continued to breath heavily as he let go of your hip and placed his hands on either side of you again.

Looking up into your face, you admired how gorgeous he looked. Admiring how his hair had messed, his lips had swelled and an arrogant red had spread on his cheeks. Your walls rhythmically pulsated at how flushed he looked and his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

“Stop… you’ll get me hard again.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

last set of tsumsitter ssr groovies 👀

THE TIME HAS COME

First is Pomefiore!!

The trio is framed by a border of colorful lights, which reminds me a lot of old-fashioned movie theater signs (though not as colorful). If you look closely at the top and bottom, it seems they are posed for a candid photograph and it’s being posted to Magicam or something?? Rook and Epel look super crisp here, which I love!! I think Epel is posing with his hands held behind his back. This paired with his smile and the slight bird’s eye view of his face makes him look super cute please don’t beat me up for saying that, Epel. And Rook is being showy and familiar as usual, even putting one hand on Vil’s shoulder. Vil isn’t cringing or uncomfortable with it, which goes to show that he and Rook are truly good friends.

As for Vil, it’s rare to see him posed casually like this. Most of his cards feature him posed in very “model”-like and mature ways, so to have just one hand on hip, leaning forward slightly, and gripping his grimoire is unique for him (I mostly associate this pose with Ace, lol). His smile is quite casual too—it’s not quite the full catty smirk he has in his live2D model, it’s a lot more subtle and playful.

BahacTeHWWRVwkkwwm YHE VIL TSUM STeALS THE SHOW ThoUGH 😭 (You can tell it’s smiling despite the lack of a visible mouth) from how its eyes!! The placement of the Tsum is also funny. With Pomefiore’s peacock throne in the background, it forms sort of an angelic halo around… the sentient stuffed toy… Proof that Tsum Vil is a heavenly being/j

Next is Ignihyde!!

The Shroud brothers return to Cyberspace, that blue void with tons of ethereal floating screens, particle effects, and code www I don’t know what those three pink balls of flame are in the background, but there being three of them is a consistent theme for Ignihyde. Three pink fireballs, three Shroud brothers, three heads of Cerberus! I wish I could say more here, but I’m basically a Malleus when it comes to tech—

Idia’s pose isn’t anything we haven’t seen before (just at different angles of it, I suppose). But!! It feels different here and adding Ortho definitely adds to it. The Pokémon trainer energy of the initial art carries over to the Groovy. Idia looks like a smug, tough trainer looking down on you with a cocky grin and his face half-shadowed.

Ortho floats almost menacingly next to his big brother, his face entirely shadowed. His aura is like a phantom (fitting) or even like a Pokémon on standby waiting for the chance to fire off a Hyper Beam. This might be me overthinking things, but I wonder if the amount of light on the brothers’ faces references the original Ortho. Robo!Ortho’s face is entirely darkened because his parallel has passed on. Idia’s face is only partially shadowed because while he was close to stepping over to the “other side”, he ultimately found hope and was able to continue living, this time for himself and on his own terms.

I LIKE HoW TSUM IDIA HAS ITS OWN sCREEN TO WORK OFF OF TOO 😭 IBRO IS MAkING A sUS FACE TOO, IT’S GLEEfUL AbOUT WhAtEVRr it’S UP TO… That makes me think that it’s hard at work… I dunno, hacking something systems fnksgwiwozlapaeb Watch out, a Tsum near you might infect your computer and then bounce away happily after ruining all your programs and files.

Last but not least… Diasomnia!! THIS ONE’S MY fAVORITE OF THE SSR TSUMSITTER GROUP, WHICH I WAs NOT EXPecTING AT ALL 🤡

The violet backlight is fantastic—it adds an interesting lighting to the illustration and highlights the green flames and Silver and Sebek’s bright eyes. And speaking of Sebek and Silver, LOOK AT THEM JUST LOOK AT THEM???????? More specifically, Sebek’s arms (they look ultra meaty somehow) and Silver’s whole face(that lopsided smile??? HELLO?????)!! On either side of Malleus like that… Peak bodyguard, I REPEAT, PEAK BODYGUARD

With Lilia bringing up the rear, the three form a perfect squad to surround and to protect their liege. cbsjsbevejwlw I like that Lilia is different than Silver and Sebek; he’s hanging out upside down (as he usually does) and bears a huuuge grin, completely having fun in the moment. (… How does his hat stay on like that when he’s fighting gravity though?)

Up front and center is Malleus of course! He’s wielding his spindle staff like a king might a scepter. This with his fierce face gives the impression of a leader marching into battle with his retainers. You get a real good shot of his teeth and reptilian eyes here which I’m sure the Malleus stans are going feral for right now—and with the limelight shining down on him, he looks almost hopeful for once instead of downtrodden or gloomy.

THE TSUM MALLEUS LOOKS SO FUNKY PLACED tHERE cnsnwveuxvDFsFjqk Just. Cheekily There on Malleus’s shoulder… Because Maleficent and Diablo is a known combination, the image of those two as master and minion comes to mind. Imagine Malleus blasting you with lightning, pausing to listen to his Tsum whispering a suggestion into his ear, and then telling you the Tsum has advised that he blast you with a second strike 💀

Aaaaaah, the Tsumsitter SSR Groovies are some of the best in this game 😭 So glad they’re finally over though, it’s stressful saving rolls for what you know would be a limited event with multiple SSR banners, lol

[etherfabric]

Compliments from Spirit - What are you doing right?

Choose a pile by which picture you resonate with the most.

If your mind is too busy to clearly decide, take a few deep breaths, and use the finger of your non-dominant hand to hover over the images. One will give off the most subtle yet prominent signals, like tingles, a magnetic pull, or temperature. This is your pile. Multiples are also possible.

You are the ultimate authority over your life. I merely provide my perspective. Sometimes the Universe lines you up with something that doesn't resonate with your truth, so you have contrast to find out what does. Never give away your power.

Pile 1

4 of Swords, 4 of Cups, The Magician

Spirit is complimenting you on your restraint and how well you center yourself. You learned your lessons around excessive, fear-fueled activity, how it wears you down without any payoff, and you take those lessons to heart. Your body's need to rest has become your wise friend and guide to consider, instead of your mortal enemy to defeat. You thank your emotions for telling you where you strayed from your authentic path, you honor the little pains and stings along the way just as much as the pleasant surprises. It's like in an airplane, where in an emergency, the little lights left and right on the ground lead you to the nearest exit back to safety when you can't see otherwise. Your symptoms are your loyal companions you are listening to with patience and intent. You are not rushing yourself anymore to an unobtainable future, you are honoring what you already have and don't fall for FOMO.

What is truly yours won't want you to strain and hurt yourself. What is truly yours loves you and has no problem waiting for you.

This approach gives you authentic, reliable bouts of energy you can channel towards what is truly important to you. It's marvelous how little effort compared to the past now yields these beautiful results that seemed so far out of your reach. You feel empowered and have found a new sense of patience with yourself and the Universe at large. You recognize your own struggles in others, and know that their limits are not meant as a personal insult. They are on their own path to their true calling just as you are, and Spirit can see the compassion you have for them. Continue seeing the big picture and your part in it. Time is on your side. The Universe likes your new, slow, conscious approach, and is happy that you have found the wisdom in your limits; that they were your private teachers all along.

Pile 2

Strength, 2 of Wands, The World

You have found a whole new level of self love. Things that used to make you cringe are seen in a completely different light - you see your good intentions, and that most of the times, it is other people's opinions you internalized that you feel when expressing yourself. And even if you come to your own conclusion on how you want to change certain aspects - you don't use these discoveries as a stick to beat you with anymore. You have developed a profound capacity for self compassion. You see your desperate needs no one felt responsible for in the past, how hard you had to try because nothing was given freely where you come from. Okay, yeah, you exposed things you wouldn't expose in the same context today. But now you can thank yourself for it, because you see how it was the only option back then with what you had and knew. And it was good enough to eventually get you here.

You were desperate to find connection, friends, someone who cares for you. You offered all these things so they could pick and choose where to connect to you. You are a generous, love-oriented being, always have been. The judgements others places on your past and present behaviors come from a limited, competitive point of view you can no longer hold without feeling the unnecessary pain of it. It just feels disingenuous towards yourself. You know too much about where you come from and who you are because of it, what drives you, what you are looking for in life, to mindlessly punish yourself with these false accusations.

You send the shame back to where it came from, and are free to give yourself the love you crave and deserve.

You dared to look inwards, despite all the shame. You thought you would find a hideous monster, a waste of every resource ever coming their way - and found a being of light. Capable of so much goodness to give, the only sensible conclusion is to provide them with everything they need, and foster relationships with only likeminded supporters. I mean, it's a true miracle. In the past there was really no one around who took you as part of themselves, who considered your best interests just as important as theirs - and now look where you are! Who you are with! How peaceful and exciting, and liveable this life has become. Spirit couldn't be prouder. So much more is waiting for you. The hard part is definitely over.

Pile 3

10 of Cups, The Empress, 3 of Wands

Spirit compliments you on your willingness to receive. Gone are the days of guilt tripping yourself over morsels. Now you feast, daily. This routine allows you to live in a perpetual cycle of abundance. You feel good, because you go after what you know you deserve. And you go after what you deserve, because you know it makes you feel good. You no longer hold yourself up with questions whether to go after comfy OR practical - you know which way you can get both. And most important of all: You stopped making yourself smaller than you actually are supposed to be. All your needs and wants come from a sacred place, and you have seen it for yourself.

This brings great relief to your interpersonal relationships. Your clean conscience translates into generosity and letting miniscule hiccups slide with ease. Remember how tiny mistakes used to trip you up for days on end? Now you don't even need seconds to process them as the background noise they always wanted to be. You know what truly matters and don't let yourself get confused by smoke screens. People either mean it, or they can fuck right off. Those who mean it bask in your warmth, and those who don't just aren't getting invited to the party that is your life now. And boy, do you know how to host.

The people around you feel like on a constant vacation with you. Comfort and fun are sacred priorities, and everybody is important.

They can contribute their perspective in an environment of trust and good faith. Your spontaneity is met with keen support, and fate plays just the right song to elevate the atmosphere even further. Continue getting a full plate everyday, there will always be more where that came from. As long as you don't let your impostor syndrome get the better of you, I don't see an end to this joyride for quite some time.

Pile 4

The Fool, Queen of Wands, Seven of Cups, The Hanged Man

Spirit is complimenting you on your masterful ability to adapt. Like a surfer, you read the currents of life flowing in and around you with expertise and diligence. You know some days the ocean won't bring you anything exciting, and muddy waters might not be the best to dive through, but you got time and can wait. You know the mud holds important nutrients that need to find their way in their own time. Just like when your head is full of random thoughts you can't seem to channel into anything useful - you know how to embrace it, rather than fight against it and stir up the water even further.

Now you have the confidence to know when to do nothing at all. And suddenly, the mud settles back at the ground, and you are free to dive right in. The most subtle changes can't slip past your perception, and you know which waves you can use to your advantage, and which ones would just drag you down without any mercy. Your confidence in your skills lets you marvel at the forces from a safe distance rather than cower in paralyzing fear.

What used to feel like cruel randomness, now reveals itself as divine orchestration. And all you had to change was your perspective.

Even your darkest times of despair have finally told you their secret: They are the soil you are growing on. The fallen leaves of past hopes and dreams are the soil for what is real now. The destruction of the past turned out to be a vital step in the recipe. Like Rumi said, the wound is where the light enters you. Now, when you are faced with a so-called dark aspect of life, you are alread curious how and when the benefit of it will come into your reality. It doesn't erase the pain, but you don't even want that anymore. It tells a story that makes you glad to be alive, rather than feeling like a victim to your own birth. It makes you want to see how it will turn out, rahter than checking out prematurely. What a marvelous, marvelous development. Spirit is so glad you are still here.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 18

Azriel x Thrid-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: pls trust me that some things will be explained in chapter 19 🙇

word count: 7,003

-Part 17-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Sharp, amber eyes pierce down into the male, despite having less than an inch’s difference in height. 

Lucien keeps his surprise under wraps as he greets his oldest brother, stood before the slightly dilapidated building he and his companions have taken up in, a few boards nailed over one of the upper windows that had broken during a particularly vicious storm. He recalls how Jurian had scavenged some of the plain silverware and they’d drawn spoons to see who would have to climb the roof and patch it up before the autumn chill hit. It’s a fond memory, in spite of his loss. 

“Eris,” Lucien greets shortly, holding position in blocking the male from strutting straight into his home as he knows the male would, given the chance. Not the building itself, exactly, but the people hidden away inside it, and he’d rather not subject them to another visit unless absolutely necessary. Neither of them are particularly well-equipped against Eris’ kind of verbal espionage, how he hunts the information he seeks and so effortlessly riles them up. Vassa is particularly prone to bursting into a flaming temper whenever the male pays them an unpleasant visit. 

“It’s rude to keep a guest waiting, Lucien,” Eris drawls from overside the threshold. Even after all this time he can’t help the instinctive part of him that cringes at the razor sharp tone used to cut into his name, carve it into something jagged and serrated. Perhaps when he was younger he might have returned with ‘it’s rude to show up without invitation’, but he learned long ago it’s best to avoid any kind of verbal conflict with the male. Ultimately it’s tiring and a waste of energy, so instead Lucien offers a mildly withering glare, and asks, “What are you here for?” 

Eris’s features remain sharp but blank, unshifting and drawing a clear line in the sand. Another silent demand he’s more than accustomed to, and wishes he wasn’t. “You can’t just show up without prior notice and expect to be escorted in. There are humans inside and you’ll scare them off.” 

“That’s fine by me,” Eris replies, his amber eyes silently simmering with inherent arrogance. “Step aside.”

“Don’t order me around,” Lucien replies evenly, not a note of sharpness to be found, but firm and unyielding. “You’re in their lands. Besides, they’ll be leaving shortly. You can wait a few minutes.” 

“It’s time sensitive,” Eris replies smoothly, neither having broken the eye contact. 

“You can wait a few minutes,” Lucien repeats.

Silence stretches, Eris’ brows narrowing ever so slightly in a frighteningly scathing glare that would have sent him sprinting to his room a few centuries ago. But he’s a grown male now, so he weathers the simmering look, keeping his feet firmly set on the ground, unfaltering in his stance. 

Within the silence, both can pick out the shuffle of human footfalls, the conversation that floats throughout the house, only detectable to fae hearing and each brother picks out as they trail further. It’s not until a latch clicks and a bolt is slid into place on the other side of the slightly wrecked estate that either of them shifts, and to Lucien’s invisible astonishment it’s Eris who looks away first. Even if it is to glance at the approaching Vassa over his shoulder, he notes it. 

“What’s he doing here?” Vassa questions, a derisive sneer in her tone as she pins the male darkening their doorstep with a look that could turn steak to coal in seconds. Lucien glances to Eris, wondering the same thing—wondering if he’ll answer now the humans have left and he’ll inevitably be allowed in. Sharp amber eyes slice to his own russet one, cutting and demanding, and Lucien bites back a sigh at his oldest brother’s incessant insistence on being obeyed. Even after all these years he’s just as controlling as he always was, though Lucien shouldn’t be surprised—Eris practically thrives in the cutthroat coliseum of the Autumn Court. 

Lucien steps aside in the doorway and Eris enters, bringing with him the harsh bite of the cold that’s sharper than it should be in the human lands. The distinct crispness that passes him as Eris strides past the both of them, removing his surprisingly plain cloak in one swift movement and chucking it over one of the hangers without looking. “I have news,” Eris replies vaguely, before striding further into the heart of the house and disappearing out of sight. 

Vassa shoots a fierce glare his direction, a slight scowl between her brows. “Did you know he was on his way?” She asks, already looking about ready to try smacking the male across the jaw. But Lucien shakes his head, already resigned to the evening being ruined, knowing her impatience isn’t directed at him. “I’m sober, aren’t I?” He replies wryly, a twist of a demeaning smile on his mouth to cool her flammable temper. 

After a long moment of pause, she huffs a laugh, low and raspy, some of the tension relieved from her rigid posture, fiery coloured ringlets jostled slightly from the tremble in her full shoulders. “We’d better go after him,” she says, a little more amused than she was previously, though that amusement dims swiftly at the thought of having to deal with more of the male’s unnecessary and underhanded jabs. Lucien nods, sighing once more before steeling himself, knowing he will inevitably end up in the position of mediator as he always does when people lose their calm, following after her. 

“And just when the cards were finally about to come out,” she mutters under her breath, and Lucien can practically see the scowl that has already worked itself back between her fiery brows, “I was looking forward to wiping the floor with Jurian.” 

The comment has his nostrils flaring delicately as mirth curves his mouth, lips twitching faintly. Between the three of them, Vassa is almost constantly on a losing streak, while Jurian frequently takes them for all they’re worth. He supposes it shouldn’t be as surprising as it is—Jurian’s mortality is debatable at best, an unverifiable grey area at worst. 

“Maybe we can fit in a few rounds after,” Lucien suggests as they make their way through the hallways, headed to the sitting room where the meetings most frequently take place. “The mood will probably be in need of some friendly competition.” 

“Friendly?” Vassa repeats sardonically, pausing just outside the door to the living room. “Those games are nothing short of bloodthirsty. Treating them so lightheartedly is why you never win.” 

Lucien refrains from reminding her that she has yet to go on a single winning streak against either of them. 

————

You shift uneasily in your seat, pulling the silk of the scarf a little tighter, making sure no patchy flesh will slip out from beneath the fine covering. Especially not over a meal. 

The comment springs to the forefront of your mind, rising like the sediment that’s stirred up upon a stone being dropped into the murky bottom of a lake. You know you’ll never be first choice. You’ll never have someone who’d choose you over everyone else, and if you’re honest with yourself it wouldn’t be that bad. You’ve survived this long without being someone’s first choice, so what’s changed? 

What’s changed?

A cold feels skates delicately beneath your speckled flesh at the imposing question, impossibly vast and inconceivably nuanced. So much has changed in the past two years it would be unreasonable to try and tackle it now, without even a paper and pen to aid you in the coherency of your thoughts. But maybe it’s a place to start—some small ideas to help take those opening steps, like how freshly born deer totter around on their delicate hooves, on thin, gangly legs before learning to leap and bound. 

So, you ask yourself again: What’s changed? 

Had it bothered you before that you weren’t first choice? Had you known you weren’t anyone’s first choice—yes, somewhere, but you hadn’t figured it out yet. Perhaps that’s why the comment stung, that you were robbed of making the discovery yourself, red-painted nails having clawed over the stone, carving scratches into the previously smooth surface, permanently tarnished and disheveled. 

No, thinking back, you’ve been first choice before. When you were eight, nine-ish, when you’d run down and about in the garden with Feyre who at that point couldn’t keep up with you yet. When you’d leap over tree stumps and balance on fallen trunks, sticking your arms out unevenly and watching with a strange sense of pride as Feyre doddered behind you, mimicking your stance and holding her own arms out as she made the trek over the mossy trunk. 

Then you’d gotten older, and left Feyre to play in the gardens, in the forest, by herself. Then you’d become closer with Elain a bit before your teens, the two of you often joined at the hip at parties, Nesta bearing down on the few who tried to approach, warding off any unwanted company with her fearsome countenance. You think you’d been one another’s choices then, when your mother would dress you up in complimentary fabrics, selecting patterns that would work well with one another, with little regard for the young girls she was dressing up—her own daughters. 

You like to think it had been you and Elain sticking together, in those last few years when your mother was around. 

That’s what’s changed. 

You’re surrounded by people who have found one another. 

And now your loneliness is starker than ever, yet you hadn’t even really realised it. How Feyre has Rhys and Nyx, Nesta has found Cassian, and even Elain is finding her way with Lucien. They’re the closest you’ve ever been with other people, and the closest you’ll get to other people. But they’ve all found someone else now, and you’re the odd one out. Of course you’d be the one without a mating bond, or whatever the special connection is that they were all afforded. 

You’re reminded of the confession you’d let slip in the midst of your fumbling mouth back in the library all that time ago. How you’d thought maybe…possibly there was a reason you’d felt a click with him. But you suppose you should have known better. You can’t even pretend that he was leading you on, in hindsight. It was obvious he was interested in Elain, and yet you’d thought… How stupid. And to tell him, too. To want something so sacred to them, and to wish it between yourself and him. All from wanting to be first. 

It shouldn’t matter to not be first, and yet it’s starkly painful. You can’t help but want that place. Wanted it so desperately you’d fooled yourself into seeing interest when in reality there was, just none for you. 

Your eyes traitorously stray from the small details on the rim of your porcelain plate—tiny ink drops of blue, red, and orange dotted about the edge—to the empty seat to your left, at one head of the table. 

Why had you ever made the mistake of opening up to him? Hoping for a gentle touch when your body feels like it was hewn from the most unloveable stone. The most unforgiving rock, and the coldest ice. So cold it would peel skin from flesh, so harsh it would be impossible to touch, so utterly unbearable there would be no choice but to remain alone.   

“Will you pass the potatoes?”

You’re drawn from your spiralling thoughts by the golden voice, meeting twinkling amber eyes as Mor watches you with a familiar expression. Warm and welcoming despite how you’d last seen one another. 

Swallowing, you nod. “Yeah, sure,” you reply as normally as you can, hand clutching the orange silk of your scarf to keep the material from sliding up as you carefully grip the lip of the ceramic bowl, passing it to her open hand. “Thank you,” Mor smiles, and you blink before remembering to retract your hand. She seems as she was before…back to the female you’d known her as. Is this…does it mean she’s accepted your apology? She’d seemed convinced of what she had told you, so you can’t quite trick yourself into believing that. But maybe civility? 

Right, you can understand it now. No matter how upset or hurt she might feel, she must not want to make it other people’s problem. Causing a scene over a dinner, one of the rare moments everyone’s together—most of you, anyway—isn’t worth it. No matter how your relationship might have soured, there’s no need to make the people around you miserable, too. 

Amber eyes gleam beneath the warm light, and you feel as though you can come to an agreement—one you’re ready to accept. You can both silently agree not to make it an issue for anyone else, a small kernel of warmth daring to flicker to life in your chest, the sense of connection that comes from mutual understanding despite a disagreement. For everyone else’s sake, the two of you can put everything aside. Even if it might only be temporary. 

“I like your scarf,” Mor says lightly, scooping the jagged, crispy roast potatoes onto the side of her plate, setting the bowl down in a spare space, “it suits you.” 

Again, you blink, caught off guard. You swallow thickly, managing a nod of your head, chest swelling as you eagerly take on the compliment, content to pretend even if it’s only for an hour or two. “Thank you,” you reply, keeping your voice steady, “I love your necklace.” Which is true, though in honesty it wouldn’t be difficult to find something compliment-worthy about her. She’s beautiful. 

Mor hums, glancing to another bowl, before settling on the reasonably sized boat of sauce, creating a small pool at the edge of her plate. You’re a little too occupied with watching Mor to notice the wary glance sent her way by Amren, or the warning one delivered from the High Lord himself. The tiny flicker of hope that maybe things could be patched up blocking out the rest of the picture as you gaze longingly at the female diagonal from you. 

“I suppose with the autumn chill in the air yours is a little more practical than some flimsy jewellery,” Mor replies lightly, plucking a cut of bread from the wooden board, drawing the butter closer to slather the fluffy and crusty slice. “Where did you find it? I should fetch one for myself.” 

“I’m sure you have more than enough scarves, Mor,” Rhys interjects smoothly, the serrated blade of his knife slicing effortlessly through the sinew of meat, slowly dissected into politely bite-sized pieces. “Any more and you’ll struggle to shut your wardrobe properly.”

Mor smiles icily, meeting his gaze with a cold look on her beautiful face. “Just stocking up before we have our eastern visitors.” 

Tension crackles across the table, so acute even you realise something strange is happening, watching nervously, and feeling somehow responsible for the perceived fallout. Eastern visitors…? People from the continent? Eastern…eastern…oh. Feyre had mentioned briefly the deal that had been struck between the High Lord and the Lord that reigns over his Court of Nightmares—Mor’s father. The permitted invasion of her safe haven. The slight fissure that had been opened raw between them—one you’d forgotten about, and had assumed had been fixed. 

“How is—” You fumble when Mor’s sharp eyes cut into you, caught off guard by the fierceness held within them. “…How is he?” You manage to ask, unsure whether you should even be interfering or whether you’re just putting your foot in it. Your hands shake under the table, heart pounding but you keep from shifting in your seat. 

“Who?” Mor asks blandly, ignoring the sharp glare Amren’s pinning her with. Disregarding the hard look on Rhys’ face, slight disappointment. Possibly wholly unaware of the grip Feyre has on her cutlery, head cast downward, brows pulled together. Your throat rolls, not wanting to say his name. 

It would be wrong. 

“Who else?” Nesta asks from across the table, her voice singing with the clean cut of steel as it slices through a silk ribbon, a whisper of anger hissing beneath her tone. Sharp amber eyes clash with cool silver, glinting like mercury and ice in spite of the oranges and yellows filling the room to give the allusion of warmth and familiarity. Tension simmers just below the surface, crackling like a metal weather vane struck by lightening, sizzling with barely restrained power. 

“Azriel,” you say quietly, hurrying through his name in less than a breath, feeling it brand your tongue, tingling at the roof of your mouth. Dispersing some of the charge. “How is he?” 

Amber and silver eyes remain locked for a little while longer, a pause stretching across the table and even to fae hearing there’s hardly a sound being made save for the strain of metal as knuckles strangle and warp the handles of fine cutlery. 

At last Mor looks away, dragging her gaze back to your own, the fire dimmed and smothered. 

“Well enough to be drinking again,” she answers, and that seems to be the end of the conversation. 

————

It’s a little difficult to dry the plates off with the scarf tied at your front, hiding your arms, but you manage. 

A cluster of small, iridescent bubbles float past your nose, wafting by, and Elain laughs as you step back suddenly in surprise, having been zoned out. 

There’s no need to be washing up anymore, not with the aids of magic, and if you’re honest you aren’t entirely sure how the two of you had ended up coming to the same wordless agreement, but here you are. Elain’s at the sink, bubbles frothy and foamy as she scrubs at the crockery and cutlery before depositing them on the side for you to dry with a towel. You don’t think the soapiness would agree with your skin.

The quiet settles between you, comfortable and without strain, two people sharing a space, and the apprehension you’d had before the dinner begins to slowly mellow, ice thawing out over a chilly night. 

Despite the slightly rough start, the night had progressed surprisingly smoothly, with you content to sit quietly while the others discussed various matters: Amren’s recreational studying of the Old Language; Nesta’s progression with swordplay, having begun wielding ataraxia during training; a discussion lead by Rhysand about wards that you’d partially tuned out, thinking of the crater you’d blasted through the House of Wind—at least it sounds like something that can be fixed. They aren’t permanently broken, just temporarily disabled. 

“Feyre’s birthday is coming up,” Elain says, seemingly out of nowhere, and you glance at her questioningly, humming in acknowledgement. “What are you thinking of getting her?” You ask, curiously content to follow along this path and see where she takes it. Elain sighs faintly, “I was thinking of making some herbal teas, actually…not many, but a few different ones to see if any help with stress, or sleeping, or the like. Generic benefits.” 

You nod your head slightly—it’s a thoughtful gift, bespoke and personal, too. She’s always good with presents. 

“You?” Elain asks, glancing at you lightly, speaking only loud enough to top the gentle babbling of water and splashing of suds. You glance down at the stack of dried plates, reaching for the wet cutlery to start on. “I haven’t thought of anything yet,” you answer honestly, considering, “it’s still a couple of months away, so I guess I hadn’t started thinking about it yet.” 

Elain’s quiet for a bit, and you get the sense she has something to say but is unsure how to bring it up. You wait patiently, preoccupying yourself with the cutlery, careful not to accidentally carve a chunk of flesh from the heel of your palm. 

“I think…Feyre would like to do something with all of us,” she says quietly, a little absently. “Perhaps not on the actual day, but sometime nearby.” 

“She would?” You ask, slightly surprised. Elain doesn’t meet your gaze this time, continuing to focus on washing up, giving her hands something to do, and you copy her after a moment, carrying on with the drying up. “She hasn’t said anything explicitly, but it’s the impression I’ve gotten,” Elain says faintly, then pauses again. “I think…I think it would be nice, too.” 

There’s a tremor in her fingertips, but she pushes them below the warm water, out of sight as if reaching for a fork or spoon beneath the frothy surface. 

“Particularly, after…” Her throat closes up, and you hesitantly reach out, gloves temporarily discarded while drying, bare fingers grazing the soft skin of her forearms, unable to feel the gentle tickle of tiny hairs anymore. “I’m sorry…” you murmur uselessly, watching helplessly as a droplet falls from her eye, splashing through into the dishwater below. But Elain shakes her head, hands raising from the water to continue moving, absently washing the last plate from the dinner. 

“I’d like to see more of you, too,” Elain says, swallowing thickly as she scrubs at the gleaming porcelain, clearing her throat. “So would Nesta. I think we’ve all been a bit distant lately, with one another I mean, and with Feyre having Nyx, and Nesta off in Day… We should spend more time together, and see each other more often, and speak more, just in general. And then there’s also Starfall, and we can see each other then, and celebrate, and—”

“Elain, Starfall’s months away,” you say gently, fingers shifting so they’re lightly gripping her wrist, pausing her motions, pulling her eyes to lock with your own. Wider than they should be.

You look at one another, watching silently, and you can feel the flutter of her pulse beneath your fingertips, erratic enough for even your own damaged hands to pick up on. 

“You’ll be there, won’t you?” She whispers, eyes hot and wet. 

You blink, grasping the heaviness of the question, then nod, unable to make your throat work, lower lip trembling a bit. “I’ll be there,” you manage to get out, feeling the familiar pressure behind your eyes. 

She nods back, before finally handing over that last plate that has been clean for a while, but between the soapiness of the dishwater, and the trembling of both your hands, the plate slips, and smashes on the floor. The pale fragments split and shatter, spraying across the cold tiles, and both of you jump at the startling noise, before looking at each other again, and laughing. Gasping, ragged breaths that have both of you leaning for support, tears welling in eyes as each of you are split between crying from desperate, manic humour, and dreadful, fearsome sadness. 

Neither of you can find it in yourselves to care about the shattered porcelain, the jagged fragments with blue, red, and orange ink drops dotted around the utterly broken rim of the plate. 

���I…I need to find something…to clean that up,” you gasp through laughter, wiping away the tears. Elain just nods, still heaving ragged breath into her lungs, eyes squeezed shut, ringlets of hair jostling with each shudder of mirth as she grips the edge of the sink, expression torn between sobbing laughter and wrecking grief, and you don’t think you can stand to be in the same room for much longer, subject to the violent turbulence. 

The light from the kitchen dims but your eyes adjust swiftly as you walk unevenly out into the dark hallway, rounding the corner to go look for a brush, or duster of some kind, even a cloth or a rag would do—

Both of you freeze as you round the corner to see one another, Mor’s figure losing its rigidity much more swiftly compared to your own that will remain locked up for the following few minutes. 

You swallow thickly, eyes wide as you take her in: the dimmed gold of her lustrous hair; the bare expanse of her elegant neck; the tray held in her red-tipped hands, those long, slightly rounded nails gleaming a deep rouge. “Mor,” you greet, a touch quieter than usual, “I didn’t see you there.” 

“Nor I, you,” she replies, watching you. A beat passes, and you swallow again, eyes flicking down to the tray in her hands. “Azriel’s?” You ask through the tightness in your throat, gently probing to see if she’s open to a conversation. You’ll leave, if she’s unresponsive—you know now what it’s like to be on either end of this strange dynamic. Mor nods her head once, still watching you silently, and you look elsewhere. Then nod your own head. “Nice seeing you,” you say quietly, then move to walk around her. 

“Wait,” Mor whispers at the last second, holding the tray in one hand and gripping your wrist with the other. You recoil sharply when her fingers squeeze your arm, and her hold lightens significantly, but she doesn’t immediately let go, digits stuttering away a second later. “Sorry,” she murmurs, stepping back by half a pace. “It’s okay,” you reply hastily, looking away as you pull your hand back to your body, “you didn’t know.” 

The words hang between you, and silence stretches in the relative darkness of the corridor.

When you manage to raise your gaze to glance at her, you nearly regret the choice—she’s making no effort to conceal the fierce defence in her sharp amber eyes. You’re about to turn to try and leave again though, when she speaks, and the tremor in her voice is pronounced enough to root you to the spot. 

“Tell me why you went to Eris.” 

————

The expression that was on the commander’s face had been enough to set the two of them on edge, Jurian offering Eris one of those slow but rare, slightly insane half-smiles he can make, that often has the spiralling effect distinctive to falling down through a nightmare on whoever’s unlucky enough to have it turned on them. It doesn’t come out often, but that it’s made an appearance this evening is a dark sign, and Lucien silently prays he will not be forced into a position where he will have to default to Eris’s defence in attempts to calm the potential ire that could catch in either of his human comrades. 

The day has proven to be tricky enough on its own—none of them need this added abrasion. 

Vassa strides across the room, taking up in the seat closest to the crackling hearth, the flame making her hair blaze brighter than natural, her already sharp eyes glinting in the firelight. 

It seems he’s the only one actively trying to avoid the conflict that’s brewing in the air, the other two appearing ready and more than content to fight fire with fire. He knows there’s no use explaining the redundancy of wielding that tactic against the male across from the human queen, with fire burning in his very blood. 

“You said you had news,” Vassa demands, charging straight to the point before Lucien’s even had a chance to seat himself on the other end of the sofa, opposite from Jurian. Between his chosen family and his blood-given one. But Eris won’t be rushed, and instead turns his attention to his youngest brother, the fire doing nothing to thaw the cool ice in his amber eyes. “How is your mate, Lucien?” 

Lucien allows himself the space of a blink to recompose himself, vaguely trying to hide his suspicion. It’s never good when he can’t see the end Eris is pursuing, but he’s used to being left in the dark when it comes to the male’s schemes—he just can’t help the instinctive aggression that prickles up the back of his neck at Elain being brought into this. 

“You aren’t one for idle chatter,” Lucien replies, calming the flame that had begun sizzling in his blood, “why don’t we skip ahead and get straight to the point, as this is such a time sensitive matter?” A sinister gleam appears in his oldest brother’s eyes, and he braces himself for whatever whip is about to lash into his skin. “Very well,” Eris says instead, leaning back into his chair, practically sprawling across it, dominating the space he takes up in his typically uncaring, arrogant fashion. But then the air shifts, his expression becoming serious. “How well-informed is your mate of Night Court affairs?” 

“Enough with this evasive subterfuge. What news do you bring?” Vassa demands harshly, Jurian seemingly agreeing with her anticipation to have the male rid of as soon as possible, a disagreeable look simmering in his rough features. But Lucien levels his brother with an evaluating glance, mechanical eye whirring faintly against the dim heat of the fire. “We each have our distances,” Lucien replies evenly, yielding a vague answer. He’s getting the distinct feeling something large has happened, or is about to. Maybe even happening as they speak—slabs of rock knocking into one another, having already been pushed into motion. 

Does this have anything to do with Elain’s visit being postponed? She had been supposed to arrive two days ago, but had had to change their meeting to a later date as she’d had a family matter to oversee. Lucien hadn’t tried to pry. 

“But you’re aware that Nesta Archeron and the General took a vacation to the Day Court?” Eris questions, and again Lucien has the distinct sense he’s missing a piece of the puzzle. A very big, very crucial piece of the puzzle. 

He nods, and braces himself. 

Though even foresight wouldn’t have been enough to prepare him for the news Eris had brought. 

A warning that shook him to his fae bones. 

————

You swallow thickly, frozen stiff as her truthful eyes bore into you. 

You open your mouth, lips ajar, but your throat is much too tight to release any sort of sound. 

Mor doesn’t shift, holding your gaze with a steadiness and conviction you can’t look away from, bound to her by an invisible tether that’s keeping you from hiding or running how you’d like to. “Surely you know…” she whispers, taking in a shallow breath, her lashes fluttering with an almost imperceptible shudder. “Surely you know what he did to me.” 

You give a faint nod of your head. 

Her amber eyes sharpen, and your stomach clenches beneath the look. “So explain yourself,” she utters lowly. “Don’t leave it up to me to pry the answers from you.” 

A seed of fear plants itself in your throat, something cool and slimy rinsing gently down your spine and you’re worried sweat is dripping down your ribs, rolling in salty droplets down the soft inside of your arms where the skin hasn’t yet grown dehydrated and flaky. Fingers tighten absently on the silk of the orange scarf banding around your upper body, tugging at the folds to try and hide the tremor of adrenaline that’s filtered into your bloodstream. 

You swallow thickly, but your throat won’t clear, and you realise that’s because there’s nothing there—no matter how much it feels the opposite. 

“I didn’t…” you clear your throat again. Rip your gaze away. “I didn’t want to disappoint any of you,” you force yourself to answer, voice catching at the pitiful excuse. 

Mor’s silent. 

Silent for long enough you nervously look at her. 

You flinch internally at the expression of horror on her features, shoulders bunching with shame as your brows curve, silently begging for a reply, and not this awful quiet that’s slowly gutting you. 

“You chose…” she swallows past a lump in her throat, and her scent has shifted but you can’t understand what it means, the minute changes that occur within fae bodies. “You willingly went to him? He didn’t even have to try and persuade you?” 

“Mor it wasn’t like that,” you try to clarify hurriedly. “I just—…I just thought it would be—”

“Easier?”

“No! I just thought it would— I don’t know… It would’t cause trouble! I just wanted to do it by myself so I wouldn’t have to bother any of you!”

“Wouldn’t cause trouble?” Mor repeats incredulously, a look of disbelief on her features, like she can’t grasp what you’re saying. “We were ready to help,” Mor bites back sharply, “all you had to do was ask for it. You could have spoken to Feyre, or any of your sisters about your magic. Any of us. You could have come to me, even—but you went to Eris.” Her voice is taut, rife with anger and hurt, but even in the dim light there’s a faint shine in her eyes, belying their wetness. “What made you think that we weren’t enough?” 

“I didn’t want to bother you!” You say back, matching her volume. 

“We’re your family! You’re supposed to bother us!” 

You take a small step back, fighting the humiliating wobble of your lip before you shake your head, fingertips tingling. “No. You’re— You’re Feyre’s family.” 

“Feyre’s your sister,” Mor emphasises, knuckles pushing up from beneath the smooth softness of her skin, pronounced from her bone-white grip on the tray that’s beginning to splinter. “Or is she no longer part of your family either? It seems the only person you even bother to speak to is Elain nowadays. Her and Azriel, anyway.” 

“And what does that matter?” You bite back, hands itching. “What does it matter if I only speak to Elain? Would you prefer I start speaking to you, Mor?” 

“Why not?” She nearly spits, energy being drawn out from the cave where she’d tried to smother it over dinner. “Why not?” You repeat, neither of you completely aware of how your voices are beginning to rise incrementally, ignoring or oblivious to the faint, sickly green light that definitely isn’t coming from the kitchen. “You’d like me to speak with you when this is the kind of conversation we’re having? You want me to be emotional, or vulnerable with you, or ask you for help when you shut me out the moment I do something wrong? When I fail?” 

“I might have shut you out but you didn’t even open up. Didn’t even give us a chance in the first place, don’t pretend otherwise,” Mor spits back. “If you can’t understand the pain you caused me, fine. I can’t help it if you won’t allow yourself to think of us as family. But what about your actual family? What about them?” 

“Don’t you dare try and talk to me about my own family Mor,” you grit out, nails digging into the flaky skin of your palms, heart pounding in your chest. “Haven’t you pried enough?” 

“Did you even think to consider how it would make them feel?” Mor jabs, barrelling ahead. “Can you grasp how hurt Feyre was that you didn’t go to her? Three sisters, and you decided that none of them were good enough? Just because you aren’t their first choice doesn’t mean they can’t be—”

“Mor.” 

Utter silence falls throughout the hallway at the barely restrained interruption. 

Both of you freeze at the sound of the third voice, filled with hissing winds and rasping shadow. Managing to stay calm despite the tempest in her blue-grey eyes. 

Before you, Mor blinks, and you’re unsure if you imagine the way colour drains from her features, still watching you. Further unsure if the faint green light was smothered of its own accord or the dark shadows that seem to be heavier now Feyre has appeared. Now the Cursebreaker has entered. 

Mor turns on her heel, shifting to meet Feyre’s eyes, but quiet stretches between them, and you get the impression a conversation is being had, though not through daemati powers. A single lock of golden hair shifts over Mor’s shoulder, falling out of place, though you can no longer see her expression. And then she nods. Just once, hardly perceptible, even to fae eyes, and you watch with a still pounding heart as the tray vanishes from her hands a second later, heels clicking softly across the floorboards as she wordlessly takes her exit, leaving you and…Feyre, alone in the hallway. 

You shift anxiously on your feet, swallowing thickly. 

“How much of that did you hear?” You ask quietly, looking away again, all the fight drained from you after the brief altercation. You’re entirely unaccustomed with those open arguments, haven’t had one since—well, since that last one with Feyre, that had the sound ward placed on your room. 

Feyre watches you, the previous storm quietened, but her eyes aren’t sparkling as usual. Instead she looks drained. Drained, and tired, and a little wary. “Enough,” she answers.

You shift again, a little begrudging she saw fit to interrupt, like you needed her to intervene. “It was fine, you know…” 

Feyre’s quiet, and you’re unsure if she’s angry. Angry at you for speaking to Mor that way. Angry at you for speaking so loudly when Nyx is probably asleep. Angry at you for not speaking to her first. Angry at you for the long, long list of reasons she should have by now. 

“It did hurt,” she says quietly, and you raise your gaze to meet her own, “that you thought you couldn’t come to us. To me.” 

Your lips purse, and you look away. 

“I was upset with your choice. Disappointed a little. Confused,” she continues in that quiet whisper that could carry with ease across a cavernous hall. “But what Mor said wasn’t true. Not in the way she phrased it.” 

“Feyre, it’s fine,” you say softly. “You don’t need to—”

“Mor knows that’s not true either.” 

Your lips purse again, that quiet stretching between you. 

You want to disintegrate on the spot. 

Fabric rustles slightly, and it’s the only clue you have to Feyre shifting. Then, “it’s late,” she says, moving away from the open wound of a topic. “We should talk more about this in the morning. When Madja comes round too.” She nods her head toward the corridor, but you look at her a little apologetically. “I was supposed to find Elain a brush,” you say, feeling embarrassed, “we broke a plate.” 

“The kitchen will clear it up,” Feyre replies, leaving no room for you to skate back to your older sister. 

So you end up walking with her back to your room. 

It’s dark out, and you can’t help but look forward to settling into bed, even if it hurts sometimes to roll over beneath the covers. That it hurts sometimes to lie on your sides, when your arms press into the sheets, with your weight resting atop them. At least you’re beginning to get used to it, the pain much more tolerable now, despite it having not decreased. 

You’ve both reached the top of the stairs, turning down the hallway that will lead to your bedroom, walking close enough together to make up for the fact your arms aren’t linked—Feyre guessing correctly it would probably hurt—when Feyre speaks. “Are Eris and Azriel the only other people who’ve felt your magic before?” She asks tentatively into the darkness of the house, seemingly having cooled off now you’re further from the spot of altercation. 

“Yes, I think so,” you answer in an equally soft voice. 

“Have either of them every commented on what it feels like?” She asks, and you’re aware how she’s keeping her gaze ahead. You move your eyes to look in the same direction, spotting your bedroom door on the right not far ahead. “Not that I can think of,” you reply, before adding, “though it’s never been…going, for as long as that.” 

Feyre’s silent, and you glance at her through the shadows, wondering what she’s thinking. You can’t read her expression, so resume your looking ahead. 

“When I was in autumn, though,” you begin hesitantly, hardly louder than a whisper, worrying who might overhear the unpleasant reference, “my magic almost…I don’t know…burst? It came through me very suddenly, and forcefully.” You recall the frighteningly large creature that had charged at you while in the woods, how your magic had melted the skin from its flesh. “We were both sick afterwards.” 

“Azriel was sick a lot when he first woke up,” Feyre says faintly, and your stomach clenches with guilt. 

You try to swallow past it, but it seems to remain lodged in your throat, unpleasantly settling in your stomach heavily enough you’re thankful when you reach your door, the evening nearly over with. 

“Why did you ask, by the way?” You question before slipping away into your room, paused over the threshold. 

Feyre glances at you, turned to leave but stopping. “Your magic…I could feel it in the hallway,” she answers, a wary note creeping into her voice. 

She seems disinclined to give anything else, so you again shift awkwardly in the doorway, before gathering the gut to ask, “how did it feel?” 

Something passes behind her blue-grey eyes, shuttering briefly as they close, before reopening. “Like I was dying again,” she answers quietly. 

You stare at her silently, the threshold of your room between you, the silence heavier than it was before. You don’t even know what to say to that. 

She doesn’t give you the time to think of a reply, however, as she releases a sigh. Her throat rolls as she meets your eyes. “Sleep well,” she says, and you catch as her attention dips to your hands, like she wants to take them, to hold them. 

But she doesn’t, instead looking back at you again, throat rolling for the second time.

“I love you,” she says hoarsely, speaking those words that are so sparsely exchanged between the four of you. 

You stiffen, emotion of a different kind tightening your throat, and you nod faintly. 

“I love you, too. Sleep well.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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[venuscrashed]

Basically salt against the demon bros

Word count: 500 something

Warnings: Shit fic, Bad like REALLY bad writing, not proof read, just wanted to get something out

“Do you think it’ll work?” Mammon looked at you as you both stood in the kitchen. Salt in your hand, his hands on his hips.

“It has to,” you both looked down. It was normal, human salt that you stole from Solomon. Recently the brothers were shown a couple of horror movies and they used salt against the demons. It also didn’t help that a lot of ghost hunting games used the same technique. Mammon had the bright idea to try it and it was encouraged by Satan and Belphie for a joke against Lucifer.

Just as you were about to pour some salt lightning cracked and the whole room turned dark for a second. When the lights came on Lucifer stood next to the both of you. Arms crossed and eyes narrowed, sweat drops went down both of your faces before looking at him.

“H-hey Lucifer! How’s my favorite older bro?” Mammon took the salt and hid it behind his back. A bright smile on his face with shaking hands. It was plainly obvious that he was hiding something but he still thought he got away with it.

Lucifer’s menacing aura towered over the both of you. An eerie smile on face with closed eyes. Hand over his chest in his usual stance with a polite but bossy tone. Purple flames behind his back, “what are you hiding?”

“Nothing!” You both said in unison. You internally cringed at yourself for what you said but eventually you become alike after spending so much time together. Which only causing Lucifer to furrow his eyebrows with his finger. He looked at both of you. Eyeing the way Mammon's shoulders were shaking and how you avoided eye contact. With a sigh he placed out his open hand, motioning for the object.

Without a second thought you swiped the salt from Mammon's hands, he let out a gasp. You shoved the salt into Lucifer’s face but took it away before he could grab it. “It’s just salt. We were just going to see if it worked against you.”

“Yeah!” Mammon shouted but turned to look at you. Eyes wide and mouth open from the immediate betrayal. “Huh?”

“It probably won’t even do anything,” you said. Pouring the salt at Mammon's feet, creating a line. He tried to walk over it but found his foot wouldn’t move. Like it was trying to go through a wall. “Oh…Would you look at that!”

“Now wait a min-“ just as Lucifer started walking you poured salt at his feet again. Both brothers being stuck and unable to cross the barrier.

You just started laughing loudly. Looking at the salt with stars in your eyes. “This is the best thing in my life! I’m pouring it in front of my room!!”

From outside the kitchen the rest of the brothers started yelling. Arguing about it with Mammon yelling. Lucifer just stood there with his mouth open as he watched you run back to your room. Salt high above your head like a new god and happiness found.

[dearsnow]

SAY IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT (WITH YOUR FISTS FOR ONCE)

- you and bradley had always been attached at the hip until life pulled him away. when you’re finally living in the same place again, your unspoken feelings come to the surface during a san diego bonfire. (bradley “rooster” bradshaw x gn!reader, reader is characterized as someone who doesn’t like much attention, jealousyyyyyyyyy, pining & arguments but fluff at the end, ⚠️ mentions of alcohol / weed)

word count: 2,500

a/n - it’s so entertaining to come up with synonyms for kissing 😭 anyways, enjoy this, and listen to american teenager by ethel cain. oh and i was also so tempted to make the girl mickey in a wig, but i held back.

Bradley Bradshaw likes you. He’d go as far as to say he loves you, if he was being honest. He’s never said it, though, not in that way.

When you first met, he was pulled to you like a magnet. It was preschool, and he never left your side. He made macaroni portraits of you and you crafted tiny little friendship bracelets for him. Neither of you could speak well, or write well, but you stuck together anyways.

Your first written words were each other’s names.

Everything snowballed from there, but he couldn’t say he was mad at it.

You were so entirely different, but that’s what made it good, in his opinion. He always needed eyes on him, not for any pretentious ego-boosting reasons, but because it made him thrive. You tended to hide in the shadows. When you gave your eyes to him, and him to you, it was like the most natural thing in the world.

He was the classic class clown type all throughout middle and high school, with a football jersey and everything. When you came to his games, he swore he played a million times better, and you were happy to indulge in his superstition.

You like him, too. You’d go as far as to say you love him, if you’re being honest. You might’ve said it if he hadn’t been so clearly your platonic life partner. You would follow him, as toddlers, with his shirt edge balled in your small fist. You tried to draw him more times than you could count, but it always looked wrong, like you couldn’t really capture the life that he held so deeply in his eyes. You even considered joining the cheerleading squad for him, but you would’ve cringed under the gaze of the crowd.

When he left for the navy, and for college, and for anything after that, you wished you could bounce across the United States with him. Instead, you wrote him letters; copious amounts of them.

One thing that you both never dared to cross was the bounds of friendship. He would hold your hand, his thumb smoothing over the side of your fist, and there was nothing romantic about it. God, you wished it was, though.

Now that you’ve moved to San Diego, following him one last time, you beg whatever makes the rules to break them just once.

You walk up behind a broad-shouldered man you barely recognize and tap him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, but I seem to be lost. Could you direct me to a man named Bradley? I believe his call sign is something silly, like ‘duck’.”

He whips around, sunglasses and mustache entirely new to you. He speaks your name in a breathy whisper, like he’s afraid his words will break if he says them too loud. “You’re here? Like actually?”

You’ve barely replied before you’re wrapped in a hug, feet lifted off the ground and body spun around so many times you think you might be sick. “Geez, Brad, put me down!”

He sets you down gently, holding out an arm for stability as you collect your bearings. “Sorry, sorry. I just can’t believe I’m seeing your face after all this time.” You’re even more breathtaking than he remembers.

San Diego has done him well, you reckon. His gold-tinted skin holds a deeper sense of warmth, now, even though he has always run hot. “You better get used to it. I have a fancy new apartment now, so I’m here to stay.”

His face holds a beaming grin, and the whole world falls away. “Thank god, I was beginning to think I’d be stuck here with just my coworkers.” He doesn’t even notice how you look at him with lovesick eyes.

//

After two months of San Diego, you say the one thing you thought you would never say: “I’m so sick of the sun.”

It’s midday, and you’re prepping for a Fourth of July bonfire party on the beach. The sun is beating down on your back, forcing you to scamper into the ocean every once in a while. Bradley is right beside you, wheeling yet another cooler onto the sand. “If I wasn’t worried about our shit being stolen, I’d suggest we abandon it and let Jake do all the work.”

You laugh. Jake was the one who suggested the whole bonfire, but, of course, he was “too busy” to help set up. You don’t mind doing the work. If it was an opportunity for you to be beside Bradley, you’d do anything. You’d even brave the burning ball of gas in the sky.

As you work, the sun disappears quickly.

By this point, after over two decades of friendship, you’ve lost a bit of that hope that pushed you to follow Brad in the first place. You know he’s attractive, and every woman in the world seems to know it too. What you didn’t know is that you’re pretty damn attractive too. As you’ve told yourself, you prefer to keep the attention off of you.

So, as the sun’s last dying rays scatter over the cooling sand, you pretend not to notice the women ogling your best friend.

The bonfire is great. Amazing, even. The flames reach high into the sky and the smell of smoke permeates the air; everything is cast in this sort of hazy glow, highlighting tanned skin and bright swimsuits. There’s also a woman chatting up Bradley, touching his arm flirtatiously, but you push that to the back of your mind. Instead, you’re focused on the guy in front of you, even when her giggle sends a ball of spikes into your heart.

He’s tall, a little on the skinny side, with tousled black hair and a puka shell necklace. Sand clings to his sandaled feet. He hands you a beer, which you tell yourself you won’t drink much of. You’ve already had a bit too much.

“So, know anyone here?” He asks. He’s eyeing you with a certain ferocity that you don’t notice, his gaze raking up and down your body.

You pop the can open and take a small sip. “Yeah. I know Bradshaw, and the rest by association.” You gesture to Jake and Natasha, who are arguing over a beach volleyball. You almost smile at the way she jabs him in the ribs, making him double over just enough for her to steal what’s so carefully held in his hands. The guy nods.

“I don’t. I’m here for the vibes, y’know?” He takes a step closer, and you notice he smells like smoke and something deeper, like perfumed weed. “And the pretty people.”

You shift in your place. “Have you found what you’re looking for?” You’re almost teasing now, completely missing the hunger in the way he licks his lips. Maybe you’re a little drunk, or maybe you’re just enjoying how someone seems to be giving you the longing looks you so sorely crave. It’s one night, you figure. You won’t ever see him again. What’s wrong with a little good-natured flirting?

“Absolutely.” He murmurs, reaching forward. His hand connects with the back of your neck, his breath cascading over your face, and your eyes flutter shut— before you’re yanked backwards by an arm around your waist.

You stumble. “What the hell?” You curse, colliding with a hard, warm chest. You drop your beer in the sand as you fall back. It’s Bradley, and he looks furious. “Brad, are you kidding me?”

“Come here.” His voice is lethally quiet and sharp as a knife. Your mind is reeling as you follow him a few paces closer to the fire, but a hot pool of anger sits in your stomach.

“Are you being serious right now? What in the world were you thinking?” You hiss. You look up at his tight-lipped face, utterly stoic in the light behind him.

“I’m not letting you kiss that piece of shit.”

“Who are you to decide who I kiss?” You’re so, so mad. So mad you could punch someone, but that would probably hurt you more than the person your fist connects with. Bradley just intervened in the one thing you thought he would never intervene in. You’ve let him swap spit with girls you’ve never seen before, and now he’s over here acting like you kissing one guy is the epitome of nastiness?”

He scoffs. “You didn’t even notice, did you? That he was eyeing you like a piece of meat? God, he reeks of weed and swamp ass, too. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that I could have the once in a lifetime opportunity to make out with a perfectly attractive guy without someone interrupting.” Your arms are crossed, but you feel a lump forming in your throat. In your mind, that really was a once in a lifetime opportunity. It’s not like you go out of your way to meet people, and the people you’ve met have never even slyly complimented you. You’re not the type that gets dates or drinks sent your way or anything more than platonic. Currently, platonic is staring you in the face with the rage of a thousand suns behind his eyes.

“Make out with Bob or Nat, I don’t care. At least they won’t undress you with their fuckboy blue eyes. Even Bagman is a better choice.”

“You don’t get to decide those things— friends don’t get to decide those things. I mean, I didn’t throw a hissy fit when you were openly flirting with that girl.” In the back of your mind, you know he’s right. You know that your stomach dropped when the guy leaned closer to you, and that your kicked-down self esteem made him out to be a whole lot more attractive than he probably (definitely) was.

Bradley runs a hand through his already slightly messy hair, sighing like he’s regretting ever hitting you with a sand pail in preschool. “I at least get to decide when to save you from creeps and when to leave your love life alone. Trust me, you were in more danger than I ever was.”

“I reiterate, friends don’t get to decide those things.” He can see the insecurity swimming in your beautiful eyes. Yeah, you’re definitely at least somewhat drunk. You’d never argue with him like this if you weren’t. You’re also more than a little mad, and disgusted with yourself, and disappointed with your lack of charisma, and so jealous of the girl he probably tangled tongues with.

“What do I have to be, then, to get it through your thick skull? You know I love you. I’m just looking out for you.” His voice is softer, now, and sweeter, dripping from his mustache like honey.

He reaches out, and you cringe away. Love. It’s a word unspoken, one that’s been lingering on your mind since the day in seventh grade when he suddenly became attractive to you. Like most things, you assume it’s friendly. “Do you really love me if this is what you’re pulling? Say it like you mean it, Bradshaw.”

“I love you.” He states, taking your hands in his. This time, as you try to pull yourself from his grip, he holds on. “I love you.” He says again. It holds a certain weight that gets your heart pounding like a drum in your chest. He’s firm but gentle, and he can feel the years of unspoken feelings bubbling on the tip of his tongue.

That’s when the guy from before decides to approach, sliding a hand uncomfortably down your waist. “I think you interrupted us, dude.”

Bradley drops your hands, and before the man can grab you even lower, he’s getting decked in the face.

He collapses to the ground, clutching his bleeding nose and cursing like a bitch. “Fuck you, what the fuck! Fuckin’ navy piece of fucking shit.” You raise your hand to your mouth as he scrambles to get away. His blood leaves a scarlet trail of droplets in the sand.

“Bradley…”

“I just want you to be safe.” He mutters, like he didn’t just punch someone in the face for you. “I don’t care if you don’t feel the same way, romantically, but I can’t stand seeing you with guys that aren’t as smart or good-looking as one fraction of your pinky toe.”

You reach up to his jaw, carefully, gingerly, before pressing your lips to his.

Like a scene from a movie, Fourth of July fireworks explode behind you, not unlike the fireworks going off in your mind. He has one hand on your waist and one hand on the back of your head, and neither make you even the slightest bit uncomfortable. It’s Bradley, and he makes you feel like the safest person in the world.

Your lips are soft, so soft. Bradley can practically hear his heart pounding in his ears as his body finally takes in the moment he’s been dreaming about his entire life. When you pull away, he misses the feeling, like the lost puzzle piece of his heart was stolen as soon as it was put back.

“You think my pinky toe is smart and good-looking?” You place a hand on his bare chest, teasing. He gives you the grin you’ve come to adore.

“Every part of you is. That’s why I love you.”

“I love you too. For more than your pinky toe, of course.”

“Oh,” he says, suddenly conscious of the self-satisfied look you shoot her, “y’know that girl I was talking to?” You raise your eyebrows questioningly as he nods his head at her. She sends a little wave, in which you notice a sparkling ring on her finger. “That, my love, is Reuben’s wife.”

You feel your heart sink to your feet as the embarrassment sets in, your cheeks growing warmer than the fire. You mouth a quiet “sorry” at her and she laughs, shooing your apology away with a gentle sweep of her hand.

“Is that why you went after Mr. Broken nose?” Bradley whispers in your ear. “That’s one hell of a way to make me jealous.”

You crinkle your nose as your face flushes impossibly warmer. “Not everything has an ulterior motive, Bradshaw.”

He looks perfect in this lighting, and to him, so do you. You can hardly believe that decades of friendship and tension and wishing led to this slightly improbable moment. You’re honestly glad you almost kissed a stranger.

“Yeah, but you’d best believe I do.”

He takes your hand in his and drops to one knee. Everyone turns to look at him, but for once, the only eyes that matter are yours. “Will you do me the honor of letting me be your lawfully appointed boyfriend?” You smile so wide you think your cheeks might split. You join him in the sand, holding his face in your hands and kissing his cheek.

“You really did mean it, huh, Brad?”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“Yes. It’s a definite, no-questions-asked, yes.”

[vbecker10]

The Night Nurse (Part 3)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 4 (in progress)

Pairing: Loki x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: You are the newly appointed night nurse for SHIELD and you couldn't be less excited about it. You have been given the side task of finding out who is stealing supplies from the infirmary. Soon after you start, you learn Loki is the one who has been slipping in at night to patch up his wounds and you confront him about why he can't heal as quickly as Thor. He reveals a dangerous secret he is keeping from the team and you worry increasingly for his safety as the two of you become closer over the next few weeks.

Warning: You asked for angst so I shall give you angst lol but also... some mentions of blood, minor injuries needing stitches, arguing between you and Loki, you being super awkward and Loki being oblivious, some swearing, a pretty major injury towards the end but no one dies... a romantic ending was requested so of course there will be fluff and cuteness and whatnot

Almost twenty minutes later then Loki typically comes to visit, he finally appears in the infirmary. You rush to him, throwing your arms around him as you pull the tall prince into a hug without even thinking. He doesn't respond, his body remaining stiff against yours. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't-" you quickly apologize and take a step away from him, worried you've made him uncomfortable.

Just as suddenly, Loki puts his arms around you and pulls you back towards him. "I was just starting to enjoy that," he chuckles and you feel a wave of relief wash over you. He sighs contently as he relaxes into your embrace.

"I heard about what happened on the mission and I was so worried you had been hurt," you admit, resting your cheek against his chest. He moves one hand up and down your back slowly to comfort you and you shift your arms a bit higher, touching the middle of his back.

He winces when you move and you let go of him instantly, looking up with concern. "I'm afraid I am not quite as injury free as I appear," he says in a low voice. His illusion fades and you see a long, fairly deep cut on his right cheek. You reach out gently, touching his chin to move his head for a better view of the wound. He looks into your eyes and says, "There are a few others." You frown then take his hand quietly, leading him into one of the exam rooms.

You walk over to the tall cabinet in the room and start to gather the things you will need to clean and close his wounds. You turn towards him to ask him a question but your mind goes blank. Loki's standing with his back to you, taking off his dress shirt.

Why does he always need to take off his shirt, he's distracting enough with it on, you can't stop the thought from popping into your head. Oh... no, your thoughts shift immediately when you see a long, shallow wound on his back. He turns to face you and you see several bruises forming on his left side as well as a few cuts on his chest and stomach.

You frown again, feeling concerned by the number of injuries. "I'll start with the wound on your back first," you suggest, "Since it's the largest one."

He nods in agreement then sits on the table, facing away from you and you stand behind him. "I didn't mean to worry you," he says when you start cleaning the area. "I had no way to contact you in order to let you know I would be late tonight."

"Is that your way of asking for my number?" you ask as you start to prep the wound for closure. Oh my god, why would you say that? you scold yourself. He's literally bleeding and you think he's hitting on you or something.

"It was not," he says.

You physically cringe at his response, your only saving grace is that he can't see you. Very smooth dummy. First you force him into a hug and now you did whatever the hell that was, you think. What is the matter with you tonight?

"That is an excellent idea though. I would like to be able to speak to you without having to wait until you are working. Would that be okay?" he asks with a smile, turning to look over his shoulder.

"Stay still," you tell him gently, putting your hand on his shoulder so he doesn't move too much. "And, yea," you smile excitedly. "That would definitely be okay. Remind me when I'm done putting you back together."

"I will. I enjoy our talks," he says and you blush, again thankful he can't see you.

"Me too," you agree happily. Okay, so that wasn't a total disaster, you think with relief.

"And I appreciated the hug," he adds. "I wouldn't be opposed to another once you are finished."

"I think that can be arranged," you tell him as you finish closing his wound.

You pause just before you cover it with gauze and realize Loki is humming the annoying song from your favorite gum commercial. I wonder if he is humming it to distract himself from reading my mind or because it truly is stuck in his head again.

He chuckles knowing he has been caught and says, "It's not so bad once you get used to it."

"Right?" you giggle.

When you finish you ask, "How does that feel?"

"Much better, thank you," he says over his shoulder. You turn away from him to clean up and gather a few more things to work on the rest of his injuries. He shifts on the table so he is facing forward and he smiles when you come closer again.

"None of these will need any stitches," you explain as you examine the cuts on his chest, side and stomach. "This one will though," you motion to the deeper wound on his right peck. You bring you tray closer and stand in front of him. Looking back towards the tray, you pick up a piece of gauze and your leg bumps into his knee when you move.

"I'm sorry," you tell him. You suddenly feel nervous being so close to him but unfortunately you will need to be a bit closer if you want to do the stitches properly.

"It's quite alright," he responds and you stand with your leg against his, cleaning the skin around his injury as gently as possible. You lean towards him, trying to keep as much distance as you can between the two of you. "Would this be better?" he offers as he spreads his legs then puts his hand on your lower back, pulling you closer.

"Yea," you manage to answer as you feel your face heat up. He doesn't remove his hand from your lower back and you reach for a tool on the tray but miss as you keep your eyes fixed on his wound. He hands it to you and you look up at him, "Thanks."

"I might as well be helpful," he smiles and you smile back.

Stop staring at his face, you tell yourself and you look down quickly. No, not better, you think when you remember you are standing between his legs. Focus, you remind yourself, you've done stitches hundreds of times on good looking guys. This isn't any different. Yes, okay, sure, he's way hotter then they are and he's easy to talk to now that he stopped being a jerk and sometimes he flirts with me... I think and he always smells really good even though I'm not sure what exactly he smells like but whatever, none of that means I can freak out now. I'm a professional.

He chuckles and you look up, your heart goes from fluttering to sinking quickly. He's laughing at my thoughts, you realize and take a step away from him but his hand on your back keeps you from going too far.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes and touches your chin with his other hand gently, trying to have you look at him. "I wasn't laughing at you for thinking those things."

You shake your head away from his touch and don't respond to him. Instead you tell him, "I can close this and your cheek then you should leave. It's late and I need to adjust the inventory so none of this looks like it is missing."

"Y/N," he says softly.

"You promised you would stop doing it, but you've been doing it all night," you say as you pick up the needle and begin to stitch his wound. "Haven't you?"

"I have," he answers, his hand dropping from your back. "I'm sorry-"

"Just stop," you interrupt him. "I'm so tired of hearing you say that." He touches your cheek and you move your head again. "I have to focus," you say without looking at him.

He sits quietly until you finish working on his chest. You concentrate on each stitch, trying to keep your mind clear but it only works for so long. I hate this... I don't want to be annoyed with him again. I understand that he can't always control his telepathy but it still feels like an invasion of my privacy, especially when he laughs at what I'm thinking about. It's awkward enough to have a crush on Loki, but for him to be able to look into my mind and see how I feel about him, it's so uncomfortable. Why can't he understand that?

When you are done he asks, "Will you let me speak now?"

"Fine," you agree and clean off the tray. You gather the garbage on a towel and turn to walk away from him.

"That can wait," he takes your wrist lightly to keep you from leaving. You nod, putting the items back down. "Y/N, I apologize for listening to your thoughts... again. I know I promised you I would refrain from doing it but it is becoming harder to keep it from happening accidentally," he tells you. He waits a moment and when you look at him he adds, "I think it is because I like you so much."

Your mouth falls open in shock and you are unable to speak as you process what he said.

He smiles nervously, "The closer I feel to you, the more often your thoughts simply appear in my mind. It has never happened to me with anyone else but I have never feel this connected to anyone. I greatly enjoy being around you and I wish to spend as much time with you as possible, preferably outside of the infirmary if that is okay with you."

You blink then ask, "You like me?"

He laughs, "Did I not state that clearly enough? Yes, Y/N, I like you very much and I don't think I would be wrong to assume you feel the same about me?"

"Yes, I mean no," you giggle nervously, "I mean..." you take a deep breath to steady your thoughts, "I like you too, I just wasn't expecting you to say all of that to be honest."

He puts his hand on your lower back again and you step towards him. "It is unfortunate you have not been able to read my mind then," he says with a smile, "Because I have done nothing but think about you as of late."

You blush again and look into his eyes but the cut on his right cheek catches your attention. "I really should take care of this, you tell him," touching just below the injury gently.

"You truly are a wonderful healer," he says quietly when you begin cleaning the wound.

"That's not what you called me the other night," you mumble then look at him. "I'm sorry, I-"

"No, you are right as usual," he says. "I spoke out in anger but you are the best healer who has ever treated me."

"I'm probably the only one who ever has," you joke and pick something else off the tray.

He touches your cheek and you look up again, "That does not mean you are not the best in this realm or any other."

"Stop trying to make me blush, I need to concentrate," you giggle. "I don't want to mess up your perfect face." He smiles but before he can reply you warn him, "Don't do that either. I'm going to start stitching now so no talking, smiling or being cute."

You work in comfortable silence, feeling Loki's eyes on you. You look away from his cheek and make eye contact then look back to what you are doing quickly. Biting your lip, you finish the last of the stitches and reach for the gauze. Loki hands it to you, he has been paying attention to your process and it makes you smile. You cut off a small piece of tape and your eyes drift to Loki's lips then back to his now closed wound. You place your tools back on the tray, remove your gloves then roll it away a bit.

You stand in front of Loki, his legs still on either side of yours, his hand slides ever so slightly up and down your back. Your chest is close to his bare chest and you allow your thoughts to wander for a brief moment.

Loki's other hand moves to the side of your neck, touching you lightly in the same place it rested in the image that was in your mind only seconds ago. He pulls you gently closer, your fingers graze his back and he smirks at you. "That was a very interesting little thought you had, darling," he says as his lips inch slowly closer to yours.

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚 Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

@soubi001 @mochie85 @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @animnerd @cabingrlandrandomcrap @icytrickster17 @lokisgoodgirl @mischief2sarawr @stupidthoughtsinwriting @mjsthrillernp @holdmytesseract @lulubelle814 @goblingirlsarah @alexakeyloveloki @siconetribal @lokidokieokie @kneelingformyloki @jiyascepter @eleniblue @loreniscrying @muddyorbsblr @alyeskathewave @loz-3 @firedrakegirl @javagirl328 @princess-asgard @morally-grey-variant @soulpiercing @km-ffluv @glitterylokislut @biodegradable-glitter-fest @wolfsmom1 @msdjsg7 @simone818283 @hopefuldreamers-world @talesofadragon

[lovelyo]

Cressida Torture Porn

RANT INCOMING: What the absolute fuck is wrong with this show and their love for torturing Cressida? Do they get off in making this girl suffer? If I was in her position, I would go apeshit too.

All this girl wants is a genuine connection, to be valued and all people do is knock her down. She lashes out horribly on people just like Penelope, but she’s punished while Penelope is considered a girlboss even though Cressida’s home environment is shittier than Penelope’s. Her hope from her suffocating fate was Eloise only for Eloise to push her to the side for a friend who lied to her for years and screwed her over. Got called a viper (EVEN THOUGH ELOISE KNOWS WHO LW IS! 🤬🤡) by the person she always wanted to befriend even before Eloise fell out with Penelope.

Cressida saved Eloise from loneliness but Eloise didn’t reciprocate when Cressida was in need. Even then, she liked Eloise so much that before she left to get shipped away to even a more emotionally absent relative, she wanted to reconcile with Eloise, but Eloise closed the chapter. She tried to say goodbye to Eloise before she left. Eloise didn’t even bother to look Cressida’s way when she left.

All for Penelope who has done considerably more damage to her than anyone. 😐😑

It was the first time ever I was genuinely upset at Eloise. Eloise knew about Cressida’s ordeal but still vilified her and abandon her like she was a side piece(ain’t far from the truth really). Eloise unfortunately had to drink the OOC Koolaid for Penelope to get her HEA. This made me despise Penelope more btw. While everyone is in a damn romantic sitcom catering to Pen, Cressida is fighting for her life in this SAW trap where it’s do or get fucked.

Cressida was a bitch throughout the show until we came upon her reasonings in S3 which made her more of a sympathetic character than Penelope ever was. We should feel bad for this “woe is me” jackass who’s more privileged than anyone in this goddamn show but not the one who has parents that are emotional as a spiked bat?

The one who’s been indoctrinated heavily by her mother to treat other women like enemies?

The one where it’s her 3rd time on the marriage mart, got the guy she had her sights on get taken away just for Penelope to say sike and marry Colin and for Lord Debling to go MIA?(the same happened to her with the fucking prince in season 1!)

The one who’s being forced to marry an old man cause rarely anyone wants her?

The one who lost a friendship she thought was genuine while that friend is going around dunking on her name?

The one who is actually looked down by the ton because they can’t take her seriously?

Her life pretty much sucks but the show keeps trying to shove in our faces that Cressida is a bully so she got what she deserved. Fuck Cressida Cowper, amirite?

Oh Christ.

I’m not justifying her rude and sometimes cringe actions, but if people can “understand” why Penelope does what she does, why can’t people extend the same courtesy to Cressida? Oh yes, she was mean to the show’s golden child so she gets the hammer.

Cressida didn’t expose Penelope to the queen even though she could have. She wasn’t even the one who wrote the fake Bridgerton slander, it was her mom and she even confronted her mom and made her displeasure known about it!

All she wanted was money to be free from her fate. She was desperate but the Bridgertons are like “haha u stupid and u suck. Speaking of suck, time to go suck on Penelope’s toes.”

Yeah, Cressida isn’t clever, she’s stupid right? Stupid enough to quickly figure out who LW was before you Bitchgertons. You hacks didn’t even figure it out when Colin and Penelope’s engagement was printed THE NEXT DAY!

They did Cressida so dirty this season like it’s really heartbreaking, no joke. Cressida is the true victim, not the redhead who got an undeserved HEA cause self-inserters and favoritism.

P.S. Penelope keeping her persona but just using her real name is SO FUCKING STUPID

[l3viat8an]

Ik I just sent something in but I was reading some of your thirsts (per usual) and was wondering what do you think the brothers would call mc on the norm? Like pet names and stuff!! Personally here's my take:

Lucifer is definitely a traditional man, so names like Darling and Sweetheart would be used by him the most!

As whiney as Mammon is I believe he would use Baby, Babe and Doll Face for Mc

Now, as cringe Levi thinks pet names are, I believe he would use Love and Sweetie for his player 2! As well as the occasional Love Bug!

Satan being the bookworm that he is would use the most romantic nicknames like Darling, My love, and Angel!

Asmo!! He would use the cutest nicknames like Cutie, Beautiful and Sweetheart!

Beel would most likely use sweeter pet names such as, Sugar, Pumpkin, And My Love!

Belphie is super annoying with his nicknames, normally going over the top like Honey-Bunch or Sweetie pie, but when he's not feeling silly he'll use Baby, Sugar and Sweetheart!

This is so much longer then my usual ask SORRY POOKIE<3 (also hopefully my other ask sent this time >_<)

-🕸

Omggg okay!!- I’ve gotta say that yours are spot on ‘n I agree!

Most of mine are the same but I’m the type of person that loves silly pet names too jsjsjsj

Lucifer usually sticks to darling ofc it’s simple and very sweet. Also; ‘little lamb / my lamb’, it’s so cute yk. and if Lucifer’s in a really playful mood he’ll call you ‘the apple of my eye.’

For Mammon ofc I gotta mentioned treasure. Because you are his treasure! Darlin’ which he always pronounces with an extra drawl. and ‘human / my human.’ yea it kinda started out as an insult- but now it’s probably his favorite pet name for you hkjkh

Levi has a hard time with pet names so usually he just sticks with lover, player two and ‘my Henry!’ But when he’s trying to be extra sweet or he’s just really happy he calls you angel! because in his eyes you really are an angel.

Satan uses ‘my love’ and darling the most- he also calls you ‘my sunshine.’ and I know it’s kinda overused but ‘Mi Vida’ (which means ‘my life’).

Asmo calls you every pet name he can think of the cuter the better! Sweetheart, sweetie, honey, sweet cheeks, hon, kitten, lovely, ‘my lover’- and so, soooo many more but I can’t list them all. If you can think of a cute pet name Asmo’s going to use it <3

Beel has so many food related pet names it’s just adorable!! Like; cupcake, sugar plum, pumpkin, sweet pea, buttercup, sugar- and that’s just the ones I can think of off the top of my head!- Beel has a million more lolol and ofc sweetheart.

Belphie like you said already is a bit…over the top with his pet names like honey-bunch and shmoopie. but when he’s not just teasing you he’ll use sweet pet names like; ‘my star’, starlight, sweetheart, love, lover and even darling occasionally. 

(‘n don’t be sorry I LOVE hearing about pet/nick names they’re always so cuteee!!!- ‘n I just saw your other ask 🤭 that’s gonna be fun~)

[darkwolf989]

Hi, I'm a huge fan of your writing. I was wondering if I could request a one-shot of valentino's teenage daughter running away from home because she's feeling neglected with how busy the vee's always are and how they keep missing important events of hers for work. Thanks.

OMG thank you so so so much! I can't express how much I appreciate that you are a fan of my writing! It astounds me every time I get a like or a compliment that another human actually LIKES my work! It means the world to me!

The editing continues! What a weekend! Enjoy <3

I'm REALLY looking forward to not working tomorrow- happy summer y'all!

I slammed the last of my absolute favorite clothes into my duffle bag. Another game had passed, another three hours of scanning frantically through the crowds for any sign of my father- or even my Aunt Velvette or my Uncle Vox. Another night of watching, waiting for them post game, only to be met with Derek, my Dad’s favorite limo driver. 

“Your family sends their regrets,” he told me as he opened the door. “And your dad personally asked me to congratulate you on your win.” 

“Thanks,” I replied glumly as I climbed in the back. 

I laid my head against the window and wondered what could be so important that they had to miss one of the last water polo games of the year. As the miles passed, I could feel the anger growing, festering pent up emotions. Uncle Vox? His meeting was really so important he couldn’t even jump through the camera to say hi? Aunt Velvette- was her fashion show such a big deal that she couldn’t have come for even a few seconds? 

And my father…whatever it was he was so wrapped up in. I still wasn’t exactly sure what my father did for work, but I knew it involved privacy and dirty movies. And at eleven years old, I was sick of the secrecy, sick of being ignored. 

So I stalked into our empty flat and began to pack a bag. I wouldn’t need anything more than the basics. I left the gold credit card my father had given me on my night stand. I had enough cash on hand and my own personal debit card. I didn’t need his money. I didn’t need any of them. 

I shoved my watch and my cell phone under the mattress of my bed and swung open the window of my room. All the movies talked about scaling down the wall, sneaking out into the darkness of the night. But as I looked down from the very top of the V tower, I decided it was a better idea to take the elevator down. 

It was a sense of freedom as soon as I stepped outside the main entrance. The fact that no one saw me meant Vox was too busy with whatever to be watching the cameras. Far too busy to care about me. My anger continued to fester as I wandered the dark streets. The more time passed, the  more unease settled over me. Without my phone, I couldn’t access my VoxQuest GPS. Even more so than I did after the game, I felt alone. 

I turned down a side street and stepped in front of the building brightly lit up with the numbers 666. Outside, a tall shark demon in a well pressed suit leered at me. 

“Pretty thing. Need a job? We’re hiring.”

I felt his hand on my shoulder and my heart almost stopped. A job. I would need one of those but this? What was this? 

“What…kind of work are you offering?” I asked timidly.

He laughed, “oh sweetheart, you’ll be perfect. Just come inside. The boss is here, and I’m sure he’ll be thrilled with my…er…you.”

Against my better judgment, I followed him inside. Bright lights flashed, loud music blared and I cringed. Around me, scantily clad women rushed drinks around to demons dressed in suits. Waitressing. If that was the job, I could do it. 

“Just smile pretty, and the boss will eat it right up. Soon as he approves, we’ll get you out there with the rest of the girls. Don’t worry- we’ll give you everything you could ever need,” he said as he led me over to a table where a mix of practically naked demons surrounded one tall demon. I watched as his face buried itself into the demon directly next to him, either not noticing my approach or not caring. I opened my mouth to introduce myself but then I noticed it. 

The red jacket. 

I felt my stomach drop. No. It couldn’t be. Involuntarily, I took a step back as the demon shoved me forward.

“Hey boss, what do you think of this pretty little prospect? Innocent, young, but we’ve had a demand for that,” he said loudly, his fingers pressing hard into my shoulder. 

“D-daddy?” I practically whispered.

“Heh, you do learn quick dontcha?” The shark demon chuckled. “See? I found a good one.” 

The demon turned away from his make out session and I could feel myself pale. His expression changed instantly from annoyance to horror.

“Reader! What the fuck are you doing here?” Valentino hollered as he stood up, pushing aside the table and the surrounding girls. “All of you, out! NOW!.” 

He grabbed my arm and yanked me towards the back of the club. Lights flashed and a steady stream of people moved quickly, exiting the building faster than I had ever seen anyone move. Behind us, the room went dark. 

I heard the door slam and I could feel myself shaking as I watched my father pace the room, screaming into his phone at who I assumed was Uncle Vox. Finally, he turned to me.

“How are you here? Why are you here?” He snarled, fury in his eyes. “You’re supposed to be at home, doing homework or…or…”

I could feel the fury rise, “or what, Dad?” I stepped closer to him and balled my fists. “Is this why you couldn’t come to my game tonight? You were too busy making out…making out with…” I could feel the tears of anger and frustration start to well up in the corners of my eyes. He really didn’t give a shit about me. 

I watched his expression change from anger to something I couldn’t name. 

“That was tonight.” He said slowly. “Your game was tonight.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah, it was tonight! And you promised, you fucking promised me you would be there and you didn’t, Dad! And neither did Aunt Velvette or Uncle Vox, none of you could make time in your busy schedules. If I’m so much of a burden to you I’ll just, I’ll just leave!” Unable to hold back anymore, I dropped my duffle bag and burst into sobbing tears.

“That’s why you were here, you were running away,” he said as he walked towards me. “Ninita, I…”

“Your point is made, Dad!” I yelled through the tears. “I don’t fucking matter!”

He pulled me to him and I buried my face into the white fluff of his jacket as I choked on each sob that escaped.

“You do matter, you are my world bebita,” he said quietly as he held me. “I…I never meant, I never thought we…I…” He swallowed and tightened his grasp around me. “Let’s get you home.”

“Why? So you can say you’re sorry and then do this all over again next week?” I choked out as I pushed away from him. 

He looked pained. “No. So we can figure out how to make sure this never happens again.” He lifted up my duffle bag and put his arms around me, guiding me out the back door to an awaiting limo. 

Too upset to care, I let him. 

In the limo he kept his arm around me and I laid my head on his shoulder as I tried desperately to stop crying. Part of me wanted to keep screaming, to keep yelling, to demand to know why he chose to do what he did tonight. But the other part of me, the bigger part of me, basked in every drop of the attention he was giving me. 

“Shussh, cariño, you’re going to give yourself the hiccups,” he said gently as he rubbed my back. “Slow, deep breaths. Shush. Listen to Daddy, okay? We’ll fix this. This will never happen again.” 

His words sent me into another spiraling round of tears. He kept the steady pressure on my back as I cried into him. Exhaustion swept over me, and eventually I closed my eyes. My entire face felt puffy and swollen. After what felt like forever, the limo stopped. 

“Come on little girl, Daddy’s got you,” he muttered as he lifted me into his arms.

Too tired to care, I let him snuggle me to his chest and I buried my face against him, I felt him carry me inside, and listened to the sound of the elevator ping. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. And finally…seven. 

“Is she okay?” Vox’s voice was full of panic. 

“She isn’t hurt, is she?” Velvette’s voice, equally as frantic. 

My father ignored them both and instead, carefully set me down on the couch. 

“That’s a girl, keep breathing. Keep calm. Daddy’s here. Velvette, would you be a dear and get a warm washcloth? And Vox…if you would put the tracker back on her wrist.”

“I’m fine,” I said as I pushed myself up. “I’m…”

He pressed his lips to my forehead. “No. You’re not. And you shouldn’t be. We fucked up- I fucked up. Big time.” He turned and took the washcloth from Velvette’s hand and gently pressed it against my face. 

I closed my eyes and let him fuss over me as he dabbed at my cheeks. I felt Vox slip the tracker back on my wrist, his fingers pausing just at the pulse point. After a few minutes, he released me and I blinked my eyes open and sat up. 

“Daddy, I’m fine, I’m not hurt…”

“Not physically, but we did hurt you,” Vox said quietly. 

“We fucked up,” Velvette added as she sat down next to me. “We really fucked up.”

“We let work get in the way of our family,” Valentino said as he sat on the other side of me.

I could feel the anger start to rise as I remembered the scene I had walked in on. “Work? You call being out at a bar making out with someone work?”

Both Velvette and Vox looked at Valentino with a mix of horror and disgust. Vox sighed and gave them both a glare.  

“Only that part, Valentino. Got it?” Vox grumbled. “And only because she doesn’t need that image burned into her brain. The rest is on us.” He turned his head to me. “Reader…you saw what now?”

I felt my fathers fingers under my chin as he tilted my head towards Vox. My gaze met his and his eye began to swirl.

“That’s right. Good.” Vox continued, “Reader, keep looking at me. What did you see?” 

Instant calm washed over me and I leaned my head against my father’s shoulder. 

“I…I saw my Dad…”

“Yeah, you did see your Dad…you saw your Dad working in his office, right? At one of his clubs?” 

I swallowed as the calm sank deeper. My memory felt soft, almost fuzzy. An image of my Dad, wrapped up in his red jacket, sitting behind a desk. The feel of the bouncers hand, guiding me into his back office. His anger, and the beginning of our fight.

“Baby? What did you see?” Vox asked again.

I blinked, a sick feeling sinking over my stomach. “I…I ran away. I got pulled into a club, and the guy took me to my Dad’s office. He was at his desk and…and we fought…” 

“Ah, babygirl,” Valentino muttered as he put his arm around me. “We didn’t fight so much as you…put me in my place. I’m sorry, cariño.” He kissed my forehead. “I promise I personally will never miss one of your games again. I love you, reader. You are my world.” 

“Our world. And we never meant to make you feel like anything else,” Velvette added quietly.

“Next time we fuck up, come barging into our office and yell, okay?” Vox pleaded as he moved himself closer. “The streets of hell are dangerous. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

“Yell, scream, but please don’t run away again,” Valentino muttered. “It won’t happen again. We promise.” 

I buried my face in my fathers shoulder and took a deep breath as I nodded. The sense of calm that washed over me lingered as exhaustion washed over me. 

“Promise? Like really promise? I just want your…I want you,” I mumbled.

“You have us,” Valentino said soothingly. “Always.” He kissed my forehead. “Let’s get you to bed, we can talk in the morning about how we can make this up to you.”

“Play a practice round with me?” I asked as my father once again lifted me into his arms. “Go to the pool the three of us?”

“If that’s what you want, sure. We’ll do it tomorrow.” Valentino promised with a glance at the other two. 

“Tomorrow we are all yours,” Velvette added.

“Totally yours,” Vox chimed in. “Goodnight, reader.” 

I fell asleep the moment my father tucked me under the covers. Tomorrow, tomorrow we would have a family day.

[gaymurdersalad]

[ HOWDY Y’ALL! WE INTERRUPT THIS PROGRAM FOR A FUN BROADCAST!

If you haven’t noticed, it’s pride month! That means we’re legally allowed to be gay for an entire month before we have to disappear into our burrows once more! To celebrate the occasion, I decided to do a fun little pride post! ]

[ I’ve gathered all the little fuckers in The Void to poke and prod at them like zoo animals. In other words, I figure they all have some neat identities and wouldn’t mind being interrogated in honor of pride month. I’ll go ahead and turn it over to them, but I’ll say now, no matter how much they kick and scream, I am definitely NOT holding them at gunpoint! This workspace is… definitely OSHA approved. Don’t let them tell you otherwise. Have attem! ]

> This is fucking stupid. Stop waving that gun at me. I’m talking.

> My identity isn’t anything special. I’m just some guy who decided he was a guy way later than everyone else did. I don’t really give a damn what pronouns people use on me because usually they just end up avoiding me at all costs or scampering away like frightened animals.

> I’m bisexual, is that anything? But, like, only bisexual in a sexual way. I could not fucking fathom living a long prosperous life with anyone. How the hell are you supposed to enjoy someone for that long? Getting married seems like a scam. I bet it is. I bet it’s like the invention of Valentine’s Day for greeting card companies. You’re not actually supposed to be in love with someone for that long, it just doesn’t seem possible.

> … My marriage with Dave does not count, that wasn’t an officiated wedding. I’m fairly certain he fished those rings out of a water fountain and pawned his dress off a hooker. I do vividly recall dumpster diving for my tuxedo.

> Uhhhhhh wuh? Hmmmm, I’onno what the hell I am, Old Sport! Fuck!

> Shit, I guess I like everyone. A hole’s a hole. Why the fuck would I discriminate? I think I got a preference for men though! They’re so fuckin’ easy to romance! Unless they’re the likes of Sportsy, then it’s the hardest goddamn thing you’ll ever seduce. He gets real gay when he’s on acid, but then again, I get real gay on cocaine. Man, our wedding was immaculate. Imma tell our kids about it one day!

> Likewise, I’ll be any gender you fuckin’ want me to be. I got like, pocket gender, I can just whip it out on request. Want me to be a dude? Fuck yeah, alright. Want me to be a pretty lady? No goddamn problem at all! I can be both at the same time or one more than the other— who gives a shit? I’m just havin’ fun.

> Good fucking lord, really? That shotgun does not scare me, you orange fool—

> … I have a complicated identity. As any other living organism does.

> I have found that over the years I do not experience sexual attraction and that I experience little to no romantic attraction. I only recall feeling romantically attracted to one person in my entire life. I doubt it will happen again. > And it may seem, uhm... Embarrassing, but I do deviate from your traditional "man's man". In laymen's terms, I do not feel particularly drawn to being male. I am very certain I was born with the intention of being a man, but my mind has refused to accept it. I am not sure why. Instead of feeling like a proper bloke, I feel rather empty. If I could have it my way, I would be some... human silhouette rather than a full fledged man. I do not know. This is idiotic. > I cringe every time someone addresses me in a masculine way. I wish I could simply have no pronouns. I can deal with them because I am indeed a grown ass... person, but I just wish it were not so. Whatever. I am done complaining.

> Oh! That’s very simple, this is really easy.

> I literally don’t have anything going for me at all.

> What with the entire fabric of time being on my shoulders and all, I don’t even think about gender or romance much. I do love being a girl! It’s one of the things I miss most about being alive, actually. Pretty dresses, playing with makeup in the bathroom, trying to curl my hair without burning my scalp— I mean, it sounds horrendous sometimes, but you can’t beat it. Feeling alive and content in your own skin. Just one of those precious things that spawned from the chance of life.

> … Uhm, Uhhh… Men.

> Yeah. I Like Them. I Think… Yes, I Could Probably Date A Man Or Two. I Don’t Know, Employee, Why Did You Pull Me Out Here? You Know I Have Copious Paperwork To Do! Some @$!# $#*@ Kid Just Fell Into The Ball Pit And Got Mauled Jaws-Style And His Parents Are Really Grilling Us For It. Dumb&@#*s, It’s Not My Fault Their Kid Heeded The Call Of The Sirens. I Swear, This Job Is Going To Kill Me Or Force My Hand Into Becoming The Next Purple Guy—

> extremely in love with my wife and my gender!

> it was actually very cute how we met, employee. have i ever told you? heh heh, we met in highschool. she was on the football team and i was a cheerleader, can you believe that? oh, i was head over heels for her instantly. she was strong, she was quick thinking, she was so hecking beautiful, employee… i never got to tell her how i felt while we were in highschool, but we were good friends. very good friends. come a few years later, some old buddies of ours want to have a get together and dish it out like old times… go vandalize and drive off into the sunset in the back of a pickup truck sipping on horrendously cheap beer and laughing off our university work or our jobs. when i get to our spot, though, i see her. i’d recently wised up to my gender, y’know, had my hair cut and fresh scars on my chest, so suffice to say i looked nothing like i did when i cheered for her during football season. she’d done the same, employee— she grew out her hair to the middle of her back in such beautiful dark curls, her bangs tied back so every inch of her perfect face could glimmer underneath the neon lights of the derelict bowling alley we’d found ourselves in. she looked at me, and i sensed instant recognition. she smiled through her bright red lipgloss and rushed up to me, wrapping me up in a hug, and i swear, she hadn’t lost any of those muscles— almost broke my ribs!

> the rest of the night, we were so… comfortable together. sure, during highschool we were close, but without saying a single word about what happened to us between then and now, we understood, and employee— i think it brought us closer. it was around three in the morning while we sat around a bonfire with the rest of our buddies when she layed her head on my shoulder and i felt an unfathomable warmth. i knew i wanted her for the rest of my life.

> … i just love her so much, employee.

> oh ok

> its rlly whatever. any pronouns any gender anybody who wants me. who cares

> oh i do have a preference for girls. theyre pretty. if you disagree u are not blessed enough to be loved by gods best creation and ur pissed about it. i can tell

> what if i was actually catholic would that be fucked up or what

> …

> … I cannot… physically stress how abhorrent sexuality is to me. What… What an utterly damning notion. Someone’s greedy hands cursing you and plaguing your with their own dirty human desires. How disrespectful. How… invasive. Why on Earth would it be my responsibility to supply someone with something to love? Am I really subject to whatever the hell people think of me? Whether they “love” me or perceive me as some… some man, some object of attraction? Disgusting.

> If I could shed every trace of a sex or gender from my loathed corpse, I would. Often times I lay awake at night and consider skinning myself for the hell of it. I’ve related this to David and he said I sounded “fuckin’ insane”. Stupid bastard. I want to be a skeleton. I wanna be a fucking skeleton! Pretty and thin and not alive whatsoever! God damn this accursed body and its… rancid flesh and unidentifiable mystery goop. Ugh. Ugh!!!! God, the biggest blight on my “life” was being cursed with gender!

> I was born as a female which was just laughably wrong, then I recall amending that and trying to become a man, but none of it worked. All of it sucked. All of it was wretched. The ideal form is a ghost or ghoul or skeletal figure. You can’t romance a ghost or ghoul or skeletal figure. Can’t have sex with that. Unless you’re really, really determined. I don’t think even David could be that serious about his sexuality.

> … I… Hope. Oh dear. Oh god, I really am unsafe from the horrors of this world. God, I wish that bear had taken me out before I showed him to his grave.

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

NSFW Couple Alphabet/Headcanons

Again, this is self-indulgent and about my OC Riot with Ghost, so if it's not your thing, please ignore.

Disclaimer: This is my personal take on Simon Riley, how I write him in my fanfic, I repeat, PERSONAL, so again, if you don't agree, I don't care, thank you.

Also, themes like torture, SA, filth, smut, FILTH are going to be touched, so don't come crying later

Banners made by @nrdmssgs because they are a fucking legend

Dedicated to my lovely anon, and also to my lovely mutuals, some of them were asking for this

Once they start having sex it will be after being very comfortable with each other. They will even have slept together before being 'together' or having sex. Sometimes, even touching. So, by the time they have sex they are mostly comfortable and will cuddle.

She is lazier, and most of the time won't be able to stand after having sex (because they rarely go just one round), so if Simon can avoid her clinging to him, he'll try to go to the bathroom and bring a warm towel to clean her up. If not, he'll plainly carry her to the bathroom to run a bath or shower together.

After that, they cuddle. Simon is a human furnace and she's always cold, so it's a match made in Heaven (except when she touches him with her cold ass feet and he cringes). They rarely spoon at first, and if she happens to fall asleep while spooning, Simon tries to move around so they're facing each other in case she wakes up. It's the other way round too, in the rare moments that she spoons him (he secretely loves it once he gets used to it), and he falls asleep, she moves too.

Christine's favourite part of herself would be her boobs, but also her hips (and her thighs and arms because she works hard to keep in shape in spite of having PCOS). Sometimes she thinks her boobs are too big.

Simon's favourite part of himself would be his arms and torso. He sees his body as another tool, and tries to keep in shape, but doesn't go nuts about it. He has a healthy layer of fat everywhere, he isn't dehydrated or chiseled, but his muscles are steel.

Christine's favourite part about Simon, apart from his eyes (yes, she's that cheesy), would be his shoulders and back. And thighs. And she's quite partial to his jaw and even his broken nose, she adores kissing every inch of his face and every single one of his scars, both in face and body. And his chest. And his hands, she likes how they feel on her skin, and his strength. And she loves that he's that big (size kink) and burly.

Simon's favourite part about Christine... If asked, he'd say her eyes. After all, they were what drew him to her in first place, and everytime she looks at him he still feels that chill down his spine. And her face (especially her lips, even with her scar, he doesn't mind), he finds her breathtakingly beautiful (of course she won't believe him). But, Simon is a man, and not a complicated one, so... boobs. Her boobs and thighs and the curve of her hips and ass are what gets him going. Also, he loves that she is soft all over but when he digs his fingers in, there's hard muscle beneath. And the size difference.

Inside. Simon has a thing for fucking her thighs though, but he rarely finishes that way because being inside her is so much better. Christine prefers him to finish inside anyway (she has a IUD and also takes the pill). They use condoms too, but given they're exclusive they rarely bother.

It takes a lot of time and talk for Simon to consent in allowing her to try to go down on him (he's terrified of hurting her because of his size and her scar) but she's stubborn, and wants more than anything to make him feel good. And once she gets her way, she wants it in her mouth, and his soul leaves his body everytime.

Sometimes though, she'll ride him, just rubbing against him, with clothes on, just underwear or naked. Simon goes feral if she does that, even helping her by grabbing her hips, hard enough to leave bruises. Watching her get off using him makes him hard as a rock, and it would be more than once that he has come like that, all over his stomach and chest, usually seeing her reach her orgasm just makes him lose it. He rarely goes soft after that though, and is able to keep going right away, so he either helps her keep riding him, now deeply buried into her, or rolls them over so he is on top and absolutely ruins her.

And if we're speaking about her cum... Simon wants it. He wants her to cum around his cock when he's balls deep inside her, wants her to cum on his fingers when he's fingering her, and most of all wants it in his mouth when he's fucking her with his tongue. No order of preference.

They appear to be very vanilla, and at first they are, until they're completely comfortable with each other. Then they are two little kinky bastards.

They mark each other. Simon often leaves bruises on her thighs, ass or hips by gripping too hard. At first he was mortified and worried, but seeing her flaunt them, all proud (of course in private, with him) made him feel... proud. Possessive. He also tends to bite her thighs when he goes down on her, and soon discovered that she liked it a bit too much. He gets off a little too much of considering her to be his.

Christine also bites him, and he found out he felt fucking good the day after while shaving, and saw a big bite mark on his shoulder. They don't bite to hurt and never to break the skin, just to mark each other, and always on places hidden by clothes. Just knowing that the other knows is enough.

Related to this is Simon's fixation on her lipstick. He loves when she wears red lipstick (and red nails. And lingerie) and it's not unheard that she has to apply it more than once because he tends to kiss her until it rubs off (Christine could just buy one of those that doesn't wear off but where's the fun in that?). If she has more than one shade? Well lovie, you have to try them on, one by one, and I'll decide later which one tastes better. Once he's comfortable with her going down on him, one thing that makes Simon go nuts is if she wears lipstick and leaves red kiss marks all over him. Just going about their day, knowing that she has marked him as hers underneath his clothes, gets him hard like you wouldn't believe.

They're not big on PDA nor are fans of being almost caught, but with time, they start stealing touches in public. A hand between the other's thighs beneath a table (there's a reason Christine starts wearing short dresses again, after they start non-dating). Cupping her tits from behind and whispering in her ear how much he wants to fuck her when they're at the back of a crowd and nobody's watching. Stuck in a lift with more people, and her rubbing her ass against him.

Good thing his balaclava and her mask mostly hide their blush.

Christine is bi (with preference for amab) and demisexual (needs to feel a connection to feel sexual attraction), so one night stands are out of the question for her. She has little experience in relationships but knows what she's doing, sexually speaking. She's always been sex-positive, watched/watches porn, and has a vivid imagination.

But since what happened in Transnistria (September 2022) she hasn't had sex nor any kind of romantic or sexual contact with anybody.

Simon, as per my hc, is bi (with preference for afab but has experimented with both, consensually). I use the comics background, a bit adapted, so I think that before Roba he had his one night stands, brief relationships (per his words, he did his 'studding' in his late teens-early twenties), but being in the military I don't think he had any long term one. When he briefly left to help his brother, I think he was more worried about keeping his family afloat. And after Roba and his abuse, I think it took a lot of time to be comfortable with allowing someone else to touch him. And even then, it had to be on his terms, lights off, most clothes on. I think he would have tried a couple one night stands but none worked out and he felt... empty. So it would have been a long time since the last time he had proper sex.

But apart from that, he knows what he's doing, and if comfortable, has a great imagination.

Missionary - that's their default one. Intimate, soft, loving. Simon loves pinning Christine down with his body, feeling her legs wrapped around his waist or hips, his hand craddling her head and another hand holding hers, with their fingers laced. Foreheads touching, soft kisses, slow, deep thrusts. That is, until the pace starts to quicken, then he usually grabs her hips to lift them up (if he hadn't placed a pillow under them beforehand), his upper body still pinning her down, either still kissing or his face buried in the crook of her neck. If he gets too worked up, her legs end up over his shoulders, or he directly folds her in a mating press, but he doesn't usually do that just in case (he doesn't want her to feel trapped and trigger her PTSD)

Cowgirl - a close second, choosing one or another just depends on their mood or who's dom in that moment (but usually, instead of sitting up, she is lying on him, or he is propped up against some pillows or the headboard, just to be able to kiss and hold each other). But he can also rut into her if she's topping, which he will once he loses control. But while he has it, he allows her to ride him, enjoying the view greatly and taking the chance to play with her tits (he's quite obsessed with them tbh). Another cowgirl variant is him sitting with her on his lap. She rarely reaches the floor (he's too tall) so gravity does its work, and he can manhandle her as he pleases.

Simon used to like doggystyle because it was more impersonal, he could focus on getting off and nothing else, either kneeling on the bed or with him standing next to the bed, but never on the floor, he thinks it's demeaning (doesn't mean they won't do it if rushed though). Now he found out that he needs to feel her close, in any position, he needs to feel her skin, to be able to bury his face in her neck, to see her face, to kiss her... and she can't have sex at first if they are not touching or holding each other.

He won't demand doggy or any other position though, because at first she has problems being taken from behind. Not for the sex itself, but because she needs to see it's him at all times to not freak out. If he's laying on her, his chest to her back, she can deal with it better, because feeling his weight and his warmth and being able to take his arm and see his tattoo sleeve works wonders. Still, for her it's difficult, mentally (It's a very early wip but I have a smut oneshot where he tears off the bathroom mirror to bring it into the bedroom so they can use it), because physically, she used to like it, and once they are able to do it, she'll love it and even ask for it.

Once she starts being more comfortable with being taken from behind, spooning will be another favourite, especially as lazy sex in the early morning. They'll also discover reverse cowgirl that way.

Now, this doesn't mean they don't try other things... these are mostly the 'planned' ones. Because if they're not in a bedroom, or weren't able to reach the bed, more often than not Simon will be kneeling on the floor after laying her on the bed (or not, lmao), or standing while she's on a desk or table. Sometimes, even on the bed he'll be kneeling, holding her upright with her legs wrapped around his waist. Speaking of which, standing sex, against a wall, is quite frequent, but right before changing to another position. He's strong, but his back would protest afterwards.

At first, together, they're more awkward than anything. Simon is worried that the many marks on his body will be a turn off for her, Christine is terrified of him noticing the marks on her body from her abuse and will be just as put off. Their first time was the most vanilla, awkwardly sweet, most clothes on sex you can imagine.

But after the initial fears are beaten, they can be (and are) quite stupid together. From telling one of their god awful jokes in the worst moment possible to throw the other off and make it last more while they giggle like two idiots, to Simon tickling Christine to the point of tears (she's very ticklish, something that usually only Soap uses against her) if she's trapped under him or even when she's riding him cowgirl.

Christine also has kind of an obsession with his ass. She finds it difficult to resist pinching him sometimes or fondling it (or plainly biting...), but at first she restrains herself until he is comfortable with it (his own abuse). In all honesty, he does the same to her, groping her ass or tits all the time.

Sometimes during briefings (only the core members present), Christine would gasp and start swatting Simon's arm and shoulder, swearing at him while Simon kept his stoic demeanor, much to Price and Mylène's bewilderment. Kyle and Johnny at first were just as baffled, but by the third time it happened they caught on: Simon would sneakily pinch her hip or tickle her out of the blue, making her jump, and he was fucking grinning while she swatted at him. Johnny once had the bright idea of sitting behind them and pinch her himself. Simon suffered the swatting, but then got his revenge on Johnny.

Also, God forbid if during sex there was any kind of fart sound, real or pretended (let's be real, friction does that), or the bed creaks. They would end up laughing like idiots, still kissing and trying to keep going, but sometimes they'd need to make a pause.

Christine shaves everything, usually using in shower hair removal cream. Mostly because the tact of hair on herself is not pleasant (texture issues) but also because she has scar tissue in certain intimate parts (more in the X-Ray section) and she feels better without it. And in any case, it's very fair hair.

Simon is not exactly hairy like for example Price and Nikolai are, but he does have quite a bit of hair, mostly on his pecs and especially between them, then a line down his stomach and happy trail going down his groin. He doesn't exactly care much, but keeps it groomed for sanitary reasons (if going commando most of the time I don't think having a jungle down there will help much with sweat, ingrown hairs, etc). A bit darker than his head hair (which is either dirty blonde or light brown depending on the light)

Rotten sweet. Seriously, it's disgusting. (/s)

They aren't sure (neither am I lmao) who fell first, but what they know is that they fell fucking hard. Simon is more closed off, but Christine openly admits that she has never felt anything close to what she feels for him. He won't say it, but he feels the same.

Maybe it's because they have gone through similar things, and thus understand each other without needing to put words to it. They just know.

So they second they are alone, they are all over each other. If in Ghost's office, they'll try to keep their composure (although cockwarming while doing paperwork is not unheard of, just risky. Door is always locked though)

If they are alone, behind closed doors, in any of their rooms or at a rented apartment, they can't get their hands off of each other. Touching, kissing, laughing, cuddling, foreheads touching.

Riot has (had) a high sex drive, often masturbating once a day, usually in the shower. She isn't against watching porn for 'inspiration' either, but since Transnistria, her sex drive was quite low. A certain Lieutenant awakened it, so since they started sharing that last cigarette at night, she tried masturbating again.

At first she could never finish, with flashbacks or bad memories, and some days are worse than others, but she's slowly getting there. Having Simon's (stolen) t-shirt helps a lot because she can smell him, but the smell has worn off a lot, sadly.

Ghost has a high sex drive too, but he approaches it in a more clinical sense. He has a morning wood? Rub one out in the shower, get about his day. He is angry and needs to relax? Rub one out. Impersonal, clinical, a means to an end. Watches porn too, but most of the time it doesn't cut it either.

The first time he felt desire again, in a long time, was the day Riot beat Grizzly during a training session for being stupid and insubordinate. He got so painfully hard by seeing it that he had to excuse himself and go to the nearest toilet.

Size difference - Both are extremely turned on by it tbh. Christine loves that he's so tall and big. Simon loves that she is a fiery little thing (not so little, but to him, she's perfect) that has him wrapped around her little finger, but that mewls in ecstasy when he manhandles her.

Voice kink - Simon's voice does things to Christine. Thankfully he doesn't use it to his advantage out of the bedroom, but he knows how much his voice turns her on when he's whispering filth or sweet nothings in her ear or in her hair.

Praise - for both of them. ''You take me so well'', ''You make me feel so good'', ''My beautiful girl, taking me so well'', ''You're so big...'', etc etc and sometimes even more filthy *fans herself*

Cockwarming

Breeding/creampies - both of them, feral for it. Given their stamina they rarely go only once, so...

Overstimulation and edging - both like it, but only together. Before, both felt it was giving too much control. They trust each other, so they're fine exploring their limits, as long as it's together

Marking - I touched this before, but hickeys, soft bite marks, lipstick marks in his case, bruises from his grip on her thighs, hips and ass...

Grinding - I also talked about this

Mutual masturbation - Both are incredibly turned on by seein the other touching themselves, but it rarely lasts long until they get their hands on each other.

Nicknames - Simon calls her love, lovie, doll, pet (only in private and in a sexual setting, never in public), beautiful... princess is just a joke, but sometimes it hits right. Christine calls him cariño (love, darling, sweetheart), mi vida (my life), honey, love... 'her' throne is just a joke, as is princess, it'll make sense in a later chapter.

(Extremely light and vanilla) bondage - the most they'd do at first is a silk tie, tied loosely enough that it'd be extremely easy to get rid of it. Also, games like telling the other to keep their hands on the bed'd headboard. Or him pining her hands or wrists to the mattress, always ending in their fingers laced together.

Somnophilia/sleepy sex/free use - when she gets better about her issues, this one will be the norm. Whoever wakes up first can start touching and kissing the other. There's nothing she likes more than waking up with him between her legs (either his mouth or his cock, lol). And for him, waking up feeling her mouth around him has him cum embarrasingly fast, but be ready for the second round almost right away.

Ideally, in private and behind a locked door. Given their size difference, somewhere with a bed or any piece of furniture it's a must. Simon thinks fucking on the floor is demeaning to Christine (she doesn't give a fuck, she just wants to feel him) and although he can lift her up easily, fucking while standing is not exactly comfortable unless it's quick and rough and they're too pent up.

So their choices while at base are, his room (preferred, for the bed size and being more secluded), her room, his office (she shares hers with Gaz and Soap), the backseat of his jeep (driven somewhere out of base... well, yes, they have fucked in the base's garage. Inside the jeep).

If they are able to score a couple of free days (using the accumulated leave days that they rarely use, Ghost has like, a shit ton and Price is tired of trying to force him take them), they usually rent an AirBnB/apartment or a hotel room, but apartment is preferred. And in rare moments, a cabin (even more secluded). Always within one or two hours by car from base, after all, they're responsible.

Simon is a simple man. He only needs to see the shape of her tits under her t-shirt, feel the curve of her hip and ass under his hand and he's got a boner. Seeing her angry (not at him, please) gets him going too. Seeing her in action (using her knives, fighting someone in training lessons) too.

But when she looks up at him with those eyes of hers, with that something behind those blue-gray irises that he'll be damned if he knows, but scares and lures him all the same, he's a goner.

Christine is equally as simple. His voice, his eyes, and seeing do whatever. She is mesmerized by the way he moves, in spite of being so big, silent and purposeful. The way he can manhandle her easily but is so gentle with her. The way he looks at her.

Anal - Her only experience with it was non consensual (Transnistria), but she'd be open to make new, better, sweeter experiences with Simon, although it scares her. But he's too worried about being too big and hurt her and trigger her by it. So the only anal play is with fingers or toys. He had better experiences with it, before Roba, but needs time and patience to even try it again. But he's not opposed to be toyed with while receiving head, or even trying a toy while they're fucking, on her or on him.

Pain - Be it severed bdsm, choking, heavy spanking, slapping, whatever, it's an absolute no. Both of them had gone through enough pain to sometimes not be able to separate it mentally and make it enjoyable. A light swat on her ass? Yeah, that happens often and she enjoys it greatly. A pinch here and there, just to rile the other up? Her nails scratching his back in the middle of a good thrust? Yup. But they'd never hurt each other. Both would be devastated, and it's one of Simon's worst nightmares, hurting her unknowingly and her not saying anything to not making him worry or spiral about it.

Threesomes, foursomes, anything with other people - They don't share. Period. In a very early idea of the fic it was going to be GhostxSoapxRiot but I discharged it almost right away. To be comfortable with a third person it'd have to be someone they both trusted, and trusted wouldn't come in between them (Soap, most likely), and absolutely not a female. Because Riot is WAY MORE jealous than Ghost, in an explosive way. He just glares at the offending individual, she glowers.

Lucky or unluckily, both prefer giving rather than receiving... Christine tried to compromise with 69, Simon was having none of it (although they do it, sometimes). He likes having her spread on the bed or his desk, and then feast on her until she's a sobbing mess and gripping his hair, getting drunk on her whines and sighs. She is always worried about being too loud, and at first tried to cover her mouth, but again, he was having none of it. Oral sex and fingering her is his preferred way of prepping her for him (he's deadly aware of how big he is, and the last thing he wants is for her to feel pain or discomfort and be triggered by it). He doesn't care how long it takes or if he even gets anything in return, feeling her boneless beneath him is enough.

The other way round is trickier. Simon is deeply worried about his size hurting her, especially because of her scar. It'd take a lot of convincing on her part, and a particularly bad day where he was angry after some meeting and angsty, to concede in her trying. Then he was ruined, completely ruined, and also discovered that he can become a babbling fucked out mess too. He loves it if she keeps going after he cums, and she better be quick because if he is able to think straight, he'll drag her upwards to his lap to fuck her senseless right away after coming.

Slow and sensual if possible, slow and rough a close second. Frantic and rough is reserved for quickies, or for the first orgasm and then continue playing if they're too worked up.

Both of them prefer taking their time with the other, but they not always have the time to do so. In Simon's opinion, if the choice is between waiting to fuck, or have a frantic quickie in some locker room, the choice is the frantic quickie. Christine at first was to embarrassed of being heard, but her need for him is too great. The solution is quick and rough, kissing desperately, or with his hand covering her mouth, and him grunting in her ear.

Christine is up for experimenting whatever he wants because she trusts him and knows he'd never hurt her knowingly, but Simon is more reluctant, both for her and his sake, not because he doesn't trust her.

He knows that he sometimes doesn't react in the best way, and that she can get triggered easily about sexual things, so before they are up for trying things it'll be a long time.

But they are mature enough to share a list of their kinks (seriously, sitting down with a drink and everything to discuss it) to see in which they agree, and in which they'd be up to try (that's how they find out about new ones) and which ones are a hard no.

Just like in the battlefield, he is bigger, stronger and resilient, while she is smaller and faster (and in some ways, tougher). Both have great amounts of stamina (and crave each other after being touch starved for so long) so it's rare the time that they are together and have time and only make love once.

They like to play who can tire the other out first, but always within their limits. The second Christine is too sore, even if she wants to continue, Simon will refuse and instead they'll cuddle.

She used to have toys and use them, in that aspect she has no shame. If they make her feel good why not? After Transnistria she lost almost everything she owned that wasn't in a self storage unit in Cambridge (Captain Rico sold or auctioned Phoenix Squad's things). BTW she wants to move them to the one in Birmingham but hasn't had the time or the means yet. In the present she owns a small vibrator, but only for external stimulation.

He was never one to use toys but he's not against using them on her. In time, on him too, together, and will buy new ones.

She's fairly a straight-to-the-point person, so she doesn't like teasing much or being teased. Flirting, yeah, lingering touches or looks, yes, but not mean remarks, she prefers praise.

She'd die of embarrassment, but she would send Simon a dirty text or photo here and there, but never if he's in a meeting or deployed, she thinks that's mean. Only when he's around so he can find her as fast as he can to show his appreciation.

Then he fucker starts to do that too, but she's faster at tracking him down.

Christine would die before being heard during sex, or masturbating. She used music to drown out the possible sounds, both hers or if she used toys or was with someone. Simon prefers to just hear her, and the sound of their bodies slapping together, but concedes on the music sometimes, he can't deny it sometimes gets him in the mood too.

He also learned why Take My Breath Away is one of her favourites, and why Soap said she used to put in on repeat a lot (lol)

But they soon discover (to her dismay and his amusement) that she can be quite vocal, and Simon lives for it and tries to get more sounds out of her. Until she forgets her bashfulness. He loves hearing her whimper, and beg for more, and forget how to speak in English and revert to her native Castilian when it's so good that her brain doesn't work anymore.

On the other hand, he was never vocal, more focused on hearing his partner because it was what got him going. Grunts in her ear, heavy breathing, some cursing. But soon he starts to notice how Christine reacts to his voice in bed, to each of his grunts that make her clench tightly around him, a growled good girl in her ear, and the occasional moan he couldn't muffle in time. So he starts letting go a bit, enjoying greatly how she reacts to his pleasure, and he is both amazed and more in love with her for it (the fool doesn't realize that it works both ways)

But it's not until the first time that she is on top that he becomes a right mess (and even worse the day she finally succeeds in getting him to agree on oral, him receiving), cursing up a storm and praising her, and even begging sometimes

Soft!Simon is the best, I don't make the rules

Christine cries after sex, especially if it's been emotional and loving, after her second or third orgasm and overestimulated, she can't help it. She can tear up if they're rougher because it's so good, but if it's slow, sweet, loving and emotional? She cries. She tries to hide it, because the first time Simon almost freaked out thinking he had hurt her or she was having flashbacks, but by now he's used to it and just craddles her. He'd never admit it, but sometimes, he feels the sting of tears too after they are done, still holding each other tightly, and he feels her sobbing into his neck.

Simon likes when she's being the dominant one. He likes seeing her confident and sexy even if she doesn't think she is, for him it's so hot. He likes it if she rides him and 'uses' him for her pleasure. He also goes nuts for her praise, for her sounds and how she tries to muffle them by kissing him, how she clings to him and how it makes him feel. Possessive, protective, a provider. Primal as shit, but he can't help it. That she is tough and can absolutely beat the shit out of anyone makes him hard too. He likes seeing her train the privates, or argue with someone, and if someone ends up punched? He either has to rub one out by himself or makes an excuse to get her alone.

Christine has a fit body due to the hard training discipline she imposes herself to try and keep her PCOS at bay, but absolutely hates every part of it: watching what she eats, having to work out as an obligation instead of doing it because she likes it. Most of her fat is carried on her ass, thighs and hips, and tries very hard to keep the fat layer on her belly on acceptable levels. She also has fairly big boobs that she controls by wearing sport bras most of the time. In contrast, her arms are quite strong (she prefers weightlifting to other types of exercise. For example, she absolutely hates running)

Apart from the prominent scar on the left side of her face, she has her fairly share of marks. Some on the right side of her abdomen, from a bullet and then surgery because her appendix exploded. A long gash on her right thigh. Another long cut on the back of her left shoulder (from the op with Nikolai, in the near future). On her left hand (a knife through it). A scar right next to her left nipple, usually hidden by her clothes, another on her labia (yes, you read right), and several, thin ones on her inner thighs, all of these from THE THING (i love you my lovely anon)

Simon is... big. In all senses. But we all know that. My particular headcanon is that Roba didn't really touch his face while having him tortured (if you want to send him back as a sleeper agent how do you justify that), the scars on his face are either from his child and teen years (I give him a scar on his left brow that I hc is from his father) or from later ops when he was still a rabid animal without caring for himself and Price was desperately trying to get him in check.

I don't think he's ripped either, I hc him with a healthy layer of fat making him look broad and massive. Big pecs, broad shoulders, strong arms, nice ass, strong thighs, and strong abs but not extremely defined.

Now, under the clothes... Again, he is big. Uncut, 19 or 20 cm, and girthy. Well above average, and heavy, so much that even when hard, it hangs low.

Once they are comfortable together and take the plunge? Out of the charts. Both being touch deprived means that they try to be together as much as possible. Obviously they can't be touching each other in public as they'd really want, so it's mostly stolen touches here and there: a brush of one hand against their thigh, linking pinkies below tables, holding hands for a second when nobody is watching, leaning against each other.

Of course being at base is quite difficult to spend the night together, but given that they already had insomnia most of the time, they become quite adept to sneak into one or the other's room. They tend to go to Simon's, because it's the one further from everyone else, and his bed is a bit bigger due to his size and thanks to Price.

It really depends. If they only went one round it's either because they were tired, or worried about something, or just were cuddling without sex. Most of the time they talk while cuddling, of anything and everything. She falls asleep if he starts running his fingers through her hair, so she tries to do it to him first, because then he's out like a light. But, they have to be touching, in any way.

If they are sleeping with others, during a mission or something, they cuddle, especially if they are with just the core team. If they are with others, Simon keeps her against the wall and covers her with his body. They might not cuddle, but they sure are touching.

If they are sleeping alone, they sleep holding each other, either spooning when she can, or facing each other. Sometimes he drags her over his body so she's kind of a weighted blanket over him, and then he sleeps like a baby for once. If one or the other shifts away, or tries to get up to go to the bathroom or anything, the other wakes up almost instantly, and they have to rush to get up before they find the other dragging them back to bed.

They are so cute it's disgusting.

[wonbin-truther]

･:*:｡･:*:･ﾟ ready player two ･:*:｡･:*:･ﾟ ╰┈➤ level 2! shes real (312w)

the studio was huge, one of the largest sohee had ever been invited to for a shoot. although, he hadnt been to many. there were many people standing around and none of their faces were familiar until his gaze fell upon one. he felt himself freeze where he was standing as he watched as you covered your mouth with your hand as fits of giggles escaped your lips at whatever the person in front of you was saying.

"sohee?" he heard a voice behind him call out. he turned around to meet eyes with a short girl wirh dyed blonde hair. she had on a simple back shirt and black jeans with some vans. she gave him a small smile as she spoke, "my name is mimi and i'm gonna be your manager." "nice to meet you," sohee gave her a smile back. "follow me so i can show you to hair and makeup"

sohee sat in the swivel chair as a taller brunette woman worked on his hair behind him. he was looking down at his voice until he heard a noticeable voice. "are you who im working with?" he looked up to find you standing in front of him leaning against the desk. your makeup was already done. pink glitter sat on your eyelids with little rhinestones at the two corners of your eyes and underneath your bottom lashes. your lips had a small, natural, pout to them with shimmery gloss painted on. sohee couldn't get the words out as he just stared at you.

you tilted your head, eyebrow raising. "hello?" your voice was a little harsher than you wanted it to be but still held the same soft tone sohee had heard in your videos. "um hi," sohee's voice audibly cracked, making him cringe. you laughed, covering your mouth as you did so, "i'll see you out there."

... previous • menu • next level ...

synopsis! sohee was a well known streamer, having grown his fanbase over covid with the game minecraft and slowly branched into other games along with sponsorships and modeling offers. he was also well known for being your number one twitter fanboy, never missing one of your posts even if fashion wasn't his greatest interest. what happens when a modeling gig brings him face to face with you?

players (open)! @ihrtantn @secretiny @nujeskz @seunitas @be0mlvr @100203shong @llearlert @astro-doll-the-star @saranghoeforanton @lakoya @yang2k @seunghancore @sseastar-main @brachioswrld @niinaspeaks @renjuneoo @kaelysian @mystarsohee

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Prompt: Stede wants to have sex, Ed is feeling two dysphoric to have sex. They come to a compromise: they get out the strapless strap on and Stede fucks his ass while Ed is wearing the strapless strap and Stede jerks it off and calls him a good boy (if you've never worn a strapless strap it's got a part that goes in your hole, thats how it stays attached in theory (in practice it usually slips out unless you lay on your back and jerk off) and a textured bit that presses up against your clit so you can feel when the penis attachement is being moved around)

Been saving this for sexual sunday. Absolutely delighted by everything about it, when you sent it in I literally gasped aloud because I couldn't believe I've never written anything with a strapless strap before. It has truly been living rent free in my head and Jamie I cannot thank you enough for this prompt.

--

Stede finally looked up from his book again around Ed's sixth extremely melodramatic sigh.

"Ed," he said, reaching over to put a comforting hand on Ed's thigh, "it's really not a big deal."

"But you said," Ed whined. "You said you wanted to have sex."

"And you're not up for it," Stede shrugged. "It's not a big deal."

It was pretty unusual, for their moods to not match up when it came to sex, and that made it feel even worse. Of course, there were the occasional nights where one of them was too tired or just not in the mood, but usually they were synched up like clockwork. Ed had always joked to himself that he was a bit of a slut, but Stede could get him going at a moment's notice.

The worst part was that Ed was horny. They'd just gotten back home from the farmer's market, where Stede had whispered in his ear across the picnic table where they ate lunch about what he'd do to him when he got home, and they barely made it inside the door before Stede had him pinned back against the wall, his kisses and touches desperate and hungry.

Usually, Ed's bottom dysphoria was very manageable. Especially considering how much his cock had grown since he'd started on T decades ago, he could usually deal with it okay. Having a self-lubricating hole was convenient if nothing else, and when they played around with Stede lightly making fun of him for having a little dick, Ed had a lot of fun. He had a pretty good relationship with his body nowadays, especially since Stede so vocally loved every part of him.

But today...yeah, it was rough today. The feeling of how wet he was made him cringe when Stede slid a finger along his hole, and he kept thinking about how much he wished he could look down and see a proper boner between his legs. The way he kind of had to spread himself open with his fingers to watch his little cock perk up felt annoying instead of arousing, and he was embarrassed of his body in a way he almost never was with Stede.

So they'd stopped. Stede had tucked himself away, and he'd already lost his boner just from seeing how upset Ed had gotten, so Ed felt out of place even offering a blowjob or something. Every way he could think of to have sex today felt, in one way or another, uncomfortable.

Ed heaved another great pitiful sigh.

"Alright," Stede said, then, and Ed's heart fluttered in his chest because Stede had his favorite smile, now, the one that was sharp and toothy. Stede smiled like that when he had an idea so crazy there was no way it wouldn't work. "Think I might have an idea."

What Ed needed, they decided, was some gender-affirming sex.

They almost never used the strapless strap. They'd bought it a while back, when they'd been experimenting with Stede domming Ed while bottoming, and it honestly had never seen much use even though they'd put so much time into finding one that matched Ed's skin tone very closely and they both loved the look of. Stede just wasn't a very big fan of being penetrated, and a strapless strap was exciting in its novelty but in practice it was really hard to use it without it slipping out.

Now, though, as they eased the strap in and Ed looked down to see a dick between his legs, curving up towards his belly? It felt like a relief.

"There we go," Stede said, settling between Ed's legs, hand laying protectively over Ed's hipbone. "You're so hard for me, aren't you, Ed?"

"Mm, yeah - oh, fuck," Ed whimpered, the noise turning into a bitten-off moan as Stede stroked the strap. The movement pressed the grinding attachment against Ed's hard clit, and he bucked his hips up into the feeling.

Ed loved grinders. He firmly believed that he was put on this earth to hump things. But, now, he looked down at Stede stroking his cock, and he felt pleasure from it, andhe just let his body melt into the sheets so he could take it like a -

"Good boy," Stede praised, taking his hand off the strap so he could slick up his own cock. "Ready?"

"Please," Ed begged, his voice turning needy and shameless. "Please, please, please. Need it."

"Alright, good boy." Stede bent forward, kissing down Ed's tummy to his pubic bone, looking up at Ed with a wink as he planted a kiss right on the head of the dildo.

Ed's fingers clenched in the sheets as Stede pressed the head of his dick to his hole.

"Yes," he sighed, his body shaking with relief and pleasure as Stede eased in. Stede had been very generous with the lube, so the slide was slick and easy, and with both his holes full, Ed felt -

"So tight," Stede breathed, his hips rolling in tiny little jerks as he fully buried himself inside Ed. "You're so tight like this, sweetheart. Feel good?"

Ed wiggled his hips. "More?"

"Your wish is my command," Stede laughed, getting his hands on Ed's hips so he could hold him in place. Ed's hands flew up to grab at the pillows, trying to anchor himself as Stede immediately set a steady, firm pace, fucking him hard into the mattress.

The dildo bobbed between Ed's legs, bouncing with each thrust, and Ed's toes curled at the sight. He whined shamelessly, begging for more, and Stede just pounded into him until he felt desperate enough to start to reach down to touch himself.

"Hands above your head," Stede said firmly.

Ed snapped his hands back into place. "Will you touch my cock? Please?"

Stede obligingly reached between them to grope at the strap, taking his time with it. He teased Ed with the lightest touches he could manage, stroking it lightly in just the right way to tease Ed's clit as it moved, swirling his thumb around the head just like he would a real cock.

As much as Stede was trying to tease him, just the image of Stede jerking off the strap and the sensation of getting pleasure from it was sending Ed rapidly towards the edge anyway.

"Please," Ed half-sobbed, his eyes filling with helpless tears, a bit too far gone to even know what he was begging for. "Please, Stede, please."

"You're alright, good boy," Stede said, folding Ed nearly in half so he could fuck into him hard and fast, pressing the sweetest kisses to Ed's cheeks. "You're being so good, Ed, such a good boy for me. Taking it so well. Letting me touch your pretty cock. So tight and good for me."

"Thank you," Ed squeaked. "Can I come, please?"

"Yeah?" Stede smiled down at him obligingly, and he finally started jerking the strap properly, maintaining the fantasy by twisting his wrist at the head on every upstroke and giving Ed more than enough friction against his clit. "You gonna come for me? Gonna be my good boy and come on my cock?"

"Yes," Ed gasped, his hips jerking, his body unable to decide between grinding into the friction or rocking down on Stede's cock. "I'm gonna - you're gonna make me -"

"Come on my cock like a good boy, Ed," Stede said, just firm enough that Ed took it as an order.

He came, hard, gasping and shaking with it, and he barely had time to come down from the oversensitivy before Stede was taking his hand off the strap to grab Ed's hips hard, holding him steady for a few last powerful slams before he stilled, groaning into Ed's ear as he filled him up.

Ed giggled breathlessly, wiggling his hips, loving the feeling of Stede's hips jerking weakly as he came inside him.

"So," Stede said, kissing Ed's cheek as he straightened up, "I think that plan worked."

"Mm, can't talk right now." Ed hissed softly as Stede pulled out, immediately reaching up to him for cuddles. "You fucked my brains out."

Ed didn't want to take the strap out, not yet, so Stede spooned him, occasionally reaching down to play with the trickle of come from Ed's hole.

When they both finally felt up to moving again, when Ed had begrudingly allowed Stede to slip the strap out, he still had to clean himself up because he didn't quite feel up to letting anyone else touch him without the strap in.

"You know I wouldn't change a thing about your body," Stede told him, still obviously a bit worried.

"I know," Ed promised, kissing the corner of Stede's mouth because he knew that would always make Stede kiss him again. "Still just feel like this sometimes. No one's fault."

No one's fault. Not Ed's, either. He was getting better at believing that.

When they made it back to the living room, and Stede sat down to finish his book and Ed booted up Stardew Valley, he felt much better.

They glanced up at the same time as Stede turned a page, made eye contact across the room. Love you, Stede mouthed.

Ed mouthed back an I love you more!

Stede let him win that little game, tonight.

[carolineforbes-mikaelson]

Thoughts on Bridgerton Season 3 Part 2

Now that I've slept and am able to process a little clearly after the adrenaline of binging part 2, I do have a bit of gripe.

While the acting was superb, Nic and Luke gave it their all and it shows, and also the music was on point. As soon as Yellow and You Belong With Me kicked in, I was a sobbing mess!

Things that I do hate - or at least extremely dislike (coz I'm still gonna rewatch the heck out of it) is the whole LW secret.

I hated that this thing was hanging over Pen's head and that it tainted what should have been the happiest moment of Pen's life.

1. Pen should have been extremely happy when Colin announced their engagement but then Eloise had to make it all about her and how she was ignorant of Pen's feelings for Colin - when Debling clocked it only after week of talking to Pen for a few moments.

2. Pen should have been ecstatic during her wedding day but then Colin has still trying to process his feelings about Pen being LW that he wasn't really 100% during the wedding day and SLEPT ON THE COUCH ON THEIR WEDDING NIGHT"

These are 2 things that Pen can never get back. For her to look back at those times and have a stain on those special moments. That's why I preferred if they went on the book route for this. Have the whole LW reveal before they got intimate in the carriage, coz even when Colin knew her secret, he still did what he did in the carriage and proposed to Pen afterwards. And when they got married in the book, it was because he knew he fully loved her - and not because he was honor-bound to do so since they already had sex.

Other gripes:

- Benedict's storyline this part 2 was all cringe to me and all the sex scenes appeared very gratuitous. I will fast forward them during my many re-watch.

- Eloise really ticked me off several times. She was running hot and cold and in a way a hypocrite.

-Total lack of acknowledgement of how Pen has "saved" the Bridgertons - Colin from Marina, Daphne from Nigel, Eloise from the Queen and now Violet and the entire Bridgerton family from Cressida's lies..... WOW.... and yet they are so quick to judge Pen about the TRUTH that she publishes.

I have some more (I can't recall now) but those are the major ones so far. I know that the show can't please everyone so I just choose to savor the moments that did make me giddy, that did made heart full, that made me into a sobbing mess.

I love Season 3 because it did give us all these Polin moments that would just otherwise only be in our imagination. I love season 3 coz it empowered our girl Pen to see her worth and step into her light. It gave us the ending we want - Writers Polin - Polin Lord Featherington - happy and in love Polin.

Despite all my rant, I can still say that this is the best Bridgerton season yet. 😍😍🔥🔥