#trailing comma

[rebel-sqrrl]

It's a shame Worm didn't include any interludes about the team of League of Legends players in Bet's Madison who got swapped with the Travelers,

[pics-from-the-imp]

Hector the butterfly making his way back to the blog <33

[reinemichele]

Translation here

— Once again...  The Doors of Paradise are opened... In the midst of sleep, the world she loves sinks… Down to the bottom of the water. As if beckoned by her hand at the end of a dream… The door was opened. Come ・ Down ・ To ・The ・ E ・ly ・si ・on — And then... her reality shattered... Tell me, Papa... In Paradise, will my body still hurt? She asks questions over and over again. Her never-ending fascination with 『Paradise』 Ah... the girl can no longer see...  The corpse lying beside her... Closed door ... the man's wildest dreams became a cruel reality. Cross talk ... the girl's reality became a fantastical dream. Closed door ... the man's paradise became an eternal abyss. Cross talk ... the girl's abyss became a momentary paradise! ... Papa, In Paradise, will my heart still hurt? Hey, Papa...

[afriendlyirin]

Why is the text in Megaman Battle Network so bad. The Legacy Collection put all this effort into smoothing the pixels, but they couldn't bother to implement VWF? So much dropped punctuation and split words just to cram this poorly-translated mess into that tiny message box... I don't suppose it's too much to hope modders have fixed it?

[a-bit-of-writing]

How they flirt with you {BG3 Male Companions}

Trying my hand at writing down my headcanons for the companions starting with the males! Next batch will focus on the females.

Astarion

Flirting is second nature to Astarion, but it's also a tool sharpened by centuries of necessity. Whether he's luring prey or disarming suspicion, his every word and gesture is curated for effect.

He doesn't ask if you're interested, he assumes you are.

His confidence is intoxicating, deliberate, overwhelming. He doesn't give you space to not want him.

“You’ve been watching me, haven’t you? Don’t bother denying it — I’d recognize that kind of hunger anywhere.”

But behind that ease is calculation. Every flirtatious word is a chess move. He wants to know what makes you squirm, fluster, melt. You are both a puzzle and plaything.

He rarely flirts directly. Instead, he laces his every comment with insinuation, elegance, and a touch of threat just enough to leave you off balance.

Elegant insults wrapped in compliments:

“You’re clever. Not clever enough to hide your tells, but clever. It’s adorable, really.”

Carnal metaphors twisted with menace:

“There’s something exquisite about restraint, isn’t there? The way anticipation lingers on the tongue. Almost… painful. But then — release is so much sweeter.”

Astarion touches to control the room. To control you. He’ll invade your personal space like a whisper at the nape of your neck — there, then gone, leaving heat and confusion behind.

He doesn’t hold hands. He trails fingers across knuckles.

He doesn’t kiss, he hovers close, lets you ache for it, and then smirks when you do.

“Careful. Lean in any closer, and I’ll have to assume you’re offering something.”

Flirting is his mask. He uses it to avoid intimacy, even while pretending to offer it.

When he flirts with strangers, it's a dance of masks. He’s dazzling, merciless, intoxicating.

When he flirts with someone he actually likes, it becomes more dangerous for him. The flirtation falters, just slightly — too honest, too slow to deflect.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not… I’m not some tragic thing you can fix. I’m far more interesting than that.”

And yet, the plea hides beneath the jest.

If someone earns his trust (which is rare), his flirtation starts to change. It's less about dominance and more about connection but he’ll never admit it outright.

He might say:

“I suppose I’ve grown used to your company. Annoyingly so. There, are you happy? That’s practically a declaration of love from me.”

But he’ll mean:

Don’t leave.

Gale

Gale doesn’t flirt so much as he courts – with words. Lots of them. He offers compliments as if he’s reciting from a sonnet he wrote in your honor, then revises it mid-sentence because technically, there’s a better metaphor.

He’s the kind to start a sentence with "Forgive the boldness, but…" and then say something bold anyway.

“Forgive the boldness, but when you smile like that, it puts the sunrise to shame. Not in hue, mind you, but in how it warms the world around it.”

He’s not afraid of sincerity. In fact, it’s his default setting.

He gives affection like he's offering a gift – open-palmed, hopeful, slightly nervous.

Gale’s compliments are poetic, precise, and occasionally too much. He speaks like he’s writing you into an epic poem, and sometimes he’s aware of how ridiculous he sounds but he leans into it anyway.

You’re not just beautiful – you’re “resplendent,” “arresting,” “a living stanza.”

“There’s a rhythm to you, you know. A cadence I can’t quite match, but I find myself wanting to try.”

He loves analogies. Everything is a metaphor. You’re the flame to his magic, the gravity to his orbit, the comma in his sentence.

Unlike Astarion, who touches to test, Gale touches to reassure. His hand lingers a second longer than necessary, as if memorizing the moment.

He brushes hair from your face not to seduce but because it’s in the way, and you deserve to be seen clearly.

“There. Much better. Your face deserves an unobstructed view of the stars.”

His gestures are protective without being possessive – hovering, not holding, unless you lean in first.

To Gale, being understood is the deepest intimacy. He flirts through discussion, especially if you match his curiosity.

He’s most drawn to someone who can challenge him, surprise him.

A battle of wits? That’s foreplay.

“I had a theory about you, but every time I think I’ve unraveled the mystery, you delight in proving me wrong. Please — don’t stop.”

Magic is seduction. If you show interest in the arcane, you’ve already claimed part of his heart.

What makes Gale’s flirtation touching is how often it trips over genuine feeling. The deeper he falls, the less polished it becomes.

He second-guesses, hesitates, smiles softly in the middle of his own sentence.

“I’ve lived through the ecstasy of magic and the terror of loss… and yet, you – you – somehow feel more dangerous than either.”

And when he truly lets go:

“It’s foolish, perhaps, how much I wish to be someone worthy of the way you look at me.”

Halsin

Halsin doesn’t flirt to impress or manipulate –  he flirts because he means it. Everything he says comes from a place of deep sincerity, laced with the calm assurance of someone who knows exactly who he is.

His gaze holds yours like a quiet forest – no pressure, just presence.

“You move through the world with such purpose. It’s… beautiful to witness.”

He speaks plainly, but with a natural poetry – his words aren’t practiced, they’re felt.

“When I look at you, I see strength. But it’s your kindness that draws me in.”

Halsin doesn’t pile on flattery – he notices things. Deep, subtle things. And when he speaks of them, it feels like sunlight warming you from within.

He’s observant, not performative. You might not even realize he’s flirting at first – it just sounds like honest admiration.

“You speak gently, even when the world demands fury. That’s a rare kind of courage.”

He isn’t embarrassed by affection. He says what he feels, and he doesn’t play coy.

“You make the world feel less heavy. I hope I do the same for you.”

Halsin’s touch is deliberate, comforting, and patient. He touches with permission, not presumption. But when he does touch — it’s undeniably intimate, as if saying, I’m here. I will not break you.

He places a hand over yours when you're tense. Holds your gaze, anchoring you.

“Breathe. You don’t need to carry this alone.”

And when desire simmers beneath the surface, it’s elemental – not rushed, not performative, but felt in his closeness, his stillness.

“If I touch you, it will be with all that I am. Say the word.”

Halsin doesn’t need grand declarations. He flirts by showing up – carrying your burdens, tending your wounds, sharing the quiet.

He listens with his whole self. Even your silences are welcome with him.

“You don’t need to fill the space with words. I’m content just being near you.”

He’s drawn to strength, but moved by vulnerability.

And if you let him in, he will never belittle it.

“You let me see you. That is no small gift. And I cherish it.”

Though gentle, Halsin is not shy about attraction. When he wants you, it is unmistakable and entirely honoring.

He’s open about it, but never pushy.

“You stir something in me I haven’t felt in years. Not just desire but hope.”

And if you respond to his touch or words, he’ll smile – slow, unguarded.

“Then let me show you what it means to be cherished.”

Wyll

Wyll leads with charm but it’s never hollow. He knows how to wink and tip his head just right, but every line carries an undercurrent of sincerity.

He wants to make you smile. That’s the whole goal of his flirting: to brighten, to uplift, to show you you’re worth every stolen glance.

“If I had a coin for every time you crossed my thoughts today, I’d have enough to buy you something nice. Though… I’d much rather earn your smile than your silence.”

There’s always a touch of theatricality. He is the Blade of Frontiers, after all. But he never uses the title to elevate himself above you—only to make you laugh.

“Would you believe the famed Blade of Frontiers was brought to his knees by a glance? Because I’m about ready to kneel.”

Unlike Astarion’s razor-sharp innuendo or Gale’s encyclopedic poetry, Wyll gives tender compliments. And if you compliment him back? He flusters, adorably so.

He notices the little things, and they move him.

“You tend to others before yourself. That’s not something I see often and it humbles me.”

If you flirt back, he might laugh – low and genuine – but you’ll catch the faintest blush.

“Careful now… keep that up and I might forget I’m supposed to be the charming one.”

Wyll touches sparingly but when he does, it’s full of reverence. A hand to steady you, fingers brushing yours when passing something, a palm pressed over your heart after battle.

He’ll ask before crossing a boundary.

“May I?” (Offered hand. An honest question.) “Only if you’d like me to stay close.”

Even his teasing has warmth:

“If you keep looking at me like that, I’ll start thinking I’m special.”

Wyll doesn’t just flirt with words – he flirts through action. Standing by your side. Letting you see the cracks in the armor.

He wants to be someone you trust. And that starts by offering you his truth.

“I made mistakes. I carry them with me but I’d carry yours too, if you let me.”

He brings you into his world, slowly and willingly. If he tells you a story from his past, it means he sees you as part of his future.

When Wyll desires you, it burns low and steady – never rushed, never careless. It’s controlled, because he wants to earn the right to want you.

He doesn’t take. He offers.

“I won’t ask for anything you’re not ready to give. But know this – if you choose me, I will never leave your side.”

And if you do choose him?

That smile – the real one, soft and reverent – comes to life.

“Then let me be the man who proves you were right to.”

Rolan

Rolan is not here to charm you. In fact, he would very much like to be left alone, thank you. But there’s a twitch in his mouth when you say something clever, a pause before he looks away. He’s fighting it and that’s exactly how you know it’s real.

Flirting often sounds like irritation at first. He’s too observant. Too annoyed. He notices you far more than he admits.

“You're always putting yourself in danger. Someone’s going to have to clean up your mess. …Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t say it’d be me.”

He flirts like a man sharpening a blade – precise, deflective, and with his guard raised.

“You keep looking at me like I’ve said something sweet. I assure you – I haven’t.”

(He has.)

Rolan doesn’t give you praise straight. He’ll call you reckless when he means brave. Annoying when he means magnetic. And when you catch on? He’s flustered – genuinely.

He’s the king of “I didn’t mean it like that” after saying something surprisingly intimate.

“You’re… capable. For someone with such an irritating tendency to leap before they look.”

If you catch him staring, he’ll roll his eyes. But he won’t deny it.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I wasn’t… I wasn’t admiring. I was assessing.”

(He was admiring.)

Rolan is awkward about physical affection unless it’s practical. Helping you up, catching your arm in battle, brushing past you on purpose. When he does reach out first, it’s a big deal even if he pretends it isn’t.

Touches are brief, careful, and loaded with tension.

“Hold still. You’ve got something on your – here. There. It’s gone.”

He touches like he's expecting to be rejected. When you don’t pull away, it floors him.

“...Huh. You didn’t flinch. That’s new.”

Rolan connects through arguments, side glances, shared snark. He bonds with people who can keep up, challenge him, call him out and not back down.

He flirts through tension. You’ll know you’ve gotten close when he actually stops snapping at you.

“You’re not as infuriating as usual today. …Don’t let it go to your head.”

And if you tease him back? His ears go pink. Every time.

The rare moments when Rolan lets down his guard are intensely vulnerable. He won’t wax poetic but when he says something kind, it matters. He won’t say it unless it’s true.

It slips out before he can stop it:

“You make things… bearable. More than bearable, actually.”

And when he finally stops fighting it:

“I’ve spent so long pushing people away, I forgot what it feels like to want someone to stay. …I want you to stay.”

Though my next batch will focus on the females, I’m open to any scenarios you will like me to explore, so feel free to drop in a request! 

[pseudowho]

Fairs and carnivals were made for the winter, you felt; and the winter, made for them. Your friends had long-since abandoned you for the promise of an early night. Their company had been replaced with the sweetsmoke smells of toasting marshmallows, steaming stalls of culinary delights, and the tangled maelstrom of those in coats and scarves and gloves and hats.

Still, their presence was fleeting. A sting of loneliness followed in their wake.

You jingled your pocket; just a pair of coins left. You looked around you, and, hearing two bickering voices, you slowed to a halt beside the bumper cars. Two tall men argued; one (very tall, white-haired) was winning, while the other (not quite as tall, blond and scowling) was giving in simply for peace and quiet.

You stifled a laugh. You traded your final two pennies for violence. You bopped on your heels in the queue behind the two squabbling men. One of them, and one particularly iridescent bumper car, caught your eye. Your scowling man looked iridescent, too, lit up in carnival lights.

You didn't know what it was, as you settled into your bumper car seat, that set you on the path to mischief. You didn't know if it was the lights and laughter and lingering frost. You didn't know if it was the cinnamon churros that still warmed your belly. You didn't know if it was the hand-worn cool plastic steering wheel beneath your palms.

But you glanced at your scowling man, who appeared to be performing a 12-point safety check on his blue and yellow bumper car. Another giggle burst over. And, as much as you loathed yourself for it, you felt the need to show your affection in the only way you could.

So, like a little girl pushing a little boy into the mud, rather than tell him that she liked him, you chose violence. The bumper cars electrified. The air-horn sounded. The disco music began. You slammed the accelerator down.

BAM!

You slammed into the blue and yellow car in front of you. Your scowling blond looked up at you in pearl-clutching affront, his glasses thrown skew-wiff by your assault. You reversed, biting your lip. You caught his eye. His hands gripped, white-knuckled on the steering wheel...but he scoffed at you. A mockery. A blunt-bladed outrage. A dare. That was his downfall.

BAM!

Your second hit sent him careening, and your laughter ghosted in his ears as you were chased away by the other bumper cars on your mad circuit. The game was afoot.

You targeted him relentlessly. At first he cursed, and swore, and glared at you. But as the music went on, and his neat parting scruffed, throwing forward commas of blond with his scarf trailing after him, he might have smiled.

You were sure you saw one pass you, as he sent you spinning away. Perhaps it was the way your laughter caught on his jacket. Perhaps the violence was contagious; perhaps he pulled your pigtails, or flicked paper balls at you in class. Perhaps, instead, he found you crying in the library, with that same gentle smile and a book for two.

Hitting each other head-on in the eleventh hour of your tokens' time, you squealed, jolting forwards in your seat. Your cheeks ached with joy. He panted, his chest heaving, his smile lopsided and rueful. You both stayed that way, eye to eye, the music and the lights and the laughter fading away around you both, until--

BAM! BAM!

You were each hit on the flank, shunted in opposite directions and lost in the blitz. The air-horn sounded; the game was over. And, by the time the blond man stood, his head whipping from side to side, you were gone.

His smile faded. His whiskey-brown eyes flickered, an aurora in the carnival lights. He stood, alone and deflating, in a crossing field of bumper cars.

An hour passed before you could bear to leave the lights behind. You leaned against a stall, sighing as your penny-free pockets denied you a hot chocolate to walk home with. A voice sounded to your right, and you jumped with a squeak.

"Assaulting a stranger must be thirsty work. I'll buy you a drink."

A velveteen voice. An offer that would only be insistent if you did not roundly refuse him; if you did roundly refuse him, you knew, innately, that you would be safe to do so. He would not take it as a slight.

"I should be buying you a drink."

"Nonsense. You won."

"Does one really win bumper cars?"

"I didn't think so. And yet, you did."

"I still couldn't possibly--"

"You buy the next one."

Your heart faltered. You leaned back on the stall, biting your lip, your head tilted to the side. He was handsome; beautiful, really.

But in truth, it was his simmering, unbridled rage that had drawn you in. It was his scowl, that made you be mean to him in the playground. An immature excuse, you knew. You whispered, barely audible in the fading music of the fair. You felt the first flakes of snow kiss upon your lips.

"What's your name?"

"Nanami Kento."

"I would love a drink, Nanami Kento. But if you want the next one, you'll have to walk me home, because I've spent all my allowance this evening."

A chuckle, rich and deep. The man named Nanami Kento turned to look at the carnival lights, and found he could bear to leave them behind, if it were with you.

"It does feel a bit that way, doesn't it?" Kento mused aloud, setting his last handful of coins on the counter, and receiving two cups of childhood in return. You bit the fingers of your gloves to receive your paper cup with bare palms.

His eyes glimmered down at you. He offered his arm.

"How long is the walk?"

"Not long. Twenty minutes, maybe."

"Good. I was worried that if I didn't have time to finish this one, you wouldn't invite me in for the second."

[grabby-smitten]

Pinky promise Prt. 2

Part one is here!

Subjects: Bunny Hybrid!Xavier x Human F!Reader

Word count: 1.4k

Content: Hybrid AU, MDNI, smut, PiV, breeding, cunnilingus, dubcon if u squint, male heat\rut, reader has female anatomy, no beta and not edited, commas placed everywhere, idk… let me know if i missed anything.

A.N: I think writing Xavier is so much easier than other lads… for me, at least. I believe that he’s a total sex freak and nobody can change my mind. Enjoy! 💋

On the fifth day, you walked in to pick up the tray of his lunch. You were gonna be in and out, it was the best for the both of you or at least you believed so.

Something felt off as soon as you stepped foot in the room. Looking around you saw his harness discarded in a corner and no sign of Xavier. Panic began to creep in, the eerie silence made goosebumps run down your spine as your eyes frantically zigzagged across the room in search of him.

Without warning the door slammed closed and the loud bang propelled you away from it. There, he stood with a hand still on the door. Xavier was all sweaty and disheveled, a crazed look in his eyes clouded the soft blue you knew so well.

He suddenly crouched and as fast as lightning he was in front of you.

Xavier took hold of your ankle and pulled, causing you to fall to the floor, but before you could scramble away, his grip on your leg tensed and you were being yanked towards him. The scream you meant to release died in your throat as a heavy body dropped on top of you.

As he pinned you down to the freezing floor, You felt the cold tip of his nose travel from your temple to the side of your face as he kept sniffing. Deep intakes of breath down your neck, the softness of his lips alternating with some pecks of his tongue. Tasting? Sniffing? Savoring? You were unsure at this point, overwhelmed with all the sensations raining down on you at once.

Observing the ceiling and the crown of his head, the dizziness decreased as your mind began to understand what was happening.

“Xavier, wait!” But he wasn’t listening. Not that he didn’t want to. It’s just that he couldn’t. The beating of his heart drowned every other sound. Your scent, your touch and everything that made you— you, clogged his senses.

You could hear him constantly whimper as he moved down your body. Scenting every bit of skin that crossed his path. His hot and humid breath fanning over your body.

Once he was content with what he was sensing, Xavier took no time to remove your clothes. Almost tearing them to shreds in the process. No controlled movements, just pure desire and instinct driving him where he needed to be. He saw the clothing items as just obstacles in his path and getting rid of them was the only solution.

His wild blue orbs gazed at your naked figure, sprawled on the floor. Instinctively, the rough pads of his fingertips grazed your nipples. That same curious touch made its way down your body, leaving a tingling trail after it.

As if he had snapped out of a trance, Xavier’s hands roughly moved under your asscheeks. Positioning where he needed you, he dived right into your center.

Xavier didn’t even know where he was going. He only you were calling to the deepest part of him to own, to take and to possess. He latched onto your core, swirling his tongue around, over and down your center. No pace or technique. Desperation in each of his movements as if he didn’t eat fast enough someone would take away his meal. And none was going to snatch you away from him. Ever.

Little nibbles on your clit got you dry heaving, choking on hair. Your hand on his damp forehead did nothing to deter him from getting what he wanted. His lips surrounded your bundle of nerves and pulled, sucked. he did the same with his front teeth. Pulling, desperately tugging. His hands holding you in place so he could keep bullying his head between your legs— as if that would get him any deeper.

Xavier was messy. burying his face between your thighs, biting your hips and any piece of skin he could latch on so he could draw out those little whimpers and sounds you made every time he did so. His spit and your juices dripping from his cheeks and nose to his chin and ending up on the floor. Sticking to everything; clothes, skin, you and him… both.

You were screaming incoherencies in no time, voice hoarse from the abuse to your lower body. Your throat burned, not knowing if to release or take in air. You didn’t even know where to put your hands, not wanting to hurt his bunny ears but needing to grip something, anything.

The sounds he made as he sucked your juices were obscene, grotesque even and it filled the tiny room completely. You had come already, not sure how many times since he hadn’t stopped once. He just kept and kept getting mouthfuls of you without thinking of anything outside of your taste.

Xavier got tired of not hearing more of your cries, your thighs constantly shaking and constricting his head, quieting your songs of ecstasy. So he decided to fix that. He positioned his forearms on your legs and spread you apart as his palms kept pushing your lower belly down and in place. Instinctively, you attempted to close them but you found such a task impossible. Xavier kept a death grip on your body, his tongue never stopping and tears began running down your face as it all became too much, too overwhelming.

You could feel the internal pressure beginning to build up again, Your inner thighs sweetly ached and the warmth of your release suddenly exploded with more intensity than before, making you scream and wildly buckle your hips on Xavier’s face. But he was unfazed, just tightened his grip and moaned as soon as your newly heated liquids hit his taste buds.

“Please, let me— fuck— let me fuck a litter into you,” he breathed his words against your swollen entrance, your brain barely registered the meaning after the high, but you numbly nodded anyway. Anything for your bunny, right?

And that’s how his first rut went on and on. Your body handled to his liking, pushed and pulled. You could feel his elbows digging at your back, pushing you down as his hips inevitably rutted behind you. Face down, cheek pressed to the icy floor as his erratic breathing fanned the nape of your neck.

flipped over by sweaty and stinky palms. your leg hiked up to his chest and forcing his leaking member down your soft velvety walls again and again.

Whimpers left your lips through the whole night as Xavier used you, filled your insides with his burning ropes of white. Scalding your dripping cunt as the few drops that escaped ran down your thighs, pooling on the floor under both your still joined bodies.

his human, his first safe human. After all, you promised.

“So it’s completely normal?” You asked Xavier’s doctor through a call. “Okay, I see. So that means he’s healthy… I— no! No! I’m fine! Yeah, thanks. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

Xavier looked down at the floor as you hung up the call with his doctor. Feeling a bit guilty about the whole heat thing from last night, but you seemed fine and more concerned about him than yourself.

“I’m sorry… I—“ but you didn’t let Xavier finish his sentence.

“No, no, no.” You surrounded him with your arms as you spoke, “Xav, hun, it’s okay. Didn’t you hear the doctor? It means you’re healthy and I… well, we both enjoyed it, right?”

“Right,” was all you heard from him but you have no idea the door you just opened for your bunny.

Six months later…

The languish licks were driving you crazy, but Xavier was taking his time. Head buried under your skirt as soon as you came home from work. He caught you at the entrance of your place, not even giving you a second to take off your shoes. You were pushed against the wall and your legs opened with no chance of denial.

Let’s just say that Xavier enjoyed his heats nowadays.

[arcadelife2021]

Proper Dialogue Punctuation Master List

Because I'm apparently illiterate when I write, here's the list I made to keep track of proper punctuation with dialogue — Enjoy!

Use double quotation marks to enclose spoken words. "I can't believe it's already Friday," Sarah exclaimed.

Place commas, periods, question marks, and exclamation points inside the closing quotation marks when they are part of the dialogue. "Have you seen my keys?" John asked. "I've looked everywhere!"

Use a comma to separate the dialogue tag from the spoken words:

Before the dialogue: Mary whispered, "Be quiet, they might hear us."

After the dialogue: "I think we're lost," Tom admitted, looking around nervously.

Start a new paragraph for each new speaker. > "Did you finish your homework?" Mom asked. > "Almost," replied Jimmy. "I just have math left." > "Well, hurry up. Dinner's almost ready," Mom said.

Use an em dash (—) to indicate interrupted speech.

For abrupt interruptions: "I was about to tell you that—" "Stop!" Jake shouted, cutting her off mid-sentence.

For self-interruption with action: "How on earth"��he shook his fists—"do I punctuate this?"

For interruption by another speaker: "How should we edit—" "Not we, Bob," Whitney said. "Fixing this punctuation is all on you."

For trailing-off speech, use ellipsis (...) inside the quotation marks. "I thought I saw something in the woods..." Jeremy whispered, looking around.

When dialogue is split by a tag, use a comma after the tag and lowercase the first word of the continued dialogue. "If we don't leave now," Dad warned, "we'll miss our flight."

For questions within dialogue, place the question mark inside the quotation marks. "Where did you put my glasses?" Grandpa inquired.

When the entire sentence containing dialogue is a question, place the question mark outside the quotation marks. Did she really say, "I don't care about the consequences"?

Capitalize the first word of dialogue, even when it follows a dialogue tag. The teacher announced, "Everyone, please take out your textbooks."

For dialogue interrupted by an action, use commas to set off the action. "Okay, here's the plan. I think we should go here, and," he rifled through the papers and maps, "if we don't find what we're looking for, we can move on."

When using exclamation points or question marks in dialogue, the first word of the following dialogue tag should be lowercase. "Watch out for that car!" he yelled. "How did you know?" she asked, her eyes wide with surprise.

When a character is quoting someone else in dialogue, you should use nested quotation marks. "I couldn't believe it when Sarah said, 'I'm moving to Paris next month.' It came as a complete surprise," John explained.

When a character is summarizing someone else's words in dialogue, you don't need to use quotation marks for the summarized speech. "I talked to Fred earlier," Mary said. "He told me he's been feeling overwhelmed lately and isn't sure how to handle his workload." "According to Sarah, the meeting went well, and everyone agreed on the new project timeline."

When punctuating thoughts, capitalize and punctuate thoughts as you would spoken dialogue. Use thought tags ("he thought," "she wondered") to orient the reader, similar to dialogue tags. She thought, When this week finally ends, my troubles will be over. Where did I put my keys? he wondered, searching his apartment. I wonder what he's thinking, Sarah mused as she watched John across the room.

Good Rules of Thumb:

If it's spoken (dialogue tags only, "he said," "she whispered") with no action, use a comma.

If it's an action while speaking, use a comma.

If it's an action completed before speaking, use a period.

If it's an exclamation mark/question mark before the dialogue tag, lowercase the pronouns following but capitalize all proper nouns (names) always.

If it's an exclamation mark/question mark after the dialogue tag, use a comma.

If it's the start of a standalone sentence, capitalize pronouns and proper nouns.

If you're confused about which to use (a comma and lowercase pronoun or period and capitalized pronoun), think "Are they doing this while speaking or after/before speaking?"

If your character is thinking, treat it like they're speaking.

If you're struggling to be consistent when writing, remember: it really doesn't matter. Perfection is an illusion, just write and use tools that make you happy. If you make a mistake, English is so complicated that most of the time, no one will notice. Now go write some great dialogue!

[bookwormjust]

Deep in books (established relationship with Azriel)

Azriel had been searching for you for what felt like hours, his shadows darting through every corner of the House of Wind, brushing past doors, slipping under cracks in walls, and seeking you out wherever they could. His brow furrowed with frustration as he checked the training room, your chambers, even the balcony where you often liked to sit and watch the sunset. 

But you were nowhere to be found. 

His heart began to beat faster with every empty room. He was calm on the outside, as always, but inside, worry began to claw at him. Where were you?

He finally made his way down to the library, his shadows whispering that they'd caught a glimpse of something—a flutter of movement, a familiar scent of lavender and parchment. 

The vast space of the library was quiet, filled with the scent of old books and the warm glow of candlelight. He stepped inside, his wings tucked tightly against his back, his shadows curling at his feet. His gaze swept over the rows of books, searching… and then he saw you.

You were tucked away in a cozy alcove, curled up in one of the armchairs with a book resting in your lap. The soft golden light from the nearby lamps bathed you in a warm glow, illuminating the way your brow furrowed in concentration, your eyes moving across the pages with rapt attention. You looked so peaceful, so absorbed in the words before you, that you hadn’t even noticed him.

Azriel felt the tightness in his chest ease, a soft sigh escaping his lips. He watched you for a moment, his heart swelling with affection. There you were—lost in the world of a book, completely unaware of the chaos your absence had caused him.

His steps were silent as he approached, his shadows curling protectively around you as if to announce his presence. But you were too absorbed in your reading to notice even that.

A small, amused smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He didn’t want to disturb you, but after searching for so long, he couldn’t help himself. He leaned down, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “There you are, my love.”

You startled, your book nearly slipping from your lap as you looked up at him with wide eyes. But then, as recognition settled in, a soft smile spread across your face. “Az,” you breathed, placing your hand over your racing heart. “You scared me.”

He chuckled, his voice low and soothing. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” His shadows danced around you as if to echo his sentiment. 

You shifted in your seat, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “I was just here the whole time. You didn’t think to check the library?”

Azriel raised a brow, his hazel eyes gleaming in the soft light. “I should have known. You and your books…” He trailed off, his voice fond, as if he found it amusing that a library could keep you hidden from him for so long.

He knelt beside your chair, resting one hand on the armrest and the other gently brushing a stray curl away from your face. “What’s so captivating that you didn’t hear me calling for you?”

You blushed lightly, glancing down at the book in your lap. “It’s just this old history of Velaris. I got caught up in the stories about how it was built.” 

Azriel’s eyes softened, and he couldn’t help but smile. “You, captivated by history? I should’ve known.” He tilted his head, studying you with that intense, focused gaze of his. “I missed you.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you reached out, resting your hand on his cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

He leaned into your touch, his wings shifting slightly behind him as he sighed, content now that he had found you. “I’ll always find you,” he whispered, his voice low and full of promise. “No matter where you are.”

You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest at his words. “You’re too good to me.”

Azriel’s eyes glinted with affection as he stood, offering you his hand. “Come,” he said softly, his voice filled with gentle command. “You’ve been cooped up in here long enough. Let’s take a walk. I want to hear about the history that’s stolen you away from me.”

You laughed softly, taking his hand and letting him pull you to your feet. “Only if you promise not to get jealous of the book,” you teased.

He smirked, a rare expression of amusement crossing his normally serious face. “I think I can manage.” His wings spread slightly as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close to his side as you both walked toward the library doors. His shadows trailed behind you, content now that he had you in his arms again.

And as you walked through the House of Wind, with Azriel’s arm around you and the evening breeze filtering through the hallways, you couldn’t help but feel completely and utterly safe—because no matter where you were, Azriel would always find you.

[runawaywerewolf]

island breeze and lights down low

timothy ratliff x fem!reader

summary: your dad works with timothy ratliff and now you're stuck in the middle of a business crisis. oh, and you're also down bad for him. surely this won't be a problem.

author's note: i'm dedicating this to @fairyysoup my beloved for reading this before i posted it, being my cheerleader, and also just the sweetest person ever. i would not have had the guts to post this without you bestie 💖💖💖 anyway, happy white lotus finale day everyone and timothy ratliff please don't kill your kids in the finale and make this awkward for me

content warnings: it's literally smut so 18+ minors begone, unprotected piv, creampie, masturbation, semi-public sex, voyeurism, cheating, implied drug use, age gap (not specified but reader is college age), daddy issues, one use of "good girl", birth control mention, sort of dad's best friend except the dads are not actually that good friends, mild daddy kink vibes but not like explicitly, reader is a little pervy and also kind of an annoying rich girl but it's the white lotus so what did you expect, a truly egregious amount of commas (literally there are 256 commas)

word count: 3.5k

You are totally and unendingly fucked.

Well, not in the way that you would like to be, but that’s a whole other matter.

Your father had worked with Timothy Ratliff for years doing, well, whatever it is that they do. Something to do with money, you think. Or maybe it’s stocks? Frankly, you don’t care. You knew the man vaguely, Timothy Ratliff, that is, used to run into him at every boring work function that your dad had dragged you to when you were younger. Back when your father cared enough to show you off to his friends and back when you still craved his approval like some pathetic drug. Now, you find it hard to have a lot of interest in your father or the toxic business world he seems to live and breathe in. Although, you're not really interested in much of anything lately.

All you do know is that you really shouldn’t have agreed to get roped into this. Some drama was going down in corporate world, apparently, though you couldn’t care less about the details. Some issue with journalists or somebody not answering their phone or something. But, your father, in what was clearly a last ditch effort, decided to send a human messenger Timothy Ratliff couldn’t ignore as easily as a phone call or an email. You.

To be fair, it did make sense. You were on a “traveling abroad” break from college, which placed you conveniently close to Thailand, where the Ratliffs just so happened to be on vacation. Throw in your father offering to put you up at the fancy White Lotus hotel where the family was staying for a whole week and, hey, you’re only human. Of course, you said yes. Sometimes a girl just needs a vacation and a massage. Honestly, haven’t you earned this after all the shit your father put you through? Or at least that’s always what you tell yourself as you swipe daddy’s credit card.

Which is exactly how you ended up like this, questioning every life choice you’ve ever made while standing in the lobby of the White Lotus as you stare into the unfairly blue eyes of Timothy Ratliff. Fuck, he is so handsome. His gaze trails down your body, lingering on your tits, and you can’t help but preen. Why, oh why, did you agree to do this? You’re a grown woman, you had thought your embarrassing teenage crush on the man would have worn off by now. Isn’t that what happens to childish fantasies? You’re supposed to outgrow them.

Sure, the man was your first wet dream but, before today, you would have sworn up and down that you hadn’t thought about him in years. And yet, here you are fantasizing about a man who’s old enough to be your father. Shit, he actually even knows your father. They’re friends, he’s known you since you were a toddler, this is all sorts of fucked up.

Then Timothy Ratliff opens his mouth and makes things a whole hell of a lot worse.

“Oh good Lord, when did you become such a grown-up lady? I swear it was last Tuesday you came to the office in pigtails to see your daddy. Just about this tall,” he raises his hand to about hip height and you try not to blush for about seven different reasons. Absolutely none of which are appropriate for this conversation. “You’re just like my Piper, growing up way too fast.”

Please make him stop talking, you beg the universe mentally, even his accent is hot.

“They let me drink and everything now,” you tease, trying very hard to sound normal. “A full adult who can do all sorts of adult things.”

Great, you think sarcastically, that’s not a weird thing to say at all. You are not going to fuck this man. You can’t, you won’t, so you start mentally ticking off all the many reasons why that is a thing that cannot in any way happen. He’s married, he’s the same age as your father, he works with your actual father, you need to make better life choices in general…

“Good girl, waiting until it’s legal.”

Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Those gorgeous eyes are looking at you and what else can you do but stare and get lost in them, your heart is practically pounding out of your chest. You blink, trying to gather your scattered thoughts and pull the message your father tasked you with delivering out of your pocket like some sort of lifeline.

“My dad asked me to give you this,” you manage to say with what’s left of your dignity still intact as you hand the envelope over to him. Don’t look at his hands, don’t look at his hands, well, fuck, now you looked at his hands. X-rated is not an extreme enough description of the thoughts currently running wild in your head.

But by some grace of God, whatever was in that message seems to have spooked Timothy enough that he’s not looking at your increasingly embarrassed face. Which, unfortunately, gives you way too much time to undress him in your mind. By the time your eyes have made it all the way back up his body, his face has paled and eyes are almost frantic. A friend of yours made the same face when they failed out of college and got disowned by their parents while high on Coke. Suffice it to say, it’s not a good look.

“Are you ok, Mr. Ratliff?” You ask tentatively, trying hard to suppress a shudder when you say his name. You’re not imagining calling him something else, nope, not at all. Fuck off, Freud.

“I’m, uh, yeah, darlin’. It’s nothing, just have to… deal with something. I’ll be right back.”

He was not, in fact, right back.

You dick around the hotel lobby for about half an hour before you decide that actually Timothy Ratliff can find you himself if he wants to. Also, maybe you’re hiding from him, just a little.

You could go find Piper, you suppose. The two of you used to be friends in that “our dads are friends so we kind of know each other” sort of way. She’s certainly better company than Saxon. But if you go find Piper, you might run into her father and, honestly, after the thoughts running through your head earlier, you’re not so sure you could look him in the eye again. He has really nice eyes.

So, Piper’s a no then.

The gym, you finally decide, with its massive windows and many treadmills, maybe you can burn off all that pent-up energy still buzzing in your system. This is what you get for taking a fucking gap year, you think to yourself. You’ve gone too long without college boys and now you’re fixated on a middle-aged man. Sure, you could probably get laid easily in a hotel like this. It’s full of rich assholes trying to do sexual tourism; you probably just look at half of these guys and they’ll trip over themselves trying to fuck you. But, no, you do actually have standards.

Unfortunately, your standards just happen to look a lot like Timothy Ratliff.

The gym doesn’t help, surprisingly, or maybe not that surprisingly. You can’t help it, you’re just very horny from eyefucking Timothy earlier. And, to make things worse, you can’t seem to get the fantasies out of your head. Even after your run, the ache between your thighs is still persistently there. Eventually, you just give up on your workout. Maybe you will actually try to fuck one of the sad losers who frequent this hotel because you seriously need to get off if you’re going to make it through this week.

You head to the gym bathroom, the fancy kind that has a private room with a shower, and start washing off. You keep the water almost painfully freezing in a useless attempt to cool the heat burning up beneath your skin. Your brain, however, has other ideas, with images of you and Timothy wet and sweaty playing on a loop in your head. This is a bad idea, you think to yourself, but that’s never exactly stopped you in the past. So, you turn up the water temperature and let your hand sneak between your thighs. You bite your lip hard, trying to stifle your soft gasps as you circle your clit. A choked moan of his name escapes from your throat when you hear a muffled thump from outside the bathroom. You should stop, you know you should stop, but you’re so close, your knees shaking as your hand works faster and faster.

So, you nearly jump out of your skin when you hear a knock on the door. And then you nearly die when you hear a painfully recognizable drawl.

Timothy Ratliff is outside the bathroom calling your name. Timothy Ratliff is only a few feet away from where you are currently fingering yourself to the thought of him. You freeze. For a second, you genuinely wish some of that poisonous fruit was in this bathroom to get you out of this hellish, mortifying experience. Because, yeah, he definitely heard you. This man, who has known you your whole life, who’s friends with your father, just heard you moan his name. But, clearly, the universe must be conspiring against you because there’s no way out of the meeting you’re about to have.

"Are you all right in there, honey?" His voice sounds strange through the door. There's a tightness to it that you can't quite tell if you're imagining or not, a new gravelly slurring to the accent that's so recognizably him. There's something different about him and it's not... unappealing.

"Just one sec, Mr. Ratliff," you call out, trying to keep your voice even. You blow out all the air from your lungs, desperately trying to regulate your heaving chest. You turn off the shower, quickly throwing your clothes back on and raking your wet hair out of your eyes. Ok, you can do this, you tell yourself.

You try to compose yourself, you swear you really do. But you're red-faced and wet and more turned on than you’ve ever been in your whole life, so it’s a losing battle. You open the door with whatever shred of dignity you can manage, trying not to look as utterly shaky as you feel, and your eyes land on Timothy. He looks utterly wrecked. You watch those pale, ice blue eyes trail your body and you can practically feel some sort of battle happening in his mind. He's tempted, you realize, and God help you, but you want to tempt him. A good girl would close the door, or leave the room, or say something to break this tension that feels like it's constricting the air between you. But, fuck it, you're an altruist and the man clearly needs to blow off some steam. You look up at him through your lashes, lips pouted ever so slightly.

"Are you ok, Timothy?" You ask, your voice breathy. And that's all it takes, you see the decision in his eyes the second he makes it. His life is on fire and you're the drug to drown out the flames, or maybe he wants you to burn him alive. It doesn't matter because the time for talking has passed; you can barely get the words out before, suddenly, he is pushing into the bathroom. His eyes are near manic, his movements desperate and hurried like a man trying to outrun something. He’s not quite himself but you don’t care because, suddenly, his hands are on your face, he’s kicking the door behind him, and then, fuck, his mouth is on yours and he’s kissing you.

And good lord, does he kiss.

You’re not sure you’ve ever been kissed like this, the way your mind just blisses out. Timothy Ratliff kisses like wildfire, like he’s trying to consume you alive. It’s exhilarating, the way his mouth moves against yours, you feel the burning electricity of desire running through your veins and pooling between your thighs. You barely have time to fully part your lips before his tongue is in your mouth and you can’t breathe. He’s too much, but it’s not enough. Fuck, you’re not sure it will ever be enough.

His hands leave your face and start tracing the lines of your body, touching greedily, digging into flesh. You feel the cold metal of his wedding ring against your upper thigh as his hands sneak under the hem of your shorts and you know you’re going to hell when that feeling turns you on.

You don’t even notice that he’s walking you backward until your back hits the bathroom wall. He hikes one of your legs up around his hips and, oh shit, you can feel the hard length of him pressing against your core. You know the shape of his cock now, what he feels like between your legs. He’s thick and hot and you feel like you might actually die if you don’t have him inside you soon.

As you press your heel into his ass, you realize that he probably can tell just how soaking wet you are right now. In another life, maybe you’d be embarrassed by that, but your shame died the second you learned what he tasted like. Instead, you grind against him, a needy twitch of your hips that has him groaning into your open mouth. He lets go of your thigh to dig his hands into your ass, pulling you more firmly against him, rubbing against your core.

You’re both too pent up for this to be elegant, the kiss has devolved into something sloppy and desperate and your hips are grinding like teenagers too impatient for foreplay. It’s dirty in the best way possible.

Your hands slide down his chest to fumble clumsily with his belt, the other stroking him through his pants as he slots a thigh between your legs. You think you might genuinely be in love with his cock; you’re not usually one for worship but you’d get down on your knees for this. A fleeting thought enters your mind that if Saxon is built anything like his father you finally understand his arrogance, before your brain goes blank as his thick fingers find your pussy.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” He practically growls it into your mouth, as he shoves your shorts and panties to the side. His words hit you like a lightning bolt, desire pounding in your ears so loudly you think he must be able to hear it.

You shove his pants down just enough to get his cock out, your legs wrapped around his hips and you barely have time to think before the thick head of his cock is at your entrance. Then he’s pushing inside and, oh fuck, does he slide in.

Yes, you are so wet, but maybe not quite ready because the burn is exquisite. Or maybe he’s just that big, you don’t know and you don’t care. You’re not sure you care about anything but the weight of his cock, thick and hard, inside you. Your fingers dig into his shoulders because you can’t breathe and you’re barely even standing anymore. He groans low in his throat and his hips thrust shallowly as he enters you, impatient for friction, his fingers still digging into your ass as he holds you steady for him.

Your head falls back, hitting the wall behind you, mouth open, gasping for breath as he starts to move inside you. The pressure is intense, the head of his cock drags deliciously against your walls. Your toes curl and a shudder runs through you, you’re not sure you ever want this to stop, he feels that good. You twist your hips trying to meet his thrusts, but Timothy Ratliff fucks the way he kisses, all consumingly. Each pump of his hips is long and deep and desperate and it’s all you can do just to hold onto him.

A needy moan escapes your lips, and he must have more functioning brain cells than you do to be concerned about the noise, because before you can get a breath in, his mouth slants over yours to swallow your sounds. His tongue licks into your mouth, matching the rhythm of his cock driving into you over and over and your eyes are rolling back in your head. You feel like you're losing your mind to the pleasure, the heat between your thighs growing with each hard stroke, with each grind of friction.

Timothy’s hand slides up your body, grabbing your tits before he yanks down the front of your bra, exposing one breast. His fingers kneed your flesh greedily and you lock your ankles behind his back, pulling him in even deeper as you rock against him. At your movement, something in him seems to shift and he sets a fast, almost needy pace, barely pulling out before pushing back in, as if he can’t stand to be outside of your heat. There are no illusions about what’s happening here; it’s quick and desperate and messy, and the lewd sounds of skin meeting skin echo through the small bathroom. You’re not even kissing him back at this point, just gasping and moaning into his open mouth.

His hand leaves your breast to yank your hips, adjusting the angle until he’s hitting a spot so deep inside you that you’re practically seeing stars. Your back arches almost violently, your arms wrap around his shoulders as he pounds into you. He is everything you feel, everything you see, it's all overpowered by him, by the perfect sensations of him buried deep inside you. The pressure is tightening in your core, your walls fluttering around his thick cock, and one of your hands sneaks down between your sweat-slick bodies to touch yourself. Before you can, he slaps your hand away with a groan, and instead it’s his thumb that’s rubbing tight circles around your clit that sends you flying over the edge.

Fuck, you want that image seared into your brain, his hand rubbing your clit, his thick cock disappearing into you.

Your climax hits you suddenly and with an intensity that leaves you shaking, with your vision whiting out and your mind shattering. The waves of pleasure wracking your body are so strong that you can barely even breathe enough to get out a strangled moan. You rake your nails down his back, legs trembling as you come long and hard, the waves racing through your veins and drowning you in sensation. Finally, you think you understand what the French were talking about with their “little death” as you shudder and ride out your release, your body pressed tightly against his chest.

The extra pressure of your walls milking his cock is all it takes to send him over the edge too, his hips stuttering before he slams in one last time and comes with a groan that feels ripped from his soul. You let out a weak moan of your own as you feel his release filling you up. He grinds against you through his climax, as if trying to get as deep as possible, rubbing against your clit in a way that’s just this side of overstimulation.

Chest heaving, your nails are digging into his shoulders, bodies pressed against each other to stay upright with your knees weak. For a second, you stay like that, him buried deep inside you, both of you spent and breathing heavily, messy and with clothes askew. The afterglow is delicious, but slowly reality sinks back in. You wrack your brain trying to come up with what you're supposed to do now because what do you even say after that?

If you’re Timothy Ratliff, apparently what you do is tuck himself into his shorts and straighten his clothes with jerky movements, drawl something that sounds about halfway between thanks and some excuse, and then practically run out of the bathroom. You almost laugh at how abrupt the whole thing was, if it wasn’t for his cum drying on your thighs you might have thought your overactive imagination had made the whole encounter up. You smile as you gently run a finger between your cum soaked folds and you send up a silent prayer of thanks for the existence of birth control. You never really believed much in religion, but you swear for a moment there during your orgasm you might have actually seen God. Maybe the universe doesn’t hate you after all if it gave you a fuck like that.

You stretch your back, peel off your clothes, and gingerly step back into the shower, deliciously sore between your legs. You trace your fingers over your kiss-bruised lips as you think about what just happened. Maybe you should actually take your father up on that summer internship offer after all, you think to yourself as the water runs over your sweaty body and memories replay in your mind. Because, while you probably should be making better life choices, you really, really, really just want to try and fuck him again.

[rose-in-blue]

"Any Time, Ma Chère"

Alastor x reader

Warnings/tags: fluff, Alastor being smarmy, afab reader, an aggressive amount of commas and parenthesis, deer kink(?), slightly suggestive, Alastor isn't repulsed by touch at least not from (Y/N), cursing, thoughts in italics, the hotel has a kitchen?

A/n: this is my first time posting fanfic, so please go easy on me, guys! let me know if I made any errors in the comments <3

1176 words

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I seriously can’t believe you, Alastor!” you shouted, for what seemed like the hundredth time. 

“I really don’t see the problem here, dear,” he said, slightly more passive aggressive than normal.

You two had been fighting for the last 10 minutes or so, standing in the small kitchen of the Hazbin Hotel. While your fight had started with a simple argument over a slight misunderstanding, soon the gates broke and the flood began— every single thing that Alastor had done that ticked you off just rushed out in a wave that you couldn't seem to stop.

“Argh, you’re just… the… the worst!!” you screamed into his face, lacking better words. 

Alastors eyes narrowed, shit-eating-grin strained slightly, ears flicking back for a brief moment. You barely caught the change in his eyes or smile, but your eyes darted up at the movement from his fluffy, red and black ears.

You’d never admit it, but ever since you’d arrived at the hotel, you’d had a bit of an obsession over the Radio Demon. He was aggravating and full of himself and bitchy and narcissistic, but something about him always seemed to make your heart beat a little faster. Especially his more… deer-like features.

Antlers, ears, (speculated) tail— you were fascinated by it all. All you wanted to do was run your hand up the back of his ears, tangling in his hair, while you lay, gasping, helpless beneath him, completely at his mercy…

You blinked, realizing that you’d been staring for a few moments too long. Alastor noticed, of course. Smiling wider, he decided to have some fun with it.

“Really, darling? In what ways am I…” he flicked his ears backwards, then forwards again, “the worst?”

You blushed, eyes never breaking from his ears. “Uh, well, I… for starters…” you trailed off.

“...Yes, dear? I’m listening.” His left ear flicked to the side.

“Oh, well, you know…” you desperately tried to gain control of the conversation, looking into his eyes again. “You’re incredibly full of yourself.”

“Oh, really, (Y/N)? And you’re so humble?” He grinned impossibly wider, ears flicking in every which way.

“Well, ya know, I…” Get a hold of yourself, (Y/N), you thought, eyes trying to focus on anything else but the demon in front of you. “I’m not an asshole about it.” Fuck, why did you say that?!

Alastor threw his head back and laughed, his ears finally stopping. You pouted, hating to be the butt of whatever sadistic joke you were to him. “Really? Is that what you think of me?” he asked, still laughing.

“I… I mean, I…” What did you mean? Sure, Alastor could be shitty at times, but he seemed to have a soft spot for you… at least, that’s what you thought. You didn’t really know anymore.

He bent at the waist, face drawing closer to yours, and it seemed as if he read your mind. “What did you mean, sweetheart? I’m listening.” His ears shifted back (purposefully, of course– he just loved to see you squirm). That was the final breaking point for you.

“Oh, fuck you, Alastor!” you turned your head away, suddenly very aware that your back was now firmly pressed against the kitchen counter.

“You’re welcome to try, dear.”

HE DID NOT JUST—

You blushed, and your eyes flashed to his instantly, because there was no way in hell that he just said that.

The smirk that played across his face told you that he had indeed just said that.

“I…I…I-I,” you stammered, not quite able to process it. His smirk grew, especially after his ears twitched to the front again and your eyes followed every movement and his eyes followed yours.

Changing the subject (thank Satan), his smile shifted to a kinder one, eyes looking up to where his ears stood, then back at you. "Would you like to touch them, darling?"

You were silent for a moment, taken aback. "What-- I'm sorry?"

You heard him, of course, and he knew that, so he continued. "As long as our little argument is over, that is." He reached down and took your hand, eyes never breaking away from yours. "As much as I love our friendly banter, it hurts me so much to see you so angry at me."

You didn't know what to say for once, so you just let him bring your hand to to the side of his temple, almost touching his hair.

"...I..." Honestly, you were surprised you got that much out.

Still smiling, his eyes stared into your soul. "Use your words, dear."

Well, there was no going back now. You threw all your embarrassment out the window and nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes, Alastor, I do."

Alastor smiled (you could swear there was kindness behind it), bowed his head, and pressed your hand to the base of his ear.

You almost gasped. The hair (hair? fur? hair-fur?) was soft, softer than you'd imagined. Your fingers gently danced up and down his ear, and then moved over to caress his antlers.

Meanwhile, hidden from you, Alastor's face was a mess of emotions. Every bone in his body screamed at his to leave, to vanish, to get away from the danger that physical contact might bring. His eyes flashed into radio dials, then back again. However, within only a few seconds, he relaxed into your touch, letting out a soft exhale.

You were enthralled with his ears and antlers, so much so that you brought your other hand up to the back of his head, unintentionally pulling him closer to you. Alastor stepped forward slightly, swallowed his pride, and trailed his hands up the sides of your thighs to your waist, while your fingers kept toying with his hair.

Alastor, head still lowered, shifted enough to where he could look up at you. Finally, finally you were able to stop looking at the top of his head (satiated for now), and stared deep into his crimson eyes. (Were his pupils more dilated than normal?)

Slowly, he stood up straight, eyes still fixated on you. Your hands fell from his ears to his hair, and then to his chest. You seemed even more aware of the counter behind you, especially as Alastor took another small step toward you, almost pressing into you, hands tightening on your waist.

"Thank you," you whispered, almost inaudibly, head reaching up slightly.

"Any time, ma chère," he whispered back, as his head lowered.

At that moment, Charlie burst into the kitchen. Immediately, you spun around to face the sink, while Alastor shadow-traveled a few yards away to the fridge. "Alright, you two! I hope you're ready for some group exercises!" she bubbled.

You cleared your throat, blushing (grateful that she didn't see the almost-kiss). "Of course, we'll be out in a minute!" you assured the princess.

"No, no, right now! Let's goooo!" she dragged you out of the kitchen.

Before you passed the now open doorway, you caught Alastor's eye.

He smiled at you.

You grinned.

"Any time, my dear," he whispered once more as you disappeared. "Any time."

[jsfix]

Tease

Kinktober Week One - Ruined Orgasm

Pairing: x Reader

Summary: you send your boyfriend a mirror pic while he’s on patrol

Warnings: MDNI, this is my first time writing smut/kink, reader with a vagina but no pronouns or descriptions, reader wears their bfs shirt, oral + vaginal fingering (r receiving), teasing, lots of commas probably, sexting ig, he’s kinda mean, it’s not discussed but they do have a safe word, you don’t come.. obviously. I think that’s it pls tell me if i’m missing any thx

WC: 975

AN: this was originally meant to be a Tim fic but then I was like ‘thiiis doesn’t sound like him’ so it’s for whichever bat boy yall want it to be :) feedback is appreciated and welcomed!!

~

This was not your fault. Really. It wasn’t. Sure, you may have sent a slightly risqué photo to your boyfriend while he was out on patrol. But it wasn’t even that bad! Just a tasteful mirror pic of your upper half - messy hair, his favorite crop top hiding your chest but showing the expanse of your stomach down to where the picture cut off at your panty line. But you only sent it because that morning he had woken you up with a trail of kisses down your neck, hands wandering across your thighs inching closer and closer until - the alarm went off. He pulled away and, upon seeing your reaction, gave you a grin as he got ready for the day. 

That was fine. You got ready for work and went about your day. Until he’d sent you a voice message at the end of your lunch break that had you feeling really glad you’d decided to put on headphones before opening it. His moans flooded your ears, you could hear the wet sounds of his hand moving up and down his length, the hitch of his breath just before he was about to come. He came with a loud groan of your name. 

So, yeah. It’s not really your fault that you’ve been.. frustrated all day. One thing you could blame yourself for, you suppose, is forgetting that you can’t out-tease the tease. 

There was a glint in his eye, a slight smirk on his face when he came home. He found you on the bed, eyes raking up and down your figure as you smiled innocently up at him. 

“Hi, honey,” you said sweetly, “how was your night?”

“Fine,” he said, moving to take off his suit. 

You stood up to help him as you usually did. It was kind of a night-time routine. You couldn’t sleep while he was out protecting the city, your mind refusing to relax until you saw him again, safe and, mostly, unharmed. You’d catalogue any wounds he had before going to the first aid kit to get the supplies you needed. Tonight, though, he only had some bruises. Humming in approval, you looked back up at him. 

He took your face in his hands, smiling down at you before giving you a sweet kiss, then another kiss, rougher this time. You rested your hands on his bare chest as your kisses grew more and more intense. 

“Got my text?” You asked when you pulled up for air. He didn’t answer, that glint in his eyes returning as his mouth moved down to your neck. You sighed as he began sucking the skin there, hands reaching up to tug at his locks. 

His hands found your hips, pushing you gently until the backs of your knees hit the bed frame. He followed you as you laid back on the mattress, continuing to leave marks. He continued his kisses down your body to your clothed chest, taking a nipple between his lips over the fabric and sucking. You let out a moan. 

“Love you in my clothes,” he muttered, his hand coming up to cup the other side of your chest, kneading it. 

“I know.” His lips quirked as he switched sides, taking your other nipple into his mouth, hands caressing your hips as they jolted when he bit down. 

“Fuck!” You breathed out, moving your hips to grind against his before he pressed down on them, trapping you against the mattress with a tsk. 

“Slow down, baby,” he cooed, lips pressed against your stomach, leaving marks on his way down. He stopped right when he reached your underwear, avoiding where you needed him to suck at your thighs. You whined his name, fighting against his hands trying to find some friction. 

“God, you’re so needy,” he teased, biting down on your sensitive skin then using his tongue to soothe. 

“So desperate.. is that why you sent me a nude on patrol?” 

“It wasn’t a nude” you groaned out before deciding to mention his text from earlier that day. “And what about your-” you moaned as he finally brought his lips to your clit, pressing a kiss against it. 

“My what?” He smirked, this time licking against the wet patch on your underwear just as your lips parted. You gave up on trying to speak, moaning again sucked your clit through the fabric. 

“Please,” you moaned his name, “I need you.”

“Yeah?” He took off your underwear, fingers just barely pressing against your clit, making you whine as you tried to move your hips to make contact only for him to pull away. 

“Okay,” he snickered, moving back down to stare between your legs, parting your lips and watching you pulse, slick pouring out of you.  He let out a groan before taking your clit between his lips. 

The press of his tongue moving up and down your slit made moan, hand reaching again to tug at his hair, tugging harder as he slid a finger inside of you. He moaned into you, his own hips pressing against the bed to chase his own pleasure as he thrusted a second finger inside. 

The pleasure was overwhelming - your back began to arch, stomach tightening, hands tugging harder at his hair. Just as you felt yourself about to come, he pulled away from you with a groan. You cried out his name in frustration.

“Baby,” He ran his hands against your thighs soothingly, voice soft as he called your name, “You okay?” You nodded, your breathing calming as he wiped a stray tear from your face. “Maybe that’ll teach you not to tease.” He laid a kiss on your forehead before heading towards the kitchen to get you a glass of water. It wasn’t until he came back that you noticed the wet patch on the front of his boxers.

[mochinomnoms]

*blinks at u* hey so my brain is eating itself and this won't let me sleep so

*pulls out a megaphone* NSFW ALERT

Okay yes octotrio foursome i know for a fact that the tweels love making their sweet partners forget about their insecurities for a moment yuu and zuzu are mostly receiving WE KNOW THOSE TWO EELS ARE CUNTS (affectionately) and like overstimulating, sweet aftercare is clearly followed but now? They know you and Azul are very spent but oh how they love to bring out such debilitating states out of you two, voices breaking and thighs trembling wanting to stop and close "Too much!" they coo and tease in response "You can take more right?" it is their form of making you two take a break! Making your bones feel like jelly and mushing your brains up, forget about anything now darling! Feels too good to stop right?

Both of those greedy bastards get you and Azul into missionary, the dominant hands of each twin on your hips to hold them in place while the other can bring even more attention to your sensitive zones, so so messy! The amount of lube mixed with saliva and semen that coated yours and Azul's inner thighs from the previous positions, the three of your partners do love to pick apart and see what makes each scenerie unique so sounds, states everything is so important to them! The sloppy sounds that Azul causes when he thrusts into you and how with this position you two can clearly see what's going on, bodies trailed with hickys and bite marks you get masturbated by Floyd while Jade fingers Azul all while still going! Seeing how Jade looks down at you, you can see how he is whispering on Azul's ear giving light kisses every now and then along his neck. They know how much these little things can do for you two, they know and want to make the most of it! After some time of weakly thrusting the twins make Azul fill you up they eat up every breathless noises being made (they also made sure you and Azul held eye contact when bringing you two to the edge don't worry!)

Finally the twins seem satisfied with the state you two are in.. Maybe they can make it even better, Azul was catching his breath and then Floyd decided to steadily masturbate Azul's still twitching dick —"C'mon Azul we wanna see you paint shirmpy's body too!" —"Fufu~ you still have energy left Floyd?" —"Always have energy to make our little mates cum~" Azul threw his head back as he came again this time spilling on your abdomen

What a mess! Don't worry though you and Azul can go into the bath while the twins change the sheets, make small snacks prepare the wedding ceremony pull out fresh pijamas everything is ready for cuddling maybe taking a nap, watching something.. Or even just talking if you even can with your sore throat

They love, love you two this is just one of the many moments that make your relationship so special

AaaaaAAaAAaH this is the very first time I ever write something let alone smut! English isn't my mother tongue and I have forgotten how puntuaction commas or dots went! But this is very feeling charged hope that you can still get it! I think that now I can go curl up on my blankets and get some heavy sleep :3 nighty night Mochi!!

-Vaquita 🐄 (hope this isn't thrown in the dust.. I spent time on it and it could be forgotten forever ;( dramatically sobbing rn)

(you need to sleep love its good for the soul)

Omg no this is really good! I love when polyoctotrio includes the twins loving on Azul too, it feeds my soul! I think they really do get a kick out of overstimulating their partners, especially for someone as high-strung as Azul.

It gets frustrating when he gets too focused on work and starts ignoring his lovers. More so when their little Shrimp is running around busy with Grim and Crowley's tasks. The twins are feeling neglected by BOTH of their partners, what a sin!

The remedy? They con you two into coming into the bedroom to "relax" and unfortunately for you and Azul, relax means literally fucking the brains out of your head until you're too dumb to remember what you were supposed to do the next day.

The nice thing is, at the end, Azul is so sweet when he's like this! All the stress, and thoughts in general, are out of his mind and only filled with thoughts of his partners! He's so cuddly to the point that it's almost funny, with how Floyd has to pry his arms off you to properly wash you in the bath. It's awfully cute, so are you, though! You're clutching at Azul all the same, cherishing his affection as Jade attempts to dress you in your pajamas. Eventually the two get you both in bed again, curled into each other and practically knocking out the moment your heads hit the pillows.

A lovely polycule to be sure!

[difficultdomains]

a/n: satoru! with! long! hair! - that’s it, that’s the post

mdni - nsfw under the cut

long hair but not the way suguru’s hair is long.

long hair as in it’s been a while since he had a moment to himself, let alone time for a haircut. so when he returns home to you after yet another long mission, his hair is falling into his face and over his eyes, almost hiding them completely from view.

“looks strange, right?” is the only thing he says with a grin when he sees you standing at the door, eyes wide.

he prefers his usual look, the undercut, the controlled unruliness. but you? even though you think you’re being sneaky, he notices.

those quick little glances through the fogged up mirror when you catch him fresh out of the shower. it’s not the towel sitting way too low on his hips that has your gaze lingering longer than usual - it’s the semi-dried white chaos on top of his head that’s making you want to follow every drop that drips from his ends and trace it down his skin. the time you usually take to brush your teeth suspiciously doubles.

or later that same night, when he rests his head in your lap only for your hands to absentmindedly tangle in his hair. with your attention captured by the movie you had chosen together, your fingers fall into a rhythm of their own, twirling lock after lock around your index finger, over and over again, like a mantra. he would love to let you lull him to sleep with your steady, repetitive motions, let himself drift off under your touch right where he is - but he wants more.

he wants you to forget all about your movie when he pulls you onto his lap, hips between your thighs and arms wrapped around your waist, tightly, until your chest is completely flush with his. unknowingly you reveal what's on your mind once again, breath lodging in his throat when all the tenderness in the world concentrates in your fingertips, pushing back his bangs and running through his hair all the way until you arrive at the nape of his neck. your nails meet sensitive skin, and he shivers, electricity trickling down his spine. you search for his eyes, only to find him already watching you with overcast skies, longing pressing down on his lungs like humidity. you mirror him, your gaze stifling when it drops down to his lips and all at once the brewing summer storm in his irises unleashes, lightning cracking when he finally gets to kiss you, soft and scorching at the same time.

what he wants even more though, is to look up at your flushed cheeks and the reddish bruise threatening to form on your neck before he dips down between your thighs, drinking in the gasp that falls from your lips when his own connect with your most sensitive spot. your breathing quickens, air sticking to your airways as he coaxes only the sweetest sounds out of you with every flick of his tongue. you push him closer, white locks spilling out from between your fingers - but he still needs more. you miss the near-devious look from under his heavy eyelashes as he abandons his firm hold on your hips and trails up your thigh, only to travel down again until he’s right in between. a broken moan slips from your mouth when he slides his fingers in with one smooth motion, your hand coming up to stifle it and prevent the sound from bouncing off the walls of your living room. you grab onto the loose collar of your shirt, bracing yourself for what you know is about to come - but he moves agonizingly slow, slowing down all of his motions until you're reduced to a rubber band pulled taut by impatience.

his name mixes with an exasperated groan on your tongue, head falling to the side onto the backrest of the couch.

“what’s wrong, love?” he purrs, looking up at you and halting his movements altogether.

the furrows between your brows deepen when he gifts you an angelic smile.

“tell me what you want.”

you reach out, gripping his hair again, the tenderness from before replaced by intention.

“do it properly.”

his eyes glaze over at the pleading tone you mutter your command in. he almost has you exactly where he wants you. just one more push-

“you sure you can handle it, baby?”

he watches it snap in your eyes, your refusal to play along evident in the way you use your newfound leverage to push him back between your legs, right where you want him the most.

without granting you a single breath more, he suppresses a triumphant grin and his lips reattach, fingers slipping back in to curl right against your spot with absolute precision. sudden sweet pressure has your back arching up into him and your fingers pulling on his hair, hard, tearing a moan from him that immediately intertwines with yours.

maybe he‘ll consider postponing that haircut - just for a little while longer.

this is what i have in mind if you need a visual for the hair LMFAO

[anonimusunnoaniswriting]

CultLeader!Geto x Devotee!Reader Smut | Semi-Public Cult Leader Geto takes advantage of you in the boredom of summer and has his way with you in the main hall.

A big thank you to @unintentionalseductress for hosting this delicious event. Also a HUGE ASS thank you to @ominouslywritinginmyhead for editing. I don't know how to comma. Thank u for saving me I owe you my life.

To all the girls that hate the summer, and loathe the heat. 

The ice cube slowly melted against your heated skin as Geto pushed it down your neck to your shoulder. 

It had just been a few minutes since he’d called you away from the window and watched as you sauntered over to him, sweat dripping down your neck and disappearing into your cleavage, out of his sight. You had been praying for a sign of the promised thunderstorm forecast earlier in the day, but the horizon had been bright as ever and Geto was irritated by the blinding light of the sun. 

The rattling of the overhead AC in the meeting hall, directed at Geto’s back, overpowered the deafening chirping of the cicadas outside. And despite it all, Geto insisted on keeping up appearances: his yukata tied as usual with the gold-green kasaya, his hair still in a half-up, half-down style, you in your silk kimono, unable to disrobe for the much preferred shorts and tank top you wore outside of the official spaces.

“Look at how this ice cube is dripping down you,” Geto whispered into your ear. 

“Geto-sama…” you let out a pleading whine. 

You were all too aware of the cold air hitting your bare thighs and the obscene way your yukata was parted at your waist to accommodate Geto’s hands…and more importantly, his cock. He was already semi-hard when he called you over from the window and ordered you to sit on his lap. And with a little squirming and a couple thrusts, he insisted on you cockwarming him. 

“Geto-sama, anyone can come in and see…” you pleaded again and felt Geto’s cock twitch inside your walls. There were enough people outside; the doors weren’t even locked, and you were splayed out in such a way that any unsuspecting cult member would have an unobstructed view of everything if they decided to enter without warning. 

You shifted in his lap, trying to get comfortable, and Geto pulled at your lowered kimono sleeves, kissing your neck. “Look at you all worried, you little curse. It didn’t seem to bother you when you were shrugging off your kimono to expose all this beautiful skin…” The ice cube was long melted, and Geto fished around in his drink for another to trail all over your exposed neck and shoulders. He slipped his fingers under the layered cloth to find your breast, chilled fingertips pinching your nipples, which swelled despite his chill.

“This was all your doing, little one. You decided to be a bratty little tease. You should have expected the fallout.” 

You thought back to how Geto’s amethyst eyes had darkened as you’d slipped the sleeves of your kimono to allow the cold air to hit your skin directly. It hadn’t been entirely for heat reasons, though. 

“Bounce on my cock.” 

You didn’t dare defy the order. There were some lines even you knew not to cross. Slowly, you began to move, careful not to let him slip out of you. His cock was coated in your slick, making movement easy, while his girth stretched you out with a delicious burn. 

Sounds of your moans and weighted breathing accompanied the AC clatter, spurring Geto on. His hand came up to clasp your asscheek, and he suddenly realised he wanted to see you. 

“Get on your back.” But despite his words, Geto didn’t wait for you to move. He lifted you himself and laid you onto the tatami, attacking your lips in the process. His kiss was fiery and rough, drinking you in like you were the much awaited storm. His hips pounded into you in a fast paced, steady rhythm, and you felt yourself reaching the summit. 

You reached down to your clit and rubbed at the parched bud, bringing yourself to your climax. Geto wasn’t far behind. He emptied into you with a groan and a final thrust. 

You gazed up at him, his neat bun coming loose and strands of dark locks framing his face. A stupid smile graced yours as you watched the little beads of sweat that had formed on his skin. Your heart did a little flip in your chest seeing him grin back, and you pulled his head down to envelope him in a deep kiss. 

A sudden clap of thunder and several loud knocks at the door jerked the both of you out of your dream. You shifted, and Geto got up to sit back in his usual position. You began to rise, but he yanked you back, groaning loudly as you landed on his bulge. 

“Little curse…be gentle with me. I’m not as strong as you to take such a rough pounding…” 

The knocks sounded once again and your cheeks burned. “Suguru…” You dared use his given name. Was he really going to…? “There’s people outside…” 

Geto only laughed. “Well then, let’s let them inside! Enter!”

Comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly

[romnianistan]

It's a bit hard to articulate it because it's just a hunch that I have. The thing with Jane Eyre is that the main character (it's a first-person pov) is a painter and she has these very vivid descriptions when it comes to nature and the passing of time. For example this is how she describes summer:

"It was not a bright or splendid summer evening, though fair and soft: the haymakers were at work all along the road; and the sky, though far from cloudless, was such as promised well for the future: its blue- where blue was visible- was mild and settled, and its cloud strata high and thin. The west, too, was warm: no watery gleam chilled it- it seemed as if there was a fire lit, an altar burning behind its screen of marbled vapour, and out of apertures shone a golden redness." (chapter 22)

and this is how she describes the winter/spring transition:

"Spring drew on: she was indeed already come; the frosts of winter had ceased; its snows were melted, its cutting winds ameliorated. My wretched feet, flayed and swollen to lameness by the sharp air of January, began to heal and subside under the gentler breathings of April ..." (beginning of chapter 9)

those descriptions can be characterized by these three features:

personification of nature, emphasis on the agency of nature (nature is not passive in any sense)

description of nature and time is used to bring attention to the narrative and to the mental/physical state of the character

description of nature and time often happens at the start of the chapter, to set the scene

those 3 features are pretty specific to jane eyre; i haven't read all of 19th c british literature but those descriptions are really representative of charlotte bronte's style compared to, say, charles dickens for example (another writer jkr has obviously read and drawn inspiration from)

and those 3 features also characterize the way JKR uses descriptions of nature/passing of time in HP. this quote has it all:

"October extinguished itself in a rush of howling winds and driving rain and November arrived, cold as frozen iron, with hard frosts every morning and icy drafts that bit at exposed hands and faces. The skies and the ceiling of the Great Hall turned a pale, pearly gray, the mountains around Hogwarts became snowcapped, and the temperature in the castle dropped so far that many students wore their thick protective dragon skin gloves in the corridors between lessons."

but that's just how she generally describes the passing of time, even when she uses less words. for example: "As a dull March blurred into a squally April, his life seemed to have become one long series of worries and problems again." (that quote goes so hard) (both of them are from ootp)

both jkr and bronte use descriptions of nature work as a narrative device in the exact same way. i don't think it's too far-fetched to assume bronte influenced her writing style as i'm convinced jkr has read jane eyre (it's jkr, come on, ofc she's read it) (i'm also convinced jkr has read wuthering heights and you can see this in hbp. i should re-read wuthering heights but in english this time cause maybe there is some stylistic influence too idk)

Descent.