#And for comparison when i read other books i will have to hold my hand over a page if some bodily fluids are mentioned or read it as fast a

[surpriserose]

Honestly you would think the jungle would be really bad for my contamination ocd but its not actually

[kikuism]

i finished five broken blades

[dollfacefantasy]

kinktober day 20 - size kink jason todd x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, size kink, tummy bulge

"That's it, baby. Take it all. Oh, look at you go. Being so brave for me."

On the surface the words are soothing, but the tone of Jason's voice fills each syllable with condescension. Not in a bad way. The sickly sweet lilt strikes the perfect chord that has you wetter than any body of water on this earth.

Your hips rise and fall in measure rolls, your cunt embracing his thick cock with every motion. You have to take it slow. Otherwise, you feel like you'll tear yourself in half.

"Jay…" you whimper, lip wobbling and eyes gleaming with the need for him to coddle you, "You're so…"

A sharp whine from your throat cuts off your own words. Your head tilts back and then hangs forward. His tip brushes your sweet spot every time you sink down on him. It makes it nearly impossible to remain coherent. You'd never met somebody who could make you malfunction like this.

"I'm so what?" he coos, prompting you to finish your statement. He already knew the words on the tip of your tongue, but he still wanted to hear them spoken into the drafty air of your apartment.

"You're so big," you choke out.

Another moan falls from your lips before you grit your teeth. Your face scrunches up in tandem with your walls clenching around his length. Vaguely, you hear him chuckle. He then pulls you close and cradles you against his chest.

"And you like that, don't you?" he whispers.

He slumps further down on the couch. His feet press hard against the smooth wooden floor beneath the two of you. The muscles in his thighs flex as he begins to pump his hips up and down. You whine and clutch at his meaty bicep, melting against his warm skin and letting him do all the work right now.

You nearly forget he asked a question at all until he continues speaking.

"I know you do, doll. You like that when you're with me, you're helpless. Don't have to think. Don't have to move. Don't have to do anything but let me use this sweet, little pussy till I'm satisfied," he says.

Your toes curl, your thighs clamping around his own. The pressure doesn't stop him from moving though, not in the slightest. You inhale sharply before nodding against his neck. Of course, you like this. You love it.

You could never get enough of Jason's body. You'd study it forever if he let you. Your pupils felt magnetized whenever they had the chance to drift along his chiseled torso or mentally map the pathways of his scars. Adoration wasn't a strong enough word for how you felt in regards to his figure. Obsession seemed more appropriate.

Fortunately for you, Jason behaved much the same about your body.

In the mornings when he thought sleep still had a strong hold on you, he'd run his fingers over every curve he could find. He'd knead the swell of your ass and press tender kisses between your shoulder blades. As you'd start to wake, he'd wrap his hands around your waist and nearly pop a boner right then and there from how large they looked in comparison.

His favorite thing in the world after a long grueling patrol fast became coming home to you. Not even thirty minutes with your delicate body washed away all the stress caused by hard and rough people he dealt with beyond these walls. Some nights he'd prop your dainty legs over his broad shoulders and dive into your slippery cunt. Other nights he'd get right down to it, shoving his fat cock inside you and watching your belly bulge with the intrusion.

Tonight hadn't been either of those. He'd been home for a change. But having you curled up to his side and pressed against him while he read a book got him worked up pretty fast. It wasn't his fault the two of you just seemed to fit so naturally together.

"My good girl. Soft and sweet all for me," he praises as he continues fucking up into you. His heavy balls lightly slap against your ass with each thrust.

Your nails dig into his shoulder as the repetitive strokes start to build on one another. Small, whimpered expletives drip from your lips like a leaky faucet. He knows you're getting there. All he has to do is ramp up his efforts a little.

His hands lock around your waist like they do on hazy mornings. Just like then, he's obsessed with the way your skin dimples beneath his digits now. He boosts you back and starts bouncing you up and down in addition to his thrusts.

Your eyes roll back at the sensation and you take your bottom lip between your teeth. You don't have to do anything in this position still. He's strong enough to hold you upright all by himself. The only thing you had to do was like he said - stay still and let yourself be used.

"Can never get enough of you, baby, fuck," he grunts. His head falls back against the sagging cushion as he keeps working himself into you over and over. He glances back up at you slightly. "Is it feeling good?"

"Mhm," you whine, "So fuckin' good. So deep. All the way inside."

Your head bobbles around with the way he jerks you up and down on his lap. He smirks at your words and the airy way you say them.

"I know. I can see it," he responds, eyes flitting down to that faint and familiar bump. Evidence of his place inside you.

You only whimper in response. He drops you back down against his chest so one of his hands can slot against your center and rub your clit in fast, tight circles. The flickering feeling draws even more noises of pleasure from you.

The edge sneaks up on the both of you fast. You fall over it first. Your body spasms and seizes between his hands, but his strong grip is enough to keep you in place. For him, it explodes in a muted burst of ecstasy before burning into a brighter one. He wraps his arms around your smaller frame and keeps you flush against his sweaty skin as he fucks his load deep inside.

The both of you stay there while you come down. His chest puffs up and down with deep breaths. Even with all his exertion, his hand rubs soothing stripes along the column of your spine. You lie against him completely motionless, limp against the muscles of his chest. A little pleasure doll all for him to play with.

[hedgehog-moss]

I was talking with a friend the other day about how I was fascinated with American school life when I was a teen because it seemed so different from how things are in my country (I knew about US high schools thanks to Hollywood, an accurate and trustworthy source) and we talked about which aspects of US schools felt foreign or strange to us and one thing I brought up was, how American teens only seemed to have like 15min for lunch (I had 1h30 here in France), as evidenced by the cafeteria scenes (no one seemed to eat a proper four-course meal? I definitely never saw a separate cheese course), and I was like, I envied a lot of stuff about US schools but not this

... and I went looking in my old diaries to see if I ever wrote about this, and you know what? I was wrong. I did envy their school lunches which, like almost everything about US schools, felt intriguing and different and cool. The reason middle school-me thought American school lunches were superior to French ones is because, since American teens in TV shows only seemed to get like 4 chicken nuggets and a milk carton for lunch, their lunch tray was very light and they could hold it with one hand under it, the other hand in their pocket or holding their bag strap on their shoulder all casual-like. Sometimes there was no tray, even!

I envied these American teenagers for their lunchtime nonchalance. I would have liked to handle lunch in this cool-cat way but my French lunch tray being loaded with 4 different heavy and breakable plates, I had to hold it carefully with both hands. In my view this was unfair as the hindrance of governmental nutrition guidelines made French students look like uptight nerds, unable to strut around the cafeteria with one hand in our pocket like we didn’t care. Same for the absence of lockers in our schools, we had to carry all our books on our back all day like studious turtles whilst the beautiful 25 year old American teens on my television casually leant against their lockers chatting with friends then strolled around school with just a couple of books tucked under their arm like they were in Dead Poets Society. Thank god there was an ocean between us, imagine a French kid entering a US school cafeteria carrying 3 binders and 5 textbooks in their big rucksack and holding their tray with two hands like a complete loser

Note that these comparisons are quite worthless since I don't know what US school life / food is like in the real world (I imagine it varies a lot!)—I just find it funny to re-read old diaries and discover what was important to kid-me. Discussing these little cultural differences gleaned from US TV series, adult!me is like "yeah I remember being intrigued & envious about a lot of things! Not their school lunches though, they didn't look balanced and nutritious"—meanwhile middle school-me, focused on what mattered, was like, imagine what we could be... imagine being able to hold your lunch tray with 1 hand instead of 2 thus accessing a realm of coolness unfathomable to us in our backward country

[readwritealldayallnight]

“-was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favourite sh- are you sure you want to listen to this, Si?” You giggled, shutting your book in favour of leaning your cheek against your forearm, tilting your head back far enough to catch Simon’s eye behind you. “I could always read whatever you’ve started, wouldn’t bother me.”

“Not the deal, lovie.” He answers, scooching further up the bed to where you’re laying on your stomach, head just as the edge of the bed so that your arms can comfortably hold the book at eye level. “S’your turn after all. You read me whatever you like.”

It’s true, it is your turn tonight. You forget how long ago this started, though you remember how the idea came about, Simon complaining about his back one evening while the two of you were laying on the couch together, each reading a book, quietly enjoying the others company. He was home for only a few days that time, and you’d insisted that he spend at least a full 24 hours doing nothing but resting and relaxing, a feat easier said than done with that man.

“Why don’t you let me rub your back?” You’d suggested, setting your book down.

“No love, you don’t have to be doin’ that,” he’d shaken his head, though you could see he was doing so reluctantly. His back really was hurting him something fierce. “Besides, I’m at the good part. Don’ wanna put this down just yet.” He’d gestured towards the thick novel in his hands, some war book, of course. His idea of relaxing.

“Oh come on,” you’d insisted, wanting to do this for him. You had tugged the blanket off your lap, coming to stand next to the couch, watching him raise a brow at you. “I can totally massage your back while you read, best of both worlds. Go on, flip over on your stomach.”

“Usually I’m the one tellin’ you tha- hey!” He had obliged you, turning over onto until he’s laying on his front, trying to hid the wince of discomfort that came with the movement. You’d swatted at his ass following his little comment, but your soft hands were already coming to slip under his shirt, skimming along both smooth and scarred skin alike. “But you were enjoyin’ your book too, love.” He tried to protest again, though his eyes were already rolling to the back of his head at the feeling of your touch, loving fingers squeezing at his strong, sore muscles.

“Why don’t you read out loud to me?” You’d suggested to him.

“Not sick o’ my voice yet?”

“Mm, never.” You came to straddle his behind, planting a knee on either side of him, leaning closer to whisper to him. “Favourite sound in the world actually.”

Simon was grateful you couldn’t see his face at this moment, as he was certain he’d gone beet red.

“Well, you let me know when you change your mind.” He grumbled, opening his book back up, clearing his throat and picking up where’d last left off. Three chapters later, your barely noticed how sore your hands were in comparison to how full your heart was, listening to Simon’s voice go from begrudgingly reading the passages to you, his tone slowly gaining enthusiasm as he became lost in the story once more, smiling to himself whenever he’d hear a small noise come from you in reaction to his reading, a gasp of surprise of a hum of agreement.

He’d gone to bed that night and slept better than he had in a long time, back feeling like a dream, and woke up the next day, asking if he could return the favour. Soon, the evening pass time of one of you massaging the other’s back while they read aloud whatever book they’re currently reading, became one of your favourite, most cherished memories with Simon, the tender moment so pure, knowing he looked forward to these small moments as much as you did.

The two of you had gone through so many genres in the last few months, you’d lost track, every type of book being brought off the shelf. Though you didn’t always share the same tastes in books, you could still enjoy the sound of your lover reading something that they love to you. Simon was always a good sport about your picks in particular, but tonight you couldn’t help but question whether he really would want to sit through your pick of the week.

“I’m not even sure if it would be better or worse to have you watch the movie first.” You say, your words nearly coming out in a moan at the end when his strong hands reach a tender spot in your back.

“Jus’ read me the book, cheeky girl, before I try an’ get more o’ them noises out o’ ya.” He decides for you, giving your ass a quick squeeze before returning to his diligent task of rubbing your back.

You decide you’ll listen to the Lieutenant this one time, opening up your book and starting again.

Who knows, maybe Simon will like vampires.

[aphroditesmoon]

wish you'd ask me

clarisse la rue x fem!demigod!reader

summary: you're not good at reading subtle hints, clarisse realises that maybe she should've been more upfront with her feelings for you.

warnings: fluff, oblivious!reader, clarisse is down bad, reader is very neurodivergent coded, kissing, flirting, title n fic inspired by 'Wish You'd Ask Me' by Matt Maltese.

A/N: thank you for 1.9k followers!! I love you all dearly, my ask box and dms r always open, im glad that my writing is being enjoyed by so many people<3

wc: 4.5k

You have been in camp half blood for more than 4 years. You have made yourself at home for the last several years. 

It was easy to view yourself as lesser or inadequate in comparison to other mortals during your days in the real world before you were sent to camp. The world has never failed to remind you of how different you were. Always too much or not good enough, always special and never normal

And it wasn't like you were dying for some sort of diagnosis to justify why you are the way you are, but upon discovering that you were actually a demigod, it felt like all the questions you've been harboring to yourself was finally answering themselves. 

Everything clicked. Everything made sense, though at the same time, it felt impossible. You were a very confused little girl when you first arrived at camp. A girl who just wanted someone to tell them that it'll all be alright in the end.

And you still remembered the first person to hold you by your shoulders and made you look into their eyes as they told you that it was all going to be okay.

The girl with beautiful long curls and dark piercing eyes. The girl that everyone else, apparently, was afraid of.

But you could never be afraid of Clarisse La Rue. 

Not with the way she smiles when every time she sees you, the way she never fails to make you feel included even in activities you're not capable of participating in. Not with the way your whole body electrifies every time your skin touches, when your hands brush against each other. 

It didn't matter what anyone think, because no one could change the perception you've built of her. Clarisse La Rue is good. Or at least she is to you.

When you first heard of the rumours surrounding her, you did think better than to force a friendship on her. You strayed away from her and stuck to your cabin siblings and your books, but you noticed daily how she'd still go out of her way to talk to you at least once a day.

It didn't need to be a long conversation, just a passing acknowledgement. An easygoing 'hey, how've you been doing.' Sometimes she'd even go as far as cracking a joke with you.

With how serious her face is whenever she make the jokes, you'd have to think twice as hard and thrice as faster than another person to try and guess if she was being genuine or not so you could fit in a necessary laugh when you needed to.

Even as her anger became more apparent because of the new kid's accidental climb to fame and embarrassing the Ares' cabin, she still found time to make a conversation with you.

It had been long since you tried to ignore or avoid her. You learned that her attention towards you is harmless, and that she seemed much more comfortable telling you certain things compared to others. If she has been viewing you as some sort of safe box, then you don't really mind it. You liked listening to her talk and keeping her heart's intent as your secret.

You too, talking to her. To some people, you are reserved,  

and to others, talkative. Either way, people find it easy to discard you at any moment they decide you are irritating.

But Clarisse listens. And she asks questions, she's patient- much patient that anyone could anticipate or guess. 

It may be hard for others to believe, but Clarisse is more complex than she seems. She had the capacity to be gentle, and she had the capacity to respect boundaries. The more time you spent with her, the more that side becomes easy for you to access.

Today, however,  marks a new record for your friendship with her. A few weeks ago, she had informed you of her newfound interest in the history of folklore monsters. What a coincidence that you were currently self-studying on that specific topic.

She insisted that you hook her in on whatever it is you're learning. She had even gotten you a doughnut to eat together outside the library as you told her of your insights of dragons and their theorized blindness and incapability to differentiate a variety of prey.

The conversation went well, she seemed immensely in awe of your knowledge and had no problem telling you how she felt. 

You even gave her some book recommendations, though you knew she wasn't much of a reader.

You felt a shift in your relationship that night and had spent the next three days studying more and more about the topic. And today, you had asked her to spend the evening with you. 

You shouldn't feel so nervous asking her to hang out. That is what friends do, after all.

She found you in the library, sitting on the floor in between two large bookshelves. She had been right on time and enthusiastically so. The two of you sat together, hidden by the shelves as some semblance of privacy. 

Clarisse looked confused when you had explained that you indeed wanted to spend the rest of the day in the library, but she accompanied you anyways.

You could never get sick of the smell of the books. Old and new, they all have some nostalgic past tied in between the pages, begging to be discovered. 

You had your back on the walls with tinted windows above your head as she's seated opposite of you in a criss-crossed position.

Today, the library isn't as packed as usual. There were still people walking in and out and checking out the books on the counter, but not too many that it became obnoxiously loud and annoying. 

After finishing another book of Monsters and how to spot them, you're feeling knowledgeable enough to explain the lore of the Giants to Clarisse, she had asked you about this the other day, giants have been long extinct to the point that some might even say they may have never even existed. And so you were interested in sharing with her all of the information you have learned about the majestic species of a beast.

You started with the general information. The basic understanding of what a Giant is the mythhs of Giants and the validity of those sources. Clarisse listened closely in the beginning, never interrupting you unless she had an actual question.

She seemed in awe of the stories you tell her of. You don't blame her, for you yourself have been most interested in the topic of Giants.

You were an hour an a half in when noticed her attention faltering. She leaned against the cases of books, her eyes twitched slightly when you began to explain the different types of giants, and the difference of how they operate.

Her hands are folded together on her lap, and you can feel her listening in on everything you're telling her as she adds in some commentary here and there, but you also felt that she wasn't entirely in on the conversation.

The dim lights of the library made the atmosphere feel warm and secluded, even with its vast space and many other campers hanging around in the other tables and shelves. You made sure to keep your voice low as you spoke in fear of the librarian kicking you out. 

You had a good reputation with the library workers, they liked how organized and polite you were. 

"A lot of people think their greatest strength is their size, which is valid, they are huge, but their real weapon is their mouth." You told Clarisse, ignoring the litter of books by your left that you had brought over for reference.

"They kiss you to death?" She asks suspiciously. You laughed shortly and shook your head. "No, I mean their breath."

She responds with an 'ohh.' 

"They're giants, so their mouth is large too, and you can easily tell what they had for breakfast even from their tall height. Their breaths are also known to be so rancid it could kill you, because they don't exactly eat what we eat." 

She raises a brow as she stretches her hands upwards. "Isn't that ogres?" 

"It's both." You confirmed.

You were about to continue your explanation but halted by instinct as you notice how her mouth keeps pursing together as if unsatisfied, and she has that look on her face that mimicked a confused expression. You're don't think there's anything to be confused of.

"Are you okay?" You asked her worriedly. Clarisse sits up straighter at the question and waved a hand off to assure you she's fine. "Of course, no yeah- I'm fine."

"You seem bored, you're not really interested in what I'm saying are you?” She opens her mouth to counter your words but hesitates to say anything. 

"I- well, I like giants-" She attempts, "-no you don't. " 

"No. I don't." She admits with a sigh. "But I thought you said you were interested in these kind of stuff?" You questioned her. "Well, yeah, like the general idea of it. I mean, I don't hate it, and I like hearing you talk about it." She answers with a shrug.

"Then why do you look disappointed? If you didn't want to come, you could've just told me. I wouldn't get mad." You told her honestly. It was conflicting for you to see her so confused on what to say, being so picky with the words she chooses.

You figured she's probably reluctant to hurt your feelings. That is a notion you're used to. You'd rather she tell you the truth to your face than to be catered around like a time ticking bomb that everyone's so afraid might explode at any time. 

"When you asked me out yesterday, you told me this would be an 'evening to remember." She tells you with such confidence like it was an explanation to her weird behaviour today.

"You don't think this is an evening to remember?" You sincerely inquire.

"No, I do! I just- well, when you said that I didn't think you'd mean we'd be doing this." Your frown deepens as you try to figure out what she means, eyeing her body language closely. “What do you mean? I told you I wanted to hang out.” 

A part of you is offended. She was the one who had said she liked hearing you speak, why would she be disappointed that this was your idea of spending time together?

"I don't know, I thought we'd just be doing...something else?"

It didn't matter what she had really meant with that. You felt completely embarrassed once she finished her sentence. Why was it that everyone else had no problem having long conversations with their friends, but when it came to you, it's all too awkward, unnecessary, and odd? 

You liked Clarisse, you considered her your friend. Sometimes you wonder if it could ever be more, but you never entertain those thoughts because you don't want to ruin what the two of you already have. 

But moments like these resemble a huge slap in the face by the universe.

You couldn't even be good friends with her, how ridiculous of you to think that there could ever be something more.

"Okay, um, maybe we should just go back to our cabin." You decided whilst standing up and picking up the stack of books you're currently borrowing from the library, ready to leave the place without waiting for her.

"Hey, wait." She called out as you walked past her. You spared her a glance, trying your best not to show how upset you are.  “We're friends." She says it so much like a question that you weren't sure if she's even sure of the fact herself until she continued speaking. "I like hanging out with you."

Another thing that you weren't sure if she really meant. "Sure." You replied thinking it's the most suitable response. 

Before she could say anything else, you turned around and started picking up your pace until you disappeared out of her sight.

—

You have been consistently ignoring Clarisse. Which proved to be harder than expected.

When you pass by her camp or the training ground, you make a mental note to always look down or to your front as to never accidentally cross eyes with her.

And everytime you hear her call out your name, you keep walking like you didn't even hear her, knowing that she wouldn't be bold enough to call for you again. After all, she still had a reputation to uphold.

If ignoring her wasn't hard enough, having to deal with how you felt for her is worse.

You've been avoiding confrontation with yourself for weeks even before you decided to go no contact with her.

And so far, you thought you've been handling it pretty well. Except for days where you don't see her where she's expected to be. You tell yourself that you don't care as you make your way to training in the day and reading in the evening, and yet you still go back on your own words when you asked a passerby Ares kid on where his cabin leader was.

"She's dunking some kid's head into a toilet bowl." Of course she was.

You thanked the dude and went back on your way to your cabin. It's close to dusk, the sky is turning orange and the sun is dipping itself below the earth. You take your time returning to your cabin as you enjoy the way the sun slowly removes itself from anyone's viewing.

You wondered to yourself if things like these are what makes you weird or off-putting to some people.

Was enjoying nature and having niche interests only cute when it's done by girls pretty enough to be cool or if it's only in romance movies or books.

You don't find yourself weird, in fact you think all of your hobbies are pretty common and usual, and yet the way Clarisse had spoken to you at the library last week had made you feel unnatural.

You had wanted to do normal people things with her, but maybe your perception of normal is different to her.

Either way, you are pretty hurt with how she reacted. You loved her still, of course. It's kind of hard to unlike the girl you've been obsessed with since you were 15.

Once you finally reach your cabin, you quickly put down all of your books and your tiny sling back by the side before making it to the shower to refresh yourself before dinner.

You thought it hilarious of how hard you're trying not to care about Clarisse, and yet as you're cleaning yourself up, changing your clothes and attempting to read at least 15 pages of your World's Most Dangerous Beasts book, you could only think of her.

What would it take for her to think that you're cool, what kind of things did she want to do instead of listening to you yap around for 2 hours on what is an equivalent of a boring dinosaur facts, not that you really think dinosaurs are boring.

During dinner, you kept to siblings and had to make yourself finish your plate as your anxiety wrecking thoughts have a way of deriving you of an appetite. You also had to convince yourself to not search for her at the other tables which took more strength than one would expect.

But you succeeded, and you were now sure that the only obstacle left for the day was to try and fall asleep without the thoughts of her keeping you up.

Clarisse is a force, a fierce daughter of Ares, and a cabin leader who had much better things to do then hole up at quiet small places with you.

And just because she was nice enough to mantain a good relationship with you for 4 years, does not mean that you're worth her time. Or at least that's what you tell yourself.

That night, you managed to fall asleep after an hour of recalling Harpy facts in repetition. Counting sheeps had never worked on you, so you had to find something much more active to tire out your brain.

You dreamed of Clarisse with her hair down, holding your hand and pulling you closer so she could slip a flower on your ear.

And just as she's looking down at you, moving closer to do what it seemed like to kiss you, you awoke with a jolt, swearing under your breath as if you'd just gotten jumpscared by a ghost.

Someone's palms moved to shut your lips as you're met with a girl, hovering over you in the dark. Clarisse's dark eyes were recognizable, but it sent a shot of adrenaline through your body still.

"Shh." She whispered to your face, hand still keeping your mouth shut. "I'm going to remove my hands now." She whispered again. You nod in understanding and waited for her to pry her hand away from your face.

"What are you doing here?!" You exclaimed as quiet as possible as she helped you sit up.

"I'm sneaking you out." She answers with a wink. "It's 2 in the morning." You waved your hand around at the darkness and sleeping children. "3 in the morning, and yeah, I know. That's why it's called sneaking around." She corrects you with a grin so devilish that if you hadn't known her for a long time, you'd assume she's about to turn you into a new toilet bowl or dumpster boxing victim.

You sighed loudly and glared at her despite your fast beating heart. Her hand remained on top of yours until the minute becomes more awkward and she removes it as if she just remembered that she's been holding your hand.

Without explanation,  she climbed out of your bed and tiptoes to the open cabin door. You're still sitting up and looking at her with conflicted feelings.

Only after she turns back to you, cocking her head towards the entrance, do you give into her request and softly leave the comfort of your bed and trail after her.

"Where are we going?" You asked after her as she kept walking. Instead of responding, she asks you another question back, "Can you swim?"

"We're going swimming?" You watch her shrug in return from behind her and became even more distressed.

"So, is this your idea of having fun and hanging out then?" She laughs drily and slowed down so you could catch up. You walked fast enough until you're beside her and waited for her to talk. "You sound surprised, I would've thought that after 4 years of friendship, you'd know by now that I love doing things that includes active movements."

You did know that, it's a bit hard to not notice how much working out, training and running fuels her even more.

"And why are we doing it in the middle of the night?" The walk towards the lake by the back of the forest was short, considering that your cabin is the closest to the location.

You almost tripped and fell over a stick, but Clarisse was quick to scoop you back up by the back of your shirt. "Thanks." You mumbled to her. "And you haven't answered my question."

Clarisse pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it on the ground without caring of your presence. You, having more moral obligations than her, twisted your face to your left when she began to pull her trousers off. "Too many people in broad daylight." She tells you.

That is a valid reason, this lake is mostly known as a hook up spot, and true to it's cause, many dating campers have been caught together here during dawn or late evenings.

You braved yourself to turn towards her again slowly and realised that she had already hopped into the water. She had a sports bra on and a boxer.

And though you yourself had a tank top and shorts on, you contemplate the idea of suicide as a better choice than having to strip in front of her.

"Are you gonna get in, or are you just gonna gawk at me from there?" You were grateful for the dark being able to hide your flushed face from her, but deep down, you knew that she probably saw it anyways because of the shining bright moonlight.

"I can't swim." You told her.

"That's fine, the water's not very deep." You ransacked your brain for reasons to decline her offer, but at the same time, a small part of you yearned to take this risk that you've been so afraid of for gods knows whatever reason.

Clarisse is there, in the water and under the moonlight. You are only a few steps away from her. And like she said, the water isn't deep, only waist length. She stares back at you with a raised brow like she's challenging you to join her.

"Turn around first." You tell her. She smirked slightly before slowly spinning to the opposite direction. "You know I've seen you naked before right?"

"What?" You choked out, aghast. "Who do you think changed your clothes for you when you first got to camp." Oh, that.

Your shoulder relaxes as you realize she's talking about the first time you met. "That's was a long time ago." You noted. She hummed im agreement. "Yeah, we've both grown since."

You told her she could turn around once you're inside the water. Forgetting about the heighy difference between you two, the water was high enough to reach your chest, trying your best not to trip underwater the way you always do on dry ground, your hand instinctively reached outnfor her shoulder.

Clarisse held your forearm tightly and drew your closer to her until you're inches away from eachother.

You breathed in sharply and felt the need to fill in the awkward silence. "So, you...like swimming, huh?"

"Yes, evidently so." She answered. "Right right, can't sit still and all that." She actually chuckled at your sarcasm, making you proud of yourself.

"You know, even before I came to camp Half Blood, I use to be a pretty active person, running track, volleyball, sometimes swimming." Your eyes widened in curiosity. "Really?" She nodded.

"The counselor told my mom that I just had so many untapped energy, which I guess is a code for anger issues." Her grip on your forearm moves higher until her palm is over your shoulder.  "She told her that it'd be best for me to find a...healthy way, to channel that energy, and for my strong competitiveness. So I joined what I could, and that's how I spent most of my free time there. Besides, I never was that good academically. So, I ought to at least be good at something, right?"

"You are good." You blurted out. Your embarrassment faded away when you saw her smile. "You think so?"

"Yeah." You assured her. Her other hand had snaked around your waist without you noticing. Only when you moved slightly do you notice her holding you softly.

"The moon is really nice tonight, isn't it?" You said, trying to diffuse the tension. You pointed your finger up to the sky at the singular white orb.

She glanced up and let out a 'huh.'

"I like it when it's bright and whole like this, the moon in all of its glory. You don't even notice the starts around it when it's glowing like that." You could stare at the moom forever, even longer than the way you've been staring at the sun.

You believed in it the way children do with their birthday candle. To you, the moon has always been a symbol of hope or comfort for your future. Your fascination for it existed from when you were a child, the way it'd follow you from behind as you gazed upon it from the back of the car seat whilst your parent drove down the road.

The way it moved above you as you walked home from school, like one of the gods themselves watching over you.

"Nothing compares to the moon." You announced aloud, watching as the clouds around it began to gather over it. "Yeah, It's beautiful." You hear Clarisse speak.

As your head snapped back to her, you found that she had already been facing you.

"I like the moon...but not as much as I like you." She whispered loud enough for your ears only. Her face leans closer to yours, your noses brushing together. "Not as much as I like to hear your voice, when you tell me about your little harpy facts-"

"Oh, I haven't told you about the harpies yet." You cut her off. "I just finished that chapter this morning actually and-"

"-and, you can tell me about it after I'm done talking." You blushed and became silent, letting her speak.

Clarisse exhaled breathily, fanning your face with the subtle warm air. "I like doing things that friends do with you, but I don't want to be your friend anymore."

"Oh."

"I want to be more than friends." She elaborated.

"Oh." Oh.

You feel a sudden tightness in your chest, from anxiety or from butterflies is undecided. "You want to be best friends?" You joked, laughing nervously.

Clarisse snorted at your joke, but she was still grinning widely. "Best friends, If that's what you want to call it."

There was a moment of understanding shared between a second of shared gazes before her lips attached themselves to yours. An urgency, approval, meaning that can't be described by words.

Whatever gentleness there was inside of her before had vanished. Clarisse kissed you like a starved woman. Her lips craved yours like it'd be the last time she'll ever know how you taste like.

Your hands clasped on her shoulder and neck for support as she embraced you tighter to her body. You let her tongue slip into your mouth, meeting your own.

And as they danced together, inhaling all there is in your lips, every secret and every confession that have died on the tip ofnyour tongues, you are sure that no heaven nor hell could tear you open to see you back together like this.

You push her back abruptly, letting fresh air fill your empty lungs. "What's wrong?" Clarisse inquired worriedly.

"Last week." You sighed out, chest still heaving as your thoughts clicked together. "You thought I had asked you on a date, that's why you were disappointed."

She winced at the reminder, and for the first time in your life, you had been lucky enough to witness a flustered Clarisse.

"I'm right." Her silence confirmed. "Oh Clarisse, why didn't you just ask me?"

Huffing loudly, she rolls her eyes in irritation. "I thought I was obvious enough. "

Thinking back on it all, it did seem pretty obvious, but gods were you oblivious. The way you intepreted it all so wrongly.

"I've liked you for so long too." You admitted to her. Her scowl was gone at that, replaced by a teasing smile. "And what are you gonna do about it?" Her mouth returned to yours, letting go of all your fears and holding on to Clarisse like she's your anchor, you close the gap between your lips, welcoming the kind of pleasure that you've never tasted before.

[coquettepascal]

purpose on earth

summary: joel loves to take, you love to give.

tags: 18+, smut, angst(ish), jackson era!joel, cold!joel, grumpy!joel, innocent!reader, dom!joel, implied age gap (reader doesn't remember pre-outbreak), corruption kink, joel takes your undies, humiliation, oral sex (m!receiving), allusion to thigh riding, a feeling of helpless/hopeless-ness permeates this fic, reader is pretty pathetic, use of "sweet girl", objectification of reader, unrequited obsession, this fic isn't necessarily sexy, just mildly sad.

a/n: i literally wrote this like an hour ago while i was supposed to be outlining my next project, but @hellishjoel told me to listen to my creative demons... so now this is being posted.

(1.1k, just a baby)

Nothing in this world has ever, or will ever, belong to you. Faint memories glaze your mind sometimes, when you lay down to rest. Not your own memories, but things you’ve read in books and seen in abandoned family photo albums. White wedding dresses, cars that drive, Sunday night family dinner. An American lifestyle that was sucked away with the cordyceps, something only they could clear out. The bombs the government used, the ones you can’t remember anymore, they never wiped mother earth clean the way she has done for herself.

She’s infected, and not yours. Nothing outside of Jackson’s walls belongs to your human hands.

You’ve never known ownership. The clothes you wear belonged to people before you, the ground you walk on cannot be sold. Maybe in another life this would feel fulfilling, but something in you wants to know what it is to own, or even fit in. Your skin, flushed and healthy, skin full of life and blood and organs. A heart that thumps in a world of disease, disorder, death. What a weird purity you hold, something you want to ruin. 

A person like you isn’t meant to own anything here. It feels like you have to belong, if you wish to take.

He will do it for you. 

Joel knows greed, remembers the world before. His hands have taken food, land, lives, anything you can imagine. It isn’t something you realistically think about, more infatuated with how he has the ability to do all these things. Not that you hadn’t committed your own sins, but to defend yourself isn’t wrong, at least that’s what he says. Something in Joel smolders the way only a primal fire can, he is from a world whose memory of a flame will extinguish soon.

He doesn’t help with any of your wants, your need to own or belong. But Joel shows you what it is to take.

You don’t understand the fascination he has with you. The memory of the night he first led you back to his house is blurry, a fleeting moment in comparison to what has happened since. There was conversation of music, of you having a tape you wish you could play. 

His hands were slow when they slid your underwear down your legs, you hoped he wasn’t looking. Nothing about you felt sexy or womanly, you felt dwarfed when he was so close. Again, you wished you could belong, so maybe you could hide. There was a stain in the gusset and you remember how he pulled the garment off your ankles when it dangled there.

“Lemme see,” he had demanded, “lemme see what I did t’you.”

Joel had smeared his thumb through the sticky wet mark, huffing in surprise. He knew it was for him, knew there was nothing else that could have made you do that. Humiliated, you had tried to yank back your underwear, but he refused.

“S’mine now,” he laughed, cheeks rosy.

That was the first time Joel took from you. 

Now you seek him, the ache for belonging in the world twisting to a yearning for him to take from you. If you could not belong to this world, if you could not fit, at least you could fulfill him. Joel doesn’t like it when you seek him out too often, hates when others notice it. You’re not his, never his, just a moment of gratification for his consuming greed. 

Once, you waited in the early morning at the stables for him. Crouched near the barn door, you waited and watched the dewy grass grow. The crunch of his boots, the yawn he let out as he passed by you, it was enough. He said nothing to you, took off on his horse with some other man trailing behind him. 

“Joel’s so responsible,” you thought to yourself, “he’ll need me later I bet.”

Of course, he did. You relished in the small victory of him stealing from you again. Purity leaks from you in the form of drool on your chin, when he pulls you off his cock. Joel’s thumbs push the spit back in your mouth and you suck it down willingly. Praise rumbles off his tongue and into your ears, a southern rhythm you find sanctuary in. Pushing his dick back into your mouth is all pleasure to him, but it’s a taste of greed for you. 

“Sweet girl, that’s a good mouth f’me, ain’t it?” Joel asks, head tilting back.

He never takes his pants off, but he strips you naked. His eyes arguably take more than his hands ever will. The bob of his Adam's apple hypnotizes your eyes as you garble a response to his question. Scarcely do you make sense around Joel, or even speak. You don’t think you can remember the last time you held a proper conversation with him, he usually just waits for you to come around.

It all starts the same, standing on his porch and waiting until he opens the door.

“Missin’ me?” He asks every time.

Joel doesn’t miss you, he doesn’t need you. He just likes how much you give. But you miss him, as soon as he pushes you out into the cold again you miss him. His greed is your purpose.

And so with your purpose, you push yourself down to the base of him. The waterline of your eyes is welling up fast, distorting your vision of him. You blink up at him like he’ll look down, like you’re more than a mouth. You aren’t, not to him, but you get to admire him like this. The puff of his chest, the swell of his throat, and his hands when they come to rip you off him.

He never pulls your hair, just grasps your face in his worn-down palms and pushes you away before jerking himself onto your naked body. 

“S’nice, you’re so nice t’me,” he grumbles. 

Under the yellow light in Joel’s living room, you feel useful. You’re doing more than surviving in this world. You have a purpose, even if he seldom needs you. He uses the sleeves of his flannel to wipe away the tears that slide down your cheeks, still mumbling about how sweet you are. Naked, smattered in him, you smile. Glittery eyes meet his and he snorts. 

“You were missin’ me, huh?” He teases. 

Joel rubs his thumb across your cheek again, the closest thing you’ll get to his lips on you. In his post-orgasmic haze, he almost looks fond. 

“He almost likes me,” your mind whispers, your stomach fluttering, “it’s almost like I belong.”

And once you’ve nodded in response to his question, messy mouthed and gazing at him, your purpose, he taps his thigh. Blood rushes to your head as you stand, crawling onto him. 

In your obedient mind, you define your efforts for Joel as a purpose, but you think you can taste a hint of belonging each time he spreads your legs. 

[pickingupmymercedes]

Firsts pt.2 - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

Some firsts, like Small firsts, only NSFW version - pt1 / pt2 /

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: unprotected sexual activities, kinks, mention of blood.

Also, wrap it before you tap it

wordcount: +4K

a/n: Sooo, we got a few kinker requests and I put half of them together here. Prompts are about: toys, people around, mirror and period. Please, be mindful if you're not okay with reading those.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT

______________________________________________________________

First time with toys

Y/n had just left the room to shower, leaving Lewis sprawled out on her bed, scrolling through his phone.

His eyes drifted around the room lazily, and that’s when he noticed it—a bright pink dildo sitting on the nightstand, partially hidden behind a stack of books. His eyebrows shot up, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

He reached over, picking it up, his mind already racing with what that toy had done and seen.

When Y/n returned a few minutes later, her skin still damp and her hair up on a bun, she found Lewis sitting up on the bed, holding the dildo in his hand, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Lewis teased, holding the toy up for her to see.

She stopped in her tracks, a playful smirk spreading across her face. “Looks like you found my little friend” she replied, not at all embarrassed, but rather amused by the situation.

Lewis’s eyes darkened as he took in the sight of her standing there in nothing but a robe, the fabric clinging to her damp skin. “Do you picture my dick when you use this?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave, making the air between them crackle with tension.

Y/n’s smirk only deepened as she walked toward him, her hips swaying slightly. “Maybe I do,” she teased, coming to stand in front of him, her fingers brushing lightly over the toy in his hand. “But honestly, I might have to get a new one… this one doesn’t quite measure up.”

His eyes narrowed, the challenge in her words igniting something in him. “Is that so?” he murmured, his grip tightening around the dildo. “Guess I’ll have to give you a proper comparison.”

Before she could respond, Lewis was on his feet, his free hand wrapping around her waist and pulling her close. The dildo was still in his other hand, and she couldn’t help the thrill as he pressed it against her stomach, the cool silicone a stark contrast to the heat in his skin.

“Let’s see how you like it when I’m the one controlling it” Lewis whispered against her ear, his breath hot.

He guided her to the bed with his weight, laying her down gently before climbing over her, his eyes never leaving hers. With a slow motion, he opened her robe, revealing her naked body beneath.

His gaze raked over her, taking in every curve, every inch of exposed skin, and she felt her breath catch in her throat.

Lewis positioned himself between her opened legs, his hands running up her thighs, parting them wider as he settled in. The dildo was still in his hand, and he brought it to her mouth, her saliva coating the synthetic material  

He smile like a kid at Christmas when he pressed it to her entrance, teasing her with the tip, but not pushing in just yet.

“Is this how you use it?” he asked, his voice rough as he watched her reaction closely.

Y/n bit her lip, her hips arching slightly toward the toy. “Sometimes… but I think you’re missing a step,” she replied, her voice breathless, but full of challenge.

He smirked, his free hand moving to cup her chin, tilting her face up so she had no choice but to look at him. “Show me.”

With a wicked grin, she reached down, guiding his hand to press the toy against her clit, her body responding immediately to the pressure. “Start here” she instructed, her voice soft, but laced with need.

Lewis watched her, fascinated by the way her body reacted, the way her breath hitched, her eyes fluttering shut as he followed her lead.

He circled her clit with the toy, teasing her with just enough pressure to make her squirm, but not enough to push her over the edge.

“Like that?” he asked, his tone mocking innocence, but the darkness in his eyes giving him away.

She nodded, her voice catching as she answered, “Yeah… just like that.”

But he wasn’t done. His teasing was just beginning. Lewis moved the toy lower, brushing it against her entrance, teasing her with the promise of more. “And here?” he asked, pushing just the tip inside, watching her reaction closely.

Her hips bucked slightly, trying to take more of the toy in, but he held her firmly in place, controlling the pace. “Deeper” she gasped, her voice trembling with the need that was building inside her.

Lewis obliged, pushing the dildo in, but he kept the movements slow, deliberate, driving her crazy with the agonizingly slow pace.

His free hand moved to her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple, adding to the overwhelming sensations in her body.

“Does this feel good, love?” he murmured, his lips brushing against her neck as he continued to work the toy in and out of her, his pace steady and controlled.

“So good” she whimpered, her hands gripping the sheets, her body arching off the bed as she tried to push herself closer to the edge.

But Lewis wasn’t ready to let her have it with a toy, not when he was there.

He pulled it out, making her whimper in protest, but before she could say anything, he replaced it with his fingers, thrusting them deep inside her, curling them just right to hit that spot that made her cry out.

“Fuck… Lewis” she moaned, her hands flying to his shoulders, pulling him down for a heated kiss as he fucked her with his fingers, the toy forgotten beside them.

He kissed her back with equal intensity, his tongue exploring her mouth as he worked her over, his fingers relentless in their assault.

She was close, so close, and he knew it. He could feel her walls tightening around his fingers, her body trembling beneath him.

“I want to feel you come all over my fingers” he growled against her lips, his voice commanding, full of desire.

That was all it took.

Her orgasm ripped through her, her body tensing, then shuddering violently as she came, her cries muffled against his mouth as he swallowed every sound, every gasp, every moan.

When she finally caught her breath, she looked up at him, her eyes glazed with pleasure, a lazy smile spreading across her face. “You’re definitely better than a toy” she teased, her voice weak, but playful.

Lewis grinned, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her lips. “Glad we agree on that,” he murmured against her mouth, his tone still laced with that dark edge. “But you, with that toy, it was pretty fucking hot.”

She laughed softly, her fingers brushing through his braids as she pulled him down for another kiss. “Maybe we can keep it around… just for fun,” he suggested, his voice now lighter, but with a hint of the heat that was already starting to build between them again.

“But only if I get to be in control” he continued his lips curving into a smirk as he kissed her again, this time slower, deeper, already thinking of the next round.

First time having to be quiet

The closet was narrow, cluttered with unused coats and shoes, leaving barely enough room for Lewis and Y/n to squeeze in. The tight space only added to the thrill though, their bodies pressed against each other as Lewis closed the door behind them, sealing them into almost complete darkness.

“Lewis, this is—” Y/n started, but her words were cut off by the sudden press of his lips against hers. His lips moved urgently, filled with the pent-up desire they had both been feeling all night.

“I couldn’t wait,” Lewis murmured against her mouth, his hands sliding down to grip her hips, pulling her even closer. “This dress… it’s been driving me crazy.”

Y/n breathe hitched at the low growl in his voice, her own hands grounding in the soft fabric of his shirt. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the hardness pressing against her stomach, and it only made her want him more.

But then she remembered where they were, and who was just outside.

“Lewis” she whispered, breaking the kiss. “Your friends are right out there.”

Lewis smirked, his teeth grazing her earlobe as he whispered back, “Then we’ll just have to be extra quiet, won’t we?”

Without waiting for a response, he dropped to his knees, his hands tugging her skirt up around her waist. Y/n gasped softly, her back hitting the wall behind her as she struggled to keep her balance in the cramped space.

“Lew, we don’t have time for this,” she hissed, even as her hands automatically went to his shoulders, steadying herself.

He looked up at her, his eyes glinting in the dim light. “I’m just making sure you’re ready for me.”

Before she could protest, his mouth was on her, his tongue flicking out to taste her through the thin fabric of her panties. Y/n bit her lip to stifle the moan that threatened to escape, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he continued to tease her.

“Fuck” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. “We really don’t have time—”

He silenced her with a firm lick, the pressure just enough to make her tremble. “Just making sure” he repeated, his voice muffled against her skin as he hooked a finger around her panties, pulling them aside to give him better access.

Y/n’s head fell back against the wall, her eyes fluttering closed as she struggled to keep her breathing steady.

It was a losing battle, especially when Lewis began to suck on her clit, his tongue flicking out to torment her just the way she liked. She bit down on her knuckles to keep from crying out, her other hand tugging at his braids in a silent plea for mercy.

But Lewis wasn’t in a merciful mood. He kept drawing out her pleasure until she was trembling with the effort of staying quiet.

And when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, he pulled away, leaving her on the edge.

“Soon of bi—” she started, but the words died in her throat as he stood up, his mouth crashing against hers in a kiss that tasted of her own desire. His hands were quick, unbuttoning his pants and freeing himself before lifting on of her legs, pressing her back against the wall.

“Now, be a good girl and stay quiet” he murmured against her lips as he slowly entered her, his cock sliding in with a delicious stretch that made her toes curl.

Y/n bit down on the skin of his arms to stifle the whimper that bubbled up in her throat, her arms wrapping around his neck to hold on as he began to move.

The space was too tight for anything other than shallow thrusts, but it didn’t matter.

 Lewis’s hands were everywhere, gripping her hips, sliding up her back, pulling her impossibly closer with each thrust.

“Fuck,” he groaned into her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “You’re so fucking tight.”

Y/n could only nod, her nails digging into his shoulders as she fought to keep her moans quiet. The pressure was building, her body tightening around him as she edged closer and closer to the brink.

Lewis seemed to sense it, his movements becoming more urgent, his breath ragged in her ear.

“Lew, I’m—” she gasped, but he cut her off with a fierce kiss, swallowing her cries as he thrust into her one last time, hitting exactly the spot that snapped the coil in her abdomen.

Her body shook with the effort of keeping quiet as she came apart in his arms. Lewis followed moments later, his own release shuddering through him as he buried himself deep inside her, his forehead resting against hers as they both fought to catch their breath.

For a long moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing as they slowly came back to earth and Lewis reaching for a tissue to clean her up.

But before they could fully recover, there was a knock on the closet door, followed by a voice that was far too amused for Y/n’s liking.

“You two done in there?” Miles called out, his tone teasing. “Because it doesn’t sound like you’re just tidying the closet.”

Lewis chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to Y/n’s forehead before whispering in her ear “Guess we weren’t as quiet as we thought.”

Y/n could only roll her eyes, a mix of embarrassment and satisfaction flooding her as she quickly fixed her clothes. “You owe me, Hamilton” she whispered, but there was no heat in her words.

Lewis just grinned, giving her a playful smack on the ass as they both tried to regain their composure before facing the inevitable teasing that awaited them outside the closet.

First time getting the other to watch in a mirror

Lewis had Y/n sat on the bench in front of the full-length mirror of his closet, her reflection staring back at her, flushed and trembling with anticipation.

The room was dimly lit, the shadows playing off their bodies as Lewis knelt behind her, his hands firm on her hips, keeping her in place.

“Keep your eyes on the mirror,” he instructed, his voice low and rough with desire. “I want you to see what I see.”

She swallowed hard, her breath hitching as his hands slid up her thighs, parting them just enough for him to nudge her legs wider. The cool air of the room hit her exposed skin, making her shiver, but the heat pooling between her legs was all she could focus on.

“Lew…” Her voice was a breathy whisper, filled with need and a hint of nervousness. They hadn���t done this before, and the idea of watching herself unravel under his touch made her feel somewhat vulnerable.

“Shh…” he soothed feeling the shake in her voice, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her thigh. “You’ll like this. Trust me.”

She nodded, biting her lip as she looked back at the mirror. Her reflection showed her standing there, completely exposed, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

And then when she looked back down there was Lewis, his dark eyes locked onto hers as he leaned forward, his breath hot against her core.

The first swipe of his tongue was slow, deliberate, dragging a gasp from her lips. Her hands flew to the nearest wall, needing something to steady herself as he repeated the motion, his tongue teasing her folds, each movement deliberate and precise.

“Fuck…” she breathed, her eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment.

“Eyes on the mirror,” Lewis reminded her, his voice a growl against her sensitive skin. “I want you to watch.”

With a shaky breath, she forced her eyes open, meeting her own gaze in the reflection. The intensity in her own moans made her weak, but she held herself up, determined to give him what he wanted.

His mouth was relentless, his tongue and lips devouring her. Every flick, every suck, every teasing nip had her squirming, her hips trying to move away from the overwhelming sensation, but his grip on her hips was firm, keeping her in place.

“You taste so fucking good,” Lewis murmured against her, his voice sending vibrations through her core that made her moan loudly. “I want you to see how good you look when you fall apart for me.”

Her eyes were half-lidded, her breaths coming in quick, shallow pants as she kept on watching. She could see the way her body trembled, the flush that spread across her chest, the way her lips parted as she moaned his name.

It was dirty, so dirty, and it made the whole scene so much hotter.

Lewis’s tongue found her clit, circling it with agonizing precision, his eyes never leaving hers. His only desire to get her to watch the one thing in the world that could melt all his resolutions, the known sight of relief she let out whenever she was truly happy.

She was close, so close, and he knew it. His grip tightened on her hips, pulling her back against his face as he worked her over with his mouth, pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

“Lew… please…” Her voice was a desperate whimper, her hands clawing at the wall as she fought to hold on. But he didn’t let up, didn’t give her a moment to breathe as he sucked her clit into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue in rapid strokes that had her seeing stars.

“Come for me, love” he growled, his voice rough and commanding. “I want to see you come.”

And that was all it took. Her body tensed, her eyes locked onto his in the mirror as she fell over the precipice, her orgasm crashing over her with a force that left her legs shaking.

Lewis didn’t stop though, his mouth working her through her orgasm, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until she was a trembling mess, barely able to hold her body up right without his support.

When she finally opened her eyes again, she saw the satisfied smirk on his face, his chin glistening with her release as he pulled back, his hands gently rubbing her thighs.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her lower abdomen as he stood up, wrapping his arms around her shoulder “You’re beautiful.”

Y/n leaned back against him, her body still trembling with the aftershocks. “That was… intense,” she admitted, letting out the sight he wanted to hear.

“We’re just getting started, babe” Lewis replied with a grin, kneeling before her, his lips finding her neck as he pressed his fingers on her folds again “Now, how about we see what else that mirror can show us?”

First time on your period

The bathroom was filled with the soft hum of the tv from their bedroom, the steam from the shower still clinging to the air as Y/n stood by the sink, clad only in her robe, her body still warm from the hot water.

She caught sight of Lewis in the mirror, leaning against the doorway, his towel slung low on his hips, eyes dark with desire as he watched her get ready.

“You have no idea how much I need you” Y/n whispered; her voice thick with longing. It had been almost three weeks since they last saw each other, and she could feel the ache of missing him in every part of her.

Lewis pushed himself off the doorframe and walked over to her, his hands finding her hips as he pressed his body against hers. “You have me right now. I’m all yours” he murmured against her ear; his breath hot on her skin.

She turned in his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I’m on my period, Lew…”

Lewis pressed a kiss to her neck, his hands rubbing soothing circles on her back. “It’s okay, love.”

“But we’ve barely had any time together,” Y/n murmured, frustration clear in her voice. “And I really, really need you. Like, right now.”

He kissed her softly, his hands sliding down to cup her ass, pulling her closer. “I don’t really mind a bit of blood. Besides, I really, really want you too.” his voice low, a hint of desire already creeping in.

Y/n looked up at him, her eyes searching his. “You sure? It’s... you know, messy.”

Lewis’s lips curled into a small smile, one that was equal parts reassuring and teasing. “I don’t care about a little mess. I just care about you.” His hand now on her hips, “And us.”

Y/n’s breath hitched at the heat in his gaze, the tension that had been building in her body since she finally saw him that afternoon coming to a head. “Okay.” she whispered, her fingers trailing over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her touch.

He didn’t need any more encouragement. In a swift movement, he lifted her onto the bathroom counter, his hands pushing her knees apart to make room for him. The towel around his waist dropped to the floor, and Y/n’s eyes darkened with the sight of him, already hard, so ready for her.

“I’ve missed you too,” Lewis murmured as he leaned in to kiss her, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was all-consuming, the kind that made her forget everything else. His hands moved to her robe, losing the grip of the fabric on her waist so her breasts could spill out.

Y/n moaned into his mouth as he ran his finger down her body until he found her slit, feeling the wetness there—some from her arousal, some from her period. But he didn’t seem to care, his touch firm and deliberate as he teased her, drawing out moans.

“Lew,” she breathed, breaking the kiss as she looked down at him, her eyes pleading. “Please, I need you inside me.”

He grinned, his hands sliding up to grip her hips as he lined himself up with her entrance. “You sure?” she asked, her voice a low rumble that had him chuckle softly.

He nodded and kissed her again, one of his hands gripping at the skin of her waist while the other continued his tease. “I want you in any way you’ll have me”.

Without another word, Lewis pushed into her, his cock sliding into her with a slow, steady pressure that made her gasp.

The sensation was different, the added slickness, the tension in her lower back and the dull ache from her cramps made every movement feel heightened, more intense.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Lewis groaned, his hands gripping her hips tightly as he began to move, his pace slow and deliberate, dragging moans from her.

Y/n’s head fell back against the mirror, her mouth falling open as he thrusted into her, his cock hitting just the right spots with each movement.

The mess was the furthest thing from both of theirs minds—right now, all she could focus on was the way he felt inside her, the way he was filling her up, making her feel whole after weeks of being apart.

“Don’t stop” she whispered, her hands reaching out to grip his shoulders, pulling him closer.

“I won’t” he promised, his voice strained with the effort of holding back, of making this last. He leaned down to kiss her again, his lips hot against hers as he continued to move.

Y/n could feel herself getting closer, the tension building in her as he pushed her closer and closer to the edge. He groaned, his movements becoming more urgent, his breath hot against her ear as he buried his face in the crook of her neck and whispered in her skin. “Let go for me, love. Let go.”

Her body tightened around him as she came. Lewis followed a moment later, his own release shuddering through him as he filled her with his cum.

Lewis lifted his head to look at her, a lazy, satisfied smile on his lips. “You okay?” he asked, his voice soft.

“More than okay” Y/n replied, her own smile matching his as she looked down to where they were connected and the sight of blood on their skin “We’re gonna need another shower”

“Yeah?” he murmured, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “Good. Because I can’t imagine a better way to spend tonight than with you, in my arms, in a warm bath.”

______________________________________________________________

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If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask

[lyneira]

♡ 👁👄👁 ♡

-> how the genshin men would try to sneak glances at you (their crush)

Tries to be sneaky, ultimately fails

Diluc, Xiao, Scaramouche, Gorou

They'll try to be discreet when looking at you, attempting to sneak glances at you quickly, eyes darting from you to something else. Yet, they’d do it so frequently that they end up being obvious.

Sometimes, when they're staring at you, they get so caught up in the moment, mesmerized and focused on your features that they often react too late when you end up meeting your eyes with theirs. He'll then try to immediately avert his gaze, but you've already caught him and the slight blush on his face isn't helping him make it less obvious either.

Is lowkey about it

Kazuha, Albedo, Thoma, Kaeya, Baizhu, Tighnari

They'd sneak glances at you in a more natural manner in comparison to those in the previous category. Instead of having their eyes dart around, they'd hold their gaze on you for a bit longer before turning away, holding it long enough to take in your current expression and actions. Even if they wanted to hold it longer, they would decide against it as to not seem off-putting.

Also, unlike those who try to be sneaky, they won't freak out if you two end up meeting eyes. They'll even give you a small smile and wave hi to you, softly laughing to himself, 'Ah, they've caught me'. They'll then take this chance to approach you and sweep you off your feet, hehe

You won't ever catch them staring at you

Alhaitham, Ayato, Zhongli, Cyno, Dainsleif

You'll actually have no idea that they were staring at you at all. You'd think that they were solely focused on whatever task they had at hand, whether it was reading a book, working on documents, and whatnot. These guys are extremely subtle when peeking a glance at you.

Even when you thought they were looking, they'll make it so convincing to you that they were simply "looking at the clock" or "checking" on something else.

They'd actually prefer that you thought they weren't paying you any mind. That way, they could see you as your unfiltered self, without you being conscious of them looking at you. He was able to learn more about you, seeing more of the real you. He'd observe the numerous details of your visage, the small reactions you'd let out, when something made you furrow or soften your brows, when something made you pout and he'd take special note of when something made your face brighten into the most beautiful smile. Maybe he'll reproduce that lovely reaction of yours in his own way. After all, he found it all adorable.

Won't even try to hide it

Itto, Kaveh, Venti, Heizou, Childe

They will be completely obvious, whole body turned towards you and eyes glued to your figure.

They have zero shame in staring directly at you, and sometimes, it might not even be intentional. Some of them might be staring subconsciously at you. They can't help but stare when they admire you oh so much. Admiring you is their favorite past time. Heck, some of them WANT you to know they're looking at you. That they like you. That you're the apple of their eye, heh

Their intense gaze might even cause you to be the one who turns away first because these dudes will become the definition of 👁👄👁💘 LOL

(If you tell them that it's rude to stare, then I can see them pulling a "sorry, I just couldn't help getting lost in your beauty", especially Venti, Heizou, or Childe LMAO)

© 2023 lyneira. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, PLAGIARIZE, OR REPOST MY WRITING ONTO OTHER PLATFORMS

[amerricanartwork]

I got so freaking excited seeing the trailer for "The Wild Robot", so naturally some fanart was in order! I didn't expect the painting to look so oily and have so many softer edges, but I still think it came out really nice and was good practice! Colored pencil really has helped me figure out a personal painting process, as here I actually used a similar layering technique as when I work in colored pencil.

Aside from that though, I haven't read the books yet (though I plan to after I see the film) but this movie looks like it's gonna hit so many of my favorite tropes and features when it comes to fiction and animated stories, including: non-human protagonists (and both of my favorite kinds, animals and robots!), stylized visuals, robot learning to be more than just their programming yet still maintaining their original robot skills and behavior to a degree, robot with emotions and unique ways of showing it, character in the wilds adapting by studying the animals, post-industrial-level technology existing in harmony with nature and the wilds rather than being portrayed as inherently harmful to nature and therefore inherently wrong to make (this is a big one for me), the odd duo, the gentle giant, a character finding belonging in an unexpected environment, just general wonder for the beauty of the wilds, and probably other things that'll come to me as I understand this story more.

But even beyond that, I just had to draw Roz because she's so freaking cute! Like, even excluding the adorable way she mimics the animals or glows when happy or how her "eyelids" give her more facial variation, in design alone she's so round and sweet looking! And somehow her being big and bulky to juxtapose her kindness with an strong and imposing stature just makes it even better! I love characters who are large and intimidating at first glance but total softies on the inside. Brightbill's definitely in good hands!

If the film holds up and Roz also has a clear and entertaining personality beyond just being curious and caring, there's a 60% chance that come September she'll become my new robot blorbo (roblorbo?), up there with C-3PO, Wall-E, and Five Pebbles!

Also, another version of the sketches from when they were just the lines for comparison!

[6okuto]

i write so you know i love you

🧺 #27: "handwritten letters" with akaashi for @shobvrry :D

the first letter akaashi wrote for you was a short, anxious confession slid into your locker, folded neatly with a star sticker to keep it shut.

i just wanted to say i like you, and i’d like to take you on a date sometime if that’s okay with you. please don’t worry if you don’t feel the same way, but also please pretend you didn’t read this if so. thanks for being my friend. i’ll see you tomorrow :)

he didn’t expect to see you waiting for him after practice that day, the familiar paper in hand. with his ending request, among a dozen catastrophizing explanations stood one reasonable for your presence—

“i like you too, ’ji,” you said a little faster than practiced, heart stumbling at the sight of him.

it was sunset as you held the letter in one hand, and for the first time, keiji’s hand in the other on your way home—pink and orange ribbons of light finding a temporary home in interlocked fingers and brushing arms.

the confession is still carefully tucked away in a box of other gifts and letters you’ve received—the first in a section just from him. he could’ve easily texted at least a third of them, you pointed out once, a few days before your first anniversary, but he only shook his head. it was the romanticism of it all, and—

“what if you texted back right away? i wasn’t ready to handle that, i probably would’ve thrown up or ran away or something.”

his feelings after your first date, a request to see you after school a month after, then the letter celebrating your one month anniversary exactly 31 days later.

they built and built—words pulled from an endless well of love and poetic prose in hopes of capturing just how much you meant to him. you still like flipping through them all, on anniversaries or an otherwise insignificant thursday afternoon.

seeing the different decorations and envelopes and letter lengths throughout the years, only keiji’s handwriting remains the same throughout. it’s the same one that writes “i hope these aren’t sour,” “don’t forget your project by the printer,” “i hope you have a good day :),” and i love you, i love you, i love you.

so when your four year anniversary nears and he makes a remark about his gift, you ask “another letter for me?”

keiji stills, fingers slowing down as they flip the next page in his novel—dostoevsky, you think. his index and thumb start to pull the corner (not enough to fold, but reminiscent of what he does to the hem of his shirt when he’s nervous anyway.) “maybe?”

he fixes his posture, sitting up straighter on the couch. “is that…i know i write them a lot, huh? would you like—”

“no!” you shake your head. “no, i like the letters a lot, keiji, i promise. i just,”—you move next to him and frown—“i hope you don’t feel like you have to write them, you know? i don’t know how your hands don’t hurt a lot after. you could type them out and i’d be just as happy.”

but keiji shakes his head, and it feels a little similar to three years ago. “no, that’s not the same at all. i want to write them for you,”—he closes his book with his thumb as a bookmark, the other hand moving to hold yours—“that’s what makes them special.”

“plus formatting them digitally wouldn’t be any easier than my double-sided tape—do you want to take the joy of tape and stickers away from me?” he raises a brow and squeezes your hand in his.

you snort. “okay, you know what? fair enough.”

and keiji pours a lot of honesty, of himself, into his letters, but maybe one thing he’ll keep a secret is how often his hand cramps and red indents and cuts form on his fingers. because it’s inconsequential in the end, really nothing in comparison to the bright smile and hug you give him when he hands you the next letter a couple of weeks later, carefully folded in an envelope with a star sticker on the front.

[seoulmatez]

୨♡୧ SWEET POTATO — iwaizumi hajime x f!reader. sfw. fluff. reader is pregnant.

“you know, i’m perfectly capable of going to the grocery store on my own,” you tell iwaizumi, lingering a step behind him as he walks down the aisle, scanning the items neatly lined up on the shelves. he only hums in acknowledgement. you click your tongue in mock annoyance because, despite your resistance to his assistance, you don’t mind having him around. still, you’re not used to being coddled like this. “being pregnant doesn’t mean i can’t walk. my feet aren’t defective.”

“just hush and let me help,” hajime speaks, resting one hand on the top of your head while the other reaches for a bag of brown rice. the weight on your head is comforting, a reminder of why iwaizumi is really here. ever since you read the positive test and the man who was meant to be with you walked out, iwaizumi, your best friend, stepped up and became your lifeline—attended all of your appointments, started reading baby books in his free time, calmed you down whenever you were feeling overwhelmed. he made sure you weren’t making this journey alone.

“can i at least push the cart?” you attempt to negotiate. you may not mind having him here with you, but you’d be lying if you said that following him around while he did all the work wasn’t getting boring. “wouldn’t it be safer to have something in front of me in case i trip?”

“how could you trip?” he asks, more humor in his voice than usual. “you just told me that your feet work fine.”

you groan at the way he twists your words, hands coming up to unconsciously rub at your belly. it’s become a habit of yours, caressing the steadily growing bump whenever you’re stressed or bored. it gives you something to do and floods you with an immeasurable amount of contentment.

“oh, congratulations, dear.” you turn at the sound of a frail voice. an elderly woman on the opposite side of the aisle looks at you through squinted eyes, a gentle smile pulling at her lips. you figure she’s referring to your stomach.

“thank you.”

“how far along are you?”

“eighteen weeks.” you smile. iwaizumi intently watches your interaction—the way your eyes light up and how your hands protectively cradle the little bulge. “this little one is the size of a sweet potato.”

the fruit and vegetable comparison was always a little silly to you but it came in handy during moments like these. this specific week actually helped you remember something that slipped your mind while you were making the list of items you needed.

“oh!” you snap and point at iwaizumi. “that’s what i forgot earlier. i’m going to go grab a few.”

“hold on, i’ll-” your hand shoots up, palm out, to stop him from finishing his sentence—one that you’re positive would include him insisting on joining you.

“hajime.” you’re more than grateful to have someone to lean on but at this rate, you’re going to forget how to live as an independent being. “i can walk a couple aisles down and bag some vegetables on my own.”

“right,” he curtly nods, “i’ll stay and wait for you here.”

you hurry off to grab the sweet potatoes your obstetrician recommended adding to your diet and leave iwaizumi to aimlessly shift back and forth on his feet.

“you must be excited.” the familiar voice catches the man’s attention, leading him to face the nice old woman.

“i’m sorry?”

“about becoming a father,” she clarifies.

his lips part in understanding and he nods. there’s no harm in letting one woman neither of you will see again think that he was the baby’s dad. it happened quite often but you always brush off the assumptions by jokingly saying “i wish.” it’s never bothered iwaizumi—people’s first thought being that he was the father or the fact that you corrected them. he expected as much when he offered a helping hand. what he didn’t expect was that his heart would jump every time he heard any variation of the word. he kept that to himself, though.

the woman slowly approaches iwaizumi and places a soothing hand on his arm. he has to look down to meet her eye but when he does, he’s met with nothing but warmth. her eyes crinkle with her smile. “i’m sure you and your wife will be great parents.”

she continues down the aisle, leaving iwaizumi with her words. his arms rest on the handle of the cart as the woman’s statement echoes in his head. parents. at the moment, hajime’s a support system—driving you around on errands and helping with chores around the house. the two of you haven’t discussed what his role will be after you’ve given birth, but, despite that, he knows he wants to be there for you and your baby every step of the way if you’ll have him.

“i’m back and bearing potatoes,” you announce your arrival, dropping the vegetables in the cart. your gaze falls to iwaizumi who’s staring ahead, his eyebrows knit together in deep thought. you reach out to smooth the crease between his brows with your thumb. “what’s wrong with you?”

“nothing.” what’s on his mind is a conversation better had not in a supermarket. “come on. let’s wrap this up and get you home for lunch.”

“gosh, you sound just like a dad,” you comment through a laugh, hooking your arm around one of his.

like clockwork, iwaizumi’s heart skips another beat. it feels different this time; he figures it’s because you’re the one who said it.

thanks for reading! consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed ❤︎

[spookyrea]

face of gold, heart of coal (my cross to bear, baby!)

You and Loki have an agreement - just sex with absolutely no feelings. None. Nu-uh. Zero.

(Unfortunately you both signed that agreement with your fingers crossed)

Word count: ~2k

Warnings: fem reader - plot? what plot? p-i-v sex, oral (f receiving), hate sex (kind of. 'hate' if the definition of hate was 'longing so profound it makes you mad'.)

“If only our team could see you right now. Whoring yourself out to me. Your big, bad villain.”

“Not so bad,” you bit out. “You’re nothing but a lap dog.”

“Boo. Another lazy insult,” he snorted. “Big, though?”

He pulled your hand down to palm at the length of him, straining against the fabric of his trousers. You shrugged, even as your thighs clenched in anticipation. “Eh.”

Loki laughed, closing his mouth over yours in a wet kiss. “I seem to recall you singing a different song a few days ago.”

“Your memory is failing you. Dementia, maybe? That’s pretty common with men your age.”

His upper lip curled. He dropped your wrist to gather your skirt in his hands, hiking it up to your waist. “Hold this,” he commanded.

You bunched the fabric in one hand. With his hands now unoccupied, he traced the inside of your thighs slowly, tipping your hips upwards to get a better look at your clothed mound. Both of his thumbs slid over the cotton fabric of your underwear, reverently in comparison to the way he had demanded your submission. They pressed gingerly, barely pulling your folds apart before pressing them back, working in circular motions around your clit but not quite over it. His eyes were half-lidded, transfixed on the way his fingertips spread wide over your hips, on the twitch of your tense muscles, on how you gave yourself up to him angrily and willingly.

You stifled a whine, hoping he wouldn’t notice - but he did. Loki always noticed; every gasp, every lingering look, every shiver when his hand brushed over yours - he saw it all. He could read you like a book, something that both infuriated and secretly delighted you, to be seen and understood so completely. 

Loki mimicked you, scrunching his face up in a patronizing pout. One hand rose to pinch your cheeks, holding your head still while he pressed a sloppy kiss to your temple. “Oh boo hoo. Woe is me. Please, Loki, have mercy.”

You hissed, digging your knuckles into his abdomen. He laughed in response, dragging his nose across your jaw before sucking a mark under your ear. Your voice came out thready despite your best efforts, a casualty of the way his other hand was drawing figure-eights across your thigh. “You cocky bastard.”

“Careful. You speak to me like that again and I might just leave you wanting.”

“You won’t.”

He dipped his head, laving his tongue over the junction of your shoulder and throat. His thumb slid to the side, tracing the damp seat of your underwear with lazy intent. “I won’t?”

“Nope.” You swallowed another embarrassing sound when the meat of his palm ground against you with delicious friction.

“What makes you so certain?”

You tilted your head; distracted as he was by marking up your throat, his hold on your face had loosened enough for you to get your lips around the webbing between his thumb and pointer finger. You scraped your teeth over the delicate skin, delighting in how his body tensed against you. “Because you want me just as badly.”

“You’re finally right about something. Looks like you do have some coherent thoughts in that pretty little brain of yours.”

“Asshole.”

“Tsk. Try harder. I’ll make you a deal - if you call me something creative, I’ll let you come tonight.” He pulled away, his head tipped ever so slightly to the left to admire his handiwork. No doubt your lipstick was smeared across your face at this point, considering how it stained his pale skin from the tip of his nose to the sharp point at the corner of his jaw. “I warn you though, mortal, I’ve been alive for many centuries. I’ve heard it all.”

“Monster,” you tried.

“Old news.”

“Duplicitous snake.”

“Boring.”

“Evil, traitorous coward.”

“It’s starting to look like tonight will only be about me, little thing.” Loki grinned, sliding the tail of his belt through the buckle. It fell open with a clatter against his thigh as he worked the zipper of his slacks down and pushed on your free hand, urging you to take him in your fist and pump him slowly.

“Lover,” you spit.

He paused. “Excuse me?”

“I said ‘lover’.” Even without his hand guiding yours, you drew your hand back and forth in lazy tugs, arousal pooling, hot and wanting, at the way his stomach jumped, muscles visible through his open shirt. “What a pathetic god. To love a human.”

His eyes crawled down, then back up the length of your body. Slowly, achingly slowly, he slipped from your grasp and sank to his knees in front of you. “Truly debased.”

You ran your fingers through his damp curls, heavy with the humidity of want. “It’s sad, really.”

He tapped the back of your calf, shouldering your leg until you draped it over his back, and pressed a loud kiss to your lower belly. “Clever girl.”

Loki pulled your panties to the side; you would have been embarrassed by the threads of arousal clinging to them if it wasn’t for the way his expression darkened, a clear reverence rolling off of him while his thumb slid over you, pulling your folds apart to get a better look. His pretty eyes were awash with desire, burning a hot and syrupy trail as they traveled from the mess between your thighs to your face.

You smoothed a curl out of his eyes and watched him tip his head, pressing a loud kiss just beside your clit. He took his time teasing his mouth over you, alternating between licking long stripes and sliding sloppy kisses over slick, heated skin. The hand around your thigh clutched you in a bruising grip, holding you against his shoulder like you might slip away if he let go. His other hand slipped between his own legs and worked slowly up and down his cock.

You tipped your head back against the wall. “You’re enjoying this.”

His grip tightened. “Shut up.”

Loki squeezed his eyes tight, desperation clear in the way he tipped his head for a better angle. He closed his lips around your clit and sucked, pulling a thready gasp from your chest. You felt a familiar coil between your hips, winding and winding as he worked you more urgently; occasionally you felt his forearm bump against your shin while he pumped his cock in time with rolls of your hips.

You grew delirious. Your legs shook, struggling to hold you upright. You planted your hand on his shoulder for support, back bowing off the wall with the force of your impending orgasm. Loki laughed against you, the sound humming over your skin in the most delicious way. 

You found no relief in his mouth; he seemed only to wind you higher and higher but never to the edge. Your chest heaved, pleasure turning desperate and achy. You pushed on his forehead, tears welling in the corners of your eyes. “Stop. Loki, it’s not… I need…”

He paused, his mouth still pressed against you. His eyes scanned yours curiously, brimming with mischief, before he gave one final flick of his tongue. You clenched, hissing through your teeth, and squirmed away. His shoulders shook with laughter under your leg. Loki turned his cheek into your thigh and drew his wet chin across your skin, leaving an uncomfortable sticky path in his wake.

“Get -” Your order stuttered and died on your tongue when he bit down on your hip. “Get back up here.”

“So bossy.”

“You want me so bad, Laufeyson.”

“So, so badly,” he hummed mockingly.

You let him nudge his way between your legs, lining his hips up with yours to guide himself inside you. There was an initial pressure, that familiar press before your body yielded to him and he slid down to the hilt. 

He groaned once his hips met yours and, privately, you agreed. There was something electric about him, as if he had rewritten the polarity of your nerves so they yearned in his direction. He was an asshole - arrogant, stubborn, untrusting - but there was such an aching kindness in the way his fingers trailed over your skin that it left you feeling raw and oozy. 

A self-deprecating laugh hissed through his teeth when your fingers wound through the curls at the back of his skull. Very quietly, he murmured something against your skin.

“What was that?”

“I said I hate you.”

“Right.” His hips rolled against you slowly, testing you. “Come on, lover,” you goaded him on. “Fuck me like you hate me.”

He groaned. “One day you’ll let me make love to you.” 

You gasped when he thrust into you, jolting you up the wall. He set a brutal pace, tugging your body down onto him with every sharp jerk of his hips. You twined your arms around his neck for support and tried to leverage your weight against him, shifting so he was angled to bump against that soft spot inside you that made your knees buckle. The sob that ripped through you when he finally connected seemed to spur him on, working him into a frenzy.

“One day you’ll let me do this in a bed. In my bed. No, actually, in our bed. Now, tell me what you feel.” Loki punctuated the order with a kiss, though you were both moving too much to get any further than a brush of open, panting mouths.

You nodded dumbly. “It’s- it’s good. So- oh, right there. Please.”

“Yes. Beg for me.”

Annoyance turned over in your belly. You scraped your teeth along his jaw. “Asshole.”

Loki pulled your body to a sudden stop, his cock buried to the hilt deep inside of you. His head cocked menacingly to the side.

“Hmm.” He gave an experimental roll of his hips. “You’re lucky you make the most fantastic sounds when you come. And I do so very, very badly want to hear them. So sing. Praise, this time, little mortal.”

His thumb pressed meanly against your clit. Each jerk of his hips against you made you bump against the calloused skin, a delicious but not-quite satisfying pressure. 

“You want me so badly. I could have you eating out of the palm of my hand. But I’m merciful. I won’t make you do that.” Loki licked a hot stripe up the side of your throat. “I’ll just fuck you instead. Now come on.”

Your face scrunched up, hands fisting in the back of his shirt. You’d given up on stifling any sounds you made, letting broken, wanton sounds tumble from your mouth with each nudge of his thumb against your clit. Your chest ached, your breaths thready and gasping, barely sucking in air before it escaped you as a squeal or a sigh. Your thighs shook with the force of it all, body gone taut and boneless all at once.

You pulled him in as tightly as you could as you came, burying your nose in his throat, seeking some tether to ground yourself by. It was all too much - too hot, too sweaty, too bright, too good. You needed him to come. You needed him to stay. You needed, needed, needed.

Loki stumbled into his climax and stilled after a few more sloppy thrusts, winding his arms around your back to properly ensnare you. His breath licked over your skin and left goosebumps to rise in its wake.

You stayed tangled like that for an eternity, slowly winding down back to Earth in the other’s arms. Your fingers traced a shy path down his nape while his hands slid up and down your sides placatingly.

Eventually, he set you down on your feet. His hands smoothed down your skirt before tucking himself away in his slacks. Your voice was small as you watched him loop his belt back through the buckle. “I get closer and closer every day.”

“To what? First-degree murder?” He turned his face up to yours, a joking tilt to his brows. Something in your expression gave him pause, the smile melting off of him. He smoothed out the front of his slacks and then put his hand on your shoulders, leveling you with an unreadable look. “Really?”

You nodded mutely, turning your eyes to the floor. He tipped your face up to keep them trained on him.

“Ask me,” you murmured.

“Make love to me, darling.”

You paused, drawing the moment out. “Maybe. If you’re a good boy.”

He sighed, a long-suffering sound. “You vex me.”

[sockatoothewafflebird]

okay so i found this s1 and s2 intro comparison video and i'm going feral about it. i have a lot to say. i think the intro poses some very important theories and ideas and i'd like to post my take about it. this is about arcane btw

i made a comment about this on the video itself but there's a lot more i wanted to say. in short, the comment said:

season one's intro focuses on the surface-level ideas of the characters. each one is either decked out in their gear or holding their weapons, or whatever things make them who they are. i think it's super cool for that, but season two's focuses solely on lighting and the characters themselves.

as another post mentioned, all of the characters are in very generic clothing, with nothing but them to observe. no gear, no weapons, no items, other than viktor holding his mask (the same way he held the book last season mind you) and the medardas with the rose. they're going to be stripped bare in this season.

the lighting is made so it highlights their faces, their posture, their body language. we're not looking at characters in a show anymore. we're looking at people.

that's the big main idea of all of this, but there's a lot more to talk about, so i'll put the rest under the cut so nonone has to scroll for hours to get past this post if they don't want to read everything. and there are a heap of season two spoilers under the cut as well, just beware.

anyway, we start out the intro with vi. let's take a really close look at this because holy shit.

we start with her sitting there, in nothing but a tank top (and i think not even a bra lmao) and she brings her hand to her face and smudges her tattoo. the tattoo with her name on it. the tattoo that helped maddie nolan recognize her.

and then the pink strip of light HIGHLIGHTS IT. that's her name, that's who she is, and she smudged it. it's probably a tattoo so the smudge in the intro is lore symbolic than anything, unless you can just easily remove tattoos in the league of legends universe. but anyway, yeah, she's having an identity crisis. she doesn't know who she is anymore.

next, we have jinx. parallel to last season's intro vi and jinx are back to back. but in this season they're sitting down. while vi is sitting, contemplative, her sister stands up and shoots.

i think comparing this with s1 is very important. in s1 vi and powder are a carving, cut from the same stone. and there they are in season two, now their own people, now walking away from one another. it's a very clever way to present their dynamic in my opinion.

it's important to point out that vi sits down and the light illuminates her smudged tattoo, while when jinx stands and shoots the light highlights her eye. i'm not sure what to make of it but it's interesting.

let's move on to ekko!

so, when it switches to him, we can see him standing alone in an empty room, the light making it so he has two shadows. they move bit by bit, like the hands of a clock.

i think that's a really cool detail because, for those who don't know much about league of legends, ekko's ability in the game is time-related. what it means for his arc in s2 i'm not quite certain on, but i have a really big theory i'll talk about in another post soon.

on to the next bit, viktor! unfortunately there's a 10-image limit on mobile and i dont have a computer right now so i'll continue this in another post. also i don't want this to be pages and pages long... so stay tuned cause ive got a lot of shit to say lmao.

made a new blog tag, just search arcane intro analysis in my blog and you'll find all posts relating to arcane's intro. more to come!!!

[floralcavern]

My opinion on the IDF

(Because, yes, despite me being Pro-Israel, I still have ✨thoughts✨)

People need to stop comparing the I/P conflict to the Holocaust. It is nothing like the Holocaust and Israel is nothing like Germany. And you making that comparison really shows how little you actually know about WW2. Read any history book. Read Anne Frank, or Night. In fact, the closest thing to the Holocaust that is happening in this war is what is happening to the Israeli hostages. They are under way more of those conditions. 

No. If we are to ever compare this to any other war, it is more similar to the Vietnam War. 

The IDF is very similar to US soldiers in Vietnam.

Look. We can all agree that US was on the right side of Vietnam. They were helping the Southern Vietnamese from the Northern Vietnamese. So when you hear “They were on the right side/good side” you automatically think they were the good guys. Wonderful heroes. And, yes, Vietnam veterans were heroes. But they did some fucked up shit. 

For example, according to one veteran, one time when one of his friends had been murdered, out of anger, they all burned an entire town down. US soldiers took out a lot of their frustrations and anger onto the Vietnamese. So while we all agree that they are on the right side and are the good guys, they did some fucked up shit. Stuff that cannot be excused at all. 

Another example is in WW2! We all think of the allies as the good guys! They fought against the terrible Nazis and yadada. America was on the good side, they were one of the main sides that took down Germany! So while we acknowledge that America was the right side the be on, we cannot forget the horrible things they did. For example..

They had Japanese concentration camps. 

Bet you didn’t know that. 

The reason for this was because the amount of violence they saw and experienced was involved with Japan. They were traumatized but it is no excuse to do something like that!

America was the right side, but they weren’t the perfect military. 

No military is perfect!!!!!!!!!!!

That includes the IDF. 

But here’s the thing, on the side of the ‘good guys’, usually when there’s extremely violent people in the military, there are usually two reasons for this. 

They have experienced horrors beyond comprehension while fighting on the battlefield, causing them to become jaded and bitter

Or 

2. They were always a violent person and they joined the war to take that out onto others. 

It is the tragic reality that every single military has people like this. It is history. The historical ‘good guys’ did horrible things as well. 

That brings me back to the Vietnam War. 

The soldiers saw so many horrible things that could actually compare very well to what the IDF has seen. 

US soldiers had no way to tell if a citizen was Northern Vietnamese or Southern Vietnamese. 

Usually by the time they learned, it was too late. 

There are stories of US soldiers having a Vietnamese child come up to them, holding something. About to give them a gift! But when they opened their hand, they were holding a grenade. 

That is so similar to what Hamas is doing. They use suicide bombers and child soldiers. Things like that will create an idea of they can’t trust anyone. Anyone could be out to hurt them and there’s the idea of almost animalistic fighting for survival. How can you trust when Hamas could literally send a child out to kill you?!

So, really, if you think about it, the US soldiers of the Vietnam War are very similar to the IDF. 

That sense of they can’t trust anyone, violence due to the trauma and being surrounded by enemies trying to do the same fucking thing (hell, Hamas has been committing terrorist attacks on Israel for years now). Even what the two sides fight for are somewhat similar! 

The US fought to help the Southern Vietnamese and gain freedom from their Northern neighbors. Israel is fighting for freedom from their neighbors who are constantly attacking them and freeing Palestinians from their oppressive government. 

It starts out virtuous and those ideas do carry on for the most part, but it also dissolves into animalistic violence and anger because of the shit they have seen.

Also, the way US Vietnam soldiers were treated in America is actually really similar to how Americans treat the IDF. 

Nowadays when we meet a Vietnam veteran, we comment on how brave they are and how they’re a hero. Back then, though? Ohhhhh boy. Americans hated them. When soldiers would come home, Americans would yell at them, spit on them, etc. Now, doesn’t that sound familiar?

So, TLDR;

I support Israel and I support the IDF in the same way I support America in WW2 and the Vietnam War. They’re on the right side and have virtuous intent, but they sure as hell aren’t perfect and have done some fucked up shit. Yknow. Like every other military in the world. The sad reality we live in. Not everything is black and white.

[greentrickster]

For the Great God Airplane AU, this time I've been thinking a bit more about Airplane and Shen Jiu having another, proper meeting after Shang Qinghua's regained his divine memories. Because, while it was... nice to hear that open acceptance, that Shangdi was glad that Shen Jiu managed to become Ninth Road, that even his creator thought the fate he'd written for Shen Jiu was too harsh... the fact remains that he still wrote it. Still allowed it to happen.

(He came down from Heaven and incarnated to witness these long-destined events, and to save the world... but not early enough to save Shen Jiu.)

And that sort of thing leaves questions, especially after having had a bit over ten years to think on it (to stew on it (for, for all that they love him, his heavenly siblings openly love Airplane Shangdi best of all things, so he's never even considered speaking to them on this subject))). And the most important question is simply...

Why?

Why allow this to happen?

If you love this world and its people so much, if you wanted to save them from destruction, why let the events leading to it play out in such a way? Why try and change it as a man instead of an all-powerful god?

Why?

They're sitting in one of An Ding's gardens, near enough Shang Qinghua's leisure house to ensure privacy, but nowhere they ever encountered each other in Ninth Road's first life. Shang Qinghua had been getting a breath of fresh air before his newest Official chose this moment to pop up next to him again, as refined and skittish as a street cat still learning how to trust. And, as the one who created him, Qinghua knows exactly how close to truth that comparison is, and mentally rearranges his schedule to prioritize this discussion before doing his best to answer in a way someone who hasn't been there from the beginning will properly understand. In the end he pulls a book out of his sleeve, holding it in his hands.

"Okay, so, books have a lot of words in them, right? And when you're first writing the book, it's fairly easy to go back and check over what you've written, make changes, correct mistakes. But once- once it's published? And there are people out there reading it, buying their own copies? After that it's- I can edit my own copy as much as I want, and it'll be the most accurate version, because I'm the author, but I can't go and just... edit everyone else's copy as well, you know? Maybe if it was just one or two copies that I gave to friends, but not-not everyone's.

"And this- my story. About you and Luo Binge. 'The Grand Fate of the World,' if you want to use your heavenly siblings' term for it... Imagine that as a book. Not just one book, a whole series of books, a series that's millions of words long, and everything in this world has its own set of them. Like, look," he bends down and scoops up a handful of dust, letting it sift between his fingers to blow away in the breeze once he's upright again. "Every single particle of dust I just picked up? Had the equivalent of its own copy of that story inside it. And it's the same for every speck of dust, every drop of liquid, every sliver of bone, every breath of air, every tiny piece of anything that makes this world. And- and I couldn't go through and edit every single copy of those stories, not even as Shangdi, not without- ...not without taking the world apart into nothing again and completely remaking it.

"And by the time it all started to feel really real to me, more than just a chance to tell a story I'd wanted to write more than anything in my last life, but tell it right this time.... by the time I reached that point, it was- hundreds of years had passed, and- and the world was full of people, real, living people, and I had my Officials, and they were part of this world too, and- and they were all real and I couldn't just... erase them like they were words on a page, you're all full of stories, but you're not just words on a page, you're real people."

He says it with such quiet intensity that it's startling. Ninth Road is so used to seeing Shang Qinghua as slippery, untrustworthy, nervous, perhaps overworked, he's never seen him talk about something he's truly passionate about.

About something he truly cares about.

And it is obvious, in this instant, that Shang Qinghua, that Airplane Shangdi, truly cares about this world and its people. Cares about them more than he has words to properly express, even as a god or a writer.

"And I couldn't fix it as Shangdi," Shang Qinghua continues, oblivious to Ninth Road's musings, "I couldn't- I'm really powerful like that, but for something so big and delicate, it's either scrap the whole project and start over or get right down deep inside and try to fix things from there. And I just- what would be the point of making it all again, if I did just start over? It wouldn't be the same, and this world's kinda a hot mess in a lot of ways, but... that's part of why I like it so much! But I broke it, or set it up to get broken, so... I had to come down and fix it. But then I couldn't do it on my own, so... so I asked for help. And you answered. And Cucumber-bro answered. And... now we're here, and- and I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't- I should have done it better right from the beginning, I should have- fuck, thank-you. You saved my world. You saved everyone. You saved me. I'm so glad you're the one who answered when I asked, thank-you."

It's... sincere. Too sincere for one with a face as thin as Ninth Road's, and praise too high for the part he played. "It was Shen Qingqiu who did as you say, not this Official."

Shangdi fucking scoffs at this. "Cucumber-bro may have done the legwork, but he wouldn't have been able to do a damn thing if you hadn't answered my call. And I know you, Ninth Road, I know you didn't actually believe you'd actually get anything for doing what you got asked! Nothing can get done if there's no room to do anything, and you gave it all up to make room. And I'm god and I'm right, so just- just be polite and say 'you're welcome' for once, because I'm an obnoxious little shit and I won't stop thanking until you get that you genuinely did something worth being thanked for! So there!"

...

...there's not a lot you can really say to a rebuttal like that, other than the world's stiffest, most awkward, "You're welcome," to which he gets a big smile, another equally big "Thank-you!", and some free gossip on what stupid things Shang Qinghua's martial siblings have done recently.

It's... kind of nice.

Not nice enough for Ninth Road to feel inclined to inform Airplane that there are technically two Luo Binghes running around in this world now, but still... nice.

(And it's not like he needs to tell him, he'll figure it out for himself.)

(Eventually.)