#You can't even imagine HOW FAST I was drawing this

[serenity--writes]

Peter Parker x Reader | Fake-dating gone wrong

You need a fake date for your family's get-together, and just as you run out of hope, someone agrees. Of course, the universe has it out for you, so your plan falls to shit remarkably fast. (Or, you attempt to fake date Peter Parker, but crime never sleeps.) GN! Reader, Unedited, 6.4k words. Holland Peter! (A/N: I can't look at this anymore. I simultaneously like it and dislike it. I read somewhere that even if you're not inspired, you should write anyway, and this is the result. I do have another fic in the works that I am remarkably more invested in, though!)

In a few days, you’ll think back to this moment and laugh about how stupid you’re being, but right now, you’re desperate. There’s no way Saturday can go wrong, and you’re desecrating your pride to make sure it doesn’t. 

MJ just thinks you’re an idiot, you can tell by the amused, borderline-murderous look on her face. “No way in hell, dude. Your family is nuts.” You glance at her sketchbook, which has a half-finished sketch of your face in it. There’s no way you look that…

“Horrible,” you mumble, scrunching your nose. Bringing your hands up to your face, you feel around your face to double-check, but nope, you’re still you. To say you look haggard would be a compliment if MJ’s portrayal of you is accurate.

She hums, shading in the shadows of your nose. You didn’t realize it was that weirdly shaped. Or maybe MJ’s messing with you…? “That’s what you get for staying awake all night, texting someone asleep and not going to answer.” 

“I had to try. I figured I could wear you down, but you didn’t read my messages.” You scowl, seeing her add another lock of hair to her drawing. You should’ve brought a comb or something, shit. “C’mon, I’ll owe you lunch for—” You glance at your calendar, grimacing. Go big or go home. “—a month! You can even get those crazy expensive nachos that give you indigestion the next day. Pretty please?”

“Nope,” MJ says, popping the ‘p’. She’s nearly done with her sketch, and the whole ‘drawing people in crisis’ thing is scarily accurate. You’re now one hundred percent sure you’re not imagining the panic attack waiting to happen; you have a radar for those kinds of things, and it’s brewing in your chest. “Just ask loser number one or two. You can watch Star Wars in exchange.”

Loser one and loser two—Peter Parker and Ned Leeds. Yeah. No fucking way. Your first two new friends at this school—you’re not counting MJ since you’ve known her for five years by now—and she wants you to ruin it by asking them to fake-date you? Social suicide might be a turn-on for her, but it’s not for you.

Besides, you vowed never to watch Star Wars years ago. Said vow is akin to a pact signed in blood; you can’t disregard it or you’ll die. Yeah, you’ve seen The Craft, and you know magic and blood and shit are not to be messed with. Your descendants would curse your name, spinning a tale about how wicked you were, how evil, how you ate children who didn’t go to bed at eight o’clock on the dot—

Coincidentally, your mom was a storyteller when you were a child. She, rather suspiciously, might you add, gave it up once you turned twelve. Your father calls bullshit on her doing it just to scare you, but you know better.

Anyway! 

“I’m three seconds away from getting on my knees and begging. MJ, please!” Your knees bend in preparation. MJ glares at you, drawing a line across her throat with her finger, and you swear her eyes glimmer as you gulp, straightening up. She’d make a good serial killer. Wow! 

“I’m not fake-dating you, end of story.”

You collapse into your seat and groan into your arms, head buried; maybe you’ll suffocate and won’t have to endure the torture on Saturday. Even as you think it, though, you know you won’t be so lucky. The wind in your metaphorical sails depletes like a popped balloon—Star Wars couldn’t be all that bad, right? Worth a blood curse or two, at least?! “I don’t wanna watch Star Wars,” you whine. “My bloodline hates me so much right now. I can tell!”

MJ laughs at you, the scratch of her pencil grating against your eardrums. ‘People in crisis’ you make a face against your arms, almost sticking out your tongue, but think better of it. School desks are probably not as clean as they should be. “Get the popcorn ready. You know how those two dorks are.”

“You’re joining us,” you say, popping your head back up and taking a deep breath of that weird school smell that none of you can exactly pinpoint. At least English class had those nice wax melts, Math just smelled like stale decay. Probably all the dead brain cells floating in the air.

“Nah.”

“You can’t just say ‘nah’ and expect to win the argument. That’s not an argument, even; we haven’t argued!” You pause. “… Argue with me. Debate me. Try to come up with a good reason not to endure Star Wars with me. I dare you.”

“I haven’t argued because I’m more mature than you are, and don’t resort to petty debates that have no bearing on my life. It’s called ‘picking your battles.’”

Ugh. “I hate you, MJ. I hope you know that.” 

She grins. “I hate you more!”

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You go to Ned first. He’s way less busy than Peter is, thus more likely to agree, and you don’t have a crush on him (not that you have one on Peter, but like… never mind), so it’s a win-win-win(-loss, because of the blood curse). You know, now that you think about it, Peter is busy. Between the Stark Internship, helping May at the F.E.A.S.T. shelter, or being a nerd in his private time, there’s always something going on. 

(You desperately need to join some extracurriculars.)

So, on account of the win-win-win(-loss) scenario, you ask Ned at lunch to be your fake boyfriend. You didn’t account for him saying no. You swear you see the gates as your heart gives out, but then you remember your trump card. Star Wars.

Except, he says no again. “My Lola needs my help on Saturday, so I’m not going anywhere.” You gape at him for so long that a fly darts inside your mouth and makes you choke. You’re too busy coughing up a lung to notice Peter until he’s putting a hand on your back and asking if you’re okay.

“Fine,” you croak, like the old hag from Snow White. “But also not. What the fuck. The world is turning against me. This is so unfair.”

MJ flicks your forehead. You yelp because what the fuck was that for?! “Peter, they have something they want to ask you,” she says. Your cheeks heat up instantly, realization kicking in. She’s setting you up!

“No, I don’t,” you retort as Peter puts down his sandwich. The poor guy looks too tired to deal with the combined bullshit you three are spewing out, but he takes it like a champ. You stare at him, but then he starts staring back, so you look away. Like a coward.

Ugh!

Ned snickers. Your friends are good at enjoying your misery. Sadists, all of them. Except Peter, because he’s more like an angel than anything else. “They need a fake date to get their family off their back, and MJ and I are busy. So…” Ned trails off, and you all watch as Peter puts two and two together. Horror paints your face, MJ smirks in smug victory, and Ned eyes the two of you knowingly. 

You don’t know what he knows, but you don’t like that he knows something. Smart bastard!

Peter shrugs, nonchalant and not grossed out like you thought he’d be. Something in your chest settles at the sight. “When is it?”

Still, you’re not letting this happen. You’ll just suffer by yourself on Saturday. “It’s fine—”

“Saturday, at four,” MJ cuts in smoothly, throwing you a smirk as you glower at her. If you could, and didn’t fear her retaliation, you’d reach across the table and strangle her. 

Peter nods, considering it. This whole situation is so weird. God, why is your heart beating so fast?! “I think I’ll be free? Mr. Stark is out until next week, so there’s not much I can do. And…” Here, he looks at you knowingly. “Knowing you, we won’t be there for too long, anyway. So maybe—”

“An hour!” you blurt out. Then, before you can lose your nerve, continue, “We can stay for an hour…?” You fiddle with your hands as you wait for him to change his mind. He’s always busy, so he probably meant for the whole thing to be like thirty minutes, not an hour. You always open your big mouth at the worst moments, and now it’s biting you in the ass.

Peter smiles. “Sounds good!”

Oh!

Ned whispers something to MJ, and she smirks, but before you can ask her what he told her, Peter’s asking for the address, and you forget all about MJ and Ned as you talk with him. 

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Later, after knocking on the door and being let in by the ever-busy May Parker, you plop yourself down on his couch and wait for him to bring the popcorn. As you’re getting comfortable and accepting the oncoming blood curse, May clears her throat.

“Hey kiddos, I’ve got to head to work. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t!”

Without looking, Peter calls back, “You would do so much worse, May!”

The door shuts after her, cutting off her cackle of a laugh. You smother a smile before her words sink in. Your lips quirk into a frown. What did she mean by that? It’s not like you and Peter are—

—Are anything! Did she know? There’s no way. 

Peter starts the movie, and it’s distracting enough that you’re no longer lingering on what May said, but boring enough that you stare at Peter from the corner of your eye. He doesn’t even realize how creepy you’re acting—hopefully it stays that way—but the smitten part of you mitigates the guilt welling in your chest.

But, not really, because he’ll never like you back. So, no crush! Just… platonic admiration. Yeah. (Yeah, so, maybe you’re kinda head-over-heels for this guy. So what? Nothing’s going to come out of it.)

You’re totally pining right now. God, you’re such a loser.

“Okay!” Peter’s voice startles you out of your self-induced pity party, and you jump. He ignores it, turning so that he’s mirroring your criss-crossed position, barely blinking as his knees jam into yours. Holy shit, he’s bony as fuck. “You’re acting weird. Why?” You can’t help but stare at him. His cheeks are kind of red. “W—is—do you not want me to go with you?” he blurts out.

WHAT. You shake your head immediately. “No, it’s not that! It’s just…” Quick, think of something. Anything! “Umm, my mom is not going to, uh, buy that—we’re a couple?” You say it like a question because you’re a moron, but hopefully it gets the point across.

Peter’s pinched face relaxes, and he sags into the couch. “Oh. That’s… all. Okay. Hm. We can practice being a couple? Maybe?”

You twitch. This conversation is not good for your pining heart, but you find yourself nodding all the same. They always say getting a taste of what you can’t have is torture. But Peter’s eyes are wide and so pretty, and you want to experience him, even if it’s just for a few minutes.

He sucks in his lip before reaching for your hand. “We can hold hands to start, if you want?” 

You’re grasping his hand before he can finish his sentence. Breath catching in your throat, you slip your fingers between his, feeling tingling run down your spine as his calloused skin presses against your own. You blink up at Peter from your slouched position, light-headed. You catch sight of the blush painting his cheeks an enticing red and wonder what he’s thinking, who he’s thinking of. He coughs when he notices your gaze. “We need to get used to it, so.”

Heart fluttering, you smile. It spreads across your face easily, and it’s too hard to beat down, so you don’t, and you don’t fight it when it grows into an elated grin. Suddenly, you’re not feeling bad about this whole thing. 

“You have nice hands,” you say, then grimace. Why is it that whenever you open your mouth, things get worse? It’s like a talent at this point. “That’s weird, isn’t it? Just forget I said anything!”

Peter ducks his head and laughs, squeezing your hand once before relaxing his grip; he must have felt you trying to let go. His eyes are bright when they look at you, shaking you to your very core. “You have nice hands, too. It’s, uh. Ours fit together kind of perfectly, huh?”

You hum in agreement, feeling yourself preening at his attention. “It’s nice. I’ve never really held hands with someone before, now that I think about it.” You raise your other hand in the air, wagging in back-and-forth til Peter gets the hint. Laughing, he grasps your hand in his own, settling both pairs on the joint peak of your knees.

You avert your eyes. “After this, what do we do next?” You speak calmly, and it’s suspicious, as if an alien replaced you—not unusual in New York, unfortunately—because you’re never this calm in front of Peter. But before you can ask him to check if you are still yourself, he pulls away, mumbling. 

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Gotta go,” he says, coming to an abrupt halt. His eyes are wide with sincerity. “We’ll continue tomorrow? I’m so sorry, I forgot to turn in the report Mr. Stark wanted, so—” He gestures to his front door. “I gotta go. But stay until someone can pick you up? If that’s something that…” His head jerks to the side, and you belatedly hear the distant sound of police sirens.

“Right.” You take a second to calm your pounding heart, then nod. “Right. We’ll continue this later. Tomorrow. Yeah. I’ll just take the subway while it’s still going. See you, Pete.”

He nods, practically bouncing on his heels. He mumbles a quick goodbye before rushing to his bedroom. Ah, yeah, he’d need to change out of his sweatpants if he had to book it to Stark Tower. Makes sense. 

More than weirded-out, a little hurt, but mostly elated, you stumble out of May’s apartment just in time to see Spider-Man fly by, webs pulling taught as he swings between buildings. 

Wow. He’s so fucking cool. You shut your mouth before it can collect any flies (again), and walk to the station with a bounce in your step. Peter won’t believe this. Talk about perfect timing, huh?

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.

.

“I’m telling you, MJ, I really saw him! He was swinging by Peter and May’s apartment—he’s so fucking cool, I swear to God.” You look around before ducking your head, whispering into the mic of your phone, “And he has a cute butt. But don’t tell anyone I told you. I’ll never live it down.”

“There are forums for appreciating his buttocks, you’re not alone,” is what she designs as an appropriate reply. It does kind of make you feel better, though, so kudos to her. “Anyway, that’s not what I’m interested in. How’d it go with Peter?”

There’s no way she knows. Right? “Nothing happened. We watched the first Star Wars movie, uh—it was called something Menace, I think? With uh, Han Solo? And…”

MJ snorts, disbelief radiating from her even through the phone. You pout. “Let me guess, he wasn’t in it.”

“Nope. Pete would have a heart attack if he heard you say that. Ned would’ve died from cardiac arrest. You’d have to bury them together.”

“‘We’,” you correct instantaneously. 

“No, it’d be just you. Because you aren’t telling me anything, and don’t deserve my help to bury your friends. Of whom you murdered.”

MJ is persistent, you’ll give her that. “Fine, we held hands. And they’re your friends, too. Obviously.” 

A pause. Clothes rustle as she presumably sits up in her bed. “That’s it? You only held hands.”

“Well, we watched Star Wars, too.”

She groans. “I thought you were going to kiss or some shit. Should’ve known you’d be too chicken. And Peter, too, he’s a coward when it comes to his paramours.”

“Hey!” you protest. Then, “What do you mean, ‘paramours’? As in plural.”

You’re not jealous, just… curious. 

MJ snickers. “You’re not slick. And anyway, loser number one gave up on said other paramour a few months ago. She doesn’t even go to Midtown anymore. Her dad turned out to be the Vulture, and they moved.”

“Mother-fucking Liz?” you gasp. Not that you’re surprised. She always seemed to have her shit together. The universe must hate her, though, giving her a dad that turned out to be the Vulture. “Oof. Yeah, I remember. But, Pete really…?”

The call lasts until two in the morning, but you’re brimming with confidence. Whether MJ meant to, she gave you the confidence you needed to—

Well, to do something. 

Peter’s interested in you. And is too chicken to do anything about it. (Didn’t seem that way earlier, but you trust MJ’s observational skills.)

You’ll figure something out.

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Turns out, ‘figuring something out’ on the go doesn’t work with you. You’re completely blank as you march your way up to Peter’s door. You even stand around awkwardly for a few minutes to see if your mind can come up with something, but nope. Nada. 

You sigh. Of course. The time comes, and you fail. Story of your life. You knock on the door.

…

“Coming!” 

…

The door opens, and Peter’s face pops out. “Hey,” he says, smiling. He pushes the door to allow you in before turning around and diving onto the couch for the remote; Star Wars is already playing, and he turns the volume down as you come to sit beside him.

“So…” You both speak at the same time. 

You snort. Butterflies battle to the death in your stomach. You hope you don’t puke right now, but the chance is never zero. Experience has taught you that. “You go first.”

He raises an eyebrow but obliges. “Right. Uhm. Practice. Do you want to start with holding hands again?” His eyes light up as he wiggles his hand, with what you desperately want to be hope. 

But you’re on a different mission today. Please be right, MJ.

Your hands shake as you wipe them against your pant legs. You’re sweating like you’re about to pull out a gun to shoot at Peter, like one of those old western movies your dad made you watch. There better be a pot of gold at the end of this potentially vomit-covered rainbow, or you’ll throw in the towel called ‘life’ early.

“Actually…” Your tongue feels thick in your mouth, but you force the words out anyway, “Can we try…” Your cheeks burn. Just say it, you coward! Don’t disappoint your descendants! Or MJ! “Kissing!”

You pull back as you hyperventilate. After a second of silence, minus your rasping gasps for air, Peter’s concerned face falls into view. “Hey, uh, you’re okay! It’s fine! Just match my breathing, okay?”

He takes a deep breath, holds it for a second, then exhales. Rinse and repeat.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. 

—

When you come back to yourself, the first thing you feel is your aching knees. Youth has escaped you fast, and the world is kind enough to remind you. The second is the fact that Peter looks like he’s about to cry. The third is a mixture: what the fuck, why the fuck, how the fuck, and, ‘Fuck, my descendants are going to hate me.’

“Hi,” you say, pinching Peter’s thigh through his jeans. He blinks at you, then sags in relief. “Sorry. I don’t know what that was. Uhm. Can I still kiss you?”

Peter blinks, silent, then laughs. It’s loud and practically hysterical. You withhold a flinch to place a concerned hand on his shoulder. He looks like he’s a second away from collapsing on the floor. “Are you okay?” Guilt clogs your lungs and nearly chokes you with it, because you didn’t mean to have a panic attack, and you sure as hell didn’t mean for him to have to guide you through it. 

Peter drags a hand down his face. “You weren’t calming down, and May only taught me, like, three things to do, and I panicked a bit.” He takes the hand you place on his shoulder into his own. The rough skin grounds you. “Can I kiss you? If you still want to. Uhm, I don’t wanna assume—just, I think it’d be nice?” He looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole; he’s so cute, it’s almost unbearable.

“I’d like that. If you still want to.”

You’ve never felt more vulnerable, but you’re so eager, it’s debilitating. Peter cups your cheek, and it’s as though he’s lit a fire under your skin. You jolt, but quickly lean into the touch and cup his cheek, too, awed at the soft skin. 

“Just so you’re aware, I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admit, with no small amount of shame. 

“Neither do I, but I looked it up—” He freezes, then stutters, “Uhm! N-not that I thought you were going to kiss me, or anything. I was just curious. And Ned was the one who looked it up. I just… read it a little…?”

You laugh, so endeared that your body can’t contain the feeling. “You’ll have to show me, then,” you say, laughter petering off into giggles. He nods seriously, almost solemnly, before tilting his head. Just like that, your world narrows, and you only see him. A shiver runs down your spine as he closes the gap between you, hands settling on your waist. His breath ghosts over your skin before your lips meet.

Wow. That’s your last coherent thought, fireworks dancing across your vision and flooding through your veins. Peter smells so unlike how you would imagine a teenage boy to smell, all eucalyptus and peony mixed with vanilla. He’s gentle with his hands as he explores the skin just under the edge of your shirt. His touch leaves trails of fire along your skin, reminders of him. 

You sigh into his mouth, breathing growing heavier, feeling like you’re soaring yet sinking as he bears down against you. You push back against him, swiping your tongue against his lip just to taste. And boy, do you ever—you never really understood the whole ‘flavored-chapstick’ thing until now, tasting cherries on his lips. 

Heat clings to your cheeks and spreads to your ears; it feels like you’re melting. Your brain is a mix of endorphins and electrical pulses that scream ‘more, more, more’ like you’ll die without him pressed against you. You break away for air, lungs burning, before scrambling into his lap, darting forward to kiss him again. He moans when you wrap your arms around his neck, and it’s the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard; his voice is better than music, and it’s all for you.

Then, the door opens. You fling yourself away, and Peter just sits there, staring at your face—no, your lips—mournfully. It looks like you killed his non-existent puppy. 

May eyes the two of you suspiciously as she walks into the apartment, no doubt noticing Peter’s red face and your rapidly rising chest. She stays quiet, though, just lifts her eyebrows meaningfully at Peter before walking further into the apartment.

You and Peter exchange silent glances before bursting into laughter. He brings you into a hug that you lose yourself in, feeling warm and safe in his arms. “I’ll see you tomorrow? We still have to practice before ‘showtime’. If you’re up for it.”

He stiffens, but you attribute it to speaking too loudly right in his ear. You apologize, your voice significantly quieter. “You’re good. And yeah, tomorrow should be fine. This was, uh, nice.”

You pull away, grinning. “Very nice. Don’t sell us short. We both did very well.”

“... And now you’re making it weird.”

“You like it, Parker.”

“Unfortunately.”

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The next day, Peter’s too busy to practice. 

You bully the disappointment down to the pits of your mind, and focus on pleasing your mother, who is very adamant about knowing who you’re bringing over tomorrow. 

“My boyfriend. Like I told you yesterday. No, I’m not lying, he’s my—Mom!”

She doesn’t believe you, which sucks. You’ll just have to prove her wrong tomorrow. 

You suck in a deep breath, then exhale. You remember Peter’s face, concerned and aching with the need to help, the tears that entered his eyes, the softness of his lips, the taste of cherries—

Your mom clicks her tongue, realization seeping into her face and into her voice. “Oh, honey. Tell him how you feel, hm? Don’t hold on to those feelings forever. Your father and I, well, we eloped almost immediately—”

You groan in disgust. “I’ve heard this story a billion times, and it’s still gross. Please stop talking.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have to tell it so many times if you learned from it, now would I?”

—

You don’t hear from MJ or Ned for the rest of the day, which is weird, but you’re not upset, too frazzled to do much other than wonder what you’re going to do tomorrow. 

Confess. It goes wrong; MJ was wrong, and Peter just wanted to get his first kiss out of the way. Bad ending.

Confess. It goes perfectly; MJ was right, and Peter kissed you because he has a crush on you, and he reciprocates your feelings. Good ending!

Don’t confess. Remain pining forever. Peter gets a girlfriend/boyfriend, and you grow up sad and alone. Alternate bad ending.

Don’t confess. MJ talks sense into Peter, and he confesses to you. You get together, grow up, do more than kissing, get married, move in together, and there’s no other person to get in between you, too! Alternate good ending!

Something else happens, and you spontaneously combust. Or something. 

“Right,” you mumble to yourself. “Just fucking do it. No take-backs, no ‘oh, I didn’t mean that, I was joking’, or anything. Just say it! ‘I like you, Peter. Would you like to be my boyfriend?’ It’s perfect. Nothing can go wrong.”

You go to sleep with the hope that tomorrow, the sun will shine mercifully on you for once.

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The day goes by quickly. Peter texts you an hour before the get-together that he’s getting ready. Your mom looks at you knowingly as you stare at the clock, willing the time to go faster. Your dad claps you on the shoulder and ruffles your hair until you squawk and shoo him away. 

3:30. No sign of Peter, but that’s not a problem. He still has thirty minutes, after all. You grab a couple of fries and pout at your uncle when he swats your hand away. “No more until the rest is done,” he scolds you. 

You don’t whine, but it’s close, “Fine. Party-pooper.”

“Ha! You know it, kid.”

Cousins you’ve never met before come up to meet you, and you smile and introduce yourself to cover up the nervous twitch of your hands when the time hits 3:45 and there’s no sign of Peter.

He wouldn’t bail, especially not after saying that he’s getting ready. It wouldn’t make sense. 

Your auntie comes up to you and sweeps you off your feet with her hug. She’s always had a heart larger than life, with love to spare. She encases you in it with a pinch to your cheek. “Don’t forget to give Lila some treats, hm? Poor thing is about to jump onto the grill, she’s so hungry.”

You laugh. “I will, I will.”

4:30. 

Your mom comes up to you and wraps you in an embrace. Tears roll down your cheeks. “Shh, it’s okay,” she soothes you. You only sob harder. 

“I really thought he’d come,” you cry into her blouse, voice cracking. She runs a hand down your back, shushing you. You shake your head. Your chest tightens, and you gasp for breath. Did he just lie to make fun of you? You didn’t think Peter would do that, but…

“Listen to me, honey,” your mom says. You quieted immediately, reduced to small sniffles. “Let’s not jump to the worst-case scenario, alright? Maybe he got held up in traffic, or an emergency came up, and he hasn’t been able to text you. Shoot him a text and see if he responds sometime tonight. If not, we’ll see about contacting his Aunt May. Sound good?”

You nod miserably. “Yeah.” You didn’t feel like texting him and being right about him using you. A terrible, horrible part of you hopes something bad warranted him not coming. 

“Alright,” your mom says, pulling you away to look into your eyes. She smiles, then presses a kiss to your forehead. “Go send that text and spend some time with Lila. She’s missed you these past few days.”

“Okay. I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too, baby.”

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When Peter finally responds, you’re about to take a nap. Dozing peacefully with Lila beside you, you’re just about to fall into sleep when your phone dings! You jolt up, running an apologetic hand across Lila’s coat before opening up your messages.

I’m so sorry. I got mugged and had to get some stitches. I’m fine now, but is the party still going? I’m really sorry.

“Oh my God,” you breathe, gaping at your phone, wide-eyed. Your blood turns to ice. Your hands shake as you type, not used to the lightning-quick pace of your fingers. Panic dances at the edges of your mind.

ARE U OKAY OMG YOU DONT HAVE TO COME IF YOURE HURT I THOUGHT YOU DITCHED BUT THIS IS SO MUCH WORSE PETER!!!!!! ARE YOU OKAY FOR REAL

He responds immediately.

I’m fine now, yeah. And I really hope the party is still going because I’m outside your front door. 

“Oh, shit.” You shake off your blanket and bolt out of your room, bursting into the front hallway like a person possessed. You swing the front door open. Peter smiles at you, but it’s strained. You immediately notice the pallid color of his skin, frowning. 

“Come in, quick. God, you look like shit. W-well, you got mugged. Obviously. Do you want something to drink? Eat? Peter, are you sure you can be here?” 

Peter accepts the glass of water you pour him, but doesn’t drink. He looks around your house curiously, and you realize that it’s the first time he’s been here. “Peter…?”

His head jolts up. “Yeah?”

“Do you… want to talk about it?”

You don’t know what to do in this scenario. Is he super traumatized now? Should you be metaphorically walking on eggshells, or should you just act normally? 

Peter shakes his head. “It’s fine. I’m just more tired than I thought I would be.” He rubs the back of his neck. A nervous tick, you realize. He always does that when you ask about his Stark Internship, or sometimes just when you ask about his day. “Well. Did you want me to go out and meet your family still?”

You frown. “No way. They’re rowdy and overbearing. You were—well, you know—and whatever. I can deal with their teasing. How about we just watch some movies? I can go grab you a plate of food.”

“Oh. U-um, if that’s okay. I could eat a horse right now.”

You reach over and hug him lightly. He’s stiff, but wraps an arm around your back, anyway. You pull away after a moment with what you hope is a reassuring look. “It’s not a problem. I’ll be right back. Oh, do you want fries or tater tots? Or both?”

“Both, definitely.”

“On it!”

—

Peter devours the plate of food when you get back, his black-hole of a stomach on full display. It puts you at ease to see him, and despite the shitshow of a day you both have had (Peter significantly more so, unfortunately), spending time with him makes you almost forget about it all.

“So, what’s this party for, anyway?” Peter asks. He interrupts your favorite scene, but you forgive him when he sends you a sheepish smile, barbeque sauce dotting his lips. 

“It’s for my cousin’s birthday. Everyone got invited because it’s the first birthday after the five-year life expectancy she got.” At Peter’s confused look, you clarify, “She had cancer. It’s officially been one year since the doctors told her she would be dead. Kind of, uh, heavy, but it’s a good thing.”

“Oh, definitely! Wow, that’s—ugh!” Peter chokes, his arm holding his stomach. 

“Peter?! What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

He whines, the small amount of color he’d gained by eating gone in an instant. You get up and grab your phone. “You need to get to the hospital. Did something happen when you got mugged? Did you get stabbed? Shot?”

Peter winces guiltily. 

“You got shot?!” You whisper-scream. You didn’t know Peter was this much of an idiot! “Why are you not at the hospital? Oh, fuck, Peter. You’re bleeding. You’re bleeding because you got shot, and you’re going to die in my bedroom—”

He grits his teeth. “I’m fine,” he insists. “I just need to re-do the stitches. The bullet went right through with no fragments. It was a clean shot,” he laughs without humor. You stare at him silently. 

Peter’s eyes go soft. “Hey, I’m okay. I’ve been sh—” He cuts himself off, but you’re not an idiot. 

“‘Shot before’,” you finish, body numb. With every word he says, the urge to cry grows. “Peter, I’m getting my mom, and we’re driving you to the hospital.” He protests as you stand up, but you dutifully ignore the ignorant, self-destructive boy until he curses and snatches your wrist.

He pulls you back down on the bed with a grunt. Sucking in a breath, he turns to you, “Okay. This isn’t how I wanted to do this, but here goes.” Cupping your cheeks, he brings his face far too close to yours; you’re nose-to-nose with him. You think he’s going to kiss you, and you resolve to slap him after. But he doesn’t.

“I’m Spider-Man,” he says instead.

You can see the way he freaks out when you remain silent. Can feel the regret bubbling underneath his skin. It makes your skin crawl. You don’t know a lot of things, but you know that Peter Parker is your friend (maybe boyfriend) who just revealed his superhero alter-ego, and that fucking freaks you out.

But he got shot, and that’s far more important to you right now.

“What does that have to do with you getting shot?” Why should I not take you to the hospital?

“If they test my blood, they’ll know I’m Spider-Man. Then, who knows what’ll happen to you guys or Aunt May…” His voice is steady with resolve. “I can’t let anything happen to any of you. Besides, I heal fast. Like, abnormally, ‘I’m a superhero’ fast.”

You blink up at him through tears. “You better not be fucking lying, Parker,” you whisper. “Or I’ll sick MJ on you. You know she’ll bite.”

“Rabid dog MJ,” he sighs. “I know. No one else would adopt her.”

You laugh, but it sounds more like a sob. “She’ll kill you for that, Spidey-boy.”

Peter grimaces. “Yeah, no. Let’s not do nicknames right now. But, uh, you’re cool? With the whole Spider-Man thing? A-And, obviously, you can’t tell anyone. If you do…” 

You shake your head vehemently. “I won’t. I wouldn’t. Thanks for trusting me.” Your brow furrows. “Wait, is that the ‘Stark Internship’? Being Spider-Man?”

Peter blinks, then grins. “Yeah, actually. It keeps me a lot busier than typical intern work, that’s for sure. I’m almost certain my neighbors think I’m doing drugs, though. And May always knew I was sneaking out at night. It was a disaster.”

You hum in agreement. You’re sure it was. “But Stark knows you get hurt and still lets you go out? Aunt May, too?” You can’t fathom what they’re thinking, even with his super-healing. Getting shot isn’t the same as getting punched or kicked. 

“They couldn’t take Spider-Man away from me,” he says after a moment. “They just try to make it safer for me. But, y’know, things happen. Like getting shot.”

As safe as being a superhero can be, which isn’t very. “Your life is weird. I hope you know that, Pete.”

Peter snorts, watching you slide off the bed. “Well, duh. I live it.”

You grab your favorite blanket from your closet. It’s big, fluffy, blue, and Peter lets you wrangle him around in your bed until you’re both cuddled up beside each other, wrapped up like burritos in the blue cotton.

“Stay the night,” you demand. “I don’t want you going out again at all. And text May, too, so she’s not worried.” What you don’t say is, ‘I won’t be able to sleep if I can’t see you. I don’t want to wake up and find out that you’re hurt, or kidnapped, or dead. Please don’t leave me.’

Peter sees something in your eyes. The vulnerability, the longing, the protectiveness, the fear—you don’t know which, but it makes him frown. “I’ll be okay,” he says again. It’s a useless comfort. You don’t doubt it now, but he’ll get hurt repeatedly in the future. You don’t know if you can stomach it, but you want him to know he’ll always have a place to go to when he’s in need. 

“I really like you,” you breathe. Your words are quiet, but in the silence of your bedroom, they ring like a bomb going off. Your heart hammers in your chest, but your hands don’t shake when they go to cup his cheeks. You want him to know that you’re there. There’s no time for stuttering, for anxious ticks, just the here and now, the two of you together. “Would you like to be my boyfriend, Peter Parker?”

His yes tastes like cherries. 

“I’d like that,” Peter whispers against your lips. He’s shy now, under your gaze. Too much, your mind mutters. You ignore it. Waves of your emotions bedazzle themselves on your skin, engrave themselves in your touch, and you press them into Peter. It’s overwhelming, almost, but he settles against you so perfectly, pressing his feelings into you, that all your fears wash away, drowned out by the waves. He blushes pink and kisses you slowly, sweetly, and gently. It’s not unlike your first kiss, but somehow, it’s better.

It’s magical.

[fareehaandspaniards]

character bingo : edgar, and yurie :}

Them!!! First of all they are very silly, especially Yurie (I can't NOT drop a shitpost here, I am sorry)

NOW about bingo

I so rarely post about Yurie, but I love her much! And this is that rare case of self-projection on a fictional character for me…. Partial! I think we could sit down together in a Not-a-simp tavern and have many, many drinks…. (insert lenny face)

With Yurie I can come up with a lot of silly and funny situations….. And it's such a relief. Because I used to be offended to make jokes about female characters, and it's so wrong. Make jokes about everyone, or don't make jokes AT ALL

She is not my hyperfixation, but she is MY TYPE. There's not much to say about the design - she wears the standard Choir uniform. Yurie is my favourite girl-failure, I might say. At least I see her as a failed hero. She is capable of anything, LITERALLY, if she gets her butt kicked and forehead kissed by Imposter-Iosefka. I will hold Yurie GENTLY

No one can prove to me that Edgar does NOT look hot. His huge nose? YES. His nerdish look? YES. Everything in him? HOT

Everyone else is wrong, just because you want some new interpretations of the character. In my headcanons, I gave him a very strong empathy (he is little augur himself), lost in life, and disgust to Ebrietas… Also auntie Yurie lol And many-many things... I think he is incredibly mean but kind person...

Would kiss of course!!! And of course he exists, I see many Edgars when I am at work... The lack rosmarinus and Holy Sword of Ludwig tho. I am very Normal abour Edgar. If I start talking about him, it'll come out as usual a big post-biography with headcanons lol (And now it's Logarius' turn, so Edgar is sitting on the sidelines, I've given him enough attention in the fanfics of every sort xD)

Thanks for the ask!

[girlyhornywriter]

Pushing her buttons...

Imagine having a button you could press that magically makes you fatter, by like +1 pound. That'd be neat, right? I wonder where you would draw the line and finally stop pressing it.

I mean, the first dozen presses would just be so you can test if it's actually working. One or two probably wouldn't feel like much, but by the time you hit the double-digits of extra pounds gained, you'd probably feel the extra tightness in your pants. Maybe your shirt would ride up a little bit because your belly and tits have grown a little bigger, but it wouldn't be anything *crazy*. Even after 12 presses, you'd still basically feel the same. Maybe your balance would be a little off with the extra weight, but nothing you can't deal with. If you put a hand on your midriff, you'd notice it bulging out more, and that it's softer and fleshier than you're used to, but all in a good way.

Being realistic though, you wouldn't stop there, would you? You've dreamed of stuff like this. An opportunity to make yourself *so* much fatter is just too tempting for you to pass up. Maybe you'd try to resist the temptation for a while, but we both know you'd fold under the pressure and start pressing it again. Fast.

You'd get undressed and stand in front of a mirror so you could watch your figure swell with dozens of extra pounds of soft, pale blubber. You'd hold your belly in one hand while you press the button with the other. Press after press, you feel it push out just a little bit further. It'd feel softer and softer in your hands as your gut grows heavier and jigglier.

Now you're thirty pounds heavier than you started, and you're *really* starting to notice the results now. Your belly hangs over your thighs quite a lot further than you remember, and your ass is looking so fat when you get a good look at yourself from the side. Stopping now crosses your mind, but you quickly dismiss it; your tits might be bigger, but they're not really big enough yet, and you're still only at "BBW" size anyway. You can handle some more pressing.

Click by click, you feel yourself growing heavier. Your belly has gotten so big and blubbery that it starts to fold into two thick rolls, giving you a definite double-belly that you can't wait to show off to your girlfriend when she gets home. In the meantime though, you keep pressing the button. You've lost track of the exact number at this point, but you think you're somewhere around 60 pounds heavier than when you started (it's actually closer to 80). You look at your doughy belly and thighs being groped by your hand in the mirror, and notice how much pudgier and softer your hand is starting to look. Nothing is immune to the weight you're piling on, and that just makes you even hornier. You resume clicking it.

Another thirty pounds make their way onto your figure when you stop again, this time because your gaze drifted upwards towards your face. Your cheeks look so much fuller now, giving your face a decidedly rounder shape. Your double-chin is much more pronounced than it used to be; your jawline is completely buried under a thick layer of chubbiness at this point, and you can't help but smile about it. It feels so good to be so much more... *plush*.

You tell yourself that you'll give yourself twenty more presses, then you'll quit. But once you get there, you decide... maybe just a few more. So you press it *another* ten times. Then you notice how close your breasts are to touching when you're sitting down, and can't help but want to see them finally become big enough to rub against each other as you walk. So you keep pressing it. Not really paying attention to the number any more, just to your breasts, as they get heavier and softer and rounder with every click.

Finally, it happens.

Not your breasts touching, like you were waiting for. The chair you were sitting on breaks instead. You hadn't heard it creaking as your fat ass grew ever fatter and heavier with every click of the button. It just hadn't crossed your mind that your furniture had already been struggling against your mass before you got this button. Now though, it had finally given up...

You decided this was your sign to call it quits - you should dust yourself off and think yourself lucky that you didn't do something stupid and make yourself absolutely massive. You drag yourself up onto your feet with a lot more difficulty than you expected, then push the shattered remains of the chair aside with your foot. You check your ass and thighs for any damage, but aside from the massive amount of extra cellulite now occupying them, and the angry red stretchmarks that have suddenly become even more omnipresent across your body, you seem to be fine. You look down for the button, but can't see it anywhere among the debris. You look around the room, when you finally spot it.

Your girlfriend is in the doorway, holding it in her hand.

"I like what you've done to yourself, babe" she says with a smile, her gaze travelling up and down your now much fatter figure, eyeing your new curves and rolls with glee. She licks her lips. "I wonder how you got so big, so fast, princess... Could it be this, maybe?" She presses the button.

Maybe you could have denied the effect the button had just had on you, if it wasn't for the fact that at that moment, the panties you had been wearing finally gave up, shredded by your immense girth with an audible rip and leaving you exposed to your girlfriend in more ways than one. The smile on her face broadens.

"I think I get the picture... Well, shall we see what this thing can do?" She starts clicking the button as fast as her fingers are capable of. Ten pounds, twenty pounds, thirty pounds, you feel your body swelling with the extra mass second by second as she starts to giggle. You try to run towards her, but you're far too fat now to move so quickly, so all you can do is waddle gracelessly towards her as she easily evaded your attempts to grab the button from her hand. You reach the doorway and look down at your expanding body, in awe at just how much of the weight seems to be going straight to your belly rolls. Your thickening paunch slaps against your thickened thighs as you keep trying to pursue your mischievous girlfriend. She escapes into the living room, and you follow her, your steps growing heavier with every click that echoes through your ears.

By the time you corner her in front of the couch, the click count must be at 250 by now, and you're feeling every ounce of the blubber she has poured onto your body. You're exhausted and breathless from trying to catch her, and she can see you're close to collapsing. She speeds up the pace of her clicking, holding the button high above her head where you have no hope of reaching it. You make one final lunge, hoping to swipe it from her hand before you're too fat to stand...

But you miss.

You lose your balance and stumble towards the couch, where you drop heavily onto the straining frame. Your ass takes up far more of space than you're used to and you sink deep into the soft cushions, hearing creak as it settles under your immense bulk. Your girlfriend stands over you, victorious.

"I think that couch had a max weight rating of 800 lbs, didn't it? Shall we test that?"

As much as you struggle against your own fattened figure, you can't haul your fat ass and gut off of the couch. You're just too heavy, and only getting heavier as she presses the button over and over and over again. Your thighs press together even as you try to spread them as wide as possible; your belly fills your entire lap and just keeps spilling out further and further over the edge of the couch; and your tits keep swelling too, easily exceeding G-cups in size with no signs of stopping.

Eventually, inevitably, the couch gives way to your blubber-laden body. You sink down even further as the couch breaks right down the middle, leaving you in a V-shaped dip, helplessly trapped by your hundreds of new pounds of fat and cellulite. Your hands grope your thick rolls of flab and you feel a strange mix of horror and arousal at how soft and jiggly you are now, *all over*.

Your girlfriend looks very pleased with herself.

"I hope you're comfy, big girl, because you're not going to be doing much walking from now on. I was always hoping I could get you to fatten up for me, to turn you into my stay-at-home piggy, too fat to do anything but make herself even fatter. It was always just a pipe dream, but apparently, dreams really *do* come true...

"I'll let you stay like this until I can find us a bed that can handle the massive whale of a girl like you've become. Once I've got you settled there though, I'm going to give this thing a couple hundred more clicks.

"You'll be so helpless and useless, but don't worry, princess. I'll make sure you know how much I love every single inch of you."

[amiableness]

Dad!James Potter x Bsf!Reader ☼ 1260 words

series masterlist ; main masterlist this is part one of this blurb! the next part will be smut! this was supposed to one whole blurb, but unfortunately, i can't stop adding details

A week had passed since that toe-curling, heart stopping kiss with James, yet the memory clung to you, refusing to loosen its grip. Every moment replayed in your mind—the way his breath had mingled with yours, the warmth of his lips, the intoxicating mix of hesitation and desire that had crackled between you. It was impossible to shake, no matter how hard you tried to push it to the back of your mind.

But life, as it often does, had intervened. Work had been intense for both of you. His late nights at the office, followed by early morning school drop-offs, and your endless deadlines and marathon meetings had drained you both, leaving little room for anything else—especially the conversation you so desperately needed.

But you were hoping tonight would be different. He’d asked if you could watch Henry, and you’d never refused him before. And you weren’t about to start now.

“Darling?” Henry mumbled, his voice carrying that endearing tone that always made you smile. As he grew older, the nickname was losing its childish lisp, becoming clearer and more deliberate with each passing day. You couldn’t let yourself dwell on it, knowing it would bring you to tears. And as much as it weighed on you, you couldn’t even begin to imagine how James was feeling.

“Yeah, my love?” You hummed, your eyes still fixed on The Rescuers playing on the TV. Henry had insisted on watching it in James’s room because he wanted to “see the mice all big.” At first, you hesitated, unsure if being surrounded by James’s scent was a good idea. But Henry’s excitement was impossible to resist, and you found yourself giving in, despite your nerves.

“When is daddy back?”

“Um,” You glance at the alarm clock on his nightstand. “Soon I would think.”

“Oh.” Henry murmurs, shifting closer to cuddle into your side, his tiny hand reaching out to grasp yours. The two of you are nestled under the dark duvet, surrounded by the seven stuffed animals he insisted on bringing along. “I miss him,” he whispers, his voice tinged with quiet sadness.

“I’m sure he misses you too.” You say, offering him a gentle smile. He looks up at you with those unmistakable eyes—his father’s eyes—brown and sweet, carrying the same warmth that James’ have. His dark curls fall messily across his forehead, a mirror of James’s unruly hair. Even the curve of his smile, so innocent yet so familiar, pulls at your heart. It’s impossible not to see James in every feature, every expression, and every little gesture Henry makes. 

All you can think about is James.

“Do you miss daddy?” Your lips part, flustered and caught off guard by the question. For a second you debate lying, but you realize there’s no point. 

“Yes, I miss him too.” You finally murmur, and Henry’s face lights up with a grin, as if he’s just heard the most wonderful thing. He turns his gaze back to the TV, his attention returning to the movie, while he snuggles his stuffed dinosaur tightly in the hand that isn’t holding yours. The sight of him, so content and secure, tugs at your heart.

The movie has long finished and another has begun, but you’re oblivious to it all. Henry is fast asleep, nestled into your side, and you’re not far behind. Your focus is solely on threading your fingers gently through Henry’s dark curls. The rhythmic motion that had soothed him to sleep now lulls you as well, your eyes growing heavy with each tender stroke.

“Hey.” James murmurs with a warm, inviting smile, immediately drawing your gaze to the doorway where he stands. His white button-up shirt is casually open at the collar, the top two buttons undone, revealing a hint of his chest. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and as he crosses his arms, the fabric tightens over his biceps, accentuating their firm definition. Your eyes slowly trace down to his forearms, where the veins are subtly prominent. The combination of his relaxed stance and the his snug shirt makes your pulse quicken.

You resist the urge to fan yourself.

You swallow hard, struggling to pull your gaze back up. “Hi,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He grins, and you know instantly he’s caught you. “What are you two doing in here?” He asks, walking further into his room, glancing down at the stuffies with a soft chuckle

“Henry missed you,” You say softly. “That and he wanted to watch a movie on the big TV.”

“Of course he did.” James says with a soft, knowing tone. He rounds the bed and settles next the side closest to Henry. With a gentle touch, he brushes a few stray curls from his son’s forehead, his fingers lingering for a moment. Then, leaning down, he places a tender kiss on Henry’s forehead.

“I’m going to put him to bed.” James says softly, his voice soft as he looks up at you from his kneeling position by the bed. You nod quickly, your words caught in your throat.

You watch as James moves with practiced ease, sliding one hand tenderly behind Henry’s back and slipping the other under his knees. He lifts him carefully, his movements gentle yet confident, raising Henry up and off your chest. As hedoes, Henry lets out a soft whine, his small face scrunching up in a mix of sleepiness and longing. With a tiny, outstretched arm, he reaches toward you, his fingers stretching as far as they can go, desperate to grab you.

“No.” He huffs, his eyes opening the tiniest bit to glance up at his dad.

“It’s bedtime.” James says softly, drawing Henry close to his chest and gently reaching down to grab the stuffed dinosaur Henry clings to. 

“No! But I—” Henry protests, wriggling in James’s arms. He twists around, casting a desperate look over his shoulder at you. “I want mummy.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and your eyes dart to James, wide with shock. He mirrors your surprise. With one arm securely wrapped around Henry’s squirming body, he struggles to keep his son from wriggling free. Henry’s little face is flushed with frustration, his eyes locked onto yours as he reaches out with tiny, pleading hands, desperate for your comfort.

“Do you want to say goodnight to mum before bed?” James asks quietly, leaning down to speak into Henry’s ear. Henry stops squirming instantly and nods. Gently, James places his son back onto the bed, and Henry immediately flings himself at you, wrapping his arms around your neck. He collides with you with a soft thud, and you hear James mutter about being gentle with you.

“Goodnight,” You say whisper, one arm holding him to you and the other holding the back of his head. “I love you bunches. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Your eyes flicker up to meet James’ who is watching you with an indescribable look.

“Love you.” Henry mumbles, the sleepiness in his voice affecting his pronunciation. Then he leans back and plants a big kiss on your forehead, mimicking the affectionate gesture he’s seen his father make so many times. You laugh quietly and press a kiss on his nose in return. Satisfied, Henry crawls back to his father and lifts his arms. James picks him up, his gaze lingering on you.

“I’ll be right back.” James says softly before heading to Henry’s room. As he walks away, Henry peeks over his shoulder and waves a tiny hand at you.

please reblog or comment with your thoughts! they are very appreciated and keep me motivated to keep writing! 🤍

part two here!

[sugarwarachan]

(･ω･)つ andy’s notes: honestly just being disgusting about nanami on main cws: smut, fantasies about oral - m!receiving, face fucking, dirty talk, degradation, gn!reader

nanami kento has the nastiest desire to stuff your mouth full.

it starts early, shamefully, and all because he initially can’t stand how much you talk. you fill each mission with chatter that never has anything to do with curses, and it’s enough to drive a man to the brink.

he hates that he comes to expect it, that you coax words out of him he normally wouldn’t offer, that he’s getting closer to you despite himself.

he especially hates that the talking draws attention to your mouth. he nearly loses himself every time you wet your lips with your tongue, the sight of the pink muscle swiping at the fullness of your bottom lip never failing to make his vision white out.

it's depraved, he thinks. you're his colleague, possibly even his friend. he shouldn't have these filthy thoughts about your lips stretched around his cock, drool sliding down your chin.

he can't help it though, that every mission ends with his hand wrapped around the pulsing length of his shaft, his shirt trapped between his teeth. you're always so eager in his fantasies, so hungry and wild. he'd have to order you to slow down, to be good, just this once, just for him—

"you can do that, baby, can't you? or do i need to shut your pretty mouth for you and put it to better use?"

in his head, you love when he's mean, that you drive him to talk to this. the strokes along his dick are rough and fast, a punishing rhythm that amplifies the slick sounds of his dick sliding in and out of the ring of his fist.

god, he wishes you were here, pretty eyes fixed on his as he snaps his hips into the welcoming cavern of your throat.

"dirty fucking slut," he pants. his hips buck off the bed as the fire in his lower stomach builds. "that's it, pretty, let me use you, let me spill my seed right down your fuckin' throat—"

his balls draw up tight, and with one hard pass over his cockhead, he cums in heaving spurts, ropes of semen splattering across the ridges of his stomach.

he wishes you were here for more than just sexual release, too. after he's cleaned himself up, he imagines how you might press the length of your body along his, how you'd probably talk his ear off until you both fell asleep.

ah, well. a man can dream.

2025 © all works belong to @sugarwarachan. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works. masterlist here.

[polakina]

how they fuck you

red dead redemption headcanons #2

hc masterlist // masterlist

on my third playthrough of rdr2 and i cannot bring myself to play low honour. why do i put myself through this?

also this is ridiculously long, got a little carried away but i shall not apologise

rating: explicit

-

is always gentle with you at first

delicate touches, lingering kisses, gazing eyes at your every movement or ministration

"what do you want, mi amor? tell me"

loves to hear you beg for him, want him

it just turns him on even more

dirty talk through the ROOF

this man knows how to talk you through it

"fuck you feel amazing, hermosa. yeah, just like that, huh? anything for you"

will eat you out for days if he could

never really tried it before, even when he lived in Mexico, he never really gave it a go

but with you, he wanted to try everything. whatever you wanted, he was up for it

so when you first asked him, he was nervous as hell, but willing to try

he found out he loved it and does it every single fucking time he had you all to himself

buries himself between your thighs like a man starved, his arms wrapped tightly around your thighs to keep you still

his tongue worked fucking wonders on your pussy, knowing exactly where to focus his attention, loving how you always moaned a little softer when his tongue dipped inside your cunt

fucks you slow, savouring the moment when he can

loves to have you riding him. seeing you on top spurs something inside him

his hands grip your waist fiercely, guiding your hips to grind against him, pulling sweet, elicit moans from your throat

loves to cut your clothes from your body with his knife

it's so much more satisfying than just taking them off with his hands

kinda likes quickies. prefers taking his time but there's something about pulling you away for a few minutes to have his way with you behind the protection of a tree or something that he loves

usually happens out on missions, so there's risk of the gang seeing you guys, but what's life without a little risk?

you could be on watch beside your tent while everyone sleeps, and javier will come over to keep you company

but it doesn't take long for his hand to slip into your pants as he whispers all sorts of things in your ear as he sits behind you while you try and continue your watch duty

was terrible at aftercare before, never really understood the in's and out's of it

but learned eventually with you, when you explained it to him

now he's at your beck and call whenever you need it

wear this man's hat around camp and that's all he needs to pull you to a secluded tent

but wear it while you fuck him? arthur would die happy in that exact moment

likes to call you 'cowgirl' when you ride him. you always roll your eyes at how stupid it sounds, but it doesn't stop him

the two of you don't have all the time in the world. being one of dutch's most trusted members, he's needed away from camp a lot more than anyone else

so you've both learned the art of being fast

and it doesn't take long for him to make you cum

never asks for them, but loves blowjobs

he likes to draw in his tent when he's got time to himself, so when he sees you come in and sink to your knees in between his lap, he can't think of a better sight

the absolute king of praises (have you heard how he talks to his horse?? imagine him talking to a woman oml)

not a fan of degrading, he never saw the appeal, but uses other methods to 'punish' you

"what do you want, darlin?" he'd say as he's fucking you from behind, your face pressed into the pillow to stifle your moans, your ass in the air held up by his hands on your hips. "oh babygirl, you wanna cum, huh? then you can beg me for it, can't you?"

will edge you for days

especially when he knows he's going to be away for a few days afterwards

definitely grabs the headboard

mainly for his own stability to be able to thrust into you harder as you moan his name into the room

has his hands on you at all times

holding your hands above your head by your wrists, holding your face against the mattress with his hand on the back of your neck, curling his fingers in your hair and gently yanking your head back when he pounds into you

when you do get a night away from camp, he wants to make it last the whole night

takes his time with you to the point where he's practically teasing you for hours

takes his time undressing you, kissing every part of your body, touching every part of you until his fingerprints were practically imprinted into your skin

give this man some guidance or it's like walking through a maze blindfolded

learned a lot with you

figured out really quick what you liked and what you didn't like, what places he could touch you that would send your head spinning

this eventually led him to learn how to be very sneaky in public

he could touch you in such simple places, in such an innocent way that no one else would think anything of it

but you'd know, and you wouldn't stop it

you like the way he touched your neck? he was all over that shit, cupping your cheek, his fingers tickling your neck

you liked his hands in your hair? his fingers tangled at the base of your neck, pulling your hair slightly to tease you

his hand would rest on your thighs, fingers slowly creeping up your thigh while you were all sat around the campfire

you'd always give him a little glare, which he would ignore, a goofy smirk on his face

and the way he fucked you was no different

he had mastered the art of teasing your body and your limits, and put that knowledge in every time he had you alone

"come on, marston. stop teasin' me like this"

he'd always smirk, working his way down your body in a painfully slowly manner

"i'm takin' my time with you, sweetheart. you just lay back and relax. lemme take care of you"

loved to make you feel good before he even thought about himself

but when he was too pent up, he came a lot quicker than he wanted

but he made up for it when tending to you afterwards until you were practically pushing him away, too sensitive for his expert fingers

not the best at going down on you, but makes up with experience

but what he's really good with is his hands

his fingers

they know exactly what they're doing when he pushes them inside your soaked pussy

curling at that devastating spot inside you that makes you crumble to your knees

loves to be on top of you, seeing your face contort when he pushes inside you slowly, deeply

he's basic, a lover of missionary, but seeing your face and watching your body writhe under his grip is really what turns him on

[legalmente-loca]

Pervertboyfriend!Dean Winchester x Female Reader

18+ nsfw

A/N: Requested by @b3llar0ckz

❥ Pervertboyfriend!Dean always has one hand on you, and if it's on your ass, even better.

❥ When you're not together, he sends you pictures and videos of his cock, already wet or halfway through masturbation.

❥ And he won't stop until you answer him or send him pictures and videos of yours too.

❥ Pervertboyfriend!Dean likes watching the semen drip out of your pussy a little too much.

❥ “That view is worth it all, sweetness.”

❥ He doesn't feel guilty about not using a condom. In fact, a part of him wants to get you pregnant and have his child inside you.

❥ He wants to see your belly getting bigger and your fat breasts filled with milk.

❥ Pervertboyfriend!Dean would love to suck every drop out of you.

❥ He loves to put his hand under your skirts when you're sitting, his fingers running up and down your panties, spreading your wetness, before he puts in the first finger of five.

❥ He loves your body. Maybe even to the point of obsession. He's always watching it or touching you, and if he can't do either of those, then he's thinking about it.

❥ He takes every opportunity to treat you to tight little skirts and t-shirts. Pervertboyfriend!Dean enjoys seeing you in them and then ripping them off, promising to give you more later.

❥ You can't even spend five seconds in the car with him when he's already thinking about sex.

❥ “How about—?”

❥ “No.”

❥ “I had to ask.”

❥ The only seat you can use is his lap, sometimes even with his cock deep inside you.

❥ “That's it, pretty girl, keep my cock warm.”

❥ He always wants to kiss you. Your lips drive him crazy and he likes to run his hands up and down your thighs while doin' it.

❥ He slides his hands under your shirt and caresses you over your bra if you're wearing one.

❥ Every porn video he's ever seen he'll relate to everything that happens.

❥ One time you got really stuck in the washing machine when Pervertboyfriend!Dean came through the door.

❥ We already know how that video goes.

❥ When you have sex and you're on your stomach, he loves to watch your ass bounce and has even made it red from spanking it so many times.

❥ Pervertboyfriend!Dean definitely loves it when you're on top.

❥ From that vantage point, he watches your breasts bounce against his face. He has an obsession with them.

❥ On one occasion, he couldn't take his face off your breasts and kept biting them.

❥ “You taste so good, baby.”

❥ He holds your legs tightly around him, his thrusts coming in hard and fast, drawing gasps from you.

❥ Finally, never ask him to change. He's obsessed with you (in a good way) and he won't stop showing it.

Dean Winchester Imagines/Headcanons

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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[writers-potion]

Storyediting Questions to Ask

As You Read the First Draft:

Are there place that surprised you as you read your first draft? - Why do you suppose that is? - Is there material there you'd like to expand?

What are the character really doing in this story? - Might they have issues you haven't explored fully yet?

Look to the places that drag. - These might be scenes where you have avoided dealing with something deeper. - What are the characters really thinking in these places? - What are their passions, frustrations, and desires?

Imagine alternative plotlines. - How might your plot be different if ti headed off on another tangent from various points in the story? - You don't have to follow them, but they might suggest other streams that can flow into the main plot.

Think About Structure:

Does you story play out naturally in three acts?

Is there an immediate disturbance to the Lead's world?

Does the first doorway of no return occur before the one-fifth mark?

Are the stakes being raised sufficiently?

Does the second doorway of no return put the Lead on the path to the climax?

Does the rhythm of the sotyr match your intent? If this is an action novel, does the plot move relentlessly forward? If this is a character-driven novel, do the scenes delve deeply enough?

Are there strongly motivated characters?

Have coincidence been established?

Is something happeing immediately at the beginning? Did you establish a person in a setting with a problem, onfronted with change or threat?

Is the timeline logical?

Is the story too predictable in terms of sequence? Should it be rearranged?

About Your Lead Character:

Is the character memorable? Compelling? Enough to carry a reader all the way through the plot?

A lead character has to jump off the page. Does yours?

Does this character avoid cliches? Is he capable of surprising us?

What's unique about the character?

Is the character's objective strong enough?

How does the character grow over the course of the story?

How does the character demonstrate inner strength?

About Your Opposition:

Is your oppositing character interesting?

Is he fully realized, not just a cardboard cutout?

Is he justified (at least in his own mind) in his actions?

Is he believable?

Is he strong as or stronger than the Lead?

About Your Story's Adhesive Nature:

Is the conflcit between the Lead and opposition crucial for both?

Why can't they just walk away? What holds them together?

About Your Scene:

Are the big scenes big enough? Surprising enough? Can you make them more original, unanticipated, and draw them out for all they are worth?

Is there enough conflict in the scenes?

What is the least memorable scene? Cut it!

What else can be cut in order to move the story relentlessly forward?

Does the climactic scene come too fast (through a writer fatigue)? Can you make it more, write it for all it's worth?

Does we need a new minor subplot to build up a saggin midsection?

About Your Minor Characters:

What is their purpose in the plot?

Are they unique and colorful?

Polishing Questions:

Are you hooking the reader from the beginning?

Are suspenseful scenes drawn out for the ultimate tension?

Can any information be delayed? This creates tension in the reader, always a good thing.

Are there enough surprises?

Are character-reaction scenes deep and interesting?

Read chapter ending for read-on prompts

Are there places you can replace describing how a character feels with actions?

Do I use visual, sensory-laden words?

For a Dialogue Read-Through:

Dialogue is almost always strengthened by cutting words within the lines.

In dialogue, be fair to both sides. Don't give one character all the good lines.

Greate dialogue surprises the reader and creates tension. View it like a game, where the players are trying to outfox each other.

Can you get more conflict into dialogue, even emong allies?

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[naokyunnn]

NSFW and nsfw link ahead...

🐚 rising back from the dead with : Satoru x fem!reader, big dick satoru as usual, pussy rubbing and eventual fuck 😸

Just imagine sweet bf Satoru....

He absolutely love to spoil you, he never asked anything in return, never demanded any weird shit from you other than a simple kiss or just tag along him wherever he wanted to go.

But not when you showed off that cute panties that you bought in set with his money along with other stuff....

For once Satoru wanted to be selfish... he wanted you and nothing else, gosh-- he didn't wanna make you uncomfortable for making it seems like he's doing this in return for your body but-- damn you look so damn cute in those panties. He didn't wanna break an angel like you.

But there you are, lying on your back legs on both sides of Satoru's thighs, his dick relentlessly rubbing under your panties just bumping right on your clit. Frustrated moans and grunts filled the room as you feel the wetness that is now enveloping the front of your panties mixed of your wetness and Satoru's precum.

"Ah--fuck you're killing me with those panties baby- hah" Satoru draws out with a strained groan as he thrust under the material.

Your eyebrows curled upwards while looking down where the two of you rub against one another, the sight of it is enough to draw a moan of your throat.

"Why-- Why can't you just put it in" You almost whined but you knew in the back of your mind that his size will require you so much prep. Satoru let out an almost growl as he grips the top of your thighs.

"You're talking like you can handle it in one go" Satoru flashed you a lazy smirk as those crystal blue eyes look down at your laying position, drinking in your appearance, and how you look so fucked out he's not even doing anything.

His sticky tip run along your wet folds again, pressing his thumb on his length on top of those soaked panties to give more pressure to your clit as he rub his head along your folds. That action is enough to make your head dizzy and clouded in pleasure but your hole still clenches on nothing.

"Please-- 'toru, i dont care i want it inside me fuck!"

Satoru didn't even listen to you as he got lost on the feeling of the soppy feeling of your cunt against his tip-- and fuck, the wet noises too. Satoru knew he was gone.

"Fuuck-- im gonna cum already- fuck fuck" Satoru let out a shaky moan as he started picking up his thrust, the sensation of his swollen tip brushing even more faster against your folds and to your clit now. Satoru pressed down even harder on his length to create more pressure on you.

"Gonna cum-- ah! Gonna cum 'toru" You whimpered before the shuddering feeling washes over you, creating more wetness on Satoru's tip under your soaked panties.

Your moans and whimpers just fueled Satoru's building up orgasm and so, he came so fast coating the mound of your pussy with his load, but he didn't stop there...

A groan draws out of Satoru's throat, breathing heavily as his blue eyes found your fucked out state, chest heaving fast with your eyes closed shut and your mouth slightly agape.

He let out a almost a whimper sound when he kept on rubbing his stingy tip against your folds, making you twitch a bit in overstimulation-- you let out a almost pained moan as Satoru keep on rutting, but due to his cum that coated your folds it made it easy to rub against you over and over until his head just nudged past your hole.

"Fuck--"

The both of you almost said in unison, as a moan slipped out of the both of you. Satoru didn't move, he kept his tip inside your cunt and looked up at you with those hazy eyes.

"Think you can take it?" Satoru asked breathlessly as he carefully move his hip, hands moving the soaked panties aside to see the way your cute pussy hugs the tip of his dick-- and my god, it almost made him cum again.

"Yeah, yes please... just... slow" You replied in between panted breaths, and gulped down dryly. That is enough for Satoru to fuck his tip into you slowly for your comfort but little by little your pussy sucked him in by themselves and you were so damn tight.

"Tight fucking pussy-- Hah" Satoru growled and leaned forward to bury his face against tour neck, thrusting his halfway through dick inside you. You couldn't hide your own moans, voluming up to something you didn't even expect you can.

"Toru--Toru Ah! So big fuuuck-- so good" You moaned like a bitch under Satoru, almost writhing around and grabbing what you can just to ground yourself, Satoru moaned in return, eyes never leaving the way your face contorts in pleasure.

"You can take it baby its okay-- its okay... you taking it sooo good-- Ah" Satoru cooed in between breathy moans and he picked up the pace, fucking his length all the way in and drawing out halfway to thrust in to you again and again.

Your cries filled the room, nasty wet sounds of Satoru fucking you relentlessly goes along with it. It affected Satoru more than he expected to be, goddamnit he loves that he's the one making you fall apart like this that he feel like he's going to cum so fast again.

"Gonna cum again angel-- ohfuckfuck-- Gah" Satoru closed his eyes shut, his hand gripping your hips so tight that it could bruise.

Your hand reached down to rub your own clit so you can cum with Satoru. Glossy eyes look up at his ocean blue ones and just kept the eyes contact.

"Gonna make yourself cum for me? Baby? Huh?" Satoru asked un between his groans, and watched where you're rubbing your clit and let out a guttural moan. "Fuck-- yeah touch yourself"

When Satoru realized what you're doing he just snaps and came hard immediately by just the look in your eyes.

Your orgasm followed, legs twitching around Satoru as he let out a moan along you when you came. He stayed there, slumped on top of you, matching your heavy breathing, not long a while he spoke.

"Next time...hah.... keep on wearing those granny panties so it wont turn me on- ow!" You pinched the side of his ass cheeks in retaliation.

"You saying my old panties are granny panties?" You scoffed before Satoru giggled playfully against your neck.

inspired by this link i saw here... 🫣

divider creds: chilumitos

[princeguri66]

Leave a mark

MINORS DNI

Monster!John "Soap" Mactavish (with Poly Monster!141 at the end) x Male Reader

Cw: it starts off with Soap but the rest r mentioned and written but not as much as soap, marking with markers, nothing else I believe lmk

Silly thought but like imagine a monster reader who has crazy fast regeneration. Like deep cuts heal in seconds. Maybe you're a ghoul who just has crazy regen, or something like that.

Anyways,

Wouldn't a relationship between Soap, who loves leaving bites and see the aftermath due to his instincts as a werewolf and you who literally heals in seconds be interesting?

He loves getting fucked by you, but everytime he leaves a bit unsatisfied. It's not because you can't make him cum or anything, hell you can pull multiple orgasms from the guy and you have.

It's just that he can't leave satisfied knowing that he left a mark on you. He has bit you so much but the marks just won't stay. With the other members he can clearly see the marks he left on their neck and shoulders, even with Price who due to his dragon blood heals faster but the marks still stay for a day or two.

So everytime you two fuck, even if his ass if filled to the brim and his balls are empty he still whines because he can't leave his mark on you. You're a member of the 141, his pack, so it pains him that he can't put a claim on you like he has with the others.

So one day you get a bit creative.

One night in your room where he's riding on your cock, bouncing up and down while you lay your back on the bed, your hands gripping his hips and slamming him down on you as you cum. He leans down and bites as hard as he can on you as the feeling of you filling him up makes him cum. Pulling away and only being able to whine because he can't even admire his mark before it fades away.

"Aw, is puppy unsatisfied?" You tease and chuckle. And before he could insist that he was, you reached to the bedside table and picked up a red permanent marker, "why don't you mark me with this instead?" You say handing him the marker.

He huffs out a laugh at your little solution, but it's the best you got since you can't really make yourself regenerate slower. So he indulges, testing the marker on the back of your hand, the ink incredibly opaque so it stands out against your skin. Then he draws a bite mark at your neck then adds "Soap's Claim" in big letters, covering the whole left side of your neck.

He leans back, the bright red against your skin and the obvious letters, he finally sighs a sigh of relief.

It doesn't go unnoticed as well (just how he likes it)

The other members of the task force noticing Soap's eyes seem a bit brighter and his tail has been swaying peacefully the whole day. And that's where you enter, neck bare for everyone to see (it's the least you can do) Soap grins, happy to finally be able to show off his claim on you.

And now they want to have their names on your body too.

It's all color coordinated too now, Price who loves to write across your shoulder blades, with words like "Price's hoard" or just a simple "Price" with a heart next to it, it's simple but huge.

Gaz with a bright blue marker who likes to do it on your lower back (because he can also rest his head on your ass) writing something like "Gaz was here" and likes to draw wings on you. (Wing themed tramp stamp with 141 between the wings anyone?)

And Ghost with either white or black who loves to mark your chest, either a simple "ghost" or "Simon Riley" on each pec. Also likes to draw a ghost doodle on top of your heart.

And if you five fuck together, you aren't the only one who ends up having ink on you, but you'd have the most. And when you wake up to find a big arrow pointing to your dick and ass that says "Property of 141" written in multiple colors, you'd wish you could show it off.

[feyascorner]

Imagine Tav who has a thing for deep voices (ahem Astarion’s when he gets all low and breathy and AHHHHH) and he notices. I’d combust

AGLAGKJL I HAVE OTHER REQUESTS BUT I SAW THIS AND I HAD TO WRITE IT IMMEIDATELY HES JUST SOOO....also warning this is a bit suggestive nothing terrible but i also haven't written anything other than fluff and angst in ages so i might be a little rusty....

You have barely any breath left in your lungs, and you think you wouldn't mind dying this way. He shoves the door to your shared room open with his back as you push him through it, lips molding against his in a heated wave of passion. Your fingers entangle themselves in his white curls, pulling at them just gently enough to draw out a low groan from his throat, and in an instant, he has your back pressed against the wall, both hands holding either side of your face as if it's the last time he'll get to touch you.

And as much as you wouldn't mind dying from suffocation here, being ever so perceptive, he pulls away to lean his forehead against your own, watching as your chest heaves up and down in a helpless attempt to catch your breath. He pinches one of your cheeks. "It's a relief that one of us needs air to remain conscious. If you were to become like myself, I'm not confident we'd actually ever stop."

"I never said we needed to stop," you say breathlessly.

"You don't need to tell me," he leans forward to press his lips against the area where he usually sinks his teeth into your neck. Instead of the familiar prick, all you feel are his cool lips peppering kisses on your skin. "Your body, and how it responds to me...it does all the talking for you."

And much to your embarrassment, his words are sent straight to the hammering of your heart. It must be the way he says it---so softly, yet rough. Teasing, yet honest. Low enough to drop his voice an octave but not enough to take away its usual charm. And the worst is the breathiness adorning his very words. For someone who doesn't need to breathe, he certainly sounds like he does it a lot.

You feel him nip at a sensitive spot of your neck and practically yelp, earning a snicker from the culprit in front of you.

"Your heart's beating quite fast, darling," he says slowly, almost in a whisper. "Are just a few words enough to rile you up so much?"

You remain silent, afraid all sanity you have left will snap if you dare to speak.

"But that's not all, is it? No, my sweet, you only feel this way about my words because I'm the one saying it," you can hear the grin in his tone. He pulls away from your neck, lifting his head back where he can meet your eyes. "Do you like when I say things like this? Vulnerable? Sensual? Seductive?--"

You slap your palms across his mouth, heat practically radiating off of your face, as you feel his fangs through his smile. He knows, you think, face paling. He knows how you respond to just his stupid voice, and you know him more than enough to expect the worst from the power you've given him. It's humiliating almost---but more than anything, you want him to shut up. To stop talking to you in that way that brings butterflies to your stomach, to stop looking at you as if you're the most desirable person in all of Faerun, to stop just existing in the moment---

Astarion gently pries your hands away from his face, satisfaction more than apparent in his expression. "No use being bashful now. I'm not offended at all. If anything, I'm rather flattered to know you find even my voice as attractive as the rest of me."

"Please stop talking."

"You don't mean that, clearly."

You grab a nearby pillow and smush it against his cheek, pushing him away.

With a soft laugh, he takes the pillow from your hands, placing it beside him to look at you properly. You want to hide away in a hole forever, but you can't do much other than look to the ground, beyond embarrassed. His obvious amusement doesn't do much to soothe you.

"Look at me, darling."

"Hells no."

"Will you listen if I whisper it to you?"

You shoot him a glare, and he laughs again.

So instead of convincing you any further, he takes either of your hands. His voice is low again, and you swear he's doing it on purpose. "We all have our quirks, my love. I enjoy drinking your delicious blood in our nights of passion, and you enjoy listening to my wonderful voice during them."

"Did you just compare this to being a vampire?"

"This and that. Same thing."

The quirk of your brow is enough to tell him of your annoyance, making him squeeze your hand with a grin. You'd throw him out if he weren't so pretty. Those long lashes, the white curls, that irritatingly beautiful shade of his eyes...Gods, you're helpless. But something tells you that the feeling is mutual. Wordlessly, you find yourself leaning closer again, and his grin stretches wider. "So talking lowly does seem to work its charm on you."

You snort, rolling your eyes. "Shut up and kiss me."

"As you wish."

[moodient]

<- masterist

imagine waking up next to sevika, shifting a little, consciousness is finally here. you slowly open your eyes to see her. her hair is a little messy, out of its ponytail, the expression on her face isn't stoic.. it's relaxed, at peace.. a little bit of drool is dried on her face. 'cute.' is the only thing you thought.

you can't help to admire her, she's absolutely breathtaking. it's hard seeing her having to put up a hard shell but when she's with you, she can be herself. the Sevika who likes to read life hacks, the Sevika who secretly loves to draw and paint, the Sevika who constantly burns things that wouldn't or shouldn't burn, and of course the Sevika who is actually so clingy when it comes to you. she can't bare being without for even a minute.

you softly place your hand on her cheek and caress it, watching her face slowly contort from relaxed to.. smiling? it's not a big smile but she's smiling regardless. her breathing changes from slow to normal, and her eyes slowly open, showing her pretty slate colored eyes. but your favorite part is about to happen.

she groans and stretches out her legs, and boom. her eyes dilated when she sees you finally. it's a little hard given that she doesn't have her glasses on, but she knows it's you. your smell, your soft skin, and to make sure it's you, she boops your nose and you giggle. yeah, it's you.

"good morning, sevi."

"good morning, baby."

she places a kiss on your cheek and then your forehead. reaching over, she grabs her glasses and puts them on, readjusting them.

"there's my pretty baby. how did you sleep?" she said rubbing your cheek and kissing your nose.

"well, i always sleep well when i'm with you." you said, snuggling up to her, trying to steal her body heat.

you put your head closer to her chest, hearing her heartbeat. it's a bit fast, but not crazy fast. just it's normal reaction when it sees you. she starts rubbing your back, soft and slowly.

you both loved mornings like this, when time itself freezes, when the world stops moving and it's just you two and nobody else. no alarms, no busy day, no work, no plans, just whatever you wanna do today.

"what do you wanna do today, sevika?" you ask, voice soft. you're kind of falling back asleep, you can't help it when it comes to her body heat, her heartbeat, her soft voice, it makes you instantly sleepy.

"mm, just be with you today." she says, using her thumb to caress your back. she noticed that your eyes were closing and softly smiled. she took her glasses back off and got closer to you. almost skin to skin.

she gave you a soft kiss on your cheek and snuggled up against you.

"haha, just go back to sleep my love." and with that, you both went back to sleep, as the day goes by.

a//n: WHEN THE FUCK WILL IT BE MY TURN- anyways.. hoped you enjoyed it.

[pomefioredove]

Can I pretty please have The housewardens (Plus Ruggie and Rook) with a kawaii metal singer? Like soft feminine voice and cutesy outfits and then on stage is just death screaming and gets embarrassed because apparently "Guys find it embarrassing when fem people metal scream."

interesting... I'll see what I can do!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ kawaii metal singer

type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, leona, ruggie, azul, kalim, vil, rook, idia, malleus additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral but implied feminine in the way they dress, reader is not specified to be yuu

imagine having a conversation about music with Riddle

he's pleasantly surprised!

he thought he had nothing in common with you

but you're a musician!

to him, mastering an instrument is akin to mastering a subject or acing an exam

and he'll talk your ear off about his favorite composers and concertos

of course, he's curious about what you play

so, you show him a song

and he's...

...well...

it's... music, he supposes

it takes the same skill to play (perhaps even more?) so he's still impressed. just... surprised!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Leona's reaction? yawn

a musician is just like a theater kid with a weapon

based on the way you dress, he can already guess

piano? pop? wannabe indie?

undoubtedly something upbeat and fast

that he has no interest in

it's not until he starts hearing the whispers that he gives it a second thought

funny enough, it's the other boy's dislike that draws him in

and, oh, was he wrong

the first time Leona hears you screaming, he's smitten

you've got some voice on you, that's for sure

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Ruggie already associates femininity with strength

(whether you're girl or not, mind you)

so, he's not really taken aback or 'nothin

you show him a clip of one of your performances, and his reaction is more like:

"Cool. Nice chords. What's for dinner?"

he knows that not everyone is gonna see it that way

but to him, it's nothing to write home about

...unless he thinks you're gonna be a good provider for him

then he might tell his grandma he's bringing you home for break

"How much do you singers make, anyway?"

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

now, Azul was captivated from the start

when Jade came back to him with intel on you, he wasn't expecting you to be a singer

how intriguing...

Azul is a musical person himself, so, of course he was curious

but it's not until he tries to strike a deal with you that he realizes he was very, very wrong

your voice in exchange for anything you desire...

...and you start laughing at him

"my voice? do you know what I sing?"

Azul is a little taken aback by your reaction

now, what's so funny?

eventually, you share a little of your work, and he...

...well, he's impressed, that's for sure

it takes a lot of vocal training to be able to do that

but unless Floyd takes up a new hobby, he has no use for a metal singer's voice

so, for now, he'll simply admire your talent from afar

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

People tend to see Kalim as this witless little flower who can't be exposed to anything "scary"

and, sure, he can be naive at times

but it actually takes a lot to freak him out

he's also been hanging out with Lilia Vanrouge for two years, so, you know

he'd just be impressed, if anything

"Wow, that's so cool! I wish I could do that, but my voice can't go that high, and Jamil doesn't want me to hurt my throat..."

I mean, really impressed

he'll beg you to show him all of your songs

and he might try to get you to one of his club meetings, too

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil is more like,

"Well, I hope you're taking adequate care of your throat. You'll overexert yourself if not,"

...so, no

he's not even phased by it

Vil is a performer himself, after all

he's more concerned with your physical and mental wellbeing than you being "embarrassing"

the next day, he'll show up at your door with an armful

this is for your throat, this will keep your skin from drying out under the lights, this foundation is designed for stage...

he's always been generous, after all

and he certainly won't accept no for an answer

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

similarly, Rook doesn't think anything of it

he's simply taken by you

...your devotion, your energy, your heart!

sometimes he, too, feels like screaming for his passions!

you can expect him to be your number one fan

and be at each of your performances, whether small or big, on stage or just in your room

(whether you know he's there or not)

he always seems to know just what to get you, though. tea with honey? salt water for your throat?

he's thought of it before you even have to ask

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Idia is fangirling over it before he even meets you

listen, in his defense-

one of his favorite animes is about a kawaii metal singer!

and he was already familiar with the genre, anyway

so... no, it's not weird to him

if anything, he feels weird for never being able to talk to you about it

it's basically like talking to one of his idols IRL

whether you're a well-known performer or just make videos online is irrelevant to him

you'll be receiving a lot of anonymous donations from someone named gloomurai

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

when Lilia makes an offhand comment about your music, Malleus is intrigued

you'd never mentioned being a musician, after all

the next time you see each other, he asks

but, much to his confusion, you seem... embarrassed?

he quickly explains he only heard it from Lilia, and didn't mean to offend you, and-

ah...

that's why you're embarrassed?

you think he won't like you because others have said it's unbecoming?

humans are so strange, he thinks

it's only music, after all. it'd take much more to make him dislike you

besides, this is Lilia's foster son we're talking about. he's been exposed to every genre at least once

[0o-junebug-o0]

Soft Early Mornings

summary: Emily takes care you when you wake up.

genre: fluff and smut

cw: 18+ mdni! kinda softdom!emily, kinda sub!reader, dirty talking, praise, fingering (r receiving), reader has a vagina but nothing else is specified (the only word used to describe reader's genitalia is clit), reader is written as non-male because I can't imagine emily as anything other than a lesbian, cumming in pants (I guess it counts), no use of y/n, morning sex, crying during sex, soft/emotional sex

wordcount: 1.1k

You wake up to the warmth of the newly risen sun and Emily’s hand under your shirt drawing gentle circles on your stomach. You groan softly and she presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Hey, baby,” she whispers. Her voice is husky and quiet. She must have woken up not long before you did.

“Hi,” you whisper in response, pressing your back further against her chest.

She chuckles slightly and flattens her hand on your stomach to pull you closer until your body is completely flush against hers. She slips her thigh between your knees, parting your legs slightly, before once again dragging her fingertips softly over your skin.

You sigh with contentment and turn your head to look back at her as much as you can. Emily props herself up slightly, her hair falling over her shoulder and neck, and presses a brief and gentle kiss to your lips. You smile as she presses a kiss to your nose before tapping the tip of your nose with her own and settling back down into the bed. 

You can feel her shift slightly behind you as she knocks off the bit of the blankets that managed to stay covering you both throughout the night despite your squirming. Being this close to each other provides all the warmth you both need.

“I love you,” you mutter.

Emily presses another kiss to your shoulder. “I love you too, baby.”

You hum happily and she chuckles in response. Her hand slips further up your shirt, tracing swirls up to your sternum and back down with two of her fingers. You let your eyes slip shut as you focus on the feeling of her hand, her love and care for you apparent with every soft design she draws.

Emily flattens her hand on your stomach again, just resting it there for a moment before shifting it so the tips of her pinkie and ring fingers slip under the waistband of your shorts. Surprised, you shift your hips slightly, pressing your body harder against her.

She raises up and presses a kiss behind your ear. “Is this okay?” she whispers.

A shaky breath leaves your lips and you nod eagerly. 

Emily chuckles into your ear. “Words, sweet thing.”

“Yes,” you gasp.

She kisses you again and you can feel her smile against your skin before she settles back down. Her hand dips further beneath your shorts and you gasp as one of her fingers brushes over your clit.

“Such a pretty little thing,” she mutters. Two of her fingers settle over your clit and start rubbing gentle circles. The feeling makes you moan softly as little sparks of pleasure shoot through your body. The sound makes her chuckle.

Emily doesn’t increase her pace at all, even though you know she can feel how wet you are, moving her fingers just fast enough with just enough pressure to drive you crazy without giving you more. She peppers your back with gentle kisses as you squirm against her and you can feel her smiling at every little gasp and moan that escapes your lips.

She slides her hand further down and you whine at the loss of stimulation to your clit. The sound is quickly cut off by a groan as she sinks two fingers into you at once. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispers. You let out a little broken moan as she curls her fingers inside of you. The angle is perfect, allowing her fingers to hit that spot inside you while the heel of her palm presses against your clit.

“E-Emily,” you gasp weakly.

“Shh, it’s okay, baby,” she soothes. “I’m right here.”

You whimper desperately as she slowly starts to thrust her fingers in and out of you, hitting that spot and nudging your clit every time. She’s so gentle, making the pleasure build inside you slowly, burying deep in your gut and creeping up your spine. It’s overwhelming in the best way possible and you can feel tears pooling in your eyes. A soft and happy sob works its way free from your chest and Emily stills her hand but doesn’t remove it. She props herself up, leaning over you and tilting your head so she can press a long and gentle kiss to your lips. “You okay, sweet thing?” she asks softly. You nod and open your eyes to meet hers. You let your eyes slip closed again as she presses her lips back against yours and resumes the movement of her hand. Her fingers hit that spot again, making you gasp into the kiss. She pulls back and kisses where the tears have gathered at the corners of your closed eyes.

“You’re doing so good, baby. I’m right here,” she whispers. “I’ve got you.” 

Heat climbs up your body and you whine desperately as you feel yourself getting close.

“That’s it, beautiful, so good for me.”

Her voice and words are so full of love and care and they drive you crazy, making you whimper and squirm.

“Em–“ you moan.

“It’s okay, baby,” Emily whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “Cum for me.”

As if on cue, you cum around her fingers. Pleasure washes over you and your body shudders. You moan and clench around her as she works you through it, whispering praises into your ear. When your orgasm subsides, Emily gently removes her fingers and you practically melt into the bed. It wasn’t a violent or overly powerful orgasm, but the slow build and gentle release of pleasure exhausted you. 

Emily slips her leg out from between your knees and you roll onto your back. You open your eyes and blink up at her with a dopey smile, uncaring of the tears still on your face. Emily wipes her fingers clean on her shirt and props herself up on her elbow to look down at you. Her hair falls over her shoulders and brushes against your neck and chin, making you giggle slightly.

You reach up and tuck her hair behind her ear, both to stop it from tickling you and so you can get a better view of her beautiful face. “Hi,” you say softly, lowering your hand to rest on your chest.

“Hey, sweet thing,” she responds. She presses kisses to each of the tears on your cheeks. “Did so good for me.”

You feel your cheeks warm. “Do you wa–”

Emily shakes her head. “No,” she says softly. “This was just about you.”

She kisses you softly and you raise your hand to cup the back of her head. When she pulls away for air, Emily rests her forehead against yours, pressing the tips of your noses together. She slowly opens her eyes to stare into yours.

“I love you,” she whispers.

“I love you too.”

_____

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

Taglist!: fill out this form if you want to be tagged when I post fics

[shirefantasies]

The Hobbit Characters Meeting Your First Child Together (Wife!Reader)

Part 2 of this post! Time to find out who has daughters or sons first 😁 also requested by anon, but it was already drafted hehe~

Warnings: Blood mentions, birth complications in some (happy endings for all!)

Balin

Knitting was a bit of a struggle those days, you reflected as your elbows ached from bending to keep your needles above the curve of your belly. Balin sat in the armchair at your side, a hand idly drawing circles upon your thigh. Thus, he felt your sudden jerk, rose with you when you all but threw your needles and their work to the side table. "What is it?" He asked. "The chair," you cried out, "It's ruined!" Moisture seeped into the seat of it, a dark stain upon maroon velvet. "We can most likely get that out," Balin comforted you, a hand on yours, "But what is it?" "My water," you answered lowly, dread of realization creeping in on you. "What water?" "My water," you repeated urgently, dragging your husband by the arm, "I am going into labor!"

~

The only thing that got you through your labor was chuckling at Balin's attempts to hide his nerves, which somehow seemed greater than yours. Likely due to the way your body went into a near-primal focus, your every thought channeled not even into pushing your child out, but simply keeping them safe. Safe indeed, for soon a very loud cry pierced your ears. "Mahal," Oin remarked, dark eyes widening as he extended your newly-wrapped babe to you, "He's a strong one!" "He?" You asked. "He is strong!" Balin cried out, pulling you into his chest from where he stood, one hand reaching for your son, who immediately gripped his finger tight. "Oh, he is indeed!" "We did it," you sobbed into your husband's chest. "You did," Balin corrected, "I can't imagine how you endured all that." "All for him," you replied, gazing down at your son, whose eyes squinted open and blinked. Brown, just like his father's.

Dwalin

"Get out of the way! My wife is giving birth! Our child's coming!" All but shoving the crowds as he burst through with you in his arms, one hand wrapped less loosely about you so he could fling it out at offending pedestrians, Dwalin carried you down Erebor's halls all the way to Oin's. "It- It takes a long time, you know! The baby isn't coming right now," you stuttered out, jostled by your husband's brisk pace. "I'll not take my chances," Dwalin replied as he disappeared with you into the doorway.

~

"Stars above, why'd ya wait so long?" "Huh?" Your head snapped up from the bed you'd been draped onto, the world fading sharply back to focus amidst the pain. "You either took yer sweet time or else this is an unusually fast labor." Dwalin grinned down at you. "Now is not the time," you shot back, gritting your teeth. In the end, the agonies of labor were over for you in four hours' time. "Unusual all the way around," Oin remarked, settling the mewling babe in your arms, "You two've got yourselves a little girl." "'N she's going to look just like you, too," Dwalin told you, reaching a tattooed hand out to stroke your daughter's cheek and nuzzling against your head.

Thorin

Thorin knew by the way you gripped his arm, swiveled his head to meet your eyes and see your faint nod. Register the fear in your eyes and cup your cheek gently. He was prepared, bringing you a blanket to hold beneath you when your water began to seep through your skirt. Your husband led you by the hand as you waddled with the blanket between your legs all the way to Thorin’s most trusted healer, his old journey’s companion.

~

“You can do this. I have seen firsthand how much you can endure. You were made to do this, my love.” “I know,” you whined, unconcerned how pitiful you sounded for despite being a queen, at that moment you were a woman in pain. Pain that had gone on for hours, burning and tearing through your body. “The head is stuck,” Oin told you. “No,” you breathed. “I’m afraid I may have to widen the opening. Looking up to meet Thorin’s eyes, you simply tightened your grip on his hand, squeezing your eyes shut tight when the healer took up a small blade and letting out a cry of agony as he cut. Finally, though, blessedly, a weight lifted as your little one came free with a sound of confusion. Panting, you gave your husband a weak smile, sitting up a bit further and wincing at the pain, enduring to hold your newborn. “My son. Our son. A new prince is born to Erebor,” Thorin whispered, leaning down to connect your foreheads, warmth pooling even amidst the sweat glistening there, “I cannot take away your pain, but I will do anything in my power to be the best king, husband, and father you both could ask.” “You already are,” you told him, laying your hand over his, which was joined with your son’s.

Oin

"It's time, isn't it?" "How did you know what I was about to say?" You asked him, head cocked. "Because I've seen the signs a thousand times," Oin reminds you, "Now come on. Go get yourself comfortable. I've got everything ready." Patting your shoulder and kissing your cheek, he guides you to your bed and leaves the room, only to return with his supplies. "I'll go put the kettles on." "Why two?" "One to keep me clean 'n one for your tea." Oin had, in fact, told you about the tea he made patients to help with their pain. You nodded. "Of course. I trust my healer." The affection in your husband's eyes matched your own gaze as he disappeared through the door one more time.

~

"Yer doin' great." "I don't feel like I am," you cried. "Shh, I know," Oin soothed, making his way back up to your head to kiss you, "It'll all be over soon, though. Promise. In fact, can you give me one more push?” For all the frustration you may have felt, your husband was both delivering your little one and reassuring you. He was doing amazing for your baby and you could do the same. Whimpering and straining, you pushed until a cry pierced the room. “You did it! A wee thing, too. Oh, oh, love, it’s a girl! We had a girl!” Daughters were all too rare among dwarvenkind. Eyes widening and lips parting, you leaned over to let Oin wipe the sweat from your brow with one newly-cleaned hand after he handed over your daughter. Tears poured from his eyes as he rested his hand over yours that held your daughter’s. “I’ve seen this a thousand times, and yet this is like never before. Thank you for this gift.” Whispering your name, he guided you gently by the chin into a kiss of pure love and gratitude.

Gloin

“Are you alright?” Your husband’s voice was like a buzz beneath the ring of your ears, lightheadedness overtaking you until you felt a hand take yours and heard a louder, firmer call of your name. No anger colored it, just concern that had you finally swinging your head Gloin’s way. Soon as your eyes met his, you nodded faintly and smiled before the spots dancing in your vision won.

~

When you awoke, your brother-in-law was checking your pulse, nodding as you started. “She’s doin’ better,” Oin told Gloin, “Get back up there, she’s going to start pushing.” Shuffling back up from his brother’s side to yours, your husband took your hand, gently smoothing your hair and dabbing cold sweat off your brow with his sleeve. “I’m ready whenever you are,” he told you, and off you went into another haze of pain and encouragement and anticipation. Oin’s cry of victory actually alerted you both to the birth before the baby made a sound, emerging into the air with a small whine of confusion and near annoyance that had you and Gloin chuckling. The baby started crying as Oin checked him over, fussing in your arms as Gloin leaned down to rest his forehead over his new addition’s. “I’m a da. I’ve finally got a son of my own,” he whispered, tears welling in his eyes.

Bifur

“Bifur!” Plodding footsteps filled your vision as your husband tore into the room, almost careening into your dresser. Entering the room, his dark eyes widened as he caught side of you folded over, your water leaking onto your shared bed. “The blankets,” you panted, “I’m sorry…” Waving a hand and shaking his head, Bifur dismissed you, removing his gloves to caress your cheek and feel your forehead before he lowered you down and gestured for you to wait. Squeezing your hand when you nodded in agreement, he disappeared out the door in search of Oin.

~

Gasps sounded at your feet as Oin motioned for Bifur to join him and rake up a tool. Muscle memory kept the feeling and warmth of your husband’s hand in yours alive for another moment, but you all but forgot it in the panic of Oin tracing a circle around his neck. The cord was wrapped. Spears of ice pierced your heart as you watched your husband frantically aid the healer, eyes stone in focus and motions deliberate. After what felt like hours, you saw both their chests rest in exhales. “He’s alright,” Oin told you, “Your son will be just fine.” Crying out, you reached out your arms, embracing your husband and then sobbing into the blanket that held your new addition. You could tell by his wisps of black hair, the shape of his nose, that he was going to look just like his father. “Our miracle,” you sobbed to Bifur and Oin, “You are true heroes. Thank you. Our son will have no shortage of great dwarves to look up to.”

Bofur

“Bofur, my labor is beginning.” “Your what?” Wincing, you shuffled forward to clutch your husband by the collar. “Your child is coming, so I suggest you get some help unless you’d like to have a fun adventure with our rug later.” Swallowing, Bofur nodded. “Right. On my way.”

~

“And I’ll never forget the day I met you. When I saw you I thought ‘There’s simply no way she could be real’. Goodness me, if I’m not thinking the very same right now.” Bofur’s hand never left yours and his mouth never stopped moving, even if you were in no state to respond. Contorting with the pain, you cried out as your body gave its all, spending yourself for one last push. “See what I mean? Oin just caught the wee bairn. You’re all done! Just pushed a whole baby out all by yourself. Plain amazing’s what it is.” “And a girl no less!” Oin chimed in, slashing the cord as your daughter began to cry. “Hear that, love? A little dwarrowdam!” Smiling at your husband, you felt a tear slide down and mingle with the sweat glistening upon your cheek. Oin placed her in your arms and Bofur bent over to meet her blinking eyes. “Hello there! It’s me, yer da! I’m the one who’s going to buy you everything you want, alright?” “Not even five minutes old and she already has you wrapped around her finger,” you teased. “Damn right.” Bofur kissed her head, then yours.

Bombur

“Bombur.” “I’m on it.” Your sweet husband needed only a word to rush off across your home, fetching you a pot and holding it beneath you. “What’s this for?” “The water,” he answered, nodding down to where your skirt soaked through. “Oh,” you accepted one of the cold steel handles, “right. That works.” “You ready? I’ll get yer bag too.” “Ready as I’ll ever be,” you answer with a smile.

~

Taking a cloth, your husband wiped the sweat off your forehead gently, patting your cheek affectionately. “Still doing alright?” “Best I can,” you grunted. “Everything look good down there? Well, good as it can,” Bombur amended with a glance down to his old companion, who nodded. Bombur had been asking questions and checking in the whole times, not to mention keeping you as clean and comfortable as could be. Rather that annoy you, it made you smile to see how much he cared. You had a healer, yes, but a nurse also. “Almost here,” he said, “just a few more pushes, eh?” Exhaling sharply, you focused all your might, forcing your muscles harder than you thought possible until a wail pierced the room. “You’ve done it,” Oin congratulated you, crossing the room with a little bundle in hand. Reaching out, Bombur wrapped his hands gently around the little one, lowering your baby down to let you uncover her head, which already had whisps of red hair. "She's beautiful." "'Course she is," Bombur replied, nuzzling into your cheek, "Came out o' you, didn't she?"

Dori

"Love, are you alright?" "Yes." You paused, crumpling and wincing beneath the crash of more pain. "Wait, no. That is to say I've never felt this before. I think my labor has started." No more words were necessary; flitting about your home, Dori fetched blankets and a skin of water and all manner of other supplies. "Will Oin not have all we need?" "Can't be too sure," your husband replied, striding to your side and smoothing your hair before he caressed your face, blue eyes staring into yours, "I want you to be safe, you know. I love you." And what could you say? You loved him, too, for all his quirks and for that big beautiful heart.

~

"Is that normal? That's not normal, is it?" Oin had drawn you a warm bath, lowering you into the water and checking your progress. "What's he doing all this for?" "To relax her," the healer replied to your nervous husband with a shake of his head, "And yes, this happens. 's just a slow labor is all. Some of 'em rush on out and others take their time. I suspect your wee bairn is just in no hurry." No hurry indeed. For all your pains of labor, it was almost 20 hours to the minute before your bath ran red and plaintive cries of confusion drifted into the air, Dori's fretting and even apologizing to you for putting you in this position turning to gripping your hand and all but leaping in anticipation. "You did it," he congratulated you quietly, embracing you without care of the water, sweat, and Mahal knew what else soaked you. "You sure did," Oin agreed, smiling as you accepted your little one, whose face was still red from crying, "She's here." "A daughter," Dori whispered, "A little girl! All my dreams are coming true and it's all thanks to you. How could I ever thank you? You'll never want for anything, neither of you, not love or warmth or all the pretty things you'd ever want."

Nori

Nori’s arms were snaked around your middle when you jerked forward, pushing his hands away. “For goodness sakes, you could’ve just said you didn’t want to-” “No,” you waved a hand frantically, feeling the gush of liquid trickling out, “My water just broke, Nori. It is time.” “Right now?” “Sorry if it’s inconvenient for you,” you sassed. At that, your husband smiled faintly and shook his head. “Not at all. In fact," he quipped, "I was a bit bored.”

~

“Push!” “What does it look like I’m doing?” Now your ire is focused on Oin, bringing many a snicker forth from Nori. At least until you crush his hand with a steel grip, crying out and falling limply against the sheets on which you lie. “That felt like something. Am I done?” “Almost,” the healer replied, his head popping over the curve of your heaving body, “The other head’s coming out now.” Double-taking between Oin and you, Nori bursts out, “The other head?” “Congratulations,” Oin agrees roughly, hands glistening with blood as he cuts a cord, “You’re a strong one, my friend- you made two at once!” At that, he bursts into a raucous laugh, gingerly transferring each of your sons into Nori’s arms. Bringing them closer, your husband grins like a dwarf showing off his most precious gems. “Look at that, love, two for the price o’ one. Our handsome little lads.”

Ori

Ori had been asking you every day at just about any hint of discomfort if the baby was coming, jumping up before you could tell him no, just a hard kick or your back troubling you again. Thus, the same he had done that day, so caught in the fray of his actions that he failed to think about why you weren't stopping him. At least, that was, until you finally met his eyes with a nod and a nervous smile that sent him pitching sideways. Only, of course, to promptly catch himself and, wide-eyed, take your hand and lead the way.

~

"You sure you want 'im in here?" Oin asked you, peering up with a teasing glint in his eye. "He looks more afraid than you do!" "He is my husband," you replied indignantly, tightening your grip on Ori's hand, "And I am quite certain I would faint too if I saw the head half-stuck right now." "Oh, beyond half," the healer told you, "Couple good pushes and I daresay you'll be done." Hearing Ori's gasp of excitement had your eyes shining with even more determination than the older dwarf's words, and focusing all your might you pushed and pushed until you felt a weight lifted, your body relaxing. "He's out! A little lad, too!" "Hear that?" Ori turned to you, gathering you up into his arms. "We've got a son! Our son is here!" "'N he's a gentle thing," Oin told you, laying him in your arms, "Didn't even fight me." "He's sweet," you gushed at the sight of your son nuzzling into your bare skin and leaning up to kiss your husband's cheek, "Just like his da."

Fili

“I think I’m in labor.” “You think?” Blue eyes wide and golden brows raised, Fili stares incredulously at you. “I feel it. I feel the pain. But where is my water?” Glancing back up, you see your husband inhale sharply, exhale and steady his expression. Truly a king in the making. “Oin will know,” he tells you, urgently but calmly, “Let us go.” Nodding and taking a deep breath of your own, you take his hand and make your way.

~

Labor indeed. All the other signs matched and soon- or far sooner than you had hoped- you are pushing, Fili’s hand firmly clasping yours and his head resting atop your own, braids dangling over you as you pant and work. From your feet, you see the healer’s eyes widen and lips part, rounding in surprise. “Is something wrong?” “No, no,” Oin shakes his head, “This is simply a marvel. Your heir coming in a veiled birth.” Frowning, you immediately ask him what he means. “See for yourself,” he replies, showing you the reason your water had not broken. The baby had emerged still inside the birth sac. “Does that harm them?” Fili asked. “Not at all. This is just a very rare sight. You may not want to watch this part.” Fili took both of your hands in his, leaning his forehead against yours as Oin extricated and cleaned the little one. “A veiled babe and a girl. What are the odds?” Accepting your daughter, you grinned up at Fili. “We have a princess!” “Our little queen in the making,” your husband agreed, caressing your daughter’s cheek as a rear rolled down his, “A true miracle.”

Kili

Poor Kili- you had been sitting on his lap when the break happened. Venturing your name with the utmost caution-and fear of your hormones- your husband asked, “Do you, by chance, need help getting to the lavatory?” Shaking your head even as it was hidden in your hands, you told him, “No. Kili, that was my water. The babies.” “Now?” “Now,” you agreed with a nod. Shooting up from his seat and all but yanking you into his arms, he lifted you bridal-style. “Kili, you’ll get wet!” “Already am. May as well give the babies as much time with Oin as possible.”

~

As much time ad possible being a near-record-speed delivery of three and a half hours. “Impatient little buggers,”Oin teased, tossing aside a red-stained cloth, “But strong little fighters. The sister kicked especially hard!” Chuckling, he lowered the aforementioned girl twin into your husband’s arms, handing you your son. They squirmed considerably less when you held them, both of you loosening your upper garments to hold them against skin. “She gets it from her mother, no doubt,” Kili teased with a wink as if he wasn’t crying, “But the good looks? That’ll be us both. This is all so beautiful. This is the most beautiful thing beyond anyone's imagining. Thank you for being the one to share this with me.”

Bilbo

"Are you sure I can't get you anything?" "Yes, Bilbo," you chuckled despite the pain coursing through your body, "All I need right now is to have you with me." "And Matilda," your husband named your neighbor and midwife who was on her way. "And Matilda," you agreed with a faint nod, "Now come here. Please." "Of course, dear," Bilbo agreed, shuffling across the room so quickly you could hear every hard step clattering off the boards.

~

"Is she going to be alright?" "Yes, she's still doing great," Matilda replied with an equal mix of amusement and exasperation at your husband, who leaned over to speak to her and immediately balked at the sight of your body dilated, a head beginning to emerge. "I- I feel a bit faint." "Try being me," you shot back as he returned to your side fully. "You're right," he nodded, fingers curling even tighter around yours for the last pushes. After what felt like ages, Matilda finally called up "Cutting the cord!" Her voice barely rose above the cries. "Hear that?" "I do," you answered Bilbo with a nod, tears welling up in your eyes. "You should be proud," Matilda told you, cleaning up your babe and handing her off to the pair of you, as both of you extended hands simultaneously, "She's beautiful." Bilbo lowered her to where you lie, pushing back the folds of her blanket so her skin could touch yours. Wispy hair curled atop your newborn daughter's head. "I never thought anything could be so beautiful, but here we are," your husband told you, voice barely above an awed whisper, "My girls."

Thranduil

"Thranduil." Your husband smirked at the way you panted his name, glancing upward only for that very expression to melt into horror at your buckling knees. Rushing to grasp your hand, he simply says, "It is time, is it not?" Nodding, you allow him to lead you all the way to the healing chambers, breathing heavily and wincing with each crashing wave of pain.

~

Despite his wide eyes, your husband keeps calm and speaks well the entire birth. "Focus on what is above you," he distracts, golden voice soothing as ever, "What do you see?" "Branches," you breathe, huffing with the force of your latest push, "Lights." "Remember the festival of starlight?" "I daresay that was when we conceived," you grunt, "Remind me to write an edict discontinuing it." At that, Thranduil simply chuckles deeply and winces at the way your voice breaks into tears. "Good," your midwife encourages you, "One more push, My Queen. One more. That is it. Find your strength." Your face contorts in frustration, but you comply, body wracked with one final stab before lying still. "Well?" Thranduil immediately asks. "Is the child healthy?" "Small, but breathing very well. A lovely little princess, My Lord." "My little princess," he all but gasps, head swiveling back your way, "Our daughter is here." A weight falls into his arms, and leaning down Thranduil reveals your little gift to you. Eyes still closed, your daughter wails and reaches for the air with delicate little hands. "Our beautiful woodland princess."

Feren

"Feren." "Yes, my love?" "Feren," you breathe with greater insistence in your loss for words, "I think it is happening." "Right now?" "Yes," you sit up in bed, throwing the blankets off your lap and inhaling sharply. Luckily, you have no need to tell your husband twice; he all but bounds across the bedroom to retrieve your things and find a robe to wrap you in, one hand guiding you up and to the side of the bed. "Breathe, breathe. One moment; I will fetch help." At first, you were reluctant to release his hand, but finally you nodded and let him go. When he returned, a midwife rushed to your side where you squatted and your husband to the other, where he took your hand and immediately winced at your vicelike grip.

~

Both you and Feren were red in the face and streaked with tears before you heard the wail; your husband from the pain of his hand and of hearing and seeing your body, voice, and expression all rent in agony. Every head in the room turned to face the sound, though, pain almost forgotten. With a soft white cloth that quickly reddened, your midwife cleaned the skin of your newborn. Who was, by the looks of it... "A son! My darling, a son is born to us! Our little boy is here." "Let me see," you cried out, reaching your hands for the elfling extended to you and lowering him to the bared skin of your chest. He was beautiful. "Perfect," you sobbed, "He is perfect." "Just like you," Feren adds with a kiss to your forehead.

Bard

The moment you crumpled, Bard took one look at you and nodded solemnly. “One moment,” he told you, rushing back into the house and calling requests to the girls. Through a wave of pain you saw Tilda hand her father the bag you’d packed as he made his way back to your side. You felt your hand clutched tightly again. “We make for the midwife’s.” At that, all you could do was nod. Luckily for you, she lived close enough that you needn’t take a barge, though the increasing difficulty of hurried walking and weaving through crowds of fisherman and sellers almost had you wishing you did. Your husband called to them to move, his wife was in labor, and luckily many of them began to part at that. All too soon another wave of pain came and Bard hoisted you into his arms, carrying you over the raised threshold of the wooden house that was your midwife’s home.

~

Hours. Hours it took, hours that wracked your body and soul as your mind was kept knit only by the grace and care of your husband. The midwife's care as well, of course, but all memory beyond the veil of pain went to the feeling of his hand around yours. Bard's grip, warm and solid right up until the moment cries filled the room. "It's a girl," the older woman breathed from at your feet, "A healthy little girl." "A daughter! Oh," Bard told you, bringing your baby closer, "The girls will be thrilled. And look, see how she looks just like you." Looking down, you pushed aside the blanket from your newborn daughter's head, seeing soft strands of hair the same color as yours. "As I had hoped," your husband added.

Beorn

“Three babies. Remind me again why it had to be three babies.” “My people commonly-” “I know, I know!” One arm slung over your shoulders and one tightly gripping your waist, Beorn led you from the garden back into the house. “Do you care to lay or to squat?” “Squat,” you panted. Acquiescing your request, your husband releases you at the bedpost once your hands leave his to grip the wood. “Let me boil some water. I will be right back.” Sometimes you wished he would be less serious. This was not one of those times. Calm washed over you at the sheer capability Beorn displayed, the confidence so present or so well affected. Taking a deep breath as a contraction hit, you attempted to mirror his manner.

~

“There was one. How do you feel?” “Lighter,” you groaned in between pushes. “Glad to see you have yet to lose your sense of humor. That one was a boy, my heart. Our firstborn son has arrived.” “A son,” you breathed, wincing as another massive contraction came. “Yes, yes, that is it.” A second cry filled the room, this one a bit quieter than your son’s. “And a daughter. Only one more. Whether you know it, you have the strength.” Finally a third set of cries filled the room, these the loudest by far. “Another son. Two boys and a girl.” Smiling, Beorn gently lowered one of your sons into your arms, the other babes swaddled in each of his. “This one looks like you,” you remarked, smiling at your husband though you did not bother peeling your eyes from your new baby yet. His eyes were well occupied with your daughter anyhow. “And I can tell this one will have her mother’s eyes. Much more beyond that, we can hope. …Hope. For my people after so long.” Eyes falling shut, Beorn let tears of joy and relief flow from his eyes before bringing you and his other son into one massive embrace.

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[sapphicteadragon]

Link Click season 3 untranslated text

Hey yall! Since the subs on the new season of Link Click are ass (who would have thought) and also don't translate any of the on-screen text, I figured I'd just compile my translations of all of it in case anyone's curious.

These are all the texts from episode 1, as follows:

"Partner, let's play basketball together again tomorrow~" (the 啊 gives it a cutesy/friendly tone)

Top: But you do know

Bottom left: that once the contract is established, no matter whether you succeed, you will have no way of going any further into the future

Bottom right: After it is complete, your soul will dissipate, and regret will be to no avail.

Hmm... in order to do my utmost to save the things I treasure, what is there to regret!

Bilibili Message

"Ranxi Chronicles" The signing event will begin next Saturday at 15:00. Every person will have three minutes of interacting time, and must book a slot in advance to obtain a signature or drawing. The order is determined based on the on-site queueing order.

BILI SEARCH (these are the same characters as bilibili, which is a fun easter egg)

"How to become a comic artist" (search)

1: how do I become a comic artist? Suggestions from those in the profession

Not only must you have a grounding in basic skills, you must also unceasingly practice and learn. You can do this by drawing sketches, and practising tracing lines until your foundation in drawing skill improves.

2: How do I become a qualified comic artist?

You first must set your mentality straight and clearly set your objectives. Your objectives must be established on the foundation of a strong mentality. If you want to become a comic artist, there is no harm in first asking yourself why you have this kind of goal.

3: How to become a comic artist? The state of comic artists in the profession

This specialisation is not as bright and pretty as it appears on the surface. The living and working conditions are also not as satisfying as you might imagine; right now they truly are frugal. (the word used here means skinny/sparse) So, listen to my advice:

SKY5690: There's no future in it, you won't earn any money in the first place

RAIN1352: Run away fast

CAT7931: Haven't slept in 3 days

Shen San Shui (lit. sink in three waters)

Today I went to a comic con, and joined a signing event for my favourite comic artist. I was inspired in no small measure, and from now on I plan to advance courageously on the path of becoming a comic artist! Fortunately a demon girl-jiejie (jiejie means sister, but is also used to refer to an older female friend/acquaintance) helped me find something very important, and if it weren't for her, I definitely wouldn't have been able to muster the courage. But this demon girl-jiejie left something of hers with me, and I have no way of finding her. If anyone knows this jiejie, please contact me anytime!

Description: wearing a demon girl cosplay, around 160cm tall, shoulder-length black hair

Top: My sister was hospitalised again today, the doctor said

Middle: My sister's treatment costs are accumulating. If the investment path is good, and you choose the right one, then the path will naturally be magnanimous

Bottom: Today's profits are in. I rarely do anything luxurious, can't forget to reward myself with food and drink while rushing about~

V: Xun-ge, the profits you entrusted me to handle before have arrived in the account <3

X: Heavens, you're impressive

V: Hehe, next time I can try investing a little more, and can earn even more <3

"Sorry I couldn't get there yesterday, can we meet up again? I want to chat with you"

That's all for episode 1, there weren't any in episode 2 that I saw. If I missed any please tell me and I'll add them, and I'll keep an eye out for any text in the upcoming episodes!