#anyways that’s how terrible my day as been

[hvbris]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

"I don't see how that's a bad thing," she teased with a chuckle, well aware that board games turned her into a (metaphorical) monster. Both Killian and Sloane had suffered the consequences, after all. She was comfortable, very much certain that the Sloane she knew would never attack her or Killian.

"I don't think he realizes that the crossbow is there to keep her out of danger," she mused, smiling, "all he can see is a cool weapon right now. But we can tell him. I know he's worried about her safety." But he was worried about Delta Green too, and she could not blame him. She hoped Sloane would agree with her though, and would tell him that it was best to keep all of this a secret.

Another little chuckle. "One day," she agreed. He was only 19! Far too young to be having kids. "But you're right, I think he would be a great father. It's clear she cares about him a lot, even if he's not her dad in the end." The thought of him not trusting her had upset her so much!

Violet shook her head. "He really doesn't want me to join. He never even wanted me to know about the supernatural. But I was kidnapped by..." She paused awkwardly. "- A cultist. And he summoned monsters in front of me. Since then, it's like I'm a monster magnet." She had the Horned One to blame for a lot of her unfortunate encounters -and the Horned One to thank for some of them, too.

Oh. Theo was right. Maybe he could help. "My dad wants to move out of New York City," she explained very sincerely, "I've been kidnapped four times already, and last week, some... mobster cultists abducted me and took me to their club. Now my dad says New York isn't safe anymore. But I disagree! I think that cultists could find us anywhere anyway. I don't want to leave my home again." She had spoken very fast and had to stop to catch her breath.

His praise made her blush, but she worried her words had not convinced him, not really. "Thank you," she said shyly, glancing at him. "I guess I used to have a very black-and-white vision of morality before. But I've seen so many things in the past year. I've learned that... it's all very complicated. With enough pain, even a very good person can..." Sloane. Sloane. Sloane. "Do terrible things."

"It would be very hard to say bad things," he gave back warmly, "the list is so small and it's only that you take board games very seriously." He smiled at her and found himself comforted when she put her head on his shoulder while they spoke of what Violet had revealed to him. Worried but at the same time so very sure he would not become that man, why would he?

He chuckled as she teased him gently and then nodded with a slightly more put on worried hum around Killian wanting the crossbow. "I wouldn't put it passed him, we'll have to keep an eye on him." Killian was capable of course but equally he was reckless and no doubt would believe that he looked very cool with a crossbow.

"She seems to idolise him," he said of the other Killian, thoughtfully. "He does love kids, I can see him being a father." He watched as Killian used his weight to test the rope and pulley on another knot. "In the future anyway." Not right now, please! Sloane had noticed the lack of mentions of Samantha in her timeline but he did recall one point she made. "She said that you and Killian are just as protective of each other over there." He said warmly, though he had not pushed for details, Violet had failed to mention if it was past or present.

A letter? Theo looked over to Violet as he let go of the latest knot, satisfied that it was indeed tight enough and able to take his weight. He knew they pulled agents onto missions via letter but they didn't recruit that way. He was about to ask what it said but got his answer quickly, there wasn't more than shreds of a letter to read. "He really doesn't want you joining then, huh?" Would he turn that way one day? It was for the greater good right? Violet could build traps to capture monsters and invent things to counter cultists and rituals, she also belonged right?

She was fifteen though, her time would come. Sure they'd technically started with him at sixteen but he hadn't got a mission until he turned eighteen. But she wasn't keen on joining so he said nothing of it. She moved on to things being complicated at home and he looked to her curiously. "What's going on at home? Maybe I can help, no one knows me better than me." He teased but thought he had a point, plus if she felt overwhelmed then at least letting off some steam might help her in the long run. Maybe.

He paused as she spoke of morality, mentioning the greater good which he had already mentally leaned on several times. For a moment he did just study her thoughtfully. He realised he had been for too long though and cracked a smile. "You're a real wise kid, you know that?" But it was black and white in their line of work, right? You were either for humanity or against it. Unless... she was warning of something to come?

[suddencolds]

/personal

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

High Stakes

18/12: Board Games and Breath Play - Ettore Word Count: 2.4k~ | Warnings: strip poker, slight degradation, breath play and face fucking, dub con

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

A/N: board games was a loose prompt for this one lol

“No.”

“Why?”

“No.”

She groans dramatically, “you are so fucking boring.”

Shuffling the cards expertly in his hands, he raises his eyebrows, “don’t care, now piss off.”

This was backfiring hellishly. She rolled her eyes, having exhausted literally everyone else on the ship to try and dull the numbing boredom of just simply existing here. The board game she’d bought with her was slung to one side, and she nudged it further with her foot, annoyed. “Cluedo. Cute,” she scoffed, the irony not lost on her. 

She slumps into the chair opposite him, her arms crossing over the table like a petulant child. Ettore doesn’t even look up, his focus on the deck of cards he’s shuffling with the kind of precision that makes it look like an art form. 

He's always been elusive. A mystery. But one she likes watching. He's always doing so with other prisoners, but he seems to mind when it's the other way around. When he's trying to concentrate.

“You play poker with Tcherny.”

“And?”

“Teach me.”

He scoffs, “fuck off, you’ll lose anyway.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she snaps back. “Did I ask for a motivational speech? No. I just want to learn,”  she fires, leaning back and kicking one foot up onto the table. Ettore’s eyes finally flick to hers, narrowed and glinting with something between annoyance and mild amusement.

He cuts the deck in a smooth motion, eyes still glued to the cards. “Get your feet off my table.”

“Make me.”

For a split second, it looks like he’s debating whether it’s worth the energy to actually toss her out of the room. Instead, he sighs heavily, his expression sliding into one of exasperated resignation as he leans forward, resting his forearms on the table.

“Fine,” he growls. “You want to learn poker? First lesson, don’t act like an idiot. It gives away your hand.”

She blinks, startled, before breaking into a grin. “Was that a joke? Ettore, are you feeling okay?”

He doesn’t dignify her with an answer, instead starting to deal the cards. As they land with a sharp snap against the table, her excitement is palpable.

“Alright,” she says, rubbing her hands together. “How do I win?”

He leans back in his chair, tilting his head. “Second lesson, don’t annoy the dealer.”

Ettore regretted agreeing to the game almost immediately.

She was terrible. Embarrassingly so. The kind of bad that made him question whether she even understood what a flush or a straight was, despite the twenty minutes he’d spent explaining it to her. He watched her fumble through another hand, the cards slipping from her fingers like she was holding them for the first time in her life.

She bit her lip, staring intently at her cards as if sheer willpower could turn her mess of a hand into something worth betting on. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You can’t raise,” he said flatly. “You don’t even have anything. Literally. Nothing.”

She scowled. “How do you know that?”

“Because you’re holding your cards like a fucking open book,” he snapped. 

She huffed, dropping her cards onto the table with a dramatic sigh. “How about we make this more... interesting?”

He didn’t respond, just watched her with that cold, unimpressed stare that usually sent people running. She, of course, was immune.

“Strip poker,” she said casually, leaning back in her chair and tossing a card onto the table. “You win a hand, I lose something and vice versa. Simple.”

Ettore’s eyebrows lifted slightly, the first hint of interest he’d shown in the last half hour, his pupils dilating slightly. “You’re bad at this game,” he pointed out, but she merely shrugged.

“Unless you’d rather play strip poker with Tcherny, I can get him–”

“No.”

She raised an eyebrow, suppressing a grin. “Oh? He not your type?”

His fists clenched hard, suppressing, albeit barely, the desire to rip her head from her body. “You want to lose? Fine.”

And yet he still wanted to play. She smirked victoriously, watching him shuffle the deck once again and deal out the cards. Seeing that darkened look in his eyes, she thought she may have bitten off more than she could chew. But it was too exhilarating for her to care, in fact, it was a welcome distraction.

Predictably, she lost the next hand. With a dramatic groan, she peeled off her tank top and tossed it onto the table. Ettore’s eyes flicked to her now-bare shoulders, and she didn’t miss the way his smirk deepened.

“You’re terrible at this,” he taunted.

“Mmhm,” she hummed noncommittally, crossing her arms over her chest, not quite trying to cover herself. “Deal again.”

They played another hand. She lost again, of course, and Ettore’s smirk was practically a permanent fixture now, secretly wanting the bra to come off. But instead, she wiggled out of her sweatpants with exaggerated slowness, tossing them aside with a careless flick of her wrist.

But then something shifted.

The next hand, she won. Ettore frowned, brushing it off as a fluke. He wasn’t worried. His outer red shirt came off.

The hand after that, she won again. His brow furrowed, his confidence wobbling just a touch as he peeled off the long-sleeved white shirt that was underneath.

Ettore frowned, eyeing her more carefully now. She was shuffling like she’d done it a hundred times before, the cards flipping smoothly through her fingers. The way she dealt the next hand was too precise. Too confident.

His eyes narrowed. “You’ve played before.”

She grinned. 

“You hustled me,” he growled, leaning forward, his voice low and dangerous.

“Maybe.” She picked up her cards, glancing at him over the top with a smirk that was equal parts infuriating and triumphant. 

He bit the inside of his cheek, his confidence beginning to crack as the game dragged on. The pile of clothes at her feet wasn’t getting any bigger, but his was. His shoes, then his belt, then his sweatpants.

“You’re cheating,” he said, but there was no real heat behind it. He knew she wasn’t, and that only made it worse.

She tilted her head, feigning offense. “I’m just better than you.”

“You’re full of shit.”

She leaned forward, her smirk practically glowing now. “Tell you what,” she said, her voice dropping into a teasing lilt, “if you want to quit, just say the word. I won’t tell anyone you couldn’t handle it.”

He glared at her, his jaw tight as he tossed his cards onto the table. “Deal the next hand.”

By the time he was down to nothing but his boxers, the realisation had fully set in, she’d played him. And she wasn’t just good at poker, she was good at this, at getting under his skin and staying there. Ettore glared at his cards like they had personally betrayed him. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his forearm taut as he tossed his cards onto the table in defeat. Across from him, she leaned back in her chair, utterly victorious, her smirk practically gleaming in the dim light.

“That’s it,” she said, spreading her arms in mock triumph. “Game over. You’re out of clothes. Time to pay up.”

He didn’t move. His hands rested on the table, his expression stony. He was no stranger to feeling comfortable in his skin. He worked out, was proud of the form he’d built. But he did not like doing it at the mercy of someone else. Not when he felt like he wasn’t the one in control.

“No.”

“Feeling shy?”

“Fuck off,” he growled.

And then she saw it. The way his hand twitched, the shift in his posture as he sat just a little too still. Her eyes flicked downward, and realisation struck like a lightning bolt.

“Oh my God,” she said, her voice dripping with disbelief and amusement. “You’re hard.”

“Shut up,” he snapped, his voice low and sharp, but it was too late. She was already laughing, her head thrown back as she cackled.

“This is amazing,” she said between laughs, leaning forward to rest her chin on her hand as she studied him. “Big, bad Ettore, bricked up by a bit of strip poker.”

He didn’t respond, his glare intensifying as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Come on,” she teased, leaning closer beside him, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’ve already lost. Might as well let me see the full package.”

He could feel it. The burn of violence, the burn of wanting to shift the tables of power. She was dangling hers in front of him like a toy, just waiting for him to stop and almost challenging him to. His lungs fired up with its need. He didn’t need to glance down at himself to know he was hard. When was the last time he’d even seen the supple flesh of a woman without having to imagine it during those dark, lonely nights in The Box? 

Even with her bra and underwear on, she was dangling herself in front of a man who had lashed out for less. His jaw ticked.

She wanted him to snap? Fine.

The table rattled beneath her as Ettore shoved her back, his hands gripping her arms hard enough to leave marks. She gasped, her fingers scrambling for purchase against the edge of the table. For a split second, something flickered across her face, fear, perhaps, but it was gone just as quickly, replaced by a practised calm that made his jaw clench. She felt the heat of him against her bare stomach, and her lips curved into a dangerous smile.

This would be a fight.

“You want to play games?” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“Who says I can’t finish?”

The words barely left her mouth before his lips crashed into hers, bruising and demanding, swallowing any retort she might have had. His hands moved with the same ferocity, one gripping her waist to pull her closer while the other tugged at the last scraps of fabric still clinging to her body. She let out a sharp gasp, her fingers threading into his hair as she kissed him back just as hard, her nails digging into his scalp like she wanted to draw blood.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was a fight, one neither of them intended to lose.

When his fingers hooked into her underwear, she twisted sharply, breaking free just enough to shove him backward. He stumbled, and before he could regain his footing, she surged forward, slamming her hands against his chest and sending him sprawling onto the cold metal floor.

Ettore barely had time to curse before she was on him, straddling his hips and pinning him down. Her thighs clenched tightly against his sides, her hands braced on his chest as she leaned over him, her hair falling in messy strands around her face. She was breathing hard, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sharp and wild with triumph.

“Not used to losing?” she asked, her tone dripping with mocking victory.

He stared up at her, his hands resting on her thighs like he was deciding whether to let her win or flip her over and reclaim control. His chest rose and fell with each heavy breath, his lips swollen and slick from their kiss.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said, his voice low, his gaze locked on hers. But there was no hiding the hunger in his eyes, the way they drank her in like he couldn’t decide whether to tear her apart or worship her.

She leaned down, her face inches from his, her smirk returning. “Good,” she whispered. “I like it dangerous.”

She saw his throat bob with need as she made her way up his body, clenching her thighs to keep him where she wanted. 

“Do you?” she gleamed.

He glared up at her, his jaw tight, but the hunger in his eyes betrayed him. She slid back just slightly, enough to reach for the waistband of her underwear, her movements unhurried as she peeled them off and tossed them aside. His eyes flicked downward, his restraint unravelling as she settled herself back on top of him, her thighs framing his face.

It was hard and unyielding, the way her fingers threaded into his hair, pulling his lips to her wet and waiting core without delay, forcing herself onto his mouth and grinding, head tipped back with gasps and moans that she dare not hold back. His growl of frustration turned into a low, almost primal sound as his mouth met her. The first flick of his tongue made her gasp, and she felt her insides tighten around nothing. His hands slid up her thighs, holding her steady as he worked her with an intensity that made her toes curl and skin feel electric.

She shifted, her thighs pressing in against his head, limiting his movement. Ettore growled against her, the vibration sending a jolt through her, but she didn’t let up. “Breathe when I let you,” she murmured. 

For a moment, his body stilled, and she counted, grinding against his lips with every second, his nose pressed flush against her clit, and she felt him exhale sharply against her skin. Then, he pushed back with renewed fervour, his tongue exploring her with precision and hunger. She rewarded him with a roll of her hips, pressing herself harder against him.

Ettore’s grip on her thighs tightened as she continued to ride the line between giving him air and taking it away, her movements deliberate, teasing. He growled again, his fingers digging into her flesh as he matched her pace, his breath growing shorter with each movement. When she finally eased up, allowing him a gasp of air, his teeth grazed her in retaliation, a reminder that she was pushing him to the edge.

Finally, the wave of pleasure crashed over her, her body tightening as she let out a sharp cry, her grip on his hair almost painful. She shuddered against him, her thighs quivering as her climax overtook her, leaving her breathless and flushed. Ettore pulled back slightly as she released him, his face glistening and his breathing heavy. She looked down at him, her smirk returning despite the haze of satisfaction clouding her mind.

“You’re fucking insane,” he rasped, his voice raw, his gaze sharp and filled with heat.

“And you’re still here,” she replied, her voice soft but triumphant. She climbed off him, letting her fingers trail down his chest as she stood, before wrapping her palm around his aching erection, relishing in the choked groan he let out. 

“Looks like you’re starting to enjoy losing.”

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[everestgale]

Long Post about EG's Voice Designs

Unrelated Hero being adorable just so above-cut is not all text lol

Gale woke up one morning, felt nostalgic, and wanted to ramble. Therefore, Gale decided to ramble about their voice designs.

Warning: this will be a very long, just barely coherent post, where I just talk about the evolution of my voice designs. It will include a lot of old art, sketches, and side tangents. More than anything, this is for me to look back on later, if I ever need to do that or feel like doing that.

[Post-writing EG: …uh, it's like 2000+ words worth of ramble. You've been warned.]

So, I guess I'll start at the very beginning, should I?

From the very beginning, back when I was just getting into Slay the Princess, I knew that I wanted my voices to resemble The Long Quiet as much as possible, which meant that I very quickly settled on a humanoid bird-folk with a mouthless face as the base of my designs. I knew I wouldn't be able to draw actual birds, and drawing them as humans with clothes felt too far from the original game (I tend to be quite rigid with my own headcanons and stuff, absolutely nothing wrong with giving voices clothes or making them human! In fact, sometimes I get jealous over the design expression I'm missing out on. I just tend to be quite stubborn, often to my own detriment).

Fun fact, for a while, I headcanon'd that the Long Quiet has a beak but the voices do not, and I actually used to draw them like that for a while… but I realized that I'm terrible at drawing actual bird faces with beaks. So eventually I gave in and joined the mouthless TLQ crowd (only to be technically proven wrong by P&D. Oops!)

Old TLQ sketches (January 14th, 2024)

Anyways! The very first voice designs were very small changes from a base Quiet design:

Old Hero, Broken & Stubborn drawings (January 3rd - 4th, 2024). Also, silly Everest, they didn't know they would still be obsessed with StP almost a full year later—

Hero had slightly longer head feathers and ears. Stubborn was just spikier. And Broken… well, that's when I began experimenting with making bigger changes to the original Quiet design! While still very much driven by it, I gave Broken droopy ears and plucked neck/arm feathers, something that remained consistent to this day (it's lowkey my favorite part of his design)!

Here's his current design, still as droopy as always and missing neck/arm feathers.

These three were as far as I got, however, because I quickly began running out of ideas on how to keep differentiating between voices. I don't quite remember what happened exactly (I will guess that I saw other people's voice designs and got inspired), but I started to assign real-life birds to the voices and draw design features from them.

Oh hey, owl Paranoid and cockatiel Contrarian! (January 7th, 2024)

Still very much sticking to the base Quiet design, but slowly trying to incorporate more unique features to differentiate them easier. And so it began, a rabbit hole of researching bird symbolism, behaviors, and distinguishing features, all to give each voice a bird that felt right to them. Some were easier than others (like the aforementioned cockatiel Contrarian), and others were an absolute pain (Cheated was a European robin, then a white wagtail, and then finally a house sparrow), but nonetheless, these gave me a good starting point for their designs:

Early design sketches (January 22nd, 2024)

There were… quite a few mistakes made at that stage. First, and most obvious one, is the lack of shape diversity, especially in body types, as all of my voices were basically the same generic Quiet body shape, just with a few minor height changes. It made them less dynamic and much more boring to look at, especially when I put them next to each other. Second, since these designs only drew inspiration from real-life birds, they weren't super recognizable as their own voice, if that makes sense. No iconography from the game, no other details that could help identify the voice, etc. And third… I just didn’t like about half of them. I ended up giving a small redesign to Hero, Skeptic, and Cheated as a result of the Perception Check animatic (they were all present there, so I needed designs that I didn't immediately hate). But besides that, those were the main designs I used.

A frame out of my Perception Check animatic (February 27th - March 1st, 2024). Official throwback post for it coming very soon!

After that point, I didn't do much Slay the Princess art (especially not with voices), until I rejoined the fandom right around Pristine Cut release. And let me tell you, I looked at my voice designs after a long break and wanted to cry /hj

I was NOT happy with my little guys, but I still stuck with the designs I had (or close to them) for a little while longer because I just couldn't quite figure out what I wanted to do with them, especially after such a long break. I tried to figure out what to do with them as I was doing requests and random voice interaction sketches. For some, it actually worked well (Cold, for example, got about half of his redesign as a result), but others (like Cheated, Stubborn, and Hunted) did not get any attention from me.

Random assortment of voice sketches (November 14th - 16th, 2024)

My main issue at this point was trying to figure out how much detail I wanted to add to the voices and which detail I wanted to add, too. Because my voices struggled on a fundamental shape design level, I tried to compensate by adding distinguishing details (like the weird feathers on Paranoid's chest)... but that only made these designs annoying to draw. The final tipping point was this StP Monopoly post that I spent too many hours on, battling against my own designs. I got fed up with being unhappy with them. And so, it began.

I still very much wanted to use my old designs as a base because even though I wasn't happy with them, there was a certain charm to them that I would've hated to get rid of completely (I'm a very sentimental person when it comes to stuff like that). And so with that, armed with about 18 million references, including but not limited to game screenshots, real-life birds, and other people's voice designs, I began working on the silhouettes:

Actually, the first step was to figure out how tall my voices were. I used this website to help me visualize it, and I'm now realizing that they're quite tall. Except Opportunist, sorry not sorry Opportunist.

Voice silhouettes (November 24th - 26th, 2024). I will still cry over how much trouble Smitten gave me. His silhouette had about 5 different revisions, before I finally arrived at something I liked.

Why silhouettes? Well, it's a large cast of characters, and I wanted them all to be distinct, so shape language and sizes and clarity of silhouette were the most important at this stage. I already had a pretty good idea of what kind of design elements I wanted to add, so the goal was to make sure these elements had a good base, if that makes sense. Though, I couldn't resist sketching some of those details at that stage, just to see if it matched what I imagined.

I wish I had some clever reasoning for why the voices are specific size/shape/etc, but for many of them, it was based entirely on vibes and personal preferences. The only ones that had some sort of thematic reasoning for their silhouettes were Cold (I wanted him to be very tall and extremely thin, to kind of mimic a skeleton) and Cheated (the goal was to make him as sharp and spikey as possible since the Razor is his Chapter II princess). The rest? Purely aesthetics/preference/vibes. I wanted Smitten to be large and round. I wanted Paranoid to be very fluffy. I wanted Opportunist to be the shortest voice in my entire lineup (sorry not sorry Opportunist [2]). That's pretty much it lol

Anyways! Once the silhouettes were all done, it was a matter of translating all of my random notes, and ideas, and old design elements into the final lineup.

There were three key considerations when I was creating all of my voice designs, and I tried to keep them all in mind as I was drawing these:

Simplicity - I knew I would be drawing these guys over and over again, so I wanted to make sure my designs as easily recreatable as possible.

Recognizability - how easy is it to identify the voice correctly (i.e. differentiating between, say, Hunted and Paranoid or Cheated and Stubborn by looks alone)

Random nonsense - how many small details, parallels, silly references, and "this looks cool"s can I put into design while keeping 1 and 2 true.

…because nothing brings me more joy than sneaking the dumbest references and jokes into my designs. Cold's little chest feathers are a great example of that, and I will definitely talk about it one day.

Some of my favorite design elements are different little parallels these designs have to each other (especially Stranger pairs) and to their respective Chapter II princesses:

Stubborn & Broken have a bright red accent in their design, practically the only similarity in their design, indicating that they don't have much in common, except for the passion they show in their respective routes. Stubborn also got horns from the Adversary and the general rough/tattered leg feathers. Broken couldn't borrow elements from the Tower directly, but he got feathers resembling a wimple/neck piece that nuns usually wear, and his bright red chest feathers also work as a stab wound.

Skeptic & Smitten also don't have a lot in common, but they both have a shoulder shawl, working almost as a layer of separation between them and the world they inhabit, as both can be very stuck in their ways / unwilling to see past their point of view. Skeptic got a shackle similar to the Prisoner's, while Smitten's arm feathers are supposed to resemble the Damsel's frilly sleeves!

Opportunist & Hunted are both most animal-like, with Opportunist resembling a cat (for the Witch) or rat (because that's who he is), while Hunted looks like a hare. I also tried to keep their designs most organic in terms of flow, but I'm not sure I succeeded with that. Opportunist was a fun (and difficult) one to try to mirror the Witch, I ended up giving him spiky feathers resembling the Witch's tattered skirt and sticks/debris pointing out of his feathers! Hunted was much simpler and just got the same bandages the Beast has :] That is also how trans Hunted was born if you were curious.

Cheated & Contrarian are, quite simply, both falling apart to various degrees. Cheated's stitches were designed first, along with his very sharp/spiky design, to go along with the Razor. Then Contrarian followed suit, gaining his cracks to mirror both Cheated and Stranger. I've talked enough about this already lol

And then there were Cold and Paranoid. Oh, the problem children. They used to share whispy ghost-like leg feathers (which you can see in the silhouette designs), but I hated how they looked on Paranoid, so I changed it to fit with his fluffy owl aesthetic better. Works better as a whole for his design, but now these two have almost nothing in common, outside of the darker, textured/feathered sleeves (which is not enough of a distinguishing feature). But in it's own way, it makes sense for my voice designs to end up like this, as I personally have very complicated and mixed feelings on the relationship between Cold and Paranoid. But I do like the overall ghostly skeleton-like look I gave Cold to mirror the Spectre (a large X on his chest also helps to identify him), and gloves on my Paranoid to go along with Nightmare's is probably one of my favorite design elements of them all.

Oh, and of course, Hero. Hero was somehow the easiest and the hardest to design. The easiest, because I wanted him to share a lot of features with the Long Quiet (since he is our first voice and all), so a lot of the decision-making was already done for me. The hardest, because that meant I only had very limited features that I could exaggerate or add to distinguish him from my Quiet in the first place. And so I went with the "exaggerate the hell out of existing features" route, turning Hero's face/head feathers into more of a crown/visor shape… and also giving him long hair. Why did I give my Hero long hair? To be honest, this one started on a complete whim, I tried it out when I was making a silhouette for Hero, and I kind of fell in love with how it looked. It ended up working out because it kind of looks like a lion's mane, symbolizing courage, strength, and justice. But I assure you, it's not how it started lol

Did I succeed with my designs? Well, not quite - some designs are more difficult to draw than others (looking at you, Stubborn), and others lack distinctive details that identify them as that voice (looking at you, Paranoid). But I am quite happy with them as a whole. It was a great exercise in character design for me, and I love my silly birds dearly, so I'm just glad to have designs I don't hate drawing <3

Though, I am now very tempted to do an alternative version that does have them wear clothes. Just for the fun of it. Maybe I'll do it. Maybe I won't. If I do, my Contrarian is going to rock a very pretty dress.

Anyways! If you got this far into this post, thank you so much for reading it!! I just really wanted to ramble about my voices, how much they've changed, and, honestly, how proud I am of how far they've come from their original concepts. My lads are certainly not as intricately designed as some of the other folks I see around here (stares at Sonja and Polite), but I like them, I like drawing them, and that's what matters to me <3

Thanks again for reading my endless ramble, hope you have a great day!

[strawberriesandhotmen]

Undone For You

a/n: Hello, my pookily bookily bears. This scenario has been running rampant in my mind for weeks, so now the rest of you get to experience it with me. 

pairing: boyfriend!Stiles x fem!virgin!reader

CW +18 smut: swearing, praise, hickeys, oral f!receiving, fingering, piv unprotected (wrap it up!)

word count: 5.5k

“Baby, I’m bored.” You whined, kicking your feet childishly as you sat on Stiles’ desk. The day had threatened to be slow to begin with, the only plans for the both of you being to hang out with Scott and Allison. Now that they had canceled, you were surely doomed to a painfully average day.

“Me too, beautiful.” Stiles let out a deep sigh as he laid back on his bed, completely oblivious to how the nickname still made your heart flutter after a year of dating. He ran a hand over his face in agitation, doubtlessly racking his brain for something to do.

After a minute or two of silence, the AC kicked on and goosebumps immediately prickled along your arms. You tended to be sensitive to the cold anyways, and sitting directly under the vent was not proving to be helpful. Being too lazy to actually walk two feet and grab a blanket, you smiled triumphantly as your eyes landed on one of Stiles’ discarded flannels that sat within arms reach. Sliding it over your tank top, you adjusted your shorts that had ridden up slightly on your thighs.

The two of you must have been a terribly oblivious pair, because it was now you who failed to notice the effect you were having on Stiles. He had always been partial to the sight of you in his clothes, but right now? With nothing else on his mind able to distract from the view in front of him? His mind began to veer to…heated things.

Those honey colored eyes were practically dripping with lust at the sight of you, his flannel draped over your curves in the most delectable way. It took every ounce of his self control to not ravage you immediately; you two had never gone further than making out, and you were worlds more important to him than sexual pleasure (however much he may fantasize about it).

His gaze fell to the way your feet didn’t quite touch the floor as you sat on his desk, the adorable manner in which you swung them back and forth absently. You looked precious, that subtle pout pulling at your features as you ran a hand through your hair, staring into the distance while your mind wandered to far off places. He was torturing himself, he knew, allowing himself to admire you like this when he couldn’t have you. Not yet. You had said you weren’t ready, and he respected that. He was even okay with it, but no amount of acceptance could stop the jolt that ran straight to his dick when his eyes landed on that teasing bit of exposed cleavage.

What was wrong with him, he wondered, was he a pervert? He didn’t think so, but he did feel as though he was properly acting like one at the moment. He just couldn’t help himself; that gorgeous skin that he knew to be so soft, those innocent eyes he could stare into for hours, your plump cheeks that flushed pink the moment a compliment reached your ears…fuck he was enamored with you. 

“Sweetheart?” He rasped, clearing his strained throat as he sat up against his headboard. You glanced up with a questioning look in your eyes, wondering if he had thought of an activity for you two.

“Yes, baby?” He smiled to himself at the nickname as it fell from your perfect lips. With a pat of his jean-clad thigh, he motioned you over to him.

“Come here.” It wasn’t a command, but a request, more like. He always spoke to you in the sweetest of tones; you never wanted to not oblige what he was asking. With an excited giggle that lit up your eyes, you hopped off the desk and padded over to him, wasting no time in straddling his lap. As his hands moved to grip your hips, your arms wrapped around his neck while you smiled widely.

“What is it?” You weren’t sure why he had called you over, but you didn’t care. You just loved being with him.

“You haven’t done anything but sit there, and I’m undone for you already.” You furrowed your brow at his words, confused, but held your tongue as he continued. “You’re just so damn beautiful, I’m losing my fucking mind.” He looked at you with an expression of utter adoration; he seemed almost reverent.

“Sti…” You whispered, a soft smile on your lips as you cupped his cheek with your hand. “I love you so much.” Those words. Those words were what made him snap. Without warning, his lips crashed into yours and his grip on your hips became almost bruising. You immediately returned the kiss, feeling no hint of hesitation anywhere in your body. His tongue bullied its way into your mouth, exploring like it was uncharted territory. As he groaned against your lips you felt his arousal grow beneath you; this wasn’t a new experience, but this time it felt different. It felt like…more.

Everything was heightened. The feeling of his lips on yours, of his hair in your hands, of your hips pressed together…it was all so intense. You hadn’t expected to lose your virginity today (or anytime soon for that matter), but now it damn well looked like a real possibility.

You had told him before that you wanted to wait, and wait a while. Technically it had been some time since that conversation, so you wouldn’t really be abandoning your morals. It would simply be an act of taking the next step in your relationship, a rather satisfying step. You would be lying if you said you weren’t a little nervous; after all, it was going to hurt, even if just a little bit. But this was Stiles, he would make it better. He always made everything better.

You surprised him with a languid roll of your hips, the friction against your throbbing core absolutely delectable. You smiled against his parted lips as a gasp escaped them, pleased with the effect you were having on him. He seemed frozen in place as you began to move your hips in a torturous rhythm, your lips now latching onto the sensitive skin of his neck. You metaphorically devoured the way his breath was quickened, the way his heart beat just a little faster each time your hips met. 

You were beginning to grow impatient, needy. Your small hands migrated downward to the hem of his shirt, tugging at it eagerly.

“Off.” You breathed simply, feeling no need to beat around the bush. A huff of surprise escaped his throat at your blatant ask, but he snapped himself out of his momentary stupor and removed his shirt in one clean motion.

Fuck, you thought. How did you get so lucky?

You paused your attack on his neck to admire his exposed torso, your eyes pouring over every detail as if to memorize him. He was so…beautiful. And to think that’s what he called you. You hadn’t realized until he let out a low groan how your hands were running along his chest, then his arms, in an almost worshipful way. You desired him so profoundly, the feeling overwhelming you.

“You’re so beautiful.” You repeated in a whisper just loud enough for him to hear. A smile pulled at his features at your words, and he shook his head subtly.

“You’re the beautiful one, sweetheart.” Before you could protest, he pressed a kiss to your swollen lips, almost as if he knew you would try to argue. This kiss was different than the first; it was slower, yet more passionate, more…meaningful. It was as if you were both pouring your heart and soul into the simple, taken-for-granted gesture, as if words simply couldn’t do justice to your feelings. And you were, in fact, sure they couldn’t. 

You felt a flutter in the pit of your stomach when his hand slid under your tank top, moving to grasp your bare waist. Suddenly, it was much too warm to be wearing Stiles’ flannel. With a shrug of your shoulders, the flannel slid off your arms and you discarded it carelessly to the side. It wouldn’t be missed much, given the circumstances. Pulling back from the kiss to catch your breath, you panted heavily as you made eye contact with Stiles. His eyes were darkened with lust, his face flushed. He looked desperate.

With a deep breath, you grasped the hem of your tank top and slowly pulled it over your head, doing the same as you had with the flannel. This left you in your white lacy bra and black shorts; he had never seen this much of you before. You felt your cheeks flush as his eyes dropped to your chest, your cleavage fully on display. His lips parted, almost in awe, as he allowed his free hand to brush over your barely-clothed breast. Your breath hitched at the unfamiliar touch; you weren’t uncomfortable, you couldn’t be with Stiles. You were, however, nervous; this was uncharted territory for you, unexplored as of yet.

“Are you sure about this, sweetheart?” You met his gaze of sincerity, genuine concern etched into his features. You were surprising yourself in this situation, always thinking you would be the last of your friends to lose their virginity. You nodded slowly, exhaling the breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding.

“I want you.” He closed his eyes at your pleading words, seeming to swallow back a groan at the implications. You let out a gasp as he picked you up by your hips and flipped you around, now laying you on your back on his bed. Well, it seemed he would be wasting no time.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby.” Shit. You hadn’t heard this tone before, so deep and husky with desire. His lips pressed sloppy kisses along your neck, slowly inching down to your collarbone. It was here he decided to leave a mark, a sign that you were his.

“S-Stiles.” You breathed out, the hint of a moan in the back of your throat. Your mind had become foggy, a haze thinly veiled over your thoughts so that you couldn’t quite reach a coherent one. You had never felt so strongly about something in your life; you needed him, desperately. When you felt his hands move to the waistband of your shorts, a jolt of desire shot straight to your core.

“Can I take these off?” The request was gentle, quiet, especially when coupled with that adorable mix of concern and lust playing on Stiles’ features. A tightened feeling appeared in your chest; suddenly everything felt like it was moving so fast. But you wanted this, you really did. After all, how could you not?

You merely nodded, not feeling the need to expend energy stringing together a sentence. 

“I need words, beautiful.” He repeated his request, clearly in want of a verbal response. You swallowed hard, choking out the ‘yes’ he was looking for. A smirk spread across his face at your agreement, and his fingers moved to slide your shorts down your legs. He did it slowly, teasingly, almost as if he was waiting for you to protest. Perhaps he couldn’t really believe this was happening, like he was expecting to wake up any moment and find out it was all a dream.

You inhaled sharply when he tossed your shorts to the side. He was staring at you in pure amazement, his eyes hungrily raking over your half-exposed form.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, baby.” He breathed, huffing in disbelief. “I swear to God, you’re a fucking angel.” You smiled at his words, your cheeks flushing an even darker shade as you avoided his gaze in flattered embarrassment. You never thought of yourself as looking particularly special, so this was certainly a new feeling. His hand came to grasp your chin, turning your head to face him again.

“Don’t hide that pretty face, sweetheart.” He smiled before leaning down and capturing your lips in a kiss. This one was slow, languid, romantic. It was pure bliss. You let your hands fall to the button of his jeans, hovering over it in hesitation. You wanted this, you were sure you did, but for some reason you still felt like you had to convince yourself. 

Within a moment you had rid yourself of doubt with a quick glance into his eyes darkened by desire; that was all it took. Nimbly pulling the zipper down and tugging the pants off his legs, you felt the vibration of his groan against your lips. His hands gripped your sides like he was afraid you would disappear, reckless abandon consuming him as he continued to kiss you. You felt his hand slowly migrate upwards towards the clasp of your bra, sparking a thousand butterflies to life in your stomach. Unwittingly, your hand flies up to capture his wrist, momentarily delaying his intended action.

“What’s wrong, baby? Do you want me to stop?” Taking a deep breath, you composed yourself; you could do this, you wanted to, after all. It was all just so new, yet so exciting. You shook your head no, meeting his concerned gaze. He opened his mouth to speak again, but you interrupted him before he could. You knew what he was planning to say. “I want this, Stiles. I want you.” You promised yourself you wouldn’t stop him anymore, the ache between your thighs nearing a burning level. Stiles resumed his work on your bra clasp, expertly flicking it open and tossing your bra to the side where it joined the rest of the discarded garments.

“Fuck, baby. So fucking pretty.” You let out a gasp as he pressed kisses all over your breasts, not quite grazing your pert nipples just yet. They pebbled from contact with the cold air, along with pure and complete arousal. It was then that Stiles turned his attention to the rosy peaks of your breasts, his tongue darting out to tease you gently.

“Stiles,” You whined, “Don’t tease.” You were squirming underneath him, your hands wandering the bed beneath you in search of something to grasp onto. He let out a soft chuckle at your insistence, finding it absolutely adorable.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m gonna take care of you.” Your mind became cloudy as Stiles practically worshipped your body, his lips ghosting over every inch of skin, his fingertips grazing along just after. He was almost reverent in his actions, taking his time with you. He wanted this to be special for you, he wanted you to remember it forever. This wouldn’t be one of those memories that faded into the background as others took its place; no, rather, it would claim a special place in your heart and remain there no matter what. Yes, he thought to himself, that’s how he wanted this to go.

It wasn’t until you felt his fingers graze over your clothed clit that you snapped back into reality,  your eyes flying open at the foreign sensation. A high pitched whimper escaped from your lips as Stiles teasingly rubbed your covered folds, his pace torturous and heavenly at the same time. You were sending him out of his mind at how blissed out you already were. He had barely even touched you, he thought, and yet here you were writhing beneath him. He was enjoying every fucking moment of it.

“That feel good, baby?” He cooed, the deep rasp in his tone sparking another wave of wet heat to pool between your thighs. Your brain was just now processing how wet you actually were, and it was quite shameful, in your eyes. Stiles, on the other hand, found it to be fucking perfection. You had already almost soaked through your panties, your slick now sticking to Stiles’ fingers. When his eyes glanced down to where he was touching you, they nearly popped out of their sockets. Those flimsy white panties of yours might as well have not even existed with how see-through they were, your arousal completely ruining them. He muttered a string of curses under his breath as a jolt shot through him, his dick twitching at the sight.

“Can I take these off too, sweet girl?” He had become impatient all of a sudden, his words flooding out in a rushed cadence as his fingers prematurely hooked under the lace of your panties. Staying true to your original promise, you merely nodded in agreement, flusteredly choking out a ‘yes’ when you remembered what a stickler he was for words. You sucked in a sharp breath as your panties joined the pile of clothes on the floor, realizing how exposed you were before him.

“Holy shit, baby, you’re so fucking perfect.” Your breath left your mouth in short huffs, your heart rate practically through the roof. He let his hands trail from your hips, down your plush thighs, eventually gripping them gently.

“Is this okay?” He looked up at you with need flooding his eyes, clearly using every ounce of self restraint not to destroy you then and there (yet part of you wished he would). You nodded quickly, feeling no need to play coy at this point. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, his hold on your thighs tightening. He began to gently push your thighs apart as he opened his eyes again, his lips falling open at the sight of your dripping cunt flooding onto the sheets (well, those would now be unusable).

“Look at this pretty fucking pussy.” His voice was low, the sensation of his warm breath against your sloppy folds making your head spin as he leant down close. 

“Stiles.” He nearly lost his damn head at your small whimper, the sound meek and fucking delicious. The sound only repeated as he leant down closer, his lips mere centimeters from where you needed him the most. You squirmed beneath his intensity, feeling more arousal drip onto the bed. You were making quite the mess, but Stiles didn’t seem to notice. If he did, he didn’t give a shit. His gaze met yours once more, and you noticed his lips part like he was about to speak. You already knew what he was going to say, so you replied before he had to.

“Yes.” God, in that moment he thought he’d never heard a more beautiful word in his life. In that moment, all semblance of restraint vanished, and the considerate expression on his face morphed into something much more animalistic, feral. In that moment, all he could see was you.

Before you could process what was happening, Stiles had flattened his tongue to lick a slow, lewd stripe along your core, ending at your clit with a soft kiss. You had never felt anything like it in your life, and you were somehow coherent enough to be surprised that the only noise it drew out of you was a sharp gasp. With your head pressed back into the mattress and your hands tightly gripping the sheets, you forced your thighs open as Stiles continued to lick softly at your pussy. You whined disappointedly when you felt the absence of his touch against you, lifting your head to realize he was smiling at you. One of his perfectly veiny hands reached up to softly grasp your wrist, guiding your hand to the back of his head.

“Hold onto me, baby.” He whispered. “I’ve got you.” Threading your fingers through his soft hair, you laid back against the bed and not-so-patiently awaited him to continue. When he leant down this time, after placing a gentle kiss to your clit, he began to softly suck at the swollen bud, sparking fireworks in your head. You had never thought it was possible to feel this way; it’s not like you’d never experimented on your own before, but your shower head was no match for this man and his tongue. You couldn’t help but allow your mind to wander to imaginings of what his cock would feel like, but you were soon snapped away from those thoughts at one of his fingers teasing your entrance. You immediately tensed up, not because you didn’t want this, but because you were scared. Everyone always made a big deal of the pain, and you didn’t want to feel like that right now. You didn’t want to ruin the perfect fantasy.

“Hey, sweetheart, look at me.” Stiles prodded gently. You lifted your head for a second time to look down at him. “It’s gonna feel a little tight, but it’s not going to hurt you right now.” Right now you thought? You didn’t want it to hurt at all. He chuckled softly at the expression on your face, sitting up on his forearms to look at you better. “I have to get you ready for me, baby.” Jesus Christ; those words coupled with the smug expression on his face nearly ruined you, and all doubt had immediately flown out the metaphorical window. Rather comically, you quickly laid flat on the bed again, parting your legs wider (if that was even possible), readying yourself for him. You heard him attempt to hold back a chuckle at your adorable impatience, but it didn’t phase you. Your head had been clouded by desire, and nothing else mattered.

Your mouth fell open as he sucked on your clit again, more roughly this time. It was fucking heavenly, almost overwhelming. That feeling, however, was absolutely nothing compared to when he began to push his finger into your tight cunt. Everything was heightened, doubled, earning a choked whimper from your lips as he pushed past the first ring of resistance with ease. It shouldn’t have been too hard, after all, with how absolutely soaked you were. You didn’t even register the string of curses that flowed from your mouth as he thrusted all the way in, prodding at your g-spot teasingly. After making sure you weren’t feeling any pain, Stiles began to pump his finger in and out at a torturous pace, simultaneously wrecking your clit with his perfect lips. 

You hadn’t realized you were moaning until Stiles groaned against you, the vibrations akin to shockwaves shooting through your body. It seemed this was just as pleasurable for him as it was for you, somehow.

“You taste so damn good, baby. Fuckin’ perfect f’me.” The words were muffled with him refusing to pull his lips from you, but the effect they had on you was the same. Your hand in his hair tightened and you whined as he pushed another finger in, now growing impatient himself. The lewd, wet sounds bounced off the walls, heightening what you were feeling even more. With each pump of his fingers, Stiles pressed into that spongy button deep inside you, making your eyes roll to the back of your head as he continued his work on your clit. You soon felt a sensation in the pit of your stomach, like a knot that grew larger with each move he made.

“Stiles, m’gonna-” “I know, baby, I’ve got you. Let me hear you.” Your moans grew louder with the curl of your toes as the feeling became overwhelming. Stiles’ groan at the sound of you quickly pushed you over the edge, and your orgasm crashed through you like nothing you’d felt before. Your second hand somehow joined the first in his hair as you arched off the bed, knees bent and toes curled as Stiles fingered you through your high. When you thought you finally came back to reality, you lifted your head slightly to look at Stiles.  He was looking up at you with a smile on his face, his lips drenched in your juices. You thought you’d never seen anything more beautiful. He gently resumed his previous position over you, supporting himself with his forearms on either side of you.

“You did so good, sweetheart. So pretty comin’ for me.” You felt a jolt of desire shoot through you again as Stiles made a show of cleaning his fingers, sucking them off with a low groan sounding from his chest. “Taste so fuckin’ good, too.” He rasped as his lips attached to your neck, planting wet spots and love bites as he moved along your soft skin. Your hands remained tangled in his hair, your legs intertwined together.

“Sti?” You asked softly, breathlessly.

“What is it, gorgeous?” He mumbled, his lips now edging down to your collarbone. You were feeling sheepish, meek, for even asking. The pleasure he had just given you had been mind-blowing, but already you found yourself wanting more. The aching throb of your pussy hadn’t dissipated; if anything, your desire for Stiles had only grown since the beginning. It was an all-consuming thought, clouding your rational judgement that urged you to give yourself a moment to rest. No, rest was the last thing on your mind. You wanted him inside of you. Now.

You cupped the sides of his face with your hands, peppering needy kisses along his radiant skin. Entangling your limbs with his, you trapped one of his legs with yours and pulled him closer.

“Need you, please.” Fuck. Your beautiful, melodic voice coupled with that soft but desperate plea nearly sent him tumbling over the edge then and there. How could he possibly deny you, laying bare beneath him, waiting so readily for him to give you all he had? Pulling himself out of his lustful daze long enough to respond to you, a smile spread across his wet lips.

“As you wish.” Stiles wrenched himself away from you long enough to impatiently tug off his boxers, your eyes nearly popping out of your skull at the sight of him. The smack of his painful erection against his stomach bounced off the walls, seeping into your ears like music. His tip was angry and red, a bead of pre-cum already threatening to spill over. Shit, you thought, how had he contained himself? He bit back a smirk at your wanton expression, settling between your legs once more as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. You could still taste remnants of yourself on his tongue, drawing a tiny moan out of you that was drowned out into the kiss.

“This is going to hurt, baby, but I need you to relax for me.” You closed your eyes with a sigh, willing the tension out of your body. You gently swiped your thumb over Stiles’ bottom lip as you met his gaze again, nodding in silent permission. With a shaky exhale of his own, Stiles lined himself up with your leaking entrance, intertwining his fingers with yours as he pinned your hands beside your head.

The moment he began to push into you he captured your lips in a bruising kiss, almost in an effort to distract you, or maybe even swallow the sound of your pained whimpers as he stretched your poor cunt around his pulsing cock. You tried to focus on the feel of his tongue exploring your mouth rather than his dick splitting you in two, but the pain consumed your mind enough to draw a tear from the corner of your eye. He shushed you sweetly, understandingly, pausing to let you adjust.

“I’m sorry, baby, I know, I’m so sorry.” He peppered kisses over your forehead and cheek, almost apologizing for the pain. When the feeling became bearable, you nodded, letting him know he could move. Your breath caught in your throat as he pushed further in, his hoarse voice letting you know he was over halfway now. Just when you thought he couldn’t possibly fit anymore, he squeezed the last inch of himself into you, letting out a strangled groan as he let himself experience your gummy walls squeezing the life out of him. You gasped out the breath you were holding, your head pressed back into the pillow as your breath escaped you in huffs. After maybe a minute of sitting torturously still, you could tell Stiles needed to move, and you needed it too. The pain had dissipated, replaced now by a desperate desire for him to pound into you relentlessly. You didn’t even know what it would feel like, but you were sure you wouldn’t regret it.

“Sti, I need you t-” Your request was interrupted by your own moan as Stiles exhaled sharply, finally beginning to pull out of you. He didn’t waste a minute, telling you how much he needed this too. He had probably been counting the fucking seconds waiting for you to get it together. His pace to begin with was slow and punishing, as he clearly was still attempting to be gentle with you. At this point, you were past caring about him splitting you in fucking two, now almost yearning for it.

“F-faster, please.” As if you would need to ask twice; his pace immediately picked up, pulling deep moans from your lips as the pleasure registered in your brain. A groan rumbled from deep in his chest as he obliged, the sound of your desperate whimpers sending his head into a fervent spiral of lust. With each thrust he expertly pounded your g-spot, leaving your mouth hanging open as a chorus of gasps and moans echoed off the walls. He laid his forehead against yours as he increased his pace more still, his breath ragged and shallow as he bit back moans of his own (for no reason if not to hear you better). Neither of you realized how hard you were squeezing his hands, which remained intertwined with yours beside your head. 

There was a moment when time seemed to slow, where all you could hear was Stiles’ heartbeat, and the sensation of his breath against you was amplified exponentially. You felt high as a kite, any point of physical contact akin to a fucking miracle. You sensed a knot beginning to grow in your stomach, snapping you back to reality as the lecherous sounds of skin-on-skin crowded the room. Stiles let out a moan as your soaking walls contracted around him, the sound low and husky.

“That’s it, baby. Squeeze the fuckin’ life out of me.” He punctuated each word with a thrust, each seeming harder than the last. You couldn’t even choke out a single syllable, your breath almost permanently caught in your throat as he pistoned into you with incredible force. Stiles could clearly sense your impending orgasm, shifting his grip on you so that one hand held yours as his other traveled down between you. With a loud moan from you, his fingers found your clit, circling tight movements around the swollen bud in an attempt to push you over the edge. The abhorrent squelching sounds of his cock spearing into your drenched cunt brought you impossibly closer to that high you so desperately needed.

“Sti-”

“I know, baby, I know. Fuckin’ come for me; let me see how pretty you are when you come all over my cock.” You whimpered a string of please’s, even knowing Stiles already had you dangling over the edge. The knot in your stomach had grown into a fucking boulder, the pleasure overwhelming as you arched off the bed, straining against Stiles’ grip in your wrists. And just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, you cried out Stiles’ name, your toes curling salaciously as your entire body was overcome with feeling. You couldn’t even call it an orgasm, no, it was so much more meaningful than that. Mind blowing though it was, that peak also held every bit of love you had for Stiles, every ounce. 

You barely registered when Stiles pulled out and released onto your stomach, your brain completely hazed from the heaven you had just experienced. Stiles collapsed beside you with heaving breaths, immediately pulling your sweat-glazed body against his own.

“God, baby, you were fuckin’ perfect.  Feel so damn good f’me.” His voice was hoarse, the raspiness sending tingles down your spine. You swung your leg over his hip, obviously not satisfied with your previous level of closeness. Cupping his face with your hands, you smiled up at him softly, letting your thumbs trace soothing circles into his cheeks.

“I love you, Sti.” Those words had never meant more than when you said them now, and he could see it in your eyes. With a return of the same expression, Stiles brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his touch lingering.

“I love you more.” Pressing a kiss to your forehead, Stiles let you nuzzle your face into his glistening chest. Absolutely wrecked, you soon drifted off to sleep, and when Stiles felt your body relax in his embrace, he spoke once more before giving himself over to exhaustion.

“And I always will.”

[stu-dyingstudent]

Sakura Haruno fic recs: ANBU ROOT

It only feels right to make my ROOT list now since I posted my ANBU fic list! Similarly to the shadow corps, ROOT had so much wasted potential it actually saddens me. Kishimoto had so many great ideas in Naruto that he just never fully fleshed out and it's a shame. One thing in specific is the whole Torune and Shino situation. Two words: wasted potential!!! It could've been so good and really developed on Shino (and the Aburame clan).

Anyway, once again since our knowledge on the stories and workings of ROOT are limited, this allows for some pretty interesting interpretations. Also, I actually saw an interesting comment the other day about how Sakura would've been a good candidate for the program because of her chakra control and lack of family influence in Konoha and I honestly have to agree. I might be a bit biased, but whatever. Enjoy some root!Sakura recs!

Also, try out my ANBU list (some overlap).

Started: 2024.08.13

Last Updated: 2024.12.17

note: feel free to check out my master list which has a bunch of Sakura Haruno fic recs (all organized)!

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The Small Postures - Celenier || ao3 || T || kakasaku || canon divergence || incomplete

Sakura acts as a spy for Tsunade when Danzo takes an interest in her. While earning her place in ANBU Root, she discovers her own path to greatness. She learns grim secrets about how her village operates, makes terrible enemies, and begins to appreciate the extent of her fractured personality.

The Small Postures was oddly disturbing to me... After Shikamaru is approached for ROOT, it's decided by the higher ups that someone more expendable should infiltrate to take the division down. Sakura is the chosen one, but at what cost? With Kakashi acting as her contact and her only confidant on the matter, how will this affect their relationship? Truth be told, I haven't gotten far enough for any sort of romance, so I have no comments there, but this fic is very well written and quite ominous at times.

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Black Bough - Re_Adrienne || ao3 || unrated || gen || root AU || ongoing

Sakura's parents are civilians.

It does not spare them.

In which Sakura forgets, Sai pretends, and Kakashi can't tell if he's failing the mission.

I really love this fic! Sakura joins ROOT just before her graduation after her parent's death and it's there she meets Sai. Years later the two of them are extracted by Kakashi and she is put under his watch as she readjusts. Part of the struggle is the known fact that she was supposed to be a member of Team 7, which causes some drama (?). There's some super interesting ROOT lore going on and I always have a soft spot for Sai and Sakura friendships!!

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Five Kingdoms for the Dead - Evil Is A Relative Term || ffn || M || canon divergence || complete

After the Forest of Death, Sakura comes to realize that being weak is no longer an option. However, she finds that change is sometimes painful and that truth doesn't always come easy. Luckily, she'll have some help along the way.

It's been a hot minute since I've read Five Kingdoms for the Dead, but I'm fairly certain there is some ROOT stuff going on in here! Nonetheless, this is a great fic with some really interesting worldbuilding.

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Trials of Change - Espoiretreves || ao3 || gen || time travel AU || complete

Haruno Sakura made a promise. Looking in the eyes of her Shisou and the reanimated Hokage, she took on the most important mission of her life. Go back in time and try to prevent the 4th Shinobi War. Now, Sakura is back to her 5-year-old body, with all the knowledge and haunting memories of the future. She vows to keep her precious people safe and stop certain events from happening, without altering the timeline too much. The trials her emotions and logic put her through have her questioning her very existence, but for the sake of peace, she has to push forward. No matter what.

Trials of Change is actually apart of a time travel series and I have to say that it is probably one of the best of the genre! This fic is the first of a series and the main focus is ROOT and taking down Danzo. I really adore all of the worldbuilding and backstories going on here in addition to the fact that there are breaks. Yes, the story keeps moving, but there are other things going on, like playdates, and not just Sakura trying to save the world. Also, if you love Shisui then definitely check this out since he has a huge role and his and Sakura's friendship is just so precious.

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cut the head off the snake - itsthechocopuff || ao3 || T || time travel AU || incomplete

when eighteen-year-old, post-war Sakura is thrown back into her tiny, pre-Academy body, she makes a decision. she'd had a childhood once already, and this time, she's more interested in Not Dying when the inevitable shit hits the proverbial fan. so she will work harder, care less, kill more, and smile when she's done.and hey, if she ends up reviving an extinct nature transformation to attract the most corrupt, power-hungry man from her timeline, all the better for her, right?

Such a unique take on a time travel AU and Cut the Head Off the Snake executes it perfectly. Sakura decides that her first order of business is to infiltrate ROOT and that's exactly what she does. Sai, Shin, and Shisui are all great characters and team Ro is present as well. Very good!

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In Another World - eleventheeggo || ao3 || gen || T || orphan Sakura AU || ongoing

What if Sakura was an orphan instead of Naruto and Sasuke?A story about a socially stunted girl who has a thirst for knowledge and is surrounded by softies who love her all the same.

Orphan!Sakura is not something I knew I needed in my life! She is so precious and it's great to watch all of these characters come together for her sake. In Another World also discusses ROOT a bit, which you know I love, so I can't wait for the story to get there.

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Rooted - theRazorofOccam || ffn || T || gen || canon divergence || incomplete

In a universe where Sakura takes a wrong turn, she misses out on the apprenticeship with Tsunade, instead getting recruited by a very different mentor. Life turns out very differently from there on, as she takes the path of a very different kind of ninja. Updates on weekends, unless otherwise stated.

I can't remember too much, but it occurs during the time skip between og and shippuden. At a loss of what to do after her rejection from Tsunade, Sakura decides to join Danzo's program with hopes of becoming a better shinobi.

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parsley seed goes nine times to the devil - Mook_aron || ao3 || M || gen || root AU || one-shot complete

Slow to grow, quick to sprout, parsley seed goes nine times to the devil When she’s six, a man murders her family. The man is tall, and his features are burned into her mind. She won’t forget him- she won’t let herself forget him. Root Sakura au

Sakura is taken into ROOT at a young age and is assigned a mission to infiltrate team 7. Spoilers ig, but Sakura ends up telling Kakashi and what happens from there is sorta open ended. Great story

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I Watched a Change in You - YuffiesNinjaInsanity || ao3 || unrated || narusaku || time travel AU || ongoing

Naruto’s lying across from her, still bleeding out and with his lifeless blue eyes staring at her.

“It’s’kay, Naru.. be joining… you both soon.” She croaks.

Sakura gets sent back in time to a universe where everything is peaceful? She comes from a place where after Danzo's succession to the Hokage title, everyone is ordered to take up ROOT training and so adjusting back to a normal team proves difficult. Tbh, I found this fic kinda frustrating at times, but it's still pretty good.

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Hang Them Up (To Make Them Bleed) - classical_mess || ao3 || T || gen || root AU || one-shot complete

Sakura always used to think a lot of her career as a ninja, but she never thought she'd up here.

Fairly interesting one-shot where Sakura is recruited by Danzo after getting rejected as Tsunade's student. She spends some time in ROOT and Kiba helps her get out. This is on the moments leading up to Danzo's trial. I also quite liked how Tenten was helping out with the seal.

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Anyway, that's all for now!

[kcalsforhim]

˖⋆࿐໋ monday 17th of december

⋆˙⟡

i forgot to weigh myself this day as well, but it really wasn’t that relevant… anyways. i woke up late again around 12:00-13:00 and i started my morning with my dad texting me… ill drop the texts below

i provided some translations.. well i went downstairs feeling very nervous… i decided i probably shouldn’t obsessively weigh my food or log it extensively so when i give the cal estimate it is a overestimation tbh…

when i was plating up my food he really made me nervous by being like “put more put more ! atleast 5-6” and “how much do you weigh ?” and when i said i didn’t know, he insisted i go to weigh myself. he then kept saying stuff like “you should’ve put more toppings” and “you used to be able to eat 5-6 of them” which makes sense cause i used to be in the bmi30’s and now im in the bmi17’s … it was just all very triggering. i still chose to eat downstairs to not arouse too much suspicion, although this did lead to me HAVING to finish my food… sigh

to preface, i fasted for 37 hours and 30 mins ! was pretty proud of this… usually i fast around 20-25 hours per meal nowadays but ofc since i skipped daytime eating the day before i got a pretty long fast in ^^

lunch omad :

3 pancakes, 2 with chocolate spread topping, one of those having a lotus cookie crumbled in, and 1 with strawberry jam —— some rice, idk how much, and 2 sausages. also a glass of water cause i did not want to drink any liquid cals . oh and cucumbers with greek yogurt

cals : 881

the cals were pretty terrible, but my dad is extremely pushy and he has a past of being emotionally abusive to a degree… he body shamed me DAILY when i was fat and now he’s seeing the consequences of his actions… my “eating disorder” was born from him and his words… i’ll be honest, if it was my choice, i would not have more than 2 pancakes, maybe even one, i would’ve kept fasting for longer, but i felt kind of backed into a corner

i was actually really afraid he’d make me eat more, but after i finished up i actually felt so full i could puke and my mom said i don’t need to force myself to eat if im genuinely not hungry which made me feel relief.

my dad said “he should eat atleast 2 more pancakes with dinner” something like this and i shook my head in silence, my mom said “nooo he can have them tommorow” and my dad said “tommorow is too late” almost as if to trigger my old binge eating habits

(i used to binge a lot because MY food in the fridge would always dissapear and just not be available for later consumption and i’d just get really scared and honestly greedy too…)

anyways i went back up feeling sick, i just didn’t do much of anything untill maybe 6-7 pm when i asked my mom to go to the store with me.. so we walk to the nearby store together cause i planned to get energy drinks for the next day (thank you past me)

i got 4 energy drinks for the next day, and my mom also got me more shampoo since i ran out of my one and had been using her in the times i would be showering.. she also got me 2 face cleansers since i use a specific one that doesn’t irritate my very sensitive thin ass eyelids i always slap lots of makeup and eyeliner and LASHGLUE ON (recently less guys im healing)… i also got a milkis drink and let her try it. sigh on the walk back home i felt dizzy and all but i honestly think its cause i smoke so much lol. i smoke on these walks with my mom

afterwards i got home and i called eli feeling tired. we talked a bit, then i drew for a little bit, not that long, then i started getting really hungry so i took sleeping pills at 9 pm.. i drew some more and by 10-11 pm i felt so tired i just put on my headphones and went to sleep… my scarred arm started swelling a bit today also and leaking ewwwwww but its fine its just healing. im so glad i’ve kept up my omad streak for quite a bit now im so so proud of myself tbh….

total cals : 881

total steps : n.v.t (35 min walk with mom !)

this song is very cool hehehe it reminds me of just… drawing and story writing and cool stories… just cool vibes.

⋆˙⟡

[outer-andromeda]

What 5 hours of puppet rigging does to a man (that's me I'm the man)

[christakisbang]

chanlix moments i think about a lot (9/?) - Channie's Room Ep.59

[kirby-the-gorb]

[al-luviec]

juvie buddies

[feroluce]

Thinking tonight about Caelus, and the nature of his loss and his grief after the Everything that went down in Penacony during 2.0.

Because Acheron, Black Swan, and Misha kind of knew of Firefly, they at least met her, but they didn't like really know her, and Caelus never even got the chance to introduce her to the rest of the Astral Express Crew. The only person who would have talked to her much was Sparkle, who is. Probably not really someone Caelus is interested in grieving with skznmsks

Anyway, all this to say, I like thinking about how alone poor Caelus is in his grief, because he was the only one who knew Firefly. He's the only one really mourning her. There's no one to talk about her with. There's no stories to trade or memories to reminisce with anyone over. It's not as though he knew her for long, but still. No one else knew her at all.

And I love the thought of all of this coming bubbling up, hot and acidic and bitter, during a conversation with Sampo, who Caelus just so happens to run into in the Golden Hour. Poor Sampo is kinda blindsided, he knew shit was going down in Penacony, but yeesh. And he just. Isn't quite sure what to say about it all, because he's never really encountered this before. His feelings about the Masked Fools are...a mixed bag, but he's been a part of them for a very long time, and when you're with a close organization like that, it's hard to feel alone, in grief or otherwise.

So Sampo sits there on their little bench that the two of them have occupied, and he thinks of his old friend April, how she'd died in his arms cackling and spitting her own blood after a heist gone wrong, and how after he'd dragged himself back to the World's End Tavern they'd all held a Fool's Funeral- which is basically just a big party where everyone gets really really drunk and reminisces and toasts the dead and celebrates their life.

He still thinks about her a lot, and he remembers how the time he'd most keenly felt her absence was on Jarilo-VI, the one place where he couldn't talk about her because he couldn't say anything to give himself away as an alien. The Fools still tell stories about her every time he goes back to the Tavern. His first toast of the night is always in her name. Even now, all these years after she'd died, Sampo is still learning new things about her. He's never had to grieve her alone.

Caelus doesn't have any of that.

He might never have that. As they speak, Caelus has no proof that Firefly was even her real name, or if she dreamt with her true appearance. He might not ever find out who she even was.

And just imagining that kind of loneliness hollows out a strange little pit, right behind his sternum, deep between his ribs.

So Sampo claps Caelus' shoulder and offers him a deal. Come find him outside of the dream. He knows a guy who can get them a lot of beer for really cheap-

("Is that guy you and your five finger discounts?" "Whatever do you mean, dear friend, I don't even know the meaning of the phrase, hehee.")

-and they can hole up in a bar or a hotel room or something, and get completely shitcanned. Tell him all about Firefly, tell him everything, and he'll tell Caelus about April and everyone else he's ever lost. Sampo will carry Caelus' memories of Firefly with him, and at least this way, Caelus will be a little less alone in remembering her. And the next time they cross paths, Sampo will be the one to bring her up, and to tell her stories, and Caelus can get to be the one listening. He won't have to be the only person to talk about her anymore.

Caelus rolls his eyes when Sampo avoids another remark about sticky fingers, but...ok, yeah. That sounds good. Nice, even. Thank you. Caelus bumps his shoulder against Sampo's. Sampo bumps back.

(They find each other again the next day, and true to their word, get themselves completely and utterly shitcanned. Caelus talks more than Sampo has ever heard him; every minute detail, every word choice, Firefly's every odd little mannerism and habit. Because Caelus wants to make sure this will outlive him, that even if the Stellaron dwelling within him finally burns him to a crisp and he really does up and kick the bucket, or even, godforbid, if he forgets, he wants to make sure someone remembers her. She deserved that.)

((And it takes quite a while, after that. Caelus doesn't see Sampo again until after everything has settled down. On his last day in Penacony, he finds the guy slinking out of a seedy back alley and all but runs right into him. Sampo happily leads him to some dive bar in an even seedier back alley that Caelus has never even heard of, and Sampo raises his glass. "To Firefly! Who sounds like she probably would have hated me at first, but I would have liked to have met her anyway."

And Caelus stares at him, almost looking startled, long enough that Sampo worries that he's read him wrong and brought this up too soon. He's halfway into planning how to talk himself out of this situation when Caelus finally throws back his head back and laughs, tells him that yeah, Firefly would have politely called him out on every lie he told, and all their conversations would take twice as long with the way Sampo is so full of shit.

And he can see it, the same way he watches and sees through everyone, that Caelus' eyes have a tightness to them, his knuckles are nearly white around the handle of his mug. But he smiles. He hits his glass against Sampo's far too hard and throws it back and gets foam everywhere like he does every time they drink because the guy's about as elegant as a raging bull, but those things don't lessen the genuineness of his smile.

The grief is there, but so is the elation, and those emotions aren't a sliding scale between one or the other. It is all of both and both at once, and that's what contents Sampo enough to throw his own mug back when Caelus makes a toast of his own, "to April!!".))

[deoidesign]

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[gamebunny-advance]

Oh.

If you ever wanted to know what Yonny looks like when he's falling asleep/sleeping, the comic's got you covered.

(Source)

[cern1cal0]

>> I'M THINKING MIKU MIKU OO-EE-OO <?>

[prozac-shaped-urn]

OH. OH GOD NO. OH FU-- JESUS NO

guys im losing it im fucking losing it jean is wearing richard's ring in this scene

GUYS I'M LOSING MY GODDAMN MIND I CANNOT TAKE THIS IT HURTS TOO MUCH