#as for why that’s come to me NOW of all times — much less where the realization came from — I sincerely don’t know

[moonstruckme]

Hi, I love the emt!marauders you post, I was wondering if u could write one that the reader has a chronic disease that involves getting sore when it's cold? Idk how to explain, I have lupus, and when it's cold, my joints tend to get sensitive and sore...so something with fluff/comfort, pls?

Thank you for requesting my love <3

cw: reader has unspecified chronic pain that flares up in the cold, I relied on the internet to write this so if anything seems wrong/inaccurate please let me know

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 887 words

Sirius is furious with himself for not checking the weather report. It’s so rare that you all have time off work on the same day, it’s possible you’d gotten ahead of yourselves in the excitement, but the sudden onset of winter wasn’t part of anyone’s plan. Even in Remus’ coat and tucked under James’ arm, you’ve gone quiet and withdrawn. Sirius can practically see you cringing with every step you take down the sidewalk. 

The other boys are similarly concerned.

“Let’s pop in here,” James suggests, maneuvering you all towards a bookstore. 

“Jamie,” you say, voice all sweetness even when it’s threaded through with exhaustion, “don’t go in somewhere you don’t want to just for me.” 

“Doll, I know how it might seem that way,” says Sirius, “but despite popular misconception, James actually can read.” 

You crack a smile, though it looks like it costs you. “Right, thanks, but we’re supposed to be out doing things we all like. If we went into a bookstore, you two would just end up sitting somewhere while Remus and I looked around.” 

“I like seeing you comfortable,” James says, somewhat poutily, “and I like buying you things. A bookstore is sounding rather enjoyable right now.” 

“Don’t you want to go inside?” Remus touches his knuckles gently underneath the butterfly-shaped rash on your cheeks that’s worsening due to the sun and cold. It’s not a terribly frigid day but the wind makes it worse, and however you try to act your boyfriends can see the toll it’s taking on you. “Even if it’s just for a while, it’ll be good to give yourself a break.” 

“Rem’s cold too,” Sirius says, noting the tension in the other boy’s posture now that he’s given up his coat, “aren’t you, lovely? C’mon, I know where we can go.” 

You don’t seem to have it in you to protest as Sirius leads you all down the block to the coffee shop around the corner. The heat is blasting inside. He finds you a table away from the door, where the cold breeze coming in can’t reach you and the whirring of the coffee grinders is less deafening. James insists on buying you each a warm beverage and a sweet (only you and Remus protest this; Sirius doesn’t know why you bother). 

“My poor girl,” Sirius murmurs, holding your frozen hands carefully in his. Remus’ coat pockets have done an insufficient job protecting them. Sirius devotes himself to rubbing warmth into each finger. 

“I think my drink would do as good a job of warming them up,” you say amusedly. 

“As good? I’m insulted.” 

“You know she really should be stretching her joints herself, love,” says Remus. 

“I do know,” Sirius replies primly, “thank you very much. It’s only that I’m very selfish.” 

Remus hums into his tea. “Selfish enough to let her drink go cold.” 

Sirius relents and lets you pick up your mug. You squeeze his hands thankfully before letting go. 

The windows at the front of the shop are foggy. It’s not cold enough yet for frost around the edges, but the mist gives the bustling street a blurred, wintry look, like the four of you are encapsulated in a warm snow globe scene, unmoving and separate from the outside world. Sirius finds it rather peaceful. 

“Did anyone bring ibuprofen?” James asks. 

You cringe sheepishly. “No, sorry. I forgot it at home.” 

“Don’t be sorry, lovie.” James palms the back of your neck, thumb rubbing soothingly. “Any of us could’ve thought of it. We’ll stop somewhere and grab a bottle.” 

“It never hurts to have extra,” Remus agrees before you can argue. 

“Okay,” you say, voice gone soft as it often does when you feel your boyfriends are taking too much notice of you. Sirius doesn’t understand your aversion to this in the slightest. “Thanks.” 

“It’s ungodly freezing out,” Sirius complains. “I move that we make a coffee shop stop every two blocks.” 

James’ face lights. “It could be like appetizer hopping—”

“But with pastries,” Sirius finishes. 

You don’t immediately argue, a promising sign. Remus appears to be warming to the idea as well. “We’d have to pace ourselves a bit more,” he points out, looking at your table cramped with plates and saucers. “Maybe at each place we pick one thing to share.” 

Sirius scoffs. “Suit yourself. I’m not splitting a muffin into four pieces and eating only one.” 

James looks as though he agrees, but he only says cheerily, “We’ll figure it out as we go. Does that sound good?” 

He poses the question to everyone, but they all know he’s really only asking you. Remus and Sirius give their assent quickly and you shrink a bit in your seat, embarrassed. 

“If it really doesn’t sound too inconvenient for you guys.” You lift one shoulder in a shrug. Sirius thinks with satisfaction that the motion looks easier than it might have when you first came in from the cold. “Then yeah, I’m alright with it.” 

“Oh, yes,” Sirius teases, “an afternoon spent enjoying coffee and pastries with the three most fetching people on the continent. I should really rethink this, it may be too inconvenient.” 

“Prick.” James elbows him and leans over to wrap an arm around you protectively, but your smile blooms, and that’s all Sirius wanted in the end.

[gay-dorito-dust]

hopefully tumblr doesnt eat this up again 😭

i was wondering how the batfam would reacted to getting caught watching edits of celebrity!reader

I’m just going to put them in a relationship with Celeb! reader just to make things easier for myself.

Dick doesn’t give a fuck if he’s caught watching edits of you! You’re his spouse of course he’s going to save each and every edit there was of you because it’s be a crime if he didn’t.

He’ll even show you the ones where he thinks you’re the hottest in shamelessly with a smile. He honestly can’t get enough of the edits that his FYP is filled with them and snippets of interviews that transition to the edits as well.

Dick has no shame in being caught because why would he? You deserve to have a thousand of edits in your name and Dick has one too many edits saved in his phone, so much so that your surprised his phone still somehow has storage for the next wave of edits that he’ll be saving should he deem them worthy.

‘Babe come look at this edit of you! You look hot!’ Is the most often used when Dick is showing off an edit of yourself to you in hopes of getting your opinions on it. You don’t mind people making edits, especially didn’t mind them now when Dick would shout ‘my spouse is fucking gorgeous! God damn’ out of seemingly nowhere.

You’re not even surprised when his Lock Screen is a live wallpaper of the edit itself, dick really didn’t have any problems showing you off in any capacity at all.

Jason is either calm with being caught or he’s wanting to strangle Roy because who else is going to rat him out to you about watching edits of you other than him?

‘Chipmunk I can explain-‘ Jason would start.

‘There’s no need, I know you watch edits of me sweetheart there’s nothing to be ashamed of at all.’ You tell him as you cuddle up to his chest. ‘It’s complete fine I’m not going to shame you in watching them, I think it’s flattering that you do.’ You add and Jason couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief as he held onto you, kissing your forehead.

‘It’s not my fault you’re perfect and the edits happen to capture that beauty sweetheart.’ Jason replied and you couldn’t help but chuckle as you looked at him sweetly, not knowing how much more you could possibly love this beautiful man as much as you could, especially when his cheeks flush with a red colour while he scratched his nose sheepishly.

You didn’t mind that he was watching edits and while he was glad about that he was more than certain to watch them elsewhere, more specifically away from Roy before he can rat on him…again.

Tim is terrified the moment you catch him watching edits of you, so much so that he completely forgot to pause the edit as you stare at each other, accompanied by music playing in the background.

It’s hilarious to you but embarrassing to poor Tim who believes that you’d see him as a weirdo for watching them, but all you do is laugh and kiss the side of his head before fiddling his hair affectionately. ‘Watching edits of me are you? And here I thought you couldn’t get more adorable Timmy.’ You tease as you kiss his cheek.

‘You’re not weirded out?’ He’d ask, holding his phone to his shirt, not wanting you to know that he was more or less the one making them rather than watching them. He’s literally got several usb drives worth of edit material to make, no joke.

‘Nope just flattered.’ You replied before leaving Tim be before he passes out from embarrassment. Little did you know he’s making about ten more edits as we speak, all of which have to be perfect and he’ll watch them ten times over if he must, for no specific reason at all.

Bruce is just admiring his beautiful/ handsome spouse. That is all.

Alfred would’ve most likely told you that he’s been watching edits of you when you’re away. It’s adorable and you couldn’t help but smile at how your handsome boy has an hidden file on the bar computer dedicated to your edits. (Dick and Tim found it by pure accident and dick couldn’t hope but tell you about it.)

Needless to say you won’t see him watch the edits but you’ll hear from everyone else that he watches them and that about the closest you’ll get to catching him in the act of watching edits honestly. However don’t be surprised when you see a video from Stephanie of her filing Bruce somewhere as he watched the edits of you on the big screen of the bat computer, his eyes filled with pride and awe of his pretty/ charming spouse looking so effortlessly ethereal.

While you might not have caught him in the act yourself, you still found yourself smiling at Bruce smiling up at the edits of you -and sometimes him because you’re a power couple- as a warmth encased your whole being, buts that’s more than enough for you as it can act as your own little secret.

Damian is good at keeping his little secret safe, so you seeing him watch edits of you were slim to none, and even if you did you catch him in the act you would have to have been blessed by Lady Luck herself.

He’s a little embarrassed that you caught him in the act, mainly because he thought he was better than this to let his guard down to be caught in an act like this, then he’ll become irritated at the fact that you had came into his own room just to catch him watching edits of you.

‘You’re watching edits of me.’ You said.

‘And? Did you seriously come into my room to tell me that? What happened to respecting my privacy?’ He retorts, arms cross over his chest. He didn’t care that you caught him, he’s just more or less annoyed with his privacy being violated.

‘Sorry my sweet I should’ve knocked, but you haven’t answered my question.’ You apologised with a little hug and a kiss to his forehead and Damian found himself forgiving you in an instant as he brought you back into a short lived hug, hiding his flustered face in the depths of your neck, tightening his grip on you.

‘Tim hacked my phone.’ He says in response and you just let it slide, knowing that he’ll admit to it sooner or later and not when he’s being cornered into talking. You knew he watched the edits because he’s totally infatuated with his spouse and Damian knew it too, but wouldn’t dare tell you until this moment has passed you both by.

So until then he’ll watch the edits in secret because he can’t get enough of how gorgeous you looked in them.

[felassan]

EuroGamer: 'BioWare knew the deepest secrets of Dragon Age lore 20 years ago, and locked it away in an uber-plot doc'

Original creator David Gaider on how "some of the big mysteries are being solved".

Rest of post under a cut due to length and possible spoilers.

"As I write about the secrets hidden in Dragon Age's mysterious Fade, and as I uncover some of them playing Dragon Age: The Veilguard, one question keeps rising up in my mind. How much did BioWare know about future events when first developing the series more than 20 years ago? That's a long time, and back then BioWare didn't know there would be a second game, which is why Dragon Age: Origins has an elaborate and far-reaching epilogue. Why lay so much lore-track ahead of yourself if you don't think you'll ever get there? But look more closely at Origins and there are big clues suggesting BioWare did know about future Dragon Age events. There are obvious signs in the original game, such as establishing recurring themes like Old Gods and the Blight and Archdemons. But there's also Flemeth, Morrigan's witchy mother, who's intimately linked to events in the series now - more specifically: intimately linked to Solas. Does her existence mean Solas was known about back then too? There's only one person I can think of to answer this and it's David Gaider, the original creator of Dragon Age's world and lore. We've talked before, once in a podcast and once for a piece on the magic of fantasy maps, where we discussed the creation of Dragon Age's world. And much to my surprise, when I ask him what he and the BioWare team knew back then, he says they knew it all. "By the time we released Dragon Age: Origins, we were basically sure that it was one and done, but there was, back when we made the world, an overarching plan," he says. "The way I created the world was to seed plots in various parts of the world that could be part of a game, a single game, and then there was the overall uber-plot, which I didn't know for certain that we would ever get to but I had an understanding of how it all worked together. "A lot of that was in my head until we were starting Inquisition and the writers got a little bit impatient with my memory or lack thereof, so they pinned me down and dragged the uber-plot out of me. I'd talked about it, I'd hinted at it, but never really spelled out how it all connected, so they dragged it out of me, we put it into a master lore doc, the secret lore, which we had to hide from most of the team.""

"This uber-plot document was only viewable on a need-to-know basis, he says, and only around 20 people on the team had access to it - other senior writers mostly. And even though Gaider left the Dragon Age team after Inquisition, and then eight years ago BioWare altogether, meaning he didn't work on The Veilguard at all, he believes - by looking at the events in the new game - his uber-plot lore "has more or less held up". That's impressive. What's even more impressive, or exciting, is that back then he also envisaged a potential end state for the entire Dragon Age series - a point at which it would make no sense for the series to carry on. "I always had this dream of where it would all end, the very last plot," he says, "which I won't say because who knows, we could still end up there. But the idea that this uber-plot was this sort of biggest, finite... That the final thing you could do in this world that would break it was there as a 'maybe we would get to do that one day'... There was just the idea of certain big, world-shaking things that were seeded in that arc, some of which have already come to pass, like the return of Fen'Harel." You've read that correctly: the idea to have Fen'Harel, also known as the Dread Wolf, reappear, was seeded all the way back then, way before Inquisition - the game in which he does actually reappear. But the concept for Solas, as a character who was Fen'Harel in disguise, was a newer idea. "That spawned from a conversation I had with Patrick [Weekes] and a number of other writers," Gaider says, "as an idea of 'what if you had a villain that spent an entire game where he's actually in the party and you get to know him?' Now, the god version and his larger role in the plot, yes that was known, but not that he would be presented as a character named Solas." Fen'Harel being known about means the other elven gods were known about, which means all of that stuff Solas reveals about his godly siblings - that they're not gods at all but evil elven mages he locked away behind the Veil - was known about back then too. "Oh yeah," Gaider says. "Everything that Solas tells you [at the end of Inquisition DLC, Trespasser]: it's all part of that original uber-lore - that was all in our mind." But why have so much lore if you're not certain you'll get to ever realise it? Well, to create a believable illusion. By creating an "excess" of lore, as Gaider describes it, Origins made Thedas feel like an old and believable place. A place with history, rather than a Western set that was all facade and no substance."

"BioWare also did something canny with the lore it did relay then, too: it shared it through the voices of characters living in the world, making it inherently fallible. In doing this, Dragon Age veiled its truths behind biases. The church-like organisation of the Chantry proclaims one truth, while the elves and dwarves proclaim another. Sidenote: you can experience this yourself through different racial origin stories in Dragon Age: Origins. This way, there's no one, objective, irrefutable, truth. "To get the truth, you kind of have to pick between the lines," Gaider says. So even though elven legends are coming true through the existence of Solas and The Veilguard's antagonist gods, it doesn't mean that's the one and only truth. There's truth in what the Chantry teaches and what the dwarves say, he tells me, which ignites my curiosity intensely. BioWare has also been tricksy in how it's rubbed out the lore the further back in time you go. "In general, the further the history goes back, we always would purposefully obfuscate it more and more," Gaider says - "make it more biased and more untrue no matter who was talking, just so that the absolute truth was rarely knowable. I like that idea from a world standpoint, that the player always has to wonder and bring their own beliefs to it." It leads into a founding principle of Dragon Age, which is doubt - because without it, you can't have faith, a particularly important concept in the series. It's where the whole idea of the Chantry's Maker comes from and with it, the legend about the fabled Golden City - now the Black City - at the heart of the Fade. This is the very centre of the lore web, and, I imagine, it's close to the series endpoint Gaider imagined long ago. All secrets end there. Did Gaider know what was in the Black City when he laid down Origins' lore? That's the question - and it startles me how casually he answers this. "Oh, yeah," he says. "What was in the Black City: that's the uber-plot. I knew exactly. "Was it as detailed in the first draft of the world?" he goes on. "No. I had an idea of the early history because that's where I started making the world. So the things that were true early-early: I knew exactly what the Black City was and the idea of what the elves believed, and what humans believed vis-a-vis the Chantry - that was all settled on really early. Then I expanded the world and the uber-plot bubbled out of that.""

"Gaider shows me the original cosmology design document for Dragon Age: Origins as if to prove this - or rather for the game that would become DAO. The world was known as Peldea back then. I can't share this with you because I see it via a shared screen on a video call, and because Gaider doesn't want me to, mostly because the ideas are so old they're almost unrecognisable from what's in the series now. But I can tell you it's a document that's just over a page in length, and that there's a circular diagram at the top showing the world in the middle and the spirit realm ringed around it. And on that document is reference to the Chantry's beliefs about a God located in a citadel that can be found there. Gaider says BioWare knew about Fen'Harel (the Dread Wolf) 20 years ago when it was developing Dragon Age: Origins, and that he'd one day reappear. The Fade wasn't known as the Fade back then, either, but as the Dreaming, because it's the place people go when they dream - an idea that lives on still. And if that sounds familiar to any fans of The Sandman among you, it should. "I'd say The Sandman series was probably fairly prominently in my head," says Gaider. "I liked that amorphous geography that was born from the psyche of collective humanity. I'd say yes, if I was to point at something specifically, that's probably where the very first inspiration of it took root." It's a lot to take in, but it reinforces the admiration I have for Dragon Age. Just as I have when hearing about the creation of my other favourite fantasy worlds, such as A Song of Ice and Fire, I begin to understand the magnitude - and the deliberateness - of the plotting that went on. I wonder if one day the Dragon Age series will end in the way Gaider first imagined, albeit slightly altered by the many other pairs of hands shepherding it along now. What a curious feeling it must be to know, so many years in advance, where things might go. Where that end is, I don't know, but I do know we'll take a significant step towards it in The Veilguard. After all, we're coming into contact with gods who were there at the recorded beginning of it all. "Yeah - we have access to people who can tell us the truth from first-hand experience," Gaider says, "although again, it depends on what the writers did with it. But if they continued the tradition of Dragon Age, you never know for sure if Solas is telling you everything, or what you're learning is the entire truth. "But yes, some of the big mysteries are being solved. I mean, will they one day definitively tell you about the Maker? Will we crack the big mysteries of the world and just make them answered finally? And does that ruin one of the central precepts that Dragon Age is founded upon? Maybe," he says. "Ultimately, that lore, when you make it big and you hint at it and hint at it and hint at it, it becomes a Chekhov's Gun of sorts. Eventually you got to pony up.""

[source]

[muchosbesitos]

DOUBLE OR NOTHING— featuring toji fushiguro x wife! reader

after countless empty promises spilled from his lips, you wanted to believe that he’d show up to your anniversary of all things.

contents: 18+ content, minors dni. marriage problems, talks of divorce, (some) angst, smut, porn w minimal plot, cunnilingus w fingering, toji being a panty sniffer briefly mentioned, unprotected p in v, spanking (twice), backshots, missionary against a wall, toji kinda being an ass (what did you expect), pet names (ma, doll, etc.)

word count: 5k

author’s note: back from the dead sry

"I'll make it home to you by six, mama. Take you out on a nice date, get you some flowers, all that stuff you like. Promise."

The clock was nearing eight o'clock with no signs of Toji coming through the door anytime soon, your own patience starting to run out with every tick. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. The sound echoed through your ears since you'd sat down on the leather couch nearly two hours ago, waiting for Toji to fulfill the promise. A promise that he'd made after flaking out on the date planned prior to that one.

And prior to that one. And prior. It'd been more missed dates than actual ones that he'd taken you out by now—you weren't exactly sure why you'd hoped for tonight to be different. Well, you knew exactly why. Today marked three years of being married to one another. You knew that he didn't prioritize date nights with you as much as he should, but you had held some sort of foolish hope that your anniversary would mean something—anything to him.

The divorce papers felt like a dead weight in your hand, much like how your relationship would be the second that you brought it up. It all just seemed so final, seeing the terms laid out that would end years of marriage. Just by the flick of a pen. But the idea was almost like a reprieve, like something that was worth looking forward to. You shook your head, getting up from the couch to set the stack of papers on the kitchen table where Toji wouldn't miss them.

Another half hour of eerie silence and Toji still hadn't come through the door. It was getting increasingly difficult to keep some semblance of hope that he'd even show up at all, much less for your date. You admitted defeat, slipping off your heels and pulling up a throw blanket over yourself. Succumbing to the sleep that was weighing down on your eyelids.

You weren't even sure how much time had passed when you heard the door swing open, the door hitting the wall from the force. The thud of his shoes hitting the tile followed, a grumble leaving Toji's lips. "Fuckin' bastards rigged that race. Robbed me of fifty bucks," he muttered to himself, slipping his coat off before placing it up on the coat rack.

"You're home late," you called out, watching as Toji turned to look at the couch before flicking on one of the living room lights. "Jesus woman, you scared me," he grumbled, a large hand resting by his chest as he looked over in your direction. Toji rubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion lingering on his face like a second skin. It was only then that he looked over at you, really looked at you, and what you were wearing.

Ah shit.

Almost as if he wanted to make the situation worse, he'd chosen to go with, "You got all dolled up just to fall asleep on the couch?" You could've sworn you felt your eye twitch at the question. He'd barely opened up his mouth and you were already wishing that he didn't even bother showing up for the night.

Toji knew he was in deep shit with each step he took into the living room, his mind already starting to work overdrive to figure out what he could do for what he'd missed. A date? No, you wouldn't have put on the very expensive pair of Louboutins for just any date. His mind was blanking on anything other than the numbers that he'd lost with earlier in the day. Come on, think.

"No, I got dolled up because I thought I'd be going out with my husband tonight," you retorted dryly, smudges of eyeshadow sticking to your hand when you went to rub at your eyes. You could see Toji's brows furrow, the wheels seeming to turn in his head for once, before a look of realization settled on his features.

"Look, I'm sorry. I got carried away at the casino," one of the many excuses you'd heard before coming back to bite you in the ass. The same excuse that he'd used last month when he forgot about a work party you'd mentioned to him. Which wouldn't have been too bad if it weren't for all the snide comments being whispered in your direction and all the unwarranted marriage advice.

Advice that you ended up forgetting about chugging down two glasses of tequila like water. "I'll make it up to you, I swear. You can pick the place and all that shit." There went another one. He'd really topped himself using the two of them in a row. You rubbed the bridge of your nose, looking over at him in disbelief. "Do you even know what today was? Why I'm so pissed off?"

"It's your birthday?" Toji spoke after a couple seconds, the answer clearly wrong just by the look on his face. You rubbed a hand over your face, standing up from your spot on the couch. "It's our wedding anniversary, Toji," you spoke up before he made another guess that would just piss you off even further, "And I have something I need to talk to you about. It's on the kitchen table."

Underneath the vase filled with wilted flowers—a collection more than anything that you kept around as a reminder that Toji used to care, was a stack of papers. He placed the vase down on the table with more force than necessary upon realizing what the documents were. "A divorce?" The words slipped out of him with such venom, such distaste, like the idea was unfathomable.

Toji slammed the papers down on the table, the salt and pepper shakers trembling before falling over. "Is that really what you want?" He stepped closer to you when you approached the table, his hands instinctively moving to hold your hips. Holding you close to his body. "No, I didn't get married with the intention of getting a divorce. But you've been neglecting this marriage for a couple months now."

"I'll make it up to you now," Toji spoke quickly, like he was afraid of losing you at any moment. Like you'd disappear if he didn't. And as much as you wanted to avoid looking over at him, the task had just become all that much difficult when you had nowhere else to look at. It only took one glance at his face to realize just what he meant by 'making it up to you.'

"You think you're gonna fix months of pushing me aside with just sex?"

"Nah, I know it's gonna take more. But you've been so tired, isn't that right? So tired of tryin' to keep this marriage from falling apart and nobody taking care of you?" His words were like a siren's song when he whispered them in your ear, your traitorous body leaning back to meet the drag of your fingertips. It was almost laughable at how easily your resolve had melted. "Lemme take care of you mama. Promise I'll make you feel good."

"You wanna call me a dick, never wanna see me again? That's fine, just don't deny me one last taste. Please," And while Toji wasn't a man to beg for anything in his life, he found himself saying the words anyways. "Thought this was you making it up to me," and as much as you were willing yourself not to fold, you felt yourself spreading your legs almost instinctively when his finger dragged up your inner thigh.

"Can't it be both?" Toji's teeth nipped at your neck, licking a stripe up the junction of your neck. Practically salivating at the taste of you, of the expensive perfume you'd put on just a mere hours beforehand. "One could say that you're just being selfish," your words quickly died out when Toji started sucking on your pulse point, your own heartbeat betraying you. You'd expected Toji to sass you back, say something about how your body was just so needy against his touch.

But instead, he dropped down to his knees in front of you. The wooden floor underneath his knees almost made him feel bad for all the times he had you in a similar position. Almost. Toji looked up at you, "Selfish only when it comes to you."

Every slow drag of his fingertips across your smooth skin seemed almost reverent— like you were something to worship. You were, he just failed to realize that until now. Until you were almost out the door. "I'm sorry," the first real apology of the night slipped out of his mouth, his lips pressed against your shin. "I'm sorry," he moved up to your knee, repeating the action. Hushed whispers of I'm sorry's and featherlight kisses moving up your legs, stopping only when he gets to your clothed cunt.

"I'm sorry," Toji uttered his last apology against your cunt, his eyes locking onto yours as he applied an open mouthed kiss on your clothed clit. Barely darting his tongue out, swirling it against the nerves that were just begging for one ounce of stimulation. And he was practically reveling in how needy he made you in the span of seconds. Your back arched to rest against the seat behind you, one of your hands going to rest on his head.

Toji's fingers dragged slowly in between your folds, feeling the wet patch already starting to form through the thin lace material. You refused to make eye contact with him, knowing that if you did, he'd be able to see just how desperate you were in just a manner of seconds. Even if the bastard probably had a clue already. "You sure your pussy agrees with the divorce?" His voice came out to something akin to a purr, the drag of his fingers slowing down.

Getting you even more worked up than you were already. "Fucking hate you, can't even apologize right," you let out a hiss, your hand going down to his hair. Pulling his head even closer to you despite your previous claim. "Fine, I'll apologize correctly," Toji sounded like you were the one inconveniencing him—to which you were. He wanted to take his time with his meal, have you begging for him to touch you. And normally, he would've.

If he weren't desperate to have your cunt on his face again after weeks, months? of just having his fist to work with. His fist and a used pair of your panties up to his nose like a pervert, hips humping the air in desperation. Imagining that it was your tongue flicking across his leaking tip instead of his thumb, that it was your soft hands in exchange of his rough ones. And as easy as it was for him to get laid—he didn't want to be with anyone that wasn't you.

Toji hadn't tasted someone as sweet as you, heard someone so angelic before, but now he supposed that maybe he'd have to put that theory to the test if you left him after all. Just the idea was maddening. That someone else would be doing the same thing that he's doing to you now, that they'd give you the affection that he should've given.

"Especially sorry to you. Been neglecting you for too long," he hooked his fingers around the side of your panties, pulling them to the side just enough to reveal your slick folds to him. Toji swiped the tip of his finger along your entrance, your slick glistening against the harsh kitchen lighting before he stuck in his mouth. Swirling his tongue around it, licking away at it like the slut he was.

And like the deprived man that he'd been, Toji's hands went to the lace of your underwear and stretched it out until a loud rip echoed throughout the kitchen. "You always this wet for people you hate? Or is that just for me?" Toji taunted, pushing your tattered panties down to your ankles. Finally leaning in closer to where you were aching for him to touch you. To do something other than just tease you relentlessly.

Toji settled on his knees behind you, spreading your legs open like you were his favorite meal. His tongue swiped up on your dripping cunt, licking up your essence with sheer greed. "Mmph fuck, so good," his words came out muffled, his tongue swiping across your folds before darting inside of your cunt. Your grip on the table tightened, your hips working on their own accord to push back onto his face. Practically suffocating him in your pussy. Not that he minded. By any means.

Toji practically welcomed it, his hands pushing you down onto his face. Getting absorbed in your cunt completely. "A-Ah fuck, Toji!" You could already see the noise complaint hanging on your front door first thing in the morning. But how could you be expected to keep your voice down? Toji spread your folds apart with two fingers as if he were preparing for a feast, his tongue feverishly licking in between.

"Fuckin' soaked already, knew you loved me," The vibration of the low chuckle that followed his words shot currents up your spine, your ass jiggling all that much more in his face. With such a decadent taste coating his taste buds, dying by your pussy would be nothing short of a blissful way to go out. One of the fingers that he'd been using to spread your folds had been pushed inside of your cunt, your walls clenching around him.

Toji's tongue flicked against your clit, swirling the tip around the bud while his finger slowly pushed further inside of you. The loud squelch of your cunt was the only thing that filled the apartment, everything else completely silent. Your fingers dug deeper into his scalp, a low groan leaving his lips. "F-Fuck, Toji Toji," he pushed another thick finger inside, moving them in a scissoring motion to stretch you out.

"You think y're gonna find someone who can do this?" Toji looked up at you, his fingers curling up to hit that spongy spot inside of you almost perfectly. And if you didn't know any better, you'd almost say that he looked vulnerable while he made the question. Toji's lips wrapped around your clit, gently sucking on it as his fingers worked you closer and closer to your orgasm. You couldn't bring yourself to answer—didn't trust yourself to speak.

"Toji, Toji, gonna cum," you gave him a warning, your jaw falling slack and your lips parting in a o-shape. Soundless moans leaving your lips, feeling that coil in your lower tummy start to tighten up all the much more. With one final pump of his fingers, you were covering his lips with your release. His tongue swiped across his lips, across the scar that he hated, collecting every drop. Savoring what he imagined would be the last taste of you.

"Turn around," It was almost embarrassing how quickly you'd turned around per your soon-to-be ex husband's request.

Toji didn't take more than a couple seconds in unbuttoning his pants and taking them off, his cock hitting his stomach once it was released from its confines. Precum dribbled from his annoyingly almost pretty pink tip, dripping onto the floor. Drip. Drip. Drip. His cock slid through your folds like a slip n slide, your previous orgasm coating his tip with every lazy drag. "Toji," your voice bordered on a whine, pushing your hips to try to meet his movements.

"Tell me what you want," Toji clicked his tongue, one of his hands moving to hold your waist. Keeping you completely still until he got what he wanted. You figured there wasn't any harm in whining—you were already fucking the man after you brought up a divorce. There truly wasn't that much more to lose. "Why do I have to ask for it when you're the one apologizing?"

"Because you're the one pushing your hips back against me. All needy 'n shit. So.. beg."

"Want you inside me, Toji. Please."

"Want?"

You let out a huff before correcting yourself, "Need."

"Come on, doll. You can say it nicer than that, right?" Toji's pointer trailed up your torso, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

So goddamn annoying. You swallowed whatever pride you had left before looking back over at him, "Please, Toji. Need your cock in me. Please."

Toji clicked his tongue, one hand wrapping around his cock and giving himself a couple tentative pumps. "Think you can beg better than that. But since I'm feeling nice, I guess I'll let it slide." So much for feeling apologetic. Toji pushed his cock inside of you in one swift motion, a hiss leaving your lips at the stretch. Even with the fingers that'd been inside of you, nothing could've really prepared you.

"You okay?" Toji dropped his head to rest on your shoulder, whispering the words in your ear. Staying still while your walls tried to adjust to the overwhelming stretch. "You try taking your cock," you muttered dryly, giving him a nod to start moving. "Why would I do that when you take it so well?" Toji pushed the rest of his cock inside, his hands resting on your hips.

Toji wasn't particularly known for being gentle—the one hospital visit after he'd injured your cervix more than enough proof of that, but he started off slow. Slow, shallow thrusts. Fucking you in a way that he hasn't since your honeymoon. "Toji, you can speed up," you assured him, your words getting cut off with a smack to your ass. "What I'd say about tellin' me what to do?" Ah, there was the mean Toji that you recognized.

"Wouldn't need to tell you what to do if my vibrator wasn't looking more appealing right now."

Famous last words.

The change was almost immediate. Mascara dribbled down your cheeks, the sight of your once composed makeup all ruined making Toji's cock twitch inside of you. "Fucking pretty like this, y'know?" His teeth sunk down on the junction of your shoulder, his teeth grazing across the sensitive flesh. His hips snapped roughly into yours, your breathing growing erratic. "Fuck, Fuck, Toji!"

The coldness of his gold wedding band hit your skin as soon as he went to grip your hips, holding you against him like he needed to be close to you. The two of you had been distant for some time and he hadn't bothered to take off his wedding band once, not even on the rare occasion that he actually did happen to take a job. Toji would never admit it, of course—but he was starved for the feeling of your skin against his own.

To confirm that you were still here after all.

Your hands reached out to grab to whatever you could grab—anything, and of course, it just happened to be the divorce papers sitting on the middle of the table. Practically taunting you as your own signature glared back at you. "This good enough for you, princess?" Toji taunted in your ear, his blunt fingernails digging into your sides. "Mhm, j-just like that," your voice came out in a mewl, all bits of defiance completely out of your system.

"There you go. Nasty fucking girl," Toji all but purred in your ear the moment you started to jerk your hips back to meet his own, your ass bouncing with each one of his thrusts. "Just needed Toji to take care of ya," all you could was nod your head fervently, your grip on the divorce papers tightening. And Toji, of course, took notice. He took the papers from you with one hand, giving them a once-over before passing them back over.

"Come on, since ya wanted it so bad, read me those divorce papers," Toji handed you the stack of papers, pointing to where you'd signed your initials just a couple hours prior. Your hands shook as you held the papers, your vision blurry as you tried to make out the legal jargon in front of you. Even the simplest of words seemed all too complicated to try to make out.

"T-Toji, I can't," your voice cracked, your grip on the papers tightening when his cock reached all that much deeper inside of you. Toji clicked his tongue, peering over your shoulder to read the first sentence from the document. "That's not what it says ma, try again."

"Without all the stuttering too."

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to focus on the words in front of you instead of Toji's cock sinking further and further into you. "S-Says that the divorce agreement was made today between us," you clutched the sheets tighter, your eyes almost rolling back when Toji bottomed out inside of you. The tip of his cock dripping precum, your walls fluttering as you tried to get adjusted.

"Mm, yeah, keep goin'," Toji really couldn't care—his focus solely on the way that your cunt stretched out to fit his cock. Leaking around his shaft, loud squelches when he pulled out overplaying whatever shitty soap opera was playing. "And what'd I say about the s-stuttering?" Toji mocked your words, his own hips stuttering mere seconds later while he tried not to get absorbed in your cunt. Not that it was an easy task by any means.

It was hard, especially with the way that you claimed to be over this marriage despite your pussy claiming otherwise. When you opened your mouth to speak, the only thing that left you was a moan. "F-Fuck Toji, right there," your eyes shut tightly at the touch of his calloused hand making itself in between your legs, his thumb rubbing at your clit in a speed that felt like it combated his own running abilities.

"That's not what it says, c'mon," Toji grabbed your chin with his thumb and pointer, turning your head to face the overwhelmingly long divorce papers. You wouldn't finish tonight if he intended for you to read the whole thing, you knew that much. A harsh slap against your swollen clit made the pleasure coursing through your veins mix with pain, a shaky gasp leaving your kiss-swollen lips.

Drool leaked from the corner of your mouth, the black ink smearing with each drop that fell from your parted lips. Your walls enveloped every inch of his cock perfectly, your cunt holding his cock in a vice-like grip. "That I won't try to t-take your things," you managed to get out, hoping that it would be good enough. You knew the two of you wouldn't finish today if he made you read the never ending stack of papers. 

"Good enough," Toji sounded like he would've kept it going if he could, but you set them down as quickly as he spoke. It was almost like Toji was trying to remind you of why you'd fallen in love with him in the first place—the man reverent to your cunt and your cunt only. Every grip of your hips kept you closer and closer to his body, almost as a way for Toji to make sure you weren't slipping away.

"Wh—" Before you had the chance to complain about the loss of contact, Toji had already carried you without a smidge of struggle. His hands hooked underneath your plush thighs, hoisting you up against the wall. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his slutty waist, practically clinging onto him like a koala. "There we go, there's that pretty lil face," Toji placed his pointer underneath your chin, taking in the view in front of him.

The glazed over look in your eyes, the sweat beading up on your forehead, the makeup that he'd successfully ruined—everything about you was just so beautiful. How you tried to avoid looking in his direction for too long. "Don't leave me ma, need you in my life," the words were whispered into your ear, his cock pushing back inside of you in one swift motion. Toji's fingers went back to your throbbing clit, his pointer and middle rubbing against it at the perfect speed.

Not too fast, not too slow, and not too rough.

"Don't ask me to do that," you almost sounded pained as you spoke—not from him filling you up, but for the implication of his words. You'd practically babble anything right now, anything for him to keep going. To forget about the reality that awaits the two of you. Toji's lips found yours in an instant, the exchange between the two of you almost depraved. His mouth was feverish in the way that it moved against yours, like he'd never get the chance again.

Your hand went to the back of his head, pushing him closer against you. Letting yourself forget for just a little while longer. A string of saliva connected your lips to his when you pulled away—only to catch air. "I’m close, Toji, so close," you whined against his lips, your release coating his shaft a mere moments later. Toji only used that as lubricant, his movements quicker against your cunt to chase his own release.

"There's no one else for me, I'll stop goin' to t-the casino, stop gettin' into trouble," Toji had been reduced to a babbling the first thing he pulled out of his ass, if only to get you to stay. His head rested against the junction of your neck, basking in the remnants of proximity that he could get. Shaky breaths left his lips with each thrust of his hips, feeling himself getting closer and closer. "You've been saying that since we've been married."

"I mean it this time, I promise," you'd never heard a lie sound so pretty slipping from someone's lips before until now.

He bit down on the side of your neck, hard. Not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to where you'd probably have to use a tube of concealer to even attempt to cover up the bruising mark. Causing you problems even now. But you'd be lying if the sudden act of possessiveness had your walls clenching against him even tighter, if that was even possible anymore.

His cock was barely moving against the tight grip you held around his shaft, his pace stuttering. "Fuck, fuck, so tight," Toji let out a loud groan, completely at the will of your pussy. He threw his head back, a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks in this lighting. Ropes and ropes of cum decorated your cunt, his softening length snug inside of you. Toji ended up pulling out a couple moments later, scooping the drops of cum that leaked down your thighs with his finger.

Toji was shameless in the way that he stuck the finger in his mouth, a low moan leaving his lips at the combined taste of him and you. Before your rationality came back, before you got the chance to even think about regretting this, you leaned in and crashed your lips against his own. Tasting yourself on his tongue. The kiss lingered between the two of you more than it needed to, it was less rushed than the prior ones you'd shared.

Like a last taste.

"So, you still want to get that divorce?" Toji knew you would've just babbled whatever for him to keep going, saving the question until now. His movements were almost reluctant as he pulled his pants over his legs once again, making little attempt to fix up his hair. If anything, his fingers only ended up messing the strands even more. Despite knowing the answer deep down, Toji still held out hope. That maybe you'd had some eye-opening moment while he was balls-deep.

You stood up properly, looking over at the ruined sheets on the table before looking back over at him. "I do," you spoke after a couple seconds, grabbing your tattered panties from the floor and smoothing over your dress. Trying to maintain whatever semblance of dignity you had left. Even if it was probably just as tattered up as your underwear at this point.

"Why? You know I love you. You know that you love me. So why should we get separated?" You did know that. But you also weren't sure that he'd ever loved you enough to consider changing. To consider the fact that you needed some sort of affection outside of sex.

"Because you think that somehow every problem between us can be resolved with sex. You say that you want to do better and yet, you never do. It doesn't even feel like you're my husband half of the time," all the bottled up feelings from the past couple months spilled out of you in a manner of seconds. All the bottled up thoughts that maybe you should've told your husband about earlier. Though, you weren't even sure if Toji would've paid it any mind.

And almost as if he'd read your train of thought, "Why didn't you tell me about all this before just hittin' me with divorce papers?"

"Because the few times that I did, you told me to stop bitching. That I shouldn't have anything to complain about with a roof over my head and a fridge full of food," you started off, almost waiting for him to deny what you were saying, "And while I'm not saying that I'm not thankful for those things, I also don't want to feel ungrateful for saying that I miss my husband."

Silence lingered between the two of you, each second that passed by only confirming what the two of you already knew by now. That a divorce wasn't such a far-fetched idea. Toji knew there wasn't left to even attempt fighting for, so he simply just told you, "I'll sign 'em when you get the new ones."

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 1 part 4

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1])

well, well, well, if it isn't the consequences of my own actions

do you think it took Rio a long time to choose her revenge dress? did she agonize over every detail? I picture her process like, okay I need an outfit that says fuck you (threatening) but also fuck you (horny) and fuck me (very horny) and then circle all the way back to FUCK YOU THOUGH (VERY threatening)

as to why Rio goes from super soft to *that* - I see it as the equivalent of the TV trope where someone almost dies and their loved one is very concerned, but as soon as there's no danger they slap them around the head and call them a fucking idiot. this is Rio's WELCOME HOME, CHEATER moment (Agatha has been kiiiind of been cheating death, lbr)

this is the best way rio could choose to approach agatha too, and not only because it lets her express all that pent up anger. what would be the alternative? sit Agatha down and have a honest chat? Rio knows her too well, she knows it would be simply too much. Agatha *is* more comfortable with big bombastic scenes, with violence that is a lot like foreplay. Rio is looking out for her right now, she is making it as easier for Agatha as she can, while also not letting her get away with her bullshit any longer.

one little sentence, so many ways to read it

only physically. she's not letting you in. not anymore. you'll have to save her from herself kicking and screaming. dear god she's actually honestly crying. this is a WHOLE fucking deal. and it's also the first time she sees Rio while knowing WHO rio is. she's feeling all the feelings

girls. GIRLS. how am I supposed to take decent screenshots if you keep flinging each other at walls. keep STILL! (look at the furniture btw, isn't it a bit curved? I think they're still using a fisheye lens. reality is still shifting. almost as if we're in the presence of an otherworldly being)

oh the metaphor of it. sometimes you just have to reach out and connect, even if you get hurt in the process.

BECAUSE SHE'S BEEN SHIELDING FOR SO LONG TO HIDE FROM PAIN. OH MY GOD. did a 2000s emo kid write this

every other MCU fight wishes it were this perfect storm of hot and emotionally devastating

Rio cannot physically kill Agatha, it's not allowed, she's only the collector. So what is she trying to do, exactly? Has Agatha really been cheating death for so long that Rio has no choice but to bring her in? Or is she not here to collect at all and this is just her way to get back at her ex (and possibly win her back)? I adore both options, they're tragic in different ways.

time to bullshit! time to bolt! time to get to that escape route! this is what Agatha does best. anything but face the truth

funny how agatha usually has no problem looking undignified. it's almost like this is not the point at all. so let's review: wanda has stripped agatha of the powers that have been keeping her hidden from rio. rio comes over to confront her - and not kill her, she wouldn't be allowed anyway. she does it in a way that agatha would find less scary than having a mature convo. still, agatha has to face things she's been escaping for so long and it's simply too horrifying, too overwhelming. the fact that she's joking around so much (while her future conversations with rio will be sad, soft, dramatic) tells you just how scared and how miserable she is. She's begging rio to stop, because even fighting and flirting, which is their comfort zone, is proving too much. And what does rio do? She listens and goes away. only temporary, she won't let her off the hook now that she has found her. but she's still willing to go at Agatha's pace.

aubrey plaza I would die for your evil little face

can I just say that agatha trying to flirt right now is devastating? she is at the end of her rope. she does NOT want rio to stay, doesn't trust herself around her in so many ways. but she knows how much rio wants her and just... she tries to manipulate her with flirting. it's a desperate gamble, completely undignified, completely in character for agatha. she offers herself to rio, but only physically. when what they had was infinitely more than that, it was beautiful, it was sacred.

and rio... forgives her. she laughs another one of her little soft laughs and lowers the blade. plaza is so good here, the way she says "okay, agatha," is a perfect blend of resentment and tenderness. she knows agatha better than anyone ever had or ever will. she knows why she does everything she does. and she follows her lead. one last time.

agatha's relief. she's trembling, deflated but still on her guard. she looks completely traumatized. the masterpiece that this scene is: you feel smart when you realize that they're flirting rather than fighting. when it finally dawns on you the real weight of their encounter... it's too late.

"by the way there's a bunch of scary witches after you and I totally want them to kill you, that's why I'm telling you exactly who they are and when they're coming"

agatha tries with all her might to believe that rio is heartless. because anger is easier than sadness.

we're leaning, we're leaning, we're leaning!

rio licking agatha's wound to heal it perfectly encapsulates her feelings: anger, horniness, and infinite tenderness. what a power move. rio was the one in control this whole scene, and it wrecked agatha.

"te veo" (I'm gonna go scream in a pillow)

she's gone, honey, she's gone. breathe.

Billy walking on the two of them having sex would have been less awkward than this

she was a BIT preoccupied, kid

and episode 1 is in the bag!

next stop: IT'S LILIA TIME

go to episode 2 part 1

[patchwork-crow-writes]

Now you've got me thinking about the Deltarune shops... err, sorry, "seaps" and what they could perhaps tell us about the nature of the nested realities. Somebody mentioned Gerson's shop in Undertale, and about how he boasts that you can't touch him in a No Mercy playthrough because the shop's interface doesn't allow for it, and that makes me wonder if these "seaps" are in fact another instance of a nested reality within the dark worlds.

Consider the shops that exist in Deltarune. In their most pared-back forms, they consist of a menu interface, a background decal of some kind, and a shopkeeper. These three elements together comprise the space that we call a shop. A flattened space where we are unable to control Kris to the same degree that we can outside. In fact, everything is very constrained within this "space", including the shopkeepers themselves.

A shopkeeper thus stands outside of the typical gameplay rules of Deltarune's dark worlds, similarly to how Gerson is unable to be killed in Undertale. While in that space, the shopkeeper is for all intents and purposes a part of the scenery; a talking, posing backdrop giving context to the process of exchanging dark dollars for items. Their movements and abilities are heavily restricted to just a small looping animation. But when they exit that space, those entities are once again subject to the normal "rules" of the dark world - they exist in what we might charitably call three dimensions, they are able to exert (slightly) more agency upon the world, and crucially, the world/narrative is able to exert its agency more directly upon them. Think about Rouxls Kaard as a prime example of this - untouchable in his shop, very much a sopping wet failure outside of it.

Now let's consider Spamton's, err... "shop". You have your three components of a shop here, albeit in a heavily-glitched state, and you can do all the typical shop-type activities - buy items, talk to Spamton, run away... all the usual things you'd do in a shop of any kind. But here we see an example of a shop-space requiring a shopkeeper to continue existing properly, when we upload Spamton into the Empty Disk and the shop just... breaks. Stops working. We can still enter and exit this space, but it is for all intents and purposes completely dead. And to be clear, I don't think this is a case of "anyone else could step in and take the role of shopkeeper" - I think that a shop and its keeper are in effect one-and-the-same, the space existing as a living, breathing extension of that character. No-one else could possibly run Spamton's shop in his absence, because no-one else IS Spamton.

Question is, why does Spamton even have a shop in the first place? Or, to be more precise, why can't we just use the Empty Disk on Spamton outside of his shop? And I think the answer to that question is that the properties of the shop-space is the best way for Spamton to upload himself. He literally takes up less space - he has no model, no collision, no position in three-dimensional space. Think of it like rolling up a poster versus attempting to stuff a sofa into a suitcase. And the interface allows him to sell you the object you need to access the Disk, then provide the options necessary to execute that transfer, while at the same time minimising Spamton's risk of coming to harm - even if Queen's forces could find his shop, it's unlikely they'd be able to evict him from that space, if the Gerson example earlier is anything to go by.

Further, it's likely that attempting such a feat in the dark world proper just wouldn't work. Characters can insert themselves into Kris's pocket as items (which you could perhaps consider an extension or offshoot of "shop-space"), but taking Spamton himself as an item does not work for his purposes. And perhaps you COULD somehow insert Spamton into the Empty Disk through Kris's inventory, but crucially Spamton would not be the one orchestrating the process there - we would. And knowing us utdr players, we'd probably find all sorts of silly things to do with him instead, where he'd be entirely at our mercy. Him being able to control how and when he uploads himself, through the medium of his personal shop-space, ensures that his plan can't be interfered with by morbidly-curious players.

And now, finally, we can come to the "seap" in question. Using the framework of "shop-space" defined above, I think we can confidently answer what Seam means when he says "as long as I stay in this shop, these walls won't change!". As we've seen with Spamton, removing a shopkeeper from its shop effectively "kills" that space, rendering it completely inert, so it's likely that Seam is being entirely literal when he says that. It's also worth thinking about the assertion that a shop acts as an extension of its shopkeeper, so that when Seam is moved from the abandoned classroom to the storage closet, his entire shop moves with him. You can't have one without the other.

Further, being ensconced in shop-space like this suits his character very well, as it allows him to exist at a remove from the main dark worlds, and justifies his position of passive nihilism in the face of what he sees as an inevitable apocalypse - he cannot act upon the world, but at the same time the world cannot act upon him. Whether the protective/restrictive confines of his shop-space would actually serve to protect him from the brunt of said apocalypse remains to be seen... and I'm not certain he cares one way or the other, right now.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk about shop-space in Deltarune. I hope any of that made a lick of sense, I came up with it literally just now, so it might not be the most coherent thing you ever read. But thanks for inspiring me to think on the topic! :D

on the shopic (shop topic) of seam, something that drives me bonkers but that i have absolutely zero theories on is the line "as long as i stay in this shop, these walls won't change!" it feels significant to me.

in chapter 1, the entrance to the seap seems to be sewn into the fabric of the dark world itself, it's really weird.

and in chapter 2, while all of the rest of castle town's new buildings have their own unique shape, seam's seap is just shaped like the building that preceded it, just with some redecorating

(i love the way it looks btw. very cute.)

but when the shop changes locations, while the outside changes shape, the inside stays exactly the same. hence "these walls won't change", most likely.

and also, as soon as spamton leaves his shop, the wall behind him gets unpainted, and the table with the telephone on it disappears.

but i don't know what to make of any of this. like it feels like they must be trying to tell us something with all these little bits and pieces but i have no idea what

[straylightdream]

understand | coming soon

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭: yoon joenghan x f.reader

↳ Watching your “best friend” marry your ex is heart breaking. At least Jeonghan is by your side. He’s the only one who could make you feel less heartbroken.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: friends to lovers, non idol au

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: ??

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: so much fluff, mutual pining, they’re both head over heels for each other. Unprotected sex (the mc is on birth control), body worship, oral

an: this was inspired by the song understand by keshi

if you would like to be tagged please fill out this form.

-PREVIEW-

“I didn’t bring a date,” he simply stated.

You pushed your eyebrows together and gave him a confused look, it was rare Jeonghan ever went to an event without a date. “That’s odd,” you said with a little laugh as you swayed to the beat of the music.

He didn’t say anything, Jeonghan just gave you a smile and pulled you slightly closer to his body. You swayed to the beat of the slow song the band was playing.

“I should have asked you to dance long before now,” he said softly.

“I was hiding in a corner not many people knew where I was,” you let out a soft little laugh.

He shook his head and said, “I’m saying I should have taken you out on a proper date.” His words caught you off guard. “I shouldn’t have waited until the night of your asshole ex’s wedding.” You blankly stared at him just confused by what he was saying to you. You have always had a crush on Jeonghan for most of your life, but you didn’t think in a million years he would ever return your feelings. He’s the talked around town with all the girls. He’s charming and oh so handsome. He could have any girl he could possibly ever want. You’re confused as to why he would want you.

“Why would you ask me out?” You asked speaking up for the first time.

“Because you’re pretty and funny and why wouldn’t I?” He stopped dancing and reached down and grabbed your hand. Lacing your fingers together he led you out of the ballroom where everyone was still dancing and you headed out to the balcony.

You stood outside in the crisp night air. You silently stared at him, not even sure what was going on. You weren't sure if this was all a nightmare for the fact you were at your best friend's wedding where the man she was marrying was your ex boyfriend or if it was a dream based on the fact Jeonghan just admitted he wished he’d taken you out on a proper date.

“Honey I like you, I have for a while,” he stated. Your eyes grew wide, shocked by his words. “You were so torn up by that asshole in there I didn’t know what to do.”

“You literally leave tomorrow for a month-long business trip,” you sighed. You weren't even going to get a chance with him before he was gone for a whole month, maybe even more.

“I’ll be back soon,” he whispered.

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

hello! we are IGNORING that this is almost a whole year late to last year's steddiemas, and we are pretending that i am super awesome at writing things on time! (but i think this the first time i'm on time to a lex challenge lmao)

@steddiemas Day 30 - "I love seeing you flustered, it's cute." AND @thefreakandthehair's Spicy Six -ber Month Challenge - "You got me this?"

pairing: steddie | word count: 2,875 | rated: M | on AO3: this year

Eddie’s hot on his heels as they swing through Steve’s bedroom door, the former pressing the latter back into it once closed and, surprisingly, doesn’t go for a kiss. Eddie presses close, slotting a thigh between Steve’s, then leans in, eyes closed, to gently drag his nose along the shape of Steve’s. 

Steve practically melts.

“Hey big boy,” Eddie whispers

Steve hums, pushing one leg just a bit higher between Eddie’s, feeling the not so insubstantial thickness there. “Hey yourself..” 

That pulls a laugh from Eddie, and he opens his eyes. The already dark chocolate of them seem darker in the low light coming from the bedside lamp Steve is suddenly glad he forgot to switch off earlier tonight.

They look at each other for a moment, each of them taking in the other. Then they break out in laughs, pulling together again with a sigh (from which of the two is unknown).

Lips locked and moving steadily together, Steve nudges Eddie back from the door.

Surprisingly, he moves easily, as if he’s not quite aware of moving. That is, until, just before Steve goes to push Eddie down onto his bed, Eddie spins them and pushes Steve back instead.

He shuffles backward up the mattress, awkwardly pulling the pillow up from under him while Eddie watches, amused.

“Good?” he asks when Steve finally leans back against the headboard.

Steve huffs a laugh, rolls his eyes, “Yeah Eddie, I’m good.”

“Good.” Eddie nods, then takes a step backward and launches himself onto Steve.

He lands, bony and uncoordinated, between Steve’s legs with an ‘Oof’.

Steve too, gets the breath knocked out from under him. “Was that really necessary?” he wheezes.

“Absolutely.” Eddie wheezes in return, “Now, where were we?” He starts to get his arms under himself, seeming to struggle pushing up off the squashy mattress.

“Before you tried to kill us both?”

He pushes into Steve further, his hips aligning properly this time, and draping his upper body over Steve’s. “Precisely.”

Eddie lowers his face to Steve’s again and all the sarcastic retorts are flushed from his brain.

After a few minutes and also no time at all, Eddie pulls back enough to change position.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart.” His lips are hot where they lazily push and drag along the skin where his jaw meets neck.

“Want you,” Steve manages in response, not quite the full response he’d be trying for.

He can feel Eddie’s smile against his skin. “Y’have me,”

“Want you to fuck me.”

The sound Eddie makes sounds as if it was punched out of him, but he manages to say “Can’t.” 

A rock thuds into Steve’s stomach. “Huh?”

“I mean,” another open-mouthed kiss is pressed to his neck, “We can't really go any farther,”

Eddie’s continued ministrations make it hard to think, but Steve manages a breathy “We can't?”

Lips leave the meat of his neck with a final wet kiss, then Eddie’s locking eyes with him again, “Not until we get some lube. I may be less experienced than you, Stevie, but I at least know that much.”

Steve blinks at him in surprise, thoughts swirling in his head and behind his lips about that revelation, but pushes it down, instead twisting for the bedside drawer. He finds what he’s looking for in only a couple practiced swipes. “Here.”

Eddie's jaw drops, grasping the bottle of lube in his palm “You just…have? This?

“Well, yeah.”

“Why??”

Steve shrugs, “I've kept it on hand ever since Carol, Tommy, and I would— you know what? It doesn't matter; now, you gonna ruin me with that monster of yours, or what?”

Eddie blinks at him this time, then shakes his head as if clearing away a thought.

”Sure sweetheart,” he kisses Steve again, “Though I’m kinda pissed I’m not gonna be the first one in that pretty ass of yours.”

Steve sucks Eddie’s lower lip into his mouth and bites at it as Eddie pulls back, “Tommy never— you’ll be the first.”

Eddie stares down at him, and Steve watches the color flood into his cheeks as his expression shifts from confusion to cockiness. “Well then,” he tosses the bottle up and catches it again with fervor, grinning almost giddily, “Your wish is my command; But first..” He leans back in and kisses him again, putting the bottle back onto the nightstand.

Steve laughs when Eddie pulls back to get at the other side of his neck. “You–hah– like kissing, Munson?”

“Like kissing you.” He mumbles against Steve’s adam’s apple, “Love seeing you flustered. It’s cute.” He leans up then, looking Steve in the face, “But don’t call me Munson when I’m about to go down on you.”

“You are?”

Eddie just grins and sits back, tugging at the waistband of Steve’s sweatpants.

-x-

Having worked through the previous night on Steve’s jacket, having worked over Steve all evening, Eddie’s beat (hah) by the time his and Steve’s breaths finally slow late that night. Even with the good chunk of hours he slept through that morning.

And now, as he lays boneless on Steve’s chest, he sleepily blinks out at the snowflakes filtering past Steve’s window.

He tracks the path of one clump from where it seemingly appears out of nowhere as it passes into the low light coming from the bedside lamp, all the way down to where it lands on the strip of the stuff accumulating on the sill.

Two, three more times he does this, finally stirring to look up at Steve.

His hair is a sweaty mess, drying plastered to his forehead, floating above the pillowcase with the static, sticking straight up into the air…

“Your hair’s a mess.”

Steve’s blissful expression crinkles up in laughter, he looks down at Eddie in return, eyes flicking all over his own face and hair, “Yours is worse.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

Eddie hums, rests his chin on Steve’s chest, “We should probably take a shower before we fall asleep.”

Steve, whose eyes had stayed shut on his last blink, opens his eyes with an unconcerned hum. “Probably.”

Neither make any sort of move to get up for a few more minutes; Steve’s hand does, however, start to trace a figure eight onto the skin of Eddie’s back.

“Hmmmokay, okay, I seriously almost fell asleep that time.” Steve finally says, startling Eddie out of the doze he’d somehow fell into, “Let’s go, shower time.”

Slowly, sleepily, they shower; both their hands end up wandering over the other, Steve winning out on getting his hand around them both for one more tally for the night, and are back in bed, and clean, another five minutes later.

The next morning, they wake up slowly, stirring, then fully rising after a heated, morning breath riddled, makeout session.

“No, really Ed, we should— you should get going, isn’t Wayne going to be up soon?”

Not missing that slip, but choosing to ignore it for now, Eddie squints playfully up at Steve as he pushes up off the bed and towards his dresser, “You want me outta here that bad, Stevie? Got your other boyfriend coming over soon?”

Steve shakes his head, closing the drawer he’d been rifling through and turning back around to face him. “Yeah Ed, I’ve got a full roster of Christmas blowjobs to hand out today, so..” he makes a shoo-ing motion at him, then pulls his shirt on over his slept-with-it-wet bed head.

Eddie laughs, pushing up to sit in the center of the bed, “Would you like to come over for cinnamon rolls, Stevie?”

Steve waves him off immediately, “No, no, You have a good day with Wayne, Ed, but,” He shuffles over to his desk, reaches between it and his bedframe, and comes back with a small rectangular box, wrapped in a plaid paper that, if he tested it, Eddie was sure matched the pattern of the ribbon on the mantle. “You have to bring this to Wayne.”

Eddie takes a moment to revel in the fact that Steve got his uncle a Christmas present, that his boyfriend Steve got his uncle a Christmas present, he shakes his head, shuffling to the edge of the bed, “No can do, Stevie,” he says as he stands, “Munson rule, you bought it, you gift it.”

-x-

“We’re home!” Eddie yells as soon as the door is open, pulling Steve inside then letting his hand go to greet Wayne in the kitchen with a hug.

Steve takes the moment to put his box under the Munson’s tree in the corner, short and twinkling softly, a modest and lovingly wrapped pile of other gifts taunting him under the colored panels of Sunday comics.

The box is shoved behind the next biggest box, and he’s standing again before Wayne and Eddie have even released the other, “Merry Christmas old man, our rolls ready yet?”

“Y’know, I remind myself every day how much I love ya.” Eddie grins at his uncle, and Steve can’t decide if he picked up on the jab or not. “And yes, you ungrateful little shit, the rolls are almost done.”

His mustache remains curved up as he shakes his head fondly and turns back to the oven.

“Great! By the way, Steve’s here.”

“Yeah, I picked up on that. How’s it goin’ Steve?”

“I’m great, thanks. Thanks for having me over, Eddie offered and said you wouldn’t mind…?”

Wayne looks up at him then, ducking to peer through the gap between the cabinets and counter of the peninsula. “Of course I don’t, boy, you crazy? It’s Christmas!”

“Stevie here said he ‘Didn’t want to intrude.’.” Eddie adds unhelpfully, sucking something off his finger.

“No intrusion here Steve, you know you’re always welc— Theodore Munson you keep your fingers outta that frosting!”

Steve snorts out an ugly laugh, “Theodore?”

Wayne looks between Eddie (still frozen with his finger in his mouth), and Steve, who finally feels like he can wander to the end of the counter. “You mean you’ve been goin’ on and on about this boy for months, years now, and he never knew your name’s Theodore?”

Wayne’s eyes are positively glowing with mischief. 

Eddie finally unfreezes, “Yeah, well, Steve’s middle name is Otis. Otis! Can you believe that?”

Steve only shrugs, unphased by this transgression (surely infuriatingly to Eddie), “I was named after my Grandpa.”

“No shit? So was Teddy.”

Steve barely contains his glee, “Oh cool, why didn’t you tell me, Teddy?”

“I hate you both so much.” Eddie grumbles, then stalks off down the hall.

“Awe, c’mon teddy, where’re you going?” Steve teases more, following Eddie to his room.

“I’m changing into my PJs, leave me alone!” he calls back.

Steve leans in the doorway and watches Eddie shed his vest and jacket, his shirt, all before he even goes to his dresser for a pair of sweats.

He tosses a pair of lounge pants at Steve, and continues to scowl as he sheds his jeans.

“You’re not mad for real, are you?”

“No,” he sighs, pulling up the sweats, “Just mourning the loss of my final secret.”

“Aww,” Steve coos teasingly, tossing his lended pants onto Eddie’s mattress and moving forward to cup Eddie’s face, “You gonna make it,” he pauses, “Teddy bear?”

Eddie, who had started to melt into the hold, scoffs, and pushes him off, but seemingly can’t help but laugh, “You’re the worst person in the whole world.”

“Yeah, well, you still love me.” Steve says, shrugging as he goes back for his lended comfy pants.

He’s done toeing off his shoes and is about to start unbuckling his belt when Eddie says, “Yeah, I think I do.”

It was said so quietly, and just as the timer in the kitchen goes off, so it takes Steve all the way until his belt, button, and fly are completely undone before he registers what Eddie had said..

And what he said. 

His hands drop from his jeans down to his sides. He turns to face Eddie again.

“You do?”

Eddie nods, and Steve’s jeans unceremoniously fall to his ankles.

Now it’s Eddie’s turn to ugly laugh, though he clamps his hand over his mouth in glee to stop it.

Steve opens his mouth to say something, when Wayne’s voice calls down the hall and it breaks through his daze.

“Hands better be stayin’ above the waist down there!”

Eddie laughs again, Steve finally kicks his jeans off his feet. His face is broiling.

“Yeah Wayne, just changing!” Eddie calls back.

“Well hurry it up, rolls are all ready to go.”

“Be there in a sec.”

Steve finally finishes pulling on his new pants, tying them tight at the waist, “Wayne knows?” he whispers to Eddie.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, of course he does.” he waves off Steve’s worries and picks up his t-shirt, pulling it on over his head, “Now c’mon, I’m starving.”

“Hey, wait,” Steve catches him in the doorway and presses a kiss to his lips, “I love you too.”

-

Twenty minutes later, with their stomachs full and teeth aching, the three shuffle into the living room from the Munsons’ little table. 

“Alright’ who’s first?”

“Steve!” Eddie says at the same time Steve says “Eddie!”

Wayne only shrugs, “Sounds good to me, Ed, yours is that one covered in Garf, Steve, yours is that smaller rectangle one.”

Somehow, Eddie’s already got his half torn open by time he hands Steve his gift.

“Wayne, you didn’t have to–”

“Oh sick! I needed a new pair of these,” Eddie exclaims, pulling a bright white sneaker from the box in his lap, “Thanks Wayne!”

Newsprint crinkles as Eddie shifts the box around to grab the only remaining newspaper-wrapped box and tossing it to Wayne.

“Can’t say I never get you anything,”

Wayne tears into his package, and soon, is lifting out a fur-lined bomber hat. “This is great, thanks kiddo,” He clasps the earflaps over the leather crown of the head and tugs it on.

“Yeah, and it cost me a pretty penny,” Eddie teases, as he pulls the laces out of his new, identical to his well-worn ones by the door, shoes. “So you better wear it.”

“Whattya mean! I’m wearin’ it right now!”

Steve leaves them to their playful jabs, and starts tearing open the newspaper on his own gift.

He gets it open, and his eyes widen. He immediately flips over the wrappings unnecessarily, he can tell they are the funnies from here. 

He stares down at the box in his hands, and laughs. Eddie pauses in his re-lacing efforts to look up at the sound.

“Hope that means you like ‘em.” Wayne says, and, still grinning, Steve looks up at him. While he was stuck figuring out his present, it seems Eddie’s taken it upon himself to toss his balled newspaper wrappings and the paper wrappings from his shoebox into Wayne’s lap. “Now I know it’s new and all, but sue me for gettin’ sappy about you boys havin’ Christmases all on your own,” he shrugs, “Thought you’d want a couple’a traditional Munson mugs to startcha off.”

Steve’s stomach flips at the implication and, still smiling (and with his hands now free of the box of two matching mugs as Eddie had taken it from him to examine), Steve stands, grabs Wayne’s present, and passes it to him.

“You got me this?” Wayne asks incredulously, “You spoil me.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “Just open it.”

Wayne’s only torn off one corner when he bursts out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Eddie asks, trying to see what’s under the paper.

“Now I know this is new and all,” Steve teases, putting on a horrible impression of Wayne’s half-lost accent, “But I thought you’d want some traditional Munson mugs.”

This only makes Wayne laugh harder, his recliner shakes with it.

“What? Someone tell me what’s going on!”

“Oh that’s hilarious,” Wayne wheezes, coming down from his fit with a few wayward giggles, and finishes tearing off the paper.. from an identical set of two Christmas-themed mugs he’d just gifted Steve.

Eddie starts to laugh, pulling both Steve and Wayne into another bout each, “Well, I guess we’ll never have a shortage of Christmas mugs.” Eddie says, taking the second box from Wayne’s armrest. “You better use them whenever we can’t make it back home for the holidays, old man.”

Steve’s stomach flips again at the thought of he and Eddie together this year and all the years to come.

“‘Course I will, you see any other Christmassy mugs hangin’ around here?” Waye says, gesturing around to his zillion other cups, “You just gotta use the other whenever you can.”

Wayne’s true to his word, always assuring them over the phone that he’s got his mug out whenever they get stuck up in Chicago, out in Los Angeles, complaining that “My sleigh is lookin’ a little worse for wear.” every time.

And when, only a couple handfuls of too few years later when Steve and Eddie pull out their set of three matching Christmas mugs the year after Wayne is gone, it makes them laugh before anything else.

“He’s got his, don’t worry Teddy.”

“I know he does,” Eddie murmurs, looking down at the mug in his hand, then snorts a laugh, “That sleigh’s toast by now.”

i'm laughing at the fact this started smutty and ended sad lmao

i found two boxes of these mugs from the 80s in oct last year and had always planned them to be written in as an accidental double gift between steve and wayne

also, you will pull Theodore "Eddie/Teddy" Munson from my cold dead hands

ALSO ALSO special shoutout to @steddiehasmywholeheart who has been reading this today and sending me notifs with a comment on each chap as they do that made me say 'you know what, i need to finish this. today. as a special surprise for them specifically.'

[sissylittlefeather]

Loyal & True

A/N: I wrote something a little unorthodox, but it's been stuck in my brain like a splinter for over a year now, so I had to do it. This is a modern AU where Elvis is in a fraternity. This one is purely my fantasy, but I hope at least a few of you will get a kick out of it. It's pretty entertaining, if nothing else.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, typical smut, kissing, fingering, oral sex (both receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, but also they drink a lot of alcohol and smoke at one point.

Word count: ~4.4k

“Hey, honey, are you new here?” Elvis takes a sip from the beer he's holding in a red Solo cup. He cringes a bit at the taste. It doesn't matter how long he's in the fraternity, he'll never get used to the taste of cheap beer and he'll definitely never like it. You, on the other hand, he likes immediately.

“Oh, um, yeah. I'm thinking of going through rush, so my roommate thought I should experience a frat party as a means to convince me.” He smiles and it almost takes your breath away. How on earth is he so attractive?

“And are you convinced yet?” He takes another sip, but you suppress a giggle. It's obvious he doesn't like what he's drinking.

“Not really. The beer is cheap and the music could be better.” He laughs, appreciating your honesty. He's so used to girls who fall all over themselves to try to sleep with him that your bold truth is refreshing. Setting his cup on the counter, he nods.

“The beer is cheap, I'll give you that. We'll address that at the next chapter meeting, I assure you.” He's kidding, but you don't know enough about Greek life to know that.

“Y'all really talk about beer at meetings?” He laughs.

“Not at all. It was a joke. You really are new here, aren't ya?”

“I really am. I'm not sure this whole scene is for me.” He steps back and looks you up and down.

“You look like you fit in. But you also don't look like a freshman.”

“I'm not. I spent two years at a junior college and this is my second year here.”

“Why are you thinking of going through rush now?” You take a sip of the beer and then set yours next to his on the counter, making a face.

“That really is bad. I need friends. And I've heard it looks good on a resume.”

“Well, you're not wrong about that.”

“Just not sure I'm ready to buy my friends.” He clicks his tongue and looks at you disapprovingly.

“That's not what this is at all. You're paying for opportunities. The rest is up to you.”

“Mmm. That's an interesting way to think of it.” There's a small lull in the conversation, but he's not ready to move on from you.

“What kind of music would you prefer?” He asks and you laugh.

“I'm more of a classic rock girl. Think like Kansas, Boston, the Eagles, Elton John, things like that.” His eyes go wide and he tries not to smile like an idiot.

“You're a girl after my own heart. I agree. But this music is better for a party.”

“Why do you say that?” He smirks.

“Come on.” You raise your eyebrows and take the hand that he offers you, following him out to the dance floor.

“I really don't-”

“Just try it.” He puts his hand on your lower back and pulls you in close to him. Thankfully, the music is loud, so he doesn't hear you gasp a little when he puts his hands on your hips and starts to move you with him to the beat. You've never danced like this in public before, much less with a guy. “You're too stiff. Relax, baby.”

“I'm trying…” He pulls back and looks at you.

“Here, come with me.” You take his hand again as he leads you to the kitchen. It amazes you how many people say hi to him as you walk together. He introduces you to everyone, but there's no way you'll be able to remember all the names. The first time he realizes he doesn't know your name, but once you say it, he doesn't forget it. Eventually, you get back to the kitchen and he goes to a cabinet, pulling a bottle of liquor down from the top of it. “We need shots.”

You smile and nod. That sounds like exactly what you need. He comes up with two shot glasses and pours one for each of you.

“What is this?” He grins.

“Peanut butter whiskey.” Your mouth pops open. You didn't know there was such a thing.

“It's good, I promise. Cheers.” He taps his shot glass against yours and then throws back the brown liquor. You nod and do the same. You're no stranger to shots and this one is actually really good. “I was right, huh?”

“Yeah, it's really good.”

“You want another?”

“Hell yeah, I do.” He grins again and pours two more shots. This time, you do them together and put your glasses down at the same time. “That stuff is dangerous.”

“Why? You feelin’ like you might make a bad decision?” He smirks down at you mischievously. The whiskey is starting to go to your head, so you giggle.

“Mayyybe. Come on, let's dance.” He's surprised, but he doesn't argue as you take his hand and practically drag him back to the dance floor. Truthfully, you just want an excuse to press up against him again.

When you get back to the dance floor, it doesn't take long for you both to settle into a rhythm of grinding against each other to the beat. You start out facing each other, but before too long he turns you and you go to work rubbing your ass against his crotch. You're not sure what's come over you, but it's like you've been living for this moment and you've had just enough alcohol to lower your inhibitions. He holds your hips and guides your motions against him. As the tension builds, his lips find your neck and he starts to press soft kisses just below your ear. For a bit, you reach back and grab the back of his hair as he continues kissing your neck. Before too long, though, you turn to face him. He looks into your eyes for about half a second and then dives in, crashing his lips into yours in a wildly passionate kiss. He pulls your hips in tight against his and you feel his hardness where it strains against his pants. Your arms are around his neck and somehow he still sways a little to the music as his tongue explores your mouth. His hands start to roam as the kiss reaches a fever pitch and he pulls back breathlessly.

“Air. We need air.” You're a little disappointed, but he leads you off the dance floor again and out to a large patio. He pulls a small cigar out of his pocket and you pull out a cigarette. Wrapping himself around you from behind, he lights yours first and then his. You take a drag and lean back against his chest.

“You didn't want to dance anymore?” You ask, wondering why he'd stopped you when he did. He blows out a puff of smoke and whispers in your ear.

“A gentleman doesn't fuck a lady on the dance floor.” You giggle as he kisses your neck before taking another puff of his cigar.

“No? But he’ll fuck her on the patio?” Now it's his turn to laugh.

“No, baby. Not out here either.” You smoke for a bit in silence, enjoying the feeling of his arms around you.

“What's your major?” You ask, just wanting to hear the sound of his voice again.

“Audio engineering. Yours?”

“English literature.”

“Ah. Music and lyrics. We make sense together.” You're a little surprised that he'd mention anything about you being together, but the idea intrigues you.

“Hey, how does everyone know you?” You ask, finishing your cigarette and turning in his arms to face him. He takes another puff of his cigar, before putting it out and slipping what's left of it back into his pocket.

“I'm the president.” Your mouth drops open.

“You're shittin’ me.”

“I assure you; I'm not. I'm the president of the fraternity.” You laugh a little.

“Wow. I have university royalty wrapped around me right now.” He chuckles.

“That's right. You better enjoy it.” You smile as he leans down and kisses you gently. He's more tender than you expected. You really thought these frat guys all had one thing in mind, but he's so sweet and soft. Maybe it's all an act, but it feels real. You kiss him deeply and roll your hips against his. He moans softly and holds you tight for a second. “Honey, I'm happy to keep just kissin’ you on the patio. But if you want more, we need to go to my room.”

“Sir! I am a lady.” You protest, feigning innocence. He smiles and kisses your cheek, whispering in your ear.

“My apologies, dear. I guess I got confused when you kept rubbing yourself on me.” You giggle and snuggle into his chest in a gesture that's far too intimate for your circumstances, but seems appropriate nonetheless. He obviously doesn't mind as he sets his chin on your head and wraps his arms around you a little tighter. “I'm not usually like this.”

“Like what?” You pull back to look up into his face.

“Affectionate. I mean, I am, but not to this extent. I'm usually more… goal-oriented…” He tries to hide a smirk.

“That's a cute way to say you're usually focused on sex.” You raise your eyebrows.

“Well, I'm just usually not this content to cuddle on a patio, we'll say that.” Somehow, your eyebrows go even higher.

“So you don't want to have sex with me?” He closes his eyes and leans his head back.

“Man, I really set myself up here.” You giggle and he bites his bottom lip, looking back down at you. “Honey, I'd take you upstairs in a heartbeat if that's what you wanted. But if it's not, I'm not walking away. And that's the different part. I'm not walking away.”

He leans into you and presses his forehead against yours. You close your eyes and revel in the closeness, confused by how you can feel this connected after an hour at a noisy frat party.

You're in this position when one of the guys sticks his head out the door and hollers.

“Yo, Presley. We're up on beer pong. You ready?” Elvis grumbles a bit and then unwraps himself from around you, hollering back at the guy at the door.

“Shit. I forgot I signed up for that. Yeah, I'm comin’!” He turns back to you and smiles. “You wanna play? You can be my partner. Scotty can play with someone else.”

“I've never played before, but sure, I can try.” You look up at Elvis sweetly. The guy that you're assuming is Scotty laughs, gesturing to both of you.

“Awesome. I'll play against you two.” You take Elvis's hand and make your way back into the party behind Scotty. The guys get the cups set up and fill them with beer and you wrinkle your nose.

“I'm not drinkin’ that.” Elvis grabs you around the waist and kisses your cheek.

“I'll drink it, baby.”

“She has to drink something! House rules. Everybody drinks.” Elvis rolls his eyes at Scotty and then looks back at you.

“I made that rule. I guess I have to follow it. What do you want?”

“Bring me a glass of whiskey and I'll sip it.” Elvis looks at you like he could kiss you and Scotty laughs again.

“Damn, sweetheart, you keep this up and he's likely to marry you.” You giggle to cover up the way your stomach flip-flops and Elvis pushes Scotty's shoulder. He doesn't contradict him, though, as he walks into the kitchen, leaving you in the room with the guys. You make small talk until he comes back with your drink. He hands it to you and then goes into game mode.

“Okay, honey, now just focus on the cups and try to get a nice arch on it. If you feel like you can keep the ball out of the cup by blowing on it, try it. You can swat it if they bounce it and if you make a bounce that's three cups. We get two re-racks.”

“Yeah, I'm never gonna remember all that. I'm not even sure that was English.” He laughs and kisses your forehead.

“Let's just play. I'll help you.” The game begins and you're surprised both at how good Elvis is and how competitive he is. He tries so hard to be patient with you as you learn, but it's clear that he's in hell when you're losing by two cups. They're down to one cup and you have three left and Elvis is about to pull his hair out.

“I'm sorry…” You whisper. He turns and wraps you in his arms.

“No, baby, it's okay. I'm okay.” You pull his mouth down to yours and kiss him softly. He smiles against your lips and relaxes significantly. The guys all look at each other with their eyebrows raised. They've never seen their president like this with a girl.

“Y'all gonna shoot, or just make out?” Scotty asks sarcastically. Without taking his eyes off of you, Elvis bounces the ping pong ball on the table and it goes directly into the front cup. The room goes crazy as the guys clap and cuss and cheer.

“Okay, now baby if you make this, we win.” He looks you in the eye and you nod. You turn and he puts his hands on your hips, pressing himself up behind you. “Just relax. You got this.”

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, open your eyes and shoot. It feels like the ball moves in slow motion as the whole room watches it. And then, to everyone’s shock, it lands square in the same front cup that Elvis's did.

You'd think you had won the Olympics with the way the guys lose their minds. Elvis grabs you and spins you around, peppering your face with kisses. When he finally puts you down, you have to high five pretty much everyone in the room, including Scotty, who gives you a nod of respect. After what feels like way too long, the guys calm down and start to set up for the next game.

In all the commotion, Elvis grabs your hand and drags you back to the living room where everyone is dancing and settles you onto a couch in a corner of the room. It's too loud to talk and between the whiskey and beer, you don't really want to anyway. He's been dying to get his hands on you again and you'd be lying if you said you weren't craving him like a drug. You sit next to him and turn, throwing your legs over his thigh. He tips your face up to his with his finger and looks into your eyes before leaning in to press his lips against yours softly. After a few more soft kisses, he runs his tongue along your bottom lip and you part yours, deepening the kiss. His tongue dips into your mouth, tasting you, and before you know it, you're straddling his lap, grinding against him as he has one hand in your hair and the other creeping up your thigh, his fingertips under the edge of your skirt where it has ridden up. You moan softly as his thumb grazes your inner thigh, just inches from where you really want him to touch you. He pulls back for a second and just looks at you before burying his face in your neck, kissing and sucking and nipping the sensitive skin there. In this moment, you're the most beautiful woman he's ever seen and he's overwhelmed with the desire to keep you. It's an urge he's never felt before, but it's strong now as he works a spot on your collarbone with his mouth. You spread your legs wider and press your dripping wet center against his hard cock, moaning with the pressure and friction. Both of his hands run back to your ass and pull you in tighter against him. You whimper as you rub your clothed pussy on him, desperate for more. You've never wanted anyone as much as you want him right now. He moves his mouth back up to your ear and moans.

“Fuck, baby. We gotta go upstairs.” You nod frantically as he kisses you again, his thumb running over the wet spot on your panties. “Before I fuck you right here on this couch.”

“I wouldn't say no.” You whimper and nibble on his earlobe.

“You can't say shit like that, baby.” He squeezes your hips with his hands and then lifts you a bit. “Come on.”

You back off of him and stand up as he adjusts his dick under his belt and then leads you to the stairs. On the landing at the top of the staircase, he kisses you again, grabbing the back of your thighs to wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you to the door at the end of the hall and then kicks it open, slamming it behind himself. You moan loudly as he turns and presses you up against it, rolling his hips so that his cock is rubbing on your center again. The whole time, his tongue is in your mouth, sliding against yours as you kiss wildly. Your hands are in the back of his hair and he holds your ass in both of his palms.

“I need to taste you, baby. Can I?” You whimper and nod as he puts your feet back on the floor and sinks to his knees. He lifts your shirt and kisses your stomach while you roll your hips forward sensually. You've never been this turned on in your life and you're desperate for more of him. He pulls your skirt and panties down and removes your shoes, leaving your whole bottom half naked. “Mmm… let me see this pretty little pussy.”

He puts one of your thighs on his shoulder and looks at you dripping with arousal.

“So pretty.” Without another thought, he leans forward and licks you, pushing his tongue in you as deep as it'll go.

“Fuck. Elvis…” You gasp and moan as he goes to work licking your clit and fucking you with his tongue. Eventually, he brings his mouth up to focus on your sensitive bud and slides two fingers up into you, curling and then pumping them. You feel your orgasm gather in your hips as he sucks lightly on your clit and then licks over it in tantalizingly slow circles.

“I can feel you, baby, you're so close. Let go and cum for me.” You've never had a man bring you to a climax this quickly or this easily before and something inside you reaches out to him as your release hits you, flooding your body with electricity and ecstatic pleasure. He groans, tonguing you through your orgasm as you shudder and pulse on his fingers. The look on your face, the little sounds you make, the way you taste, it all makes him want to do this for you forever. “You're so pretty, baby, so sexy when you cum for me. Was that good?”

“God-fuck-Elvis, yes!” You struggle to make words happen and he pulls back, smiling, his lips and chin glistening. He stands up and strips off your shirt, yanking your bra off and tossing it across the room. For a second, he just lets his eyes run over your body before he reaches out and gently drags his thumb over your nipple.

“So beautiful.” He murmurs, drinking you in and holding you in his mind. There's something particularly sexy about being naked while he's fully clothed. It makes you feel like some kind of nymph or goddess as he stares and touches you softly.

“I want to see you.” You run your hands up under his shirt and he lets you push it over his head and off. He drops it on the floor and you press soft kisses to his chest. Your hands drift to his belt buckle and he sucks in a breath as you undo it and the button and zipper on his pants. It surprises you that he's not wearing underwear when you see the tufts of brown hair in the opening of his slacks. Now it's your turn to drop to your knees, pulling his cock free and pumping it with your hand a few times. He groans and leans his head back.

“Feels good, baby.” He whimpers as you lean forward and lick a circle around the exposed head of his dick. When you pull him fully into your mouth, he damn near doubles over on top of you. Your oral skills are impressive and he bites his bottom lip and moans, trying not to completely lose control. “Fuckkkkk.”

You bounce on his cock and then press your nose into the tufts of brown hair as you take him deep in your throat. It makes your eyes water, but the strangled sound he makes when you do it is worth it. You continue working him with your hand and mouth for a bit until you feel his stomach tense and know he's getting close. That's when you pull back and stand up, kissing his chest again. He pushes his pants off the rest of the way and kicks off his shoes until he's as naked as you are. For a bit, you just stand there taking each other in. You've both had sex before, plenty of it, but something about this feels special and important. Finally, he reaches out and takes your hand, walking with you to the bed. Suddenly, he feels very vulnerable, like this is his first time again. He settles you on the bed and then lies down next to you, running his hand over your stomach.

“I'm sorry. I just got suddenly nervous.” He chuckles a bit and kisses your lips.

“Me too. Why does this feel so…?”

“Important?” He finishes your sentence and you nod.

“Yeah, that's exactly it.” You look into his eyes as he presses his hand to the side of your face, rubbing his thumb on your cheek.

“I think maybe this matters, maybe we matter.”

“I think so.”

“I don't wanna fuck you, baby.” Your eyebrows pull together in concern. “I want to make love to you.”

You relax into him as he moves on top of you, pressing kisses to your forehead and cheeks. He grinds his hips against yours and you feel the tip of his cock on your clit. You moan softly as he rearranges his hips a bit to line up with your entrance. Spreading your legs a little, you grant him access and give him permission to push into you. He slowly moves his hips forward, entering you gently, almost lovingly. You arch your back as he groans with the sensation of your tight wetness wrapping around him.

“God, baby. We fit together like a lock and key.” He rests his head on your shoulder as he fills you fully, stopping to give you time to adjust. But it's not really necessary as you do seem to fit together perfectly. He pulls his hips back, sliding out of you, and then rolls them forward again, pushing deep inside you.

Sex has never felt like this before for either of you. The physical sensations are heightened by the emotional connection you've created in the time since he first approached you. It's happened fast, but there's something a little undeniable about the two of you.

“Elvis… this… I…” You can't seem to find words to express what you're feeling as he picks up a slow and steady rhythm of sliding in and out of you.

“I know, baby.” He captures your lips in a deep kiss and then rolls onto his back, pulling you with him. You sit up and arch your back, swirling your hips around so that you push his dick even deeper inside you. His hands go to your breasts and he squeezes gently before running them down your sides to your hips. You let him guide your movements for a bit and then lean forward, kissing his cheek as he starts to fuck into you from underneath. “Feels so goddamn good, honey. I never wanna stop.”

“I wish you wouldn't.” You kiss over to his mouth and dip your tongue between his lips. His pace becomes more erratic as his body tenses again, pulled tight as his climax builds in his balls.

“Fuck, baby, I'm gonna cum. Can I-”

“Yes. Don't pull out. I'm on the pill.” He nods and kisses you again as his hips snap upwards to meet yours over and over again.

“Shit.” He whispers through gritted teeth just before he slams into you one last time and his cock throbs and twitches, filling you with his release. You lay on his chest and he wraps his arms around you, kissing your forehead. “That was incredible, honey.”

“It really was. Elvis…” He looks down at you inquisitively.

“What is it, baby?”

“Nothing. It's nothing.” You look down and he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear, tipping your chin to look into his eyes.

“It's not nothing. I think I know what you're trying to say.”

“You do?”

“Yes, and it's insane.” You nod and settle into the crook of his arm as he kisses each of your fingertips. At first, you're a little hurt that he'd call you insane, but that quickly changes with what he says next. “It’s crazy, but I don't care. I love you.”

You look up at him with your eyes wide and wet and he caresses your cheek.

“I love you too, Elvis.” You snuggle in as close to him as you can, your fingers rubbing over his chest hair gently.

“Will you stay with me?” He whispers. You think to yourself that he'll never get rid of you now.

“Tonight?” You ask innocently and he nods, still kissing your fingertips.

“Yeah… or… like… until we die?” He says the last part quietly, like he's not sure he wants to hear your response. You giggle and kiss his shoulder.

“Until we die. I like that idea.” He relaxes a bit and kisses your neck.

“Good. Me too.”

******

The End

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69

[overnightheartbeats]

—

"Fair enough," protective family she understood. That was her dad and Juju, but still, she smiled because Laurel was certain about not hurting him. No way. "Well, I know. I meant failure on my part, I think I fooled you with my dancing, but I'm not an expert. Nope, not trying to offend you at all. I trust you."

The waffles pulled a smile from her, yet another example of how close he was to his family. Or, so she assumed. Why else would someone learn about how to make Mickey Mouse ears shaped waffles? "You got me, breakfast is the best part. I have to admit, I'm intrigued by these waffles."

"I'm glad you think so, Texas suddenly got so much better now that you're here." Laurel felt a warmth rise in her cheeks, his smirk just had that effect on her. "Count me in, I'll be there next time."

Sitting in front of him with one less garment on her should've brought a sense of shyness to her, but Laurel felt the furthest thing from that. Silent nod, and she felt giddy, knowing they were in agreement. She felt safe here with him, there was no hesitation that this was where she wanted to be. Her eyes trailed up from the edges of his sweater to the soft skin that peeked out from his collar. Laurel smiled against his lips, the feeling of his hand roaming her body pulling a content sigh from her, only to eagerly meet his lips once more. Were they speaking the same language right now? Because she swore she felt something in his kiss.

She hummed at the trailing feeling between her breasts, her head falling back in response. The way he made her come alive, oh, his touch was magic. His breath tickled against her skin, only drawing her closer to him as her breaths grew shorter. Each kiss left a warm trace on her, eyes closed as she reveled in the electrifying sensation. He was exploring her body, but it was odd, feeling like he already knew her, even better than she knew herself. Her body trembled in realization that he found a sweet spot, a breathy moan escaping her as he bit into her collarbone. The feeling was unlike any other, her mind going fully blank as her hand trailed under his sweater to reach his chest, pulling on the edges of his sweater. "I...I want you," she whispered, just for him, leaning up to nip at his earlobe. Being this close to him was intoxicating, one kiss and she was hooked. Happily though, there was no complaint from her at all.

—

"You'd have three very angry people at your door," he laughed even though he knew it would be true. Isa, Inez and Emma would truly dislike anyone who he didn't get on with. "I wouldn't set you up for failure. I'm offended," his dramatic gesture made his hand fall on his forehead like she had truly hurt him. "But, it would require a lot of trust on your part."

"Waffle shaped into Mickey Mouse ears. I am on expert on that and since working at the diner I feel like I've conquered breakfast foods. So, I've got breakfast covered for you." Truly if it wasn't for Emma he wouldn't really have stepped into the kitchen. He was grateful they did send him more than poptarts in their care packages.

He smiled like she had just amused him. "I think being stuck here with you is not too shabby of a life. You've made Texas a little less insufferable." Eli shrugged and smirked. "If you're there when I clock in, I'll make you the freshly made batch."

He let out an audible gasp as his chest breathed heavily, eyes following her every move. She had a captivating way to hold his attention. As her fingers moved to remove his hoodie off her body, he felt the gravity of this moment. He trailed his eyes up slowly as he drank her in and took in that silent nod. His hands cupped her face and continued to kiss her? This time taking her down so that half of his weight laid on his elbows. One hand roamed down her side to her hip, the touch was deliberate as his mouth moved against hers in an unspoken word of I'm yours.

The other that framed her face stayed at her haw for a second before it moved to the dip between her breasts. Familiarizing himself with the soft skin, the way they were so uniquely Laurel. He brushed her hair aside, letting his breath dance across her skin, his leg slipped between her thighs a second later.

His lips trailed from her mouth, across her cheek, to her neck and had his tongue sweep across the spot he knew noticed her whole body tingle in arousal. He grinned against her skin, enjoying the fact that he found key points. He groaned into the crook of her neck at the skin to skin contact. He kissed down her neck to her clavicle, dragging his tongue along the bone, before dipping down to the valley between her breasts. Eli was deeply aware to make sure she was ready the last thing he wanted was to hurt her.

For that matter he traveled his mouth down her neck, teeth biting into her collarbone wanting to see the bruises blooming after he lapped his tongue around to soothe it.

[xoxochb]

request + a/n at the bottom

cw: (overly?) rough sex, brief swearing, overstimulation, piv, and erm I think that’s it? mdni (or do, that’s none of my business)

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

he’s trying to kill you, that’s what. there had been a celebratory event for percy jackson— what he did this time was beyond your knowing. one day he kills the minotaur the next he’s universally known and wanted by the fbi, in a similar way he’s praised at camp for every tiny thing he does. new quest, celebration, came back alive from a quest, celebration, presumed dead but came back alive, celebration, just existed, a damn celebration! the kid’s not even eighteen and he’s the talk of camp! it’s ludicrous, yes, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck, what other people cared about was out of your capacity of understanding, he’s just a kid.

to your boyfriend, though, percy wasn’t ‘just a kid’ he was the bane of his existence. when you think about it— why was it fair that percy got claimed to quickly and is actually acknowledged by his godly parent while luke can’t do the same? that’s unfair. today, during another celebration for the great perseus jackson, you witnessed luke’s anger first hand, through fireworks and a party bonfire, you were pulled away by him in the middle of your s’more making— which he claimed was “helping add onto the hype for that dumb kid.”

with a pout spread over your lips, you’re dragged to an empty cabin eleven, his bed more specifically. you had no control coming after this, none when your clothes were pulled off, and none when he, without warning, shoved his cock inside of you (quite violently may you add, may the gods save you from the pain you’re going to feel in the morning). nonetheless, you’re not going to interfere with his mood, you’ll let him fuck you senseless until you fall into a coma. and that’s what you’re sure he’s trying to do!

because between his thumb maniacally rubbing over your clit and with each vicious thrust you feel yourself growing progressively more lightheaded, your hands tightly fisting the sheets and a plethora of tears streaming down your perfectly pink cheeks. you hear luke murmur incoherent babbles, something you assume is all hatred towards the son of poseidon, because you take notice that he gets rougher each time.

“luke, I- please… mhm I- can’t-” what the fuck are you saying? you sound like a clueless child attempting to say their first words. your chest heaves with great force, seemingly to the same pattern of the cacophonous fireworks outside that don’t seem to ever stop— gods, why fireworks of everything? you’re getting a fucking migraine at this point, and with every deafening moan escaping your maroon lips your head seems to pound harder. this is how you’re going to die for sure.

practically sobbing, you grab at luke’s dark curls in an attempt to pull him out from you, or just to do anything that involves stopping your current state of overstimulation. it’s too much, fine at first, but now it’s too much. panting, you repeat his name, pleading, praying. he doesn’t seem to listen at all, continuing to thrust inside you to impel your moans to jump to the highest octave possible, and you’re half sure that by now they’re louder than the bursting fireworks outside.

“you gonna come for me, angel? not done until you come for me…”

you could scream. shit— you��re practically already moaning at the same decibel level of a blood curling scream (you’re so not going to be able to talk tomorrow). “fuck, please- ah- luke, I-”

nonetheless, you feel your velvety walls tightening as your orgasm washes over you, your thick wetness coating his throbbing cock. he prolongs this for a full minute you were sure would’ve killed you, until he pulled out of you, he’s met suddenly with your deathly glare.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?”

༯ “So you had this post where u said 'louder than the fireworks' (which later said '(he's fictional)' lol) and i got an idea.. Luke castellan just fucking the shit out of you while everyone is celebrating percy bc he's mad or sum shit idek all i know is that its rough and he's trying to get louder than the fireworks 🤭” hi nonnie, my love, for some reason I was unable to respond to your request?? it only had “delete” and “post” but I love love loved this request so I just copied it on here :)

[mandarinmoons]

Idk if this is gonna make sense but I just got the random idea, but I’m not good at writing and I’d love to see it come to life. (I’m listening to scared of my guitar and idk just made me think of this😭)

Could you possibly do a story where the reader is kind of falling out of love with their current boyfriend (if you want to make it sound less bitchy he could be cheating or smthn idk) and falling in love with Spencer? Reader finally breaks it off with their now ex and finds comfort in Spencer and stays the night, eventually revealing the fact they’re in love with each other. If you don’t want to, that’s completely fine, and if you do, thank you so much!🩷

Being in the embrace of your loved one should feel warm, it should feel comforting, like nothing bad could happen to you, but that’s not what you felt. Every time you were in the arms of your boyfriend you felt cold, freezing even.

The past few times he had taken you into his arms for a hug you felt a shiver go down your spine and you had to push him off to escape the dreaded feeling. You would mumble an apology, but in all honesty you didn’t mean it, you felt distant from him and you didn’t want to hide it, why hide it when it would only make you feel miserable, or should you say more miserable, than you already were.

The only time you would feel the same hint of a spark the first time you were with Dylan was whenever you spent time with your coworker Spencer. His facts about the most obscure things would have your ears perk up and your day was better whenever you got to talk to him or listen to him talk. His ramblings were often blown off by others but whenever he would open his mouth to talk you felt like you could listen to him for hours. Whenever you were alone you would often reminisce about the previous breaks at work where you would laugh about a not so funny physics joke he would make, which to you would be the highlight of your day. You often wondered to yourself why is it that you felt so light whenever you were with Spencer when you should be feeling that way with Dylan, your boyfriend?

Eventually one day it hit you that you had deeper feelings for Spencer than you thought you did. It should’ve made you feel guilty, sick to your stomach even, but all you felt was clarity and the butterflies you were suppressing for so long finally had a chance to be set free. That lasted for a moment however as you were reminded that you already have someone, but knowing what you knew now it was clear what had to be done.

“So it’s over? Just like that?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I get more of an explanation?”

Your eyes went straight to your shoes as you scrambled to think of anything else. What else could you say? To you it seemed very simple that the feelings just weren’t there anymore and you needed to move on. Dylan still seemed to have feelings for you, you remembered the hurt in his eyes whenever you’d pass a hug or didn’t kiss him back, it was eating away at him and he deserved an explanation, one that you weren’t able to give him.

“No, I’m sorry.”

Turning to walk out, you froze when you heard Dylan’s last words to you, “I’ll always love you, Y/N.”

You wished you could say the same, but if you did you would’ve been saying the biggest lie of your life and that’s something neither of you deserved, so instead you turned the door handle and walked out, without a single word said.

Without knowing or looking in which direction you were walking, you knew the path all too well. Not long after, you were knocking an all too familiar door. After a moment of waiting, the door opened and you were met with none other than Spencer.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?”

You opened your mouth but no words came out. Your eyes felt dry so you knew that no tears were to be shed, but you felt dead inside and you knew Spencer could see it. He was quick to pull you inside and bring you in for a hug and you felt it again, the warmth of his embrace was quick to go through your whole being and your arms instantly wrapped around him to not lose any of the feeling, you were reminded of why you did what you did.

“I broke up with Dylan.”

“Oh Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be, it was for the best.”

Spencer took a moment to hold onto you and comfort you before taking a hold of your hand and taking you to the kitchen. It was hard to hide the smile that crept up to your face as your fingers lightly intertwined, but you bit your lip as this wasn’t the time for these types of feelings.

The whole night you spent your time at Spencer’s place and what should’ve been a time for you to rest and gather your thoughts over the break up were instead filled with laughter. Spencer insisted you stayed over the night so you didn’t have to be alone and you agreed immediately. What started off as him trying to teach you how to play chess ended up with you cuddled into his side as you watched a movie.

During the whole night you wondered if Spencer had any clue about your feelings for him. He most definitely knew that you needed some level of comfort to deal with the “heartbreak”, but right now you were clinging to his side more than you ever did with Dylan. He wasn’t one to turn you away either as at one point his fingers found your hair and were now lightly carding through the strands. The action felt so relaxing that you were having a hard time keeping your eyes open.

“You know I never really liked Dylan.”

“Really? How so?”

“I don’t know, whenever I saw you two together you seemed so uneased, as if you couldn’t wait to get away from him.”

Spencer’s words hit hard as what he was saying wasn’t far from the truth. You were reminded of the day Dylan came and surprised you at work and when the team came to look at the lovebirds, the whole time Dylan had his arm wrapped around your waist and you were itching to slip out of his grip. Spencer seemed to take notice of your discomfort and you remembered how he was quick to tell the team they had a case to get back to, he did that so Dylan would leave, so you would feel more comfortable.

“To be honest I don’t know if I ever truly loved him.”

Saying it out loud made you feel like a bitch, what kind of person stays with someone for so long without even knowing if they truly loved them. Dylan did make you feel safe, sure, but he wasn’t the best at making you feel loved. You weren’t even 6 months along into your relationship when you both settled into somewhat of a routine: wake up, have your coffee, kiss each other goodbye, maybe text a few times over the day, whoever got home first made dinner, watched some TV and that was it, no more no less. It was comfortable, but not exciting, you were aware of people who said not to chase the highs when it came to love, that it was supposed to simple and easy, but something deep inside you was screaming that this wasn’t it, that it wasn’t supposed to end this way, even if it was the only thing keeping you sane.

Now here you were, in the arms of a man that made your heart flutter whenever he was in your line of view, the man who was always considerate of you in the smallest of ways when he didn’t need to be, but he wanted to and that’s what made you fall for him.

“Y/N, I…”

Before Spencer was able to finish his sentence, your lips were quick to find his and a sigh parted both of your lips as it registered as to what was happening. Spencer’s thumb brushed over your cheek and your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as if your life depended on it.

When you both parted, your eyes found his and the look of shock in his eyes mirrored the one in your eyes, what had just happened?

“I’m so sorry I-”

“Don’t be, I liked it.”

Spencer brushed the hair out of your face, the feather light touches of his fingers feeling so comforting against your skin. You braced yourself and looked into his eyes as you knew you couldn’t hide what you felt for much longer.

“Spencer-”

“I like you.”

He took the words out of your mouth, quite literally. You weren’t expecting those words to come out of his mouth, you always thought that Spencer was just kind to everyone around him, but it seems like he was being extra kind to you for a different reason.

“I like you too.”

Goofy smiles splayed over both of your faces, Spencer leaned in for another kiss and his lips barely touched yours and yet you felt fireworks go off inside of you. Was this a feeling that would stick around or inevitably fade? You weren’t sure, but you were willing to risk it to find out.

You can find my masterlist here!

Let me know your thoughts in the comments and like & reblog to support <3

[logmore]

hello logmore! silly question but i was curious about your thoughts on like a dragon: infinite wealth so far. you mentioned being bored by the first few chapters (fair) so i’m curious what your impression is now that you’ve played more of it. i wish sega was a bit more transparent about the development of the yakuza games because im kind of fascinated by some of the decisions they made in this one

I finished the game last night so I can reply now. I will talk about Infinite Wealth spoilers here:

Things I like:

Combat: Just Yakuza 7 combat but fleshed out, which is perfect. Being able to position your character is great, the team chain attacks and weapon attacks and stuff are fun to set up. The one flaw with it is that it does not interact with Kiryu very well, and by the end I was actually doing less damage with Kiryu if I got a tag team or weapon attack instead of a basic Brawler attack.

Classes: There were a lot of classes I ignored in 7 because they just weren't doing anything; it was just better to leave Joongi, Zhao, and Eri as their defaults and go to town. I think 8 has an improved skill inheritance system that made it more worthwhile to try out different classes, so by the end I switched every character away from their base class. Desperado and Aquanaut stood out as being very flexible and fun.

Kiryu: Technically this is an Ichiban game, but its more of a send-off to Kiryu than anything. I like how there was a ton of content dedicated to Kiryu revisiting characters from the past games, delivered in a way that I still liked it even though I only played 0 and 1. I thought the way they introduced leveling up his stances + gaining the ability to go beat-em-up mode was pretty clever. I also liked equipping him with gear that gave him buffs every turn so he could tear enemies apart like King's Hawaiian rolls.

Yamai: They knew what they were cooking here. You have to fight this guy like 4 times and I enjoyed it every time. He's cool, he looks cool, even the main characters say he is cool, and if he isn't playable in Yakuza 9 I'm gonna be astounded.

Things I don't:

Slow start: The first chapter got me pretty invested, but after Ichiban goes to Hawaii the story is a fucking slog for like 15 hours. I got so bored I stopped playing, and when I came back it finally picked up again.

Side content that I wasn't ever going to do: This is the reason the start of the story is so slow. I'm sure Dondoko Island and Crazy UberEats and all that is fun, but it isn't the type of thing I'm playing these games for, and when so much time in the story is spent ramping up all these side games to play, I just feel like I'm wasting my time. Next game might as well have a Virtua Fighter 6 tournament in the middle of it, why not?

Villains: Bryce and Ebina are just lame characters. This is a game with essentially 2 final bosses, but neither of them have the emotional core or the weight of the bosses from 7. Bryce is literally just 'a weird guy shows up', and while I understand what they were going for with Ebina, his goals seem so disconnected from what the protagonists are experiencing that him taking his shirt off and fighting Kiryu doesn't feel like a real climax. Getting Danny Trejo on board was a pretty inspired choice, but you fight Dwight so early that it framed him as a weakling that didn't matter. And he keeps coming back, in spite of that! There were a few showdowns in 7 where it felt high stakes/intense, but in 8 they had to bust out Sawashiro again to capture that.

Managing 2 parties at the same time: On one hand its cool because it means I get to use every party member, but I wish they bumped up the XP of whatever party you weren't playing, so that when you switched between them they were both at the same level. There were a couple of points where I had to grind because the difficulty of the content was scaling based on what my previous party had left off at, so I needed to get my current party to that level first. I also had to spend a lot of time doing the dungeons to get the materials for weapon upgrades on 9 characters. Just kind of time consuming, but it isn't the worst thing in the world.

Tatara Channel: Its dumb, but this is the only thing in the game that actually made me mad. The social media aspect of the story already feels dated in a way, and I don't care about Vtubers to begin with, but the thing that actually got me upset about this shit is that all the Tatara Channel scenes are just story recaps with unskippable dialog where something relevant MIGHT happen at the end. At one point I got tired of it and just skipped the cutscene, and then all of the sudden Kiryu is in front of Tojo HQ ready to fight. I hope they never deliver a plot in this way ever again

Even though I wrote more negative things than positive things, I still liked this game a lot. 7 is a way better story, but I think Ichiban and Kiryu are just too strong of protagonists to truly hate on the story, even if a lot of things surrounding it are dumb. I'm looking forward to playing pirates with Majima, and I will wish on a genie's lamp for Yamai to come back as a playable berserker-type character

[rita-repulsa-ke]

Ritual of the Rose - Ch 3

"That form you're wearing is a corpse. It should have been in the ground years ago," Rio hissed, and as she said it, her voice a cold mist over his skin, Billy could feel decay setting in, his fingernails loose and prone to falling away, his skin slack on bones, his heart no longer beating in his chest—

Fic Summary: Changes the events of the last episode. Instead, Agatha swears a vow and prepares to go on one final adventure with Death.

For some reason, Billy has decided he's a protagonist as well.

Part 1 Part 2

Chapter 3 - Who is Billy Maximoff?

William Kaplan was a murderer.

No. William Kaplan was dead. He'd died in a carwreck with his parents and someone else had co-opted his body.

That wasn’t his fault! William was already dead and he was dying too, so he'd grabbed on to what he could, like some kind of weird, body-snatching parasite. Only he hadn't gotten just a host, he'd also gotten a life, someone else's life, someone else’s parents, who were currently downstairs thinking loud, worried thoughts about what was going on with their son.

Drugs? Online bullying, maybe? He was so into that weird occult stuff, should they have put a stop to that sooner?

No, he was a good boy. Reliable, kind, got good grades, had never done anything seriously wrong. They should trust him.

And here it was, he braced for it every time, and it still hurt.

It's only, he changed so much after the accident.

I'm sorry, he wanted to tell them. I'm so, so, so sorry, I'm not your son, I'm the leech that took his body. You guys are great parents, and you're my parents, you're the only parents I've ever known, please don't hate me for not being him.

He couldn't tell them that, though. He couldn't tell them their son had died years ago and now there was only him, Billy Maximoff, murderer.

He couldn't tell them the murder part either, couldn't sit downstairs on the couch and sob and let them hug him and tell him it would get better, like they had the first time he'd gotten his heart broken or a bad grade or a mean comment on his Instagram. He couldn't even let them be his parents right now, because there was no way he could confess that he'd killed three women on a Road he created with his mind.

Agatha said she would have killed all of them. And she had, in the most literal sense, killed Alice. Still, it had been his idea to form a coven in the first place, his idea to lure victims to her, even if he hadn't known what he was doing.

He should hate her, but he was too busy hating himself.

He uncurled his hand, locked in a fist since the fight in Agatha's garden. Took out the crumpled piece of stationary and smoothed it out. Noted with mild amusement that it seemed to have silly cartoon cats around the edge of the page. He couldn't imagine anything less Agatha, so probably this had belonged Agnes prior to her time as a hardboiled detective.

Agnes, a woman who'd been kept that way by his ostensible mother, who'd also trapped and tortured a whole town.

Boys, thanks for choosing me to be your mom.

"William! Do you want some dinner?"

He jumped and his hand clamped tight around the stationary again. That was his mother, he reminded himself, the one calling to him with concern in her voice. "No," he said. "I'm not very hungry right now."

"This is why you're such a beanpole!" His dad called, trying for jovial.

"I'm watching my figure," he retorted on automatic, smoothing the paper once more and looking at the address.

An apartment in New York City. No other information, except the hastily scrawled number on the bottom.

He wasn't going to call. He didn't need Agatha's help anymore. He had never needed her help, probably—except for the part where he had and he still didn't know if he was murderer a fourth time over for that, if he'd killed the boy he'd helped put Tommy in.

But that part was done and he didn’t even really regret it. The Road had made his wish come true. Now he needed to find his brother. Tommy, at least, wouldn't go through what he had, waking up with no memory and no understanding of what had happened to him.

Agatha had to told him to go alone. He could do this. He'd made a whole (deadly) reality. He could handle one mysterious stranger.

Resolute, he turned to go and almost screamed, clapped his hands over his mouth to stop the sound at the last moment so he didn't get his parent's attention.

He really didn't want them to come up here, because standing too close, smiling like an open wound, was Rio.

"You know, I think she forgets I can do this?" the woman said. She was wearing her green witch outfit, skintight and kind of cool in a scary way, but all Billy could remember was staring into the skeletal face of Death. "Be everywhere at once, I mean." Then she lunged suddenly, closing the gap between them until their noses almost brushed. "Boo!"

He jumped back and hit his dresser, gave a short, unmanly shriek and she burst into cackles of laughter so loud he worried his parents were about to come rushing up the stairs.

"W-what do you want? Are you here to—" he said, swallowed and didn't finish the sentence, his eyes on the blade in her hand, even though he knew she wasn't going to literally stab him to death.

Well, he really hoped she wasn't going to stab him to death.

"Take you? I should, you know. This…" she shook her head, back and forth, and each time it turned too far, creating the unnerving illusion her head was going to start spinning around like a bad horror movie effect. "This is so wrong, what you're doing here. You're the wrong soul in the wrong body. Very, very gross. But no, not right now, I'm busy letting Agatha drag me along like she always does. Do you know she's really bossy?"

"I know," Billy said, unsure if they were bonding here.

"Right, I bet you do. That whole Road business." She paused, twirled her knife, paced in a circle around his room and watching her now, he couldn't imagine how he'd ever thought she was a normal person, even a normal witch. She moved like a tiger penned into a cage, as though the form she wore didn't quite contain the edges of her, a non-Euclidean—

"She likes you, you know," Rio said, interrupting his mind's desperate attempt to comprehend what was right in front of him. "Agatha, I mean."

"Can she? Like people?" Billy said, which prompted a shorter, sharper cackle.

"I ask myself that All. The. Time," Rio said, sprawling back on his bed and kicking her feet, impatient, restless, almost human except for all the ways she wasn’t. "But apparently she's got a soft spot for little boys."

It took Billy a moment to correctly interpret that statement. "Because of her son."

Rio gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Probably. So maybe I can help."

"What?!"

"You," she pointed her knife at him. "Maybe I can help you."

"With what?"

She wrinkled her nose, jerked the knife up and down to indicate all of him. "Your…condition."

"…And that help isn't killing me?"

"Right," Rio said. "But it would involve you vacating that bod—"

"No!" Billy snapped, his arms wrapping tight around himself, as though he could keep his body held in place.

"That form you're wearing is a corpse. It should have been in the ground years ago," Rio hissed, and as she said it, her voice a cold mist over his skin, Billy could feel decay setting in, his fingernails loose and prone to falling away, his skin slack on bones, his heart no longer beating in his chest

"Stop!" His magic flared and on instinct, he grabbed for her mind, like he'd done to Jen and Lilia and for a brief, overwhelming moment, he was Death, standing side-by-side with a winged shadow bigger than he could grasp and he was—

He was everywhere. He was vast, all-consuming, but deeply personal at the same time.

He stood at a hospital bed, listening to the monitors make a sound he'd only heard in movies. Flatline. "…Sorry," he said to the woman standing in front of him, looking much healthier and more alive than what lay in the bed.

"Damn," the woman said. "I'd really hoped I'd get a bit longer."

"Everyone does," he said, or rather, something else said, speaking through him like he were a ventriloquist's dummy. "How was what you had?"

He barely heard the answer. There were simply too many, all competing for his attention. An undiscovered allergy. A stupid bet about who could drink the most. A car wreck. A heart attack. Kidney failure. Aneurysm.

And then he was scooped up, deposited back into his body on a wave of green magic, and for a moment, he could see himself as she did, an abomination, an outright defiance of the natural order—

"I'm not doing that to them!"

He snapped back to himself, fully himself, no trace of lingering Death. Rio was still on his bed, looking up at him with narrowed eyes, her mouth firmed into a thin, sharp line. "…You are powerful. And dangerous. I can't believe Ags didn't drain you dry. Them who?"

He collapsed onto the floor, pulled his knees to his chest. "My paren—"

"William? Are you okay?" A familiar voice called up the stairs.

"Yes! Everything's fine, mom."

"Their son is dead," Rio pointed out and Billy glared what he hoped were daggers at her, feeling the urge to use his power boil up again, magic dancing across his fingertips. He forced himself to wrestle it back. He didn't know if he would ever sort out everything he'd seen in the few seconds he'd been Death. He was certain he didn't want another go-round and he'd seen how ineffective Agatha had been at fighting her with direct magic, something he didn't even know how to use.

"I'm their son! And I'm not going to let you kill me,” he said, very aware that he had no way of preventing her from doing whatever she wanted.

Rio tossed her head back and cackled, shrieked, and his parents must not have been able to hear her at all, because she was really loud. "You can't stop me. Even Ags can't stop me and she knows that, though she hates it." Something in her expression went distant, sad like mourners at a funeral. "...She knows that,” she repeated and Billy opened his mouth to ask, but Death spoke first. "But fine, have it your way, keep this disgusting charade up a little while longer. Eventually I'll come and collect. I always do. I am the end of all things, baby!" She sprung to her feet, spread her hands too wide and gave him a toothy smile. "Sooner or later, everything is mine."

"…I can see why you and Agatha might have worked once. She's really dramatic too," he said, which got him another cackling laugh as response.

"She is. I've got nothing on Agatha Harkness," Rio agreed, cloying affection lacing her voice.

"…creep," he muttered.

Rio only snickered. "You'll understand one day, when you fall in love," she told him.

"I am in love! I just have a healthy relationship, thank you.”

"Someday, you will meet someone who takes part of you away with them, and you never, ever get it back," Rio said, somehow managing to sound genuinely adoring as she said it. "And then you'll know what love is."

"…I think you should look into counseling."

"Tell your father to get his heart checked," Death replied and then, before he'd even processed the words, she was gone.

“...Thank you?" he whispered to thin air, then staggered to his feet, suddenly desperate for his parent’s company even if he couldn’t tell them a single true thing about his life.

"Hey, dad," he said as he came down the stairs. "I'm going to ask you to do something really weird…"

For more of Rio being everywhere at once, try Death and the Scarlet Witch. Or for something cuter, try the witch who cried wolf.

[ladyloveandjustice]

I was talking to my partner about how I think the main reason "heroic" gyaru characters are so trendy in anime right now, is likely because the actual fashion trend is over now, meaning they're no longer "scary" for being girls that rebel against Japanese beauty standards and act "rough". I do remember a time where gyaru characters showed up a lot less frequently but were generally portrayed as aggressive dumb sluts when they did, you know the drill... I remember there was even an afterward in the sailor moon manga where Naoko described herself as being scared when approached by a gyaru because that was the culture of the time. They were considered scary delinquents.

But now that the trend is officially over, anime can look back and decide "that was pretty cool actually! maybe they weren't all dumb sluts! Maybe stereotypes are bad! Maybe those delinquents were cool! maybe it would be great to have a sexy gyaru girlfriend!" (it does fail to address that even if a girl slept around that's fine, all the gyaru characters portrayed as good in anime are generally chaste, which generally gets a big whawhwhwhwhwa reaction, you can't judge a book my it's cover it seems!!! okay but why are judging the book to begin with.)

like don't get me wrong i love gyaru characters i love delinquent girls with all my heart and am glad to see them getting their flowers even it's too little too late. But it's interesting.

There is one big exception to the "animanga portayed gyarus as bad and dumb" at the height of the trend (and probably a lot of smaller ones but I'm talking in broad strokes) which is a shoujo manga called Gals! The main "gal character" is portrayed as struggling in school and a little ditsy, but overall plenty smart. She's a role model! She's a gal for justice. I've been meaning to read/watch it so I can't say much more but:

When she was in elementary school, she was enthusiastic about becoming a police officer, but quit the ambition after learning that she won't be able to dye her hair or wear her favorite accessories.

Being a gyaru saved her from becoming a cop, thank god.

There's some other big examples I found are also shoujo: Peach Girl and Shiritsu! Bijinzaka Joshi Koukou...

Sukeban were considered a similar delinquent subculture rebelling against norms, and I don't know enough about manga scene then to how Sukeban were overall portrayed, but it also interests me that the most prominent positive portrayal of them was also a shoujo manga-- in this case Sukeban Deka/Keiji. This was in 1975 when sukeban was very much still a thing. And arguably, that manga is why a lot of Sukeban heroes/nice girls show up in media today despite being so incredibly anachronistic.

(there's something to be said about how both delinquents being "good" comes with ties to the police, though with Saki it's more complicated because law enforcement is also depicted as incredibly shady and actually blackmails her).

I don't know what my point here all is, just that it's an interesting but unsurprising trend of rebellious women only getting sympathy when they're no longer active and no longer perceived as a threat, but the exceptions of sympathetic portrayal specifically when the trend is popular coming from shoujo manga...well it's only two examples so it could be a coincidence, but it's interesting. I think a very likely reason is the mangaka some girls who read manga might fall into those countercultures so they should have a story for them, or the idea rebellion might be more enticing for girls even if they are straight laced...

(actually it could be i don't know what im talking about i might delete this later)

[sansaorgana]

I am SCREAMING on the inside. This is so good, so delicious, so fucking amazing!!! 🤩🤤 I couldn't help myself and read it at work, sitting by my desk and keeping a poker face on... 😩

I am tempted to quote every single line because the fic is so beautifully written but of course I can't do that. 😅

Still, I have A LOT to say! 💓

However, you make it look so peaceful, he has to try it occasionally. Of course he usually finds you in your dreams, takes all the attention you can spare and more, leaving you wanting until waking when he can ravage you again.

I love how possessive and obsessive he is, that he even haunts her dreams and claims her mind this way all the time.

What makes you think a servant as worthless as you deserves a love like hers?

I love me some humbled Sauron lmao

In this state, you're reminded of just how dangerous your husband is, even between dreaming and waking. His eyes are black, unseeing, with a terrifying expression you're sure would have annihilated any enemy he could have been dreaming of.

Why is this so fucking sexy lmao scared & horny! 🤤😩

"All is well, my love, it wasn't real, you're here with me, no one can touch you here." Some nights, holding him close and murmuring sweet reassurances in his ear is enough to soothe him; tonight he needs a little more from you.

Well, he's welcome to need more and I'm more than happy to give it to him 🥵

But he's hard against your hip, a fact you're trying to ignore; taking advantage of him is the last thing on your mind, not that he would protest, even when he returns to his right mind.

TAKE ADVANTAGE OF HIM, BITCH!!! 😂

You feel him grind against you and you release a breath you didn't even realise you'd been holding.

God, he's such a needy dog! I love that ❣️

"Use me," his breathy moan breaks on your skin like a wave on the shore, tingles washing down your spine, filling your core with empty warmth as he bucks his hips into yours, which respond in kind as you turn your head to meet his hungry kiss.

USE ME??? OMG 😱

"Use me... take me... love me..." he begs you, with less and less breath left in his lungs with each command, as you gently lay him on his back, straddling his thighs, grinding your core into the hard muscle.

I loved this plea because it's like he's begging but also ordering since he's Sauron himself? Idk to me it's a perfect mix of submission driven by dominance if you get me and I'm a slut for that!

Sauron watches you hazily, through heavily lidded eyes, in disbelief that the goddess above him is his and his alone to enjoy and to ruin.

HIS AND HIS ALONE TO ENJOY AND TO RUIN 🛐🛐🛐

You sit up, licking him from your fingers, and your smile is so radiant, he forgets where he is, who he is, all the evil he has ever done. For one shining moment, it is just you and him, all he'd ever need.

She could fuck the evil outta him, love that 😂

"No, no, not that, never that, always so good to me, my beautiful wife, love you so much, my sweet..." His cunt-drunk ramblings are adorable but you put a finger to his lips.

CUNT-DRUNK SAURON 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

You can't help but feel absurdly powerful, a Maia fallen apart at your fingertips, never mind this Maia, this beautiful demon who vowed to never relinquish his control again. It's an honour and a privilege to see him submit to you like this, submit to himself like this, let himself just feel without exercising his need to dominate, to just let go with the one person in the world he knows he is truly free with.

Oh to be the only person he would submit to... 😌

"Please, my love... remake me, make me yours,"

Remake me!!! 😳 He just wants to be her subject, her disciple... Ugh 😩

A tiny voice in his mind tells him he should be embarrassed; but what is worship if not praise?

What is worship if not praise... 🤧

Sitting astride him, you feel as if he's never been so deep inside your cunt before now. You hiss a little at the intrusion but he's so familiar, every time he enters you, it feels like coming home.

I love how they fit each other so well in every sense 😉

"I know what you need..." You murmur as you lean over him, slowing the rhythm of your hips, "nothing in that head, cock wet and wanting, heart full and happy."

I am shooketh and speechless 🥵

Subjugate the Devil (Sauron/F!Reader)

Sauron has a nightmare. You are only too happy to oblige in making him forget; or:

Sub!Sauron makes a lengthy appearance. Plot, what plot?

Set in my In The Dark series, but works as a standalone (alludes to trauma mentioned in other chapters, but it is literally just smut) // AO3 Link

Soundtrack: Disease by Lady Gaga, Don't Let Me Go by Raign, Like a Prayer by Madonna, Oh You Are Not Well by Chloe Foy

Playlist!

Warnings: 18+! Dom/sub - gentle dom, needy sub; just pure smut; literally Plot What Plot (though there is a bit if you squint); P in V sex; oral sex (male and female receiving); copious amounts of bodily fluids (sorry, like for real); cockwarming; dry humping; handjob; begging/denial/teasing; praise kink; multiple orgasms; overstimulation; unresolved trauma; tiny bit of violence but it is just an illusion; very soft!Sauron, so tender. We make him cry and that's all I wanted to do.

A/N: I've been working on this for a few days, it is ummm filthier than anything I've ever written, like I really don't know where it came from. The warnings are just what's on the menu at this point idk.

I pictured Annatar for this one, but you guys can imagine whomever you like (@troublesomesnitch he's got that chest hair though!!) Sub!Halbrand would be a treat ngl.

Excuse the gif guys, I just want to see him cry :)

Word Count: 4.2k (!!)

Sauron does not sleep. Ordinarily.

However, you make it look so peaceful, he has to try it occasionally. Of course he usually finds you in your dreams, takes all the attention you can spare and more, leaving you wanting until waking when he can ravage you again.

Sometimes however his dreams come unbidden. Instead of slipping into your mind, he falls deeper into his own, unearthing old memories he'd rather stay buried, burned beyond recognition.

You always know when this happens; your usually calm and collected lover wakes in a cold sweat, clutching at your skin, his face in your neck, desperate to forget what his mind has shown him. He has never told you the details, but you can only assume it has something to do with his master, with his cruel and unusual forms of punishment.

Tonight is one of those nights, worse perhaps as he moans and writhes in his sleep, rousing you immediately. You can't seem to wake him from his torment, every gentle touch, every kiss to his temple only seems to fan the flames. You end up atop him, each of your thighs either side of his abdomen, trying to shake him awake.

Visions of Morgoth in his wrath; illusions of you partaking in his torture at his master's hand; pain and terror in his heart, as the nightmare refuses to cease, even as you try to soothe him.

What makes you think a servant as worthless as you deserves a love like hers?

Morgoth's words hold him in a vice grip; he can't break free, the unshed tears behind his closed eyelids threaten to leak onto his cheeks, stricken with fear and pain.

"I've got you, you're okay, you're here with me." You stroke his face, your hair brushing his chest, unsure of what to do except hold him.

When his eyes finally fly open, he grasps your arms, and with a leg hooked behind you, flips you onto your back, a dagger at your throat.

You're fairly sure his weapon isn't real, but he is a master of illusion, and pain is merely a construct of the mind; he could hurt you if he wanted to.

In this state, you're reminded of just how dangerous your husband is, even between dreaming and waking. His eyes are black, unseeing, with a terrifying expression you're sure would have annihilated any enemy he could have been dreaming of.

Your hands shaking, you reach up slowly and try to take the knife; surely enough, when you clutch at it, it disappears like smoke between your fingers, so you take his hand instead, still clenched unfeeling around his shattered illusion.

You pull his hand to your chest, letting him feel your racing heart flutter against his fingers.

Slowly but surely, you bring him back to you, his daze broken but his psyche bruised and bleeding.

Your shallow breathing evens out as the light returns to his eyes, and for a moment he looks at you confused as if his position above you is of your own making.

His eyes dart from his hand on your chest, to your fiercely fixed expression, attempting to soothe his nerves but unable to hide how shaken you are.

"Is this real?" He's still breathing hard, for someone who doesn't really need to breathe. "Are you really here? Is it you?"

He's so tender, tracing your cheekbones, your cupid's bow, gently raking your hair with his fingertips.

"Of course, beloved, I'm right here, I'm always right here." You try to hide your confusion, assuming he's still walking the line between dreaming and waking.

He slowly pulls himself away to nestle at your side, reluctant to break eye contact with you as he does so, still clutching at you to ground himself.

"What did I do? Tell me I didn't hurt you, love." He's so quiet, it's unnerving, but you take him in your arms anyway, crading his head to your chest.

"All is well, my love, it wasn't real, you're here with me, no one can touch you here." Some nights, holding him close and murmuring sweet reassurances in his ear is enough to soothe him; tonight he needs a little more from you.

All you want to do is tell him you love him, that he deserves you, that you're his, that he deserves everything you want to give him, that you ache for him when he's not by your side.

But he's hard against your hip, a fact you're trying to ignore; taking advantage of him is the last thing on your mind, not that he would protest, even when he returns to his right mind.

He listens to your heartbeat for a while, focusing on the strong rhythm to forget his waking nightmare, marvelling at how your heart beats in tandem to his, running his trembling fingers across your exposed skin, up your arm, across your collarbone to your throat, watching the artery jump in time with your heart. He knows you so well, so intimately, that when you notice his erection, your heart skips a beat, and he can guess exactly what you're thinking, not needing to peer into your mind for himself.

You feel him grind against you and you release a breath you didn't even realise you'd been holding.

"Love..." You murmur into his hair, absentmindedly running your fingers over the sensitive pointed tips of his ears. "Come now, you need to rest, darling."

He can't show you what he saw, what he went through, the horror and the agony of his master's worst torments. The image of you performing the worst of it is tattooed on his eyelids, a reminder of Morgoth's favourite form of punishment. He can't show you, can't tell you, but he can ask you to make him forget.

"I need you," he whispers in your ear, strangled groans peppering his sentiments, making you gasp, "need you to feel good, need you to know how much I adore you-"

Your eyes widen as blood rushes to your cheeks, the heat of his words enflaming your core.

"I want you too, love, but right now? Are you sure?" You ask him through ragged breath as he turns his attentions to your neck, licking and sucking and blowing cool air over your wet skin, before warming it with his tongue once more.

You're so close to giving in, wanting to give him all he craves and more, and he knows it.

"Use me," his breathy moan breaks on your skin like a wave on the shore, tingles washing down your spine, filling your core with empty warmth as he bucks his hips into yours, which respond in kind as you turn your head to meet his hungry kiss.

"I'm yours. Make me yours."

His words thrill you, but his tone makes you feel incredible; needy, wanton, desperate to please you.

You glide your hands over his torso, relishing in his hot velvet skin and the soft hair that covers him; taking your time as he tries to kiss you senseless, his heated skin glowing with sweat that you can't resist tasting for yourself, salt and smoke on your tongue.

"Use me... take me... love me..." he begs you, with less and less breath left in his lungs with each command, as you gently lay him on his back, straddling his thighs, grinding your core into the hard muscle.

You slide your hands between the layers of fabric separating your skin, stripping him slowly and laying him bare for your viewing pleasure alone.

He arches his back for you, baring his neck and thrusting his hips into the ghost of your touch, chanting your name and praying for you to take his aching cock in hand.

You trace the contours of his thighs, his firm abdominal muscles, the stiff peaks of his nipples, earning you a shudder and a moan that shoots straight to your core, hot wet arousal dripping onto his thigh.

His fingers move to gather your nectar instinctively, wanting to savour every taste of his wife, but you grip his wrist and raise it above his head, and he gasps. You've never denied him before, not in the eons you've adored him, but it turns him on beyond belief.

Sauron watches you hazily, through heavily lidded eyes, in disbelief that the goddess above him is his and his alone to enjoy and to ruin. You are a sight to behold, as your hair cascades down your back, lips parted and breath ragged; your breasts bounce as you ride his thigh, hypnotising him, drawing him deeper into your thrall.

He tries to lean up to kiss you, lave every inch of your skin with his desperate tongue, but you push him back to the bed.

"Not yet, soon but not yet." You want his mouth on you, the aching between your thighs only amplified by the distinct lack of your husband’s throbbing length inside you, but tonight is for him; he needs to surrender to you first.

"I don't think you've let go quite enough yet." Your warm breath breaks on his sensitive neck, washes down his spine, straight to his cock, throbbing in his need for you.

You haven't touched him yet, hands firmly in place on his chest; his eyes plead with you to be lenient, and as his loving wife, you're only too happy to oblige him as he continues to beg for all the care and attention you can give.

"Please, love, please, need you to-" he gasps as you run your fingers over the head of his cock, gathering the copious amounts of precum pooling on his stomach to ease the glide over his flesh.

"Is that better, love?" You can't help but smirk at his pained gasps, as you languidly stroke his shaft, circling the sensitive head with your thumb, your eyes locked on his.

His cock twitches in your hand as he moans your name, begs for release, begs for your cunt, begs to be remade.

"That's it, love, let yourself go. All you need to do is feel good for me, my love," you lean down, whispering in his ear, "please me, show me how much you deserve your release."

His breath hitches and you hear him swallow hard; his expression is a masterpiece, eyes wide, jaw slack, as he begs you to show him mercy, groaning and whimpering as you pump his length.

"Please..." It's only one syllable, but it feels like a lifetime as he chokes out his plea, tries to touch you to no avail as you hold his hands above his head, placing them in a death grip on the headboard.

"Please, what? You might need to be more specific, my darling." You edge down the bed, holding him in place as he tries to follow you, until your head rests on his thighs.

"Need you to... fuck!" He growls and curses and grips the headboard as his hips jerk and writhe to meet you.

"Need me to...? What, my sweet, tell me?" You are enjoying teasing him, perhaps a little too much, and you will pay for it later, but right now he's so deeply needy for your love and attention that he'll take whatever you bestow upon him.

"Touch me..." he groans, as his cock visibly throbs with need, "your fingers, your mouth, I don't care, I need you, you're the only one, only one who can make me feel like this..."

His pleas and whimpers cut off with a sharp gasp, as you take his cock in your mouth as deeply as you can manage. He feels the opening of your throat on his tip and loses his mind, his oversensitive flesh shooting stars up and down his spine, heat pooling in his abdomen that almost immediately spreads like wildfire throughout his body, as your fingers and tongue and lips work together like an orchestra, drawing an irresistible melody from the depths of his pitch black soul, and all the seed his cock can muster.

You pull away and let him spill himself over your thighs, your abdomen, your hands; he looks mortified but he can't stop now he's started, pearly white splattering your skin, making you his.

"I belong to you," he keens and stutters but you hear him through his orgasm, his whimpers becoming moans that reverberate through you.

You can only watch him adoringly as he finishes quaking and moaning beneath you, unable to quite believe that he is yours, even after all this time.

You sit up, licking him from your fingers, and your smile is so radiant, he forgets where he is, who he is, all the evil he has ever done. For one shining moment, it is just you and him, all he'd ever need.

"Proud of you, love, so good for me." You murmur as you lean down to kiss him softly, giving him that tiny confirmation of your affections he needs right now.

"...thank you, needed you. Ahh- Need you." He is grateful, oh so grateful, but his still-hard cock betrays him, and you can't help but grin.

"Oh love, did I not do a good enough job? Have I left you wanting?" Your faux sincerity pains him and he immediately starts apologising.

"No, no, not that, never that, always so good to me, my beautiful wife, love you so much, my sweet..." His cunt-drunk ramblings are adorable but you put a finger to his lips.

"It's okay, I know, I've got you," you smile at him; he returns it so radiantly, you have to kiss him, to be the one to destroy it.

His pretty moans flutter to your cunt, arousal dripping from you like honey from the hive, and he looks up at you, gloriously wide eyed, begging to be allowed to taste your nectar, to sate his thirst for you.

You can't help but feel absurdly powerful, a Maia fallen apart at your fingertips, never mind this Maia, this beautiful demon who vowed to never relinquish his control again. It's an honour and a privilege to see him submit to you like this, submit to himself like this, let himself just feel without exercising his need to dominate, to just let go with the one person in the world he knows he is truly free with.

"Please, my love... remake me, make me yours," His breathless plea is like no music the Valar have ever sung, his moans a spell all their own, enrapturing you even as you hold the key to his release, as you take command of the Maia who values his control of others above all else.

"I do believe, dearest, that you made quite the mess, actually, perhaps you'd be so kind?" You gesture to the cum that still drips down your thighs, sticky and uncomfortable and definitely ready to be washed from your skin.

He is only too happy to oblige.

You lie back and beckon him to you; he works his way up your body, methodically but no less desperately, licking up every drop to please you, content to savour every inch of you. When he tries to make a detour to your mound, you gently yank his hair, reminding him of his task, revelling in the absolute control he's given you.

"Oh love, you did make a mess," you moan as you stroke his hair, "so good for me, cleaning me up, such a good husband, always so good to me."

Receiving such praise is almost cruel and unusual for Sauron, who is frankly more used to giving it to you, and receiving wrath from all others. A tiny voice in his mind tells him he should be embarrassed; but what is worship if not praise? Your devotion, your care, your undivided attention; all for him, giving him that for which he yearns above all else.

He can't resist stealing a kiss, crashing his lips to yours as he cradles your face. You taste his seed on his lips, something that feels strangely forbidden, thrilling in its taboo. The aching in your core has only intensified with his efforts, and you feel it is about time he served you with his silver tongue in the way you both crave. You push his head to your cunt, with which he gladly complies, settling between your thighs, gripping your legs firmly apart to allow him to feast on you.

Before his tongue can delve into your folds, he holds back, locking his gaze on yours.

"Please? Let me taste you, let me show you how much I love you."

"Fuck, yes, love, yes," you chant his name as he finally puts his tongue to excellent use, seeking out your swollen clit, lapping at your entrance, sucking at the velvety skin of your inner thighs.

He keeps his hands in view; you haven't told him he can touch himself, and he won't break this spell now.

Like a starving man at a banquet, he indulges in you, exquisitely. Every tiny moan that escapes him vibrates over your folds, making you whimper in return; he flicks his tongue over your entrance before sliding two fingers deep inside you, hooking them and stroking that delicious sweet spot inside you that makes your toes curl. He watches you the whole time, basking in the chorus of your pleasure.

You feel the heat coil in your abdomen, and you pull him away sharply; his disappointment is evident but you want him inside you when you finally claim your orgasm.

"Lay back, love, hands on the headboard." It is intoxicating, having your husband obey your every command, and as he settles into the mattress, looking up at you expectantly, you vow this won't be the last time the two of you play this game.

Sitting astride him, you feel as if he's never been so deep inside your cunt before now. You hiss a little at the intrusion but he's so familiar, every time he enters you, it feels like coming home. You grind your hips into him, capturing with your lips every whimper that forces its way past his clenched teeth. Tracing his firm chest, running your fingers through the smattering of soft hair, feeling every curve and contour slowly, languidly, while he writhes beneath your thighs, caging him inside your wet heat.

His strangled moans and gasps echo throughout your chamber; every time he reaches for you, you press a kiss to his palm and hold it above his head, until he learns to behave.

"No one could love me like you, care for me like you, knows how to take their pleasure from me like you, beautiful wife, only yours." He feels like he's losing his mind, slipping further into some deep quiet space where it's just the two of you, where nothing matters but you on his cock.

"Only you can put me back together, can sing the song my soul yearns for-" you interrupt his pretty words with your fingers in his mouth.

"Hush, my love, focus on me, only me, you don't have to speak, you don't have to beg for me unless you want to, just let it happen." You trace the shell of his ear with your tongue, savouring the tiny sighs that escape him, before nipping the pointed tip and relishing his sharp moan.

"Bound together, you and I, for all eternity... and I wouldn't have it any other way, sweet husband." You groan out between thrusts, every movement within you the sweetest form of torture.

No other thrill in the world will ever compare this; your divine husband laid out beneath you, looking up at you with blissful wonder, eyes black with lust, golden hair mussed and tangled by your fingers, your name tumbling from his swollen lips like a prayer and a curse. Right now, you'd take either.

"Darling, please," his broken gasp spans an octave, jumping to a breathy moan as you descend on his cock once more.

"I know what you need, love," you moan as you ride him, the drag of his cock inside you fucking delicious, but the look on his face is a feast in comparison.

His eyes widen as he clutches the bedsheets, refusing to look away but requiring every iota of self-restraint to stay present with you, not to lose himself to the unearthly sensations you've introduced him to tonight.

"I've got you, just let it go, give yourself to me, beloved, let your mind empty-" you kiss him deeply and swallow the groan building in his chest.

"So proud of you, so good for me, doing so well," you let out a throaty moan as you clench your walls around him, feeling his cock throb within you.

"I know what you need..." You murmur as you lean over him, slowing the rhythm of your hips, "nothing in that head, cock wet and wanting, heart full and happy."

His ragged breath hitches as the last shred of self-control slips through his fingers. He thrusts up deep inside you, throbbing, aching to fill you, as you grab his hands and pull them to touch you finally, a precious relief to you both.

As he runs his hands up your bare skin, he kneads your soft flesh, worshipping every inch as if he's never beheld anything so perfect in his long life. His large hands encircle your abdomen, grasp your hips, pull your ass impossibly closer until you can't tell where you end and he begins; not that the distinction is important anymore.

He rests his hands on your back, fingers splayed as if to encompass you within his flesh, as if being wrapped around you, caged inside you, isn't enough contact, like the two of you enjoined in body and soul isn't enough, will never be enough to sate his hunger for you.

Finally, you let him lean up to join you, his torso flush with yours, gliding against you, slick with the sweat you've provoked in your teasing. He kisses you hard, tongue tangling with yours, teeth hungry, lips swollen, your breath mingling just as your souls are entwined, a maelstrom of pleasure in which you'd be happy to be imprisoned forever.

You brush back his soft hair, grip the roots, and pull his head back, bearing his throat to your greedy lips. You grind on his cock as you press harsh kisses, soft bites, to his tender flesh, laving his skin and savouring his moans under your tongue. He fucking whimpers under you, and you pull away to take him in, in all his ruined glory.

There are tears in his eyes, his lips wet and parted for your kiss; his expression is nothing like you've ever seen, so completely has he given himself to you and your pleasure.

You softly trace his throat before grasping him firmly, feeling every breath, every sob, every whimper, reverberating through you, inflaming every nerve in your body.

His Adam's apple bobs under your fingers, firm in your grip but tender in your passion. Tears spring unbidden to his eyes, falling down his glorious face and filling your heart with such love, such adoration, such utter and complete devotion, that it scares you for a moment, pushing you over the edge at last.

You clench around him, milking his sensitive cock for every last drop of seed, as you ride this new high, this indescribable feeling of power that his submission has wrought in you. You think if you could just hold onto that feeling-

"I feel it too-" his strangled moan is cut short, all the stars in the sky paling in comparison to the pleasure he feels beneath you right now.

You feel him paint your insides, his cock throbbing and twitching inside you until he is spent. Your foreheads pressed together, your limbs entangled, every breath shared in tandem; you would stay here forever. And he would gladly grant his goddess that wish, and any more that your heart desires.

You roll onto your side, limbs shaking with exertion, pulling him to join you, refusing to allow him exit from your wet heat. He huffs a small, relieved sigh, not wishing to be parted from you either.

His iron embrace never fails to comfort you, and it is especially firm tonight. Your heart swells at the thought that even after surrendering to you so entirely, so perfectly, he still needs to hold and shelter you, can't give up his role as your protector even at his most vulnerable.

"We should do that again, love." You murmur, feeling his smirk against your neck.

"Whatever you desire, my Queen," he peppers your neck with tender kisses, sensing you are close to sleep. "I am yours, you are mine-"

"And always will be." You interrupt with a sleepy smile, provoking a chuckle.

Sauron can only watch you enthralled, as you drift off, content, your limbs entwined with his, reluctant to follow you into sleep after tonight's events. Perhaps, yielding control is something he should master, he muses; after all, you did seem to be utterly delighted with the turn of events, and he is nothing if not a loving Lord, a devoted husband enthralled by his wife to distraction.

You slip into dreaming, holding onto him as if for dear life, relishing in the feeling of being so loved, so obeyed.

Your brain is empty, but your cunt is full, and your heart is happy.