#but this mat is easy to fold up and put away

[blueboyluca]

I wish I’d bought this annex matting ages ago it’s such a great way to get a large nonslip area for exercise and play.

[that-sarcastic-writer]

Hi can u please write about domestic life with Bills Eric Draven? Can there be fluffy and smutty moments? Tyyyy

Boy can I??? I’d be DELIGHTED. His domesticity is all I think about. He’s the sweetest, kindest and most loving bf and you can’t change my mind. I got a little carried away! Hopefully this is what you were wanting! Enjoy doll!

Bf!Eric x gf!reader. Explicit sexual content under the cut, minors dni, oral (f receiving), p in v. brief mentions of drug use, mostly fluffy relationship stuff

It wasn’t entirely easy. You and Eric. The circumstances under which you met and the nature of the both of you was quite dysfunctional. You were chaos, and he was a mess. But it worked. The two of you. You worked perfectly. You weren’t sure what it was, you had never been able to maintain a healthy relationship with anyone. But it was almost like you were meant to be together. If you didn’t believe in the whole soulmates thing, you started to believe it when you met Eric.

He was so unreal, so out of this world. He was always by your side, fingers laced with yours, arm thrown over your shoulder. He always had to be touching you, whether it was something as little as holding your hand, or going as far as putting you in a matting press when he fucked you, because he hated the idea of not being as close to you as possible. He never meant to, he didn’t even know what it was. He just did it one day. Your knees damn near next to your head, your body nearly folded in half as he draped his body over yours. You didn’t even know your body could bend this way. But god this you like it. How deep he could be this way. And you had him so close you could hear his little sounds, his hard breathing and his soft grunts.

He always felt a little bad, manhandling you around like you were nothing. If he wasn’t bending your body in ways you didn’t think were human, he was putting you in a headlock as he took you from behind, one arm draped around your neck from shoulder to shoulder. He just wanted you close, afraid you’d run away. But he sometimes forgot to take it easy on you. You always assured him you were more than happy with him, that he wouldn’t hurt you. Deep down it made you all kinds of earn to know you could arise such passions from him. For someone so morbidly quiet and nonchalant, Eric was very intense and passionate lover.

“It’s okay, baby. I got you. You’re doing so good.” He would tell you, his voice soft and quiet in your ear, grounding you as his cock fucked you into nothing. “I just want to make you feel good, hm? Just want to make you feel good. That’s what you deserve.”

“I don’t deserve this. You’re too good for me.” He would say, his lips on your cheek as quiet moans spilled from your lips. “You’re just so… I can’t believe you’re all mine.” His name falling from your lips would be the end of him. So soft and desperate for him. He didn’t have much experience before you, but now he just can’t get enough of you. He wanted to be all over you at all times it actually upset him when you had to leave or when he did.9

But he was also oh so kind, so gentle and patient with you. He always followed you around like an oversized puppy, quietly listening to whatever tangent you would go on about. You could be cursing up a storm (albeit not directed at him) and he would take it with a straight face and big eyes. And it was often that nothing more but his presence would calm you down, center you.

“How do you do it?” You asked him one day, hot tears staining your face after a day of one stressor after another. Eric had managed to get you on the couch where he silently sat you down on his lap. You almost immediately curled up into his lap, legs tucked under you and your head on his chest. You felt an almost instant sense of relief and peace fill you, and you were sighing deeply, feeling your heart slow its fast beating.

“Do what?” He asked you softly, his fingers massaging your head calmly. You rested your hand on his chest, eyes closed.

“This. You calm me down. I was crying two minutes ago and now I feel… okay.” You felt him shrug under you and when you looked up he had a smile on his face. That smile could make you forget any grief or sadness you might have, because none of it really mattered.

But it wasn’t just him who could bring you peace, you were his, too. His lows weren’t as intense or visible as yours, but when he was at his low, he was at an all time low. He wouldn’t speak, he wouldn’t eat, he would just go about his day like a corpse, eyes dead and empty and his mind elsewhere. You understood he had his issues too, so you tried to be there for him without pushing him. You were more subtle. You’d make him dinner, you’d invite him to watch a movie with you. And you’d tangle up with him on the couch as you all but forced him to eat, and you’d talk to him about your day. But something so small always meant so much to him. He couldn’t help the way he felt, he couldn’t help his negative thoughts that drove him to do drugs in the first place, but having you around to remind him someone in this world loved and cared for him, it made it all a little bit easier.

Eric started to bring you flowers one day. Every week once a week, he could come home with your favorite flowers. He alternated colors. With a sheepish smile he’d stand in the doorway with his hands behind his back. And the way he would look at you when gushed about how pretty they were was like he was looking at the most beautiful thing in the world, the only one that mattered. And to him you were. Seeing that smile on your face was the only thing he ever wanted to do.

“You like them?” He would ask as if it wasn’t obvious, but he’d do it just to hear you giggle and watch you all but skip to put them in water. “Yeah? I saw them and thought about you.”

He always thought about you. There wasn’t a single waking second where he didn’t. You were good for him. And he knew that. He didn’t need anything else to fill the emptiness in his chest because he had you. You had filled that hole and he made sure you knew that everyday.

Eric had many ways to show his love and devotion for you. He wrote you poems, he drew for you, you had so many sketches you have started to run out of places to hang them, but this one was by far his favorite. He could spend literal hours between your legs. He absolutely loved it. He was absolutely obsessed with it.

“E-Eric.. Please.” You were shaking, sweating, incoherent as his tongue circled on your clit, his long fingers fucking you through your, fourth, fifth? You stopped keeping count. He had been down there for an eternity. He just kept asking for one more, just one more and he’d leave you alone. But it wasn’t enough. He was quite obsessive with the things he wanted.

But he figured he’d have to give you a break eventually. He was also painfully hard.

“I’m sorry baby.” He muttered softly as he crawled up your body, using the back of his hand to wipe the mess you had made, but his plush lips were still bright red and glistening. “You know I get carried away sometimes… You’re just so..”

He would kiss your face, brush your hair, soothe you back into a functioning human being. It wasn’t often that Eric vocalized his thoughts, but in moments like this when he felt safe and comfortable enough to be vulnerable, he would tell you all about how pretty you were, how talented you were, how much he loved you.

Eric was always full of surprises. He was quiet and nonchalant, but he was impulsive. You learned that very quickly.

“Baby?” You heard Eric call out to you as he came into the loft. You sat on the computer as you listened to one of his recordings. He had asked you to help him out since he really wanted to start pursuing his music and art now that he actually had someone that supported him.

With a smile, you took your headphones off and went to greet him, but you immediately frowned when you saw him hold something wrapped up in his hoodie.

“Hey, whatcha got there?” You stood up, approaching him with narrowed eyes as he broke out a smile.

“I’m sorry. I just found it, I just.. I felt bad.” He pulled down his hoodie to reveal a precious little kitten. A black ball of fur coating its little face. Your heart immediately sank and you wanted to cry.

“Oh my god, Eric.” You took the kitten into your hands and your eyes started watering as you hugged it. Eric wasn’t sure what to make of your reaction. Did you hate it? Were you upset?

“No, baby, I’m sorry. I found it outside, it’s kinda cold and it was drinking from a puddle. I didn’t want a car to hit it. We don’t have to keep it if you don’t want to, we can take it to a shelter or something.” He started to mumble, a hand coming to rub the back of his head and his lips fell open when he saw a tear fall down your cheek. He approached you, reaching to grab your face. “Please don’t cry.”

“No… No Eric I’m not..” You sniffled, laughing softly through your tears as you leaned into Eric’s chest while still hugging the now purring black ball of fur. “I’m not upset at all. It’s just… I’ve never had my own pet before. And it’s so cute, can we keep it, please? It’d be our little child.”

The way you looked at him with big pleading eyes made him feel so warm, he never thought he’d feel something like this. He smiled, nodding as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Of course we can keep it. He’s kinda cute, right?” Eric chuckled as he scratched the little one’s head.

“Or she.”

Your little ball of fur wasn’t the only thing you and Eric shared. You got so many matching tattoos it was concerning. Your friends and family had even told you it was odd to get tattoos with a guy you had been dating for only a few months. But it didn’t matter to you. You didn’t know why, but deep down you knew your connection with Eric was out of this world. So what were a couple tattoos? You loved that you had a physical reminder of your connection with him. The feelings deep within your souls were forever marked on your skin, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Truth was, Eric loved tracing each and every one of your tattoos. He traced his fingers over the fine lines, traced the words, he traced his lips over them too. He particularly loved the ones on your back and on your stomach, the ones no one but him could see. They were his little secret.

You matched each other perfectly, in every way.

[bunny-jpeg]

and there's nothing daddy can do about it.

price tries to gather intel on your father, a well known arms dealer. price didn't expect for his daughter to be such a good lay. but price has further intentions with you.

xoxo, bunny

price found you by accident. you were assisting your father and price thought you were the most precious thing ever. the plan to gather intel changed when he got a glimpse of your cotton panties where the wind on the tar mat blew up your skirt. fuck the old man, he was going to get everything he wanted through you.

it had been a while since price had really flirted with a woman. with missions and paperwork up to his neck, he didn't have time to bed a pretty birdie. but he didn't expect for it to be so easy.

oh, he realized. you liked older men, you liked when they gave you attention.

"you like that, baby girl?" he asked as he practically folded you in half to get access to your sweet pussy, "who would've thought that the big boss man would have such a lovely daughter." he rubbed his hard cock up against your slit. he groaned.

you were blushing and had your hands covering your face. your heart was racing with anticipation as he eventually sunk his thick cock into you. you arched your back and made such a sweet noise that price almost bottomed out into you that moment.

"such a good girl for me. lettin' the tip just press up against your sweet little cervix." price purred as he held your hips and started to thrust.

you could feel your heart in your throat and your stomach in your chest as he practically pushed your organs up with each heavy thrust. you whimpered like the sweetest little kitten. he loved when you made those sweet noises.

price had hair all over and a bit of chub at his waist. he was domineering over your smaller body. even if you had your own chub on your hips, he was still so much broader.

he just thought you were so tiny, yet you took his cock like a champ. he was bent over you as he gripped your hips, you knew there were going to be marks. his breathing became heavier and he pulled his hand away to wipe the sweat from his brow.

you felt hot all over as he bulled your pussy like a man on a mission. you laid under him so nicely, singing your sweet song of moans as he made sure that he was going to finish inside of you.

'please, john!" you whimpered as you clutched on your knees to keep yourself upright. you swore you felt his cock in your stomach, bruising it as he did your pussy.

you were often left a nice shade of purple when he was done. your hips, you ass, even your throat was something a sweet wine color. you moaned and arched your back as you felt the pleasure course through your veins. your heart hammered and you thought you were going to have a heart attack.

"pretty girl." he purred, "only i know how to make you feel this good. fuck, i'm goin' to knock you up, love." he chuckled as he continued to thrust in and out of you.

you kicked your legs out as you felt the heat of pleasure bloom in your stomach. you want to please price, you wanted him more than you needed air to breathe.

his thrusts were erratic and quick, too drunk off your pussy to care. he was a man on a mission and the details of it didn't matter, as long as he got results. and that meant a round belly and his little brat kicking in there.

he reached for you hair and pulled on it as he put his entire self into his movements. he was getting close, he could feel the tightness in him. he loomed over you and sloppily made out with you as he battered your sweet womb.

"my girl." he said, "my girl havin' a few brats and livin' away from this shit. now be a good girl and make sure you take every drop. i'd hate to find other ways to keep it all in." he chuckled, he could see the haze in your eyes from the pleasure. he pressed up against you and held your face and hair, he wanted to see you climax.

your eyes almost rolled out of your head when you came. now in a dazed state, he used your body like a toy. he purred, "yeah, girl. that's it. be good for me, put that feminine biology to use and make me a fuckin' kid." your pussy was so nice around his hard cock, he knew he ruined other men for you. but that didn't matter now, you were going to be his wife and mother to his children.

he yanked your hair once more and your eyes met, even if your vision wasn't the most focused. he chuckled darkly, "you will bear my kids, i’ll make you my pretty wife wife and your daddy won’t be able to do a damn thing about it." then gave one last hard thrust as he came inside of you.

you whimpered once more and arched your back. price let go and patted you on the face. you felt en emptiness in your brain. don't worry about ever having a thought again, just give price everything he needs to know and you'll have a happy little life as his bride. <3

[tallulah477]

Soft Touches

⭒˚.⭒. 1K Follower Special .⭒.˚⭒

Pairing: Jake x Fem!Na'vi!Reader

Warnings: P in V, Fingering, Alien Genitalia, Soft Sex, Slight Tail Play, Creampie, Knotting, Finger sucking/Fingers in mouth, Slight Breeding Kink

Word Count: 4K

A/N: First fic in a while! Sorry its a little rusty.

A/N 2: For more about how I picture alien genitalia, see here.

Summary: You enjoy a nice lazy morning with your mate after a long night of celebration.

Translations:

Olo'eyktan - Clan Leader

Muntxate - Wife, female spouse

Ikran - Mountain banshee, dragon-like aerial predators

It’s mornings like these that remind you to take a breath.

The mornings when the village is mostly silent. When the normal hustle and bustle of early clan life is put on hold for just a moment, most others favoring the extra sleep and time alone with their loved ones after a long night of celebration before the reality of the day catches up to them and they need to re-enter the real world. 

The celebration was one of new beginnings. The new life born from the couple who had been trying for a long time - new parents who you had seen almost give up hope in ever conceiving after years of nothing finally receiving Eywa’s blessing in the form of a beautiful baby boy. The People cheered and prayed for their new clan member as Jake formally introduced him to the world, holding the baby high above his head and shouting his name with pride as if the baby were his own. 

You hope maybe one day soon, he’ll be able to do the same for your own child. 

As the ceremony turned into food and food turned into dance, the night passed by in a flurry of blood thumping music and happy memories. Your mate is a vision in his Olo’eyktan garb - muscular shoulders made even more broad by the layered feathers proudly displayed on him. His beautiful face somehow made even more beautiful framed by the ornate headpiece that lays distinguished on his forehead. The multitude of necklaces and armbands that adorn him, dressed with colorful beading, intricate knots, and bones. 

They’re symbols of respect. Symbols of honor. 

You can’t wait to tear them off his body when you get home.

And so you do - following every instinct you have as you rip the badges of honor from him in a fierce display that has your Olo’eyktan practically shaking in excitement and grinning that adorably goofy smile of his as he leans back against your shared woven mat, hands folded comfortably behind his head as he lets you ravage him to your heart’s delight. 

Your lovemaking is rough. Passionate. The perfect blend of ‘I love you, baby. Now fuck me like you don’t’. It’s the kind of intimacy that makes you feel alive. It’s exciting and fun, quick and intensely satisfying as you both greedily chase that pleasure that you know only the other can provide. 

“Fucked your brains out,” Jake jokes afterwards, and you resist the urge to smack him - too satisfied and gooey in the glow of the aftermath that you can’t even bring yourself to move to make the hit. 

You think he knows that, which is probably why he said it.

You don’t dream, and sometimes that’s better than even the best dreams. There’s nothing to keep your mind working, no other life to live in another world and nothing to bring your deepest fears or greatest dreams to life. It’s just silence. Pure rest and energy replenishment. You wake up feeling refreshed - calm and serene. 

Like the rest of the world is miles away and it’s just you and the love of your life together alone, away from all responsibility and the demands life brings.

Mornings like this are easy. 

Soft light just barely making it into the hut, just enough to light up everything around you, but not enough that you couldn’t easily fall back asleep if you wanted to. Jake’s arms are a warm blanket around you, keeping you close and safe and protected even in sleep. The consistent puffs of breath on your neck from where his face is pressed close to you is soothing in a way you can’t even begin to describe. You could lay here all day, wrapped up in the warmth of his body and the unassuming fuzziness of almost sleep blurring at the edges of your vision. 

There’s no worries right now, no concern or to-do’s or looming tasks that are faring for your attention. 

It’s just him and you. Even if for only right now. 

Your fingers subconsciously trace along Jake’s forearm, the tips dragging a lazy back and forth pattern along the smooth skin. He fits behind you perfectly, muscular body curling around yours like it was built to fit against yours. You think maybe it was. Eywa may not have been his maker, the body he is in now was once human-made. But despite not being his maker, she is his Mother - and you know just as well as any other Na’vi how the Great Mother can perform miracles. 

She made him for you somehow. Just for you.

Your fingers continue their featherlight touches on his arm and they’re more deliberate now as your tail curls around the back of Jake’s leg so the soft tuft of hair at the end can tickle along the back of his knee. The light touches are guaranteed to wake him up. He showers you in a strong gentleness, granting you the light and soft touches that you love so much exactly when you need them, but he prefers a firmer touch. The softer touches drive him insane after a while and he’ll often grab your hand and push it harder against his skin to starve off the sensation or even drag your nails across the spot to get rid of the itch. 

You’re a menace, purposefully teasing him with light touches just to see him react the way he does. Just because it's a soft and peaceful morning doesn’t mean you’ll show him reprieve. 

The tightness in your core says you want him, so he needs to wake up. Just the feel of his body pressing against yours and the rhythmic puffs of breath on the back of your neck is sending pleasant tingles down your spine. The warmth of his body heat turns into a different kind of warmth that swells in your stomach and settles between your thighs.

You can feel him start to stir behind you, the puffs of breath becoming harsher as his arm and leg twitch against your lovingly mean touches. Your body tenses in excitement when you feel the sharp teeth press against the nape of your neck and the low growl he lets out reverberates through your entire body.

“What have I said about the touching, baby?”

“Firm strokes,” You grin before adding on a smug, “Everywhere.”

Jake hums against you, teeth still a clear warning against the back of your neck and they dig in just a little harder at your cheeky answer. 

“That’s right,” He says against your skin. “So why is my mate being bad on this very nice morning?”

“Wanted you to wake up,” You breathe. 

Your tail flicks at the back of his knee again and you let out an excited laugh when he pulls his arm away from your tickling fingers to snatch your tail. He jerks it swiftly in reprimand, not hard enough to actually hurt but just enough for you to feel the sharp pull of it and the sensation shoots right down to your center.

“Wake up for what?” He asks, but you can hear the responding grin in his voice.

You arch your back, pressing your ass against his bare front just to drive the point home. His cock is still sheltered in its protective sheath, but the action is clear anyway. “You know for what,”

The move does its job and your Jake is significantly riled up in an instant. He presses his front harder against your back, rolling you slightly forward to better gain leverage against you. The muscular arm you’re using as a pillow shifts so that his hand can reach down and cup your breast, squeezing the soft flesh in his large hand. The other hand slides across your hip, the tip of your tail still caught in the loose ring of his thumb and pointer finger as he drags it with him between your thighs. 

He keeps it trapped there as his middle finger runs across your slick slit, sliding up and down the length of your pussy with the lightest of touches. The tuft of hair on your tail sticks together as Jake drags it with him and a part of you wants to yell at him, mortified at the idea of your own tail becoming dirtied by your own sticky mess. But the feeling of the soft hair sliding across your needy slit makes you even more desperate and the control that he shows he has over you as he uses your own hair tuft on your tail to help him tease you makes you whimper.

“Ma Jake,” You squirm. You tilt your hips trying to get him to touch you better - push a little harder, slide a finger inside, touch your clit, something. But he doesn’t budge. Just continues his teasing as he nips his sharp teeth at your ear.

“Hm, what’s wrong, babygirl?” He mocks. “I thought you liked soft touches.”

Since he moved, your hands had been clutching the wrist of the hand caressing your breast. Now, you pull one away from its resting place to grab the hand between your thighs trying to manipulate his fingers into moving to the places you want them to. The inside of your palm brushes against the sticky strands of hair as Jake makes it brush over your clit and your tail jerks in response as your body inadvertently tries to tug it away, but Jake keeps it hostage between his skilled fingers. The fine hairs leave silky lines of wetness against your palm. 

“Please,” You whine and your fingers press against his middle finger, forcing it to slip between your wet lips. “Be nice to your muntxate.”

“Yeah?” Jake grumbles. “After you were just so nice to me?”

A part of you wants him to continue to drag this out. You like the tease. The way the barely there touches are nowhere near enough to get you to where you want to be but the tortuous featherlight brush of fingers makes you wetter than direct and firm touches would. Jake knows how to play with you, knows how to work you up to near madness with barely even lifting a finger. He touches the right spots - gentle brushes against the length of your pussy, caressing along the sides and down the slit, dipping in enough just to be able to slide across your hole that clenches with need from every new ‘not touch’. Sometimes his fingers would nudge against your clit, just enough to make you jump as a shock of pleasure shoots into your belly at the place you most want him to touch finally getting some attention, even if for only one fleeting second. 

“I’m always nice to you,” You breathe. 

“Oh, yeah?” Jake laughs, knowing disbelief coloring the beautiful sound and you can’t help the cheeky grin that pulls at your lips in return. “You’re always nice to me, huh?

“Mhm,” You agree. You lean your head back so your cheek can rub against Jake’s. “The nicest and most perfect mate ever.”

“Hm,” Jake hums and your breathing hitches as when his fingers slide more purposefully towards your dripping hole. “Yeah, you’ve never been a pain in my ass for a single second, have you?”

Your tail lashes out behind you when Jake loosens his grip on it in favor of sinking his long fingers inside you. It smacks against Jake’s thigh a few times and distantly you hope that it leaves a wet spot there too as payback, but the thought is so removed from your brain right now that it hardly even registers at all. His fingers slide into you so perfectly, the size of two of them sinking into your cunt begins to stretch you out so well. Compared to the actual size of him, it's not enough to fully prepare you. But you can feel where his cock has come out to play behind you, already hard and wet from the slick of its protective sheath as it pokes at the curve of your ass. 

“You’ve just always been my good girl,”

His words are sweet, the urge to nod and agree that yes, yes you have always been his good girl is so strong as his fingers fill you up, but you know better than anyone how the edge of sarcasm in his words ring true. When you first met Jake, you had been hostile. Furious with your best friend when she had saved him in the forest and furious even more when she begged for your help to train him in the ways of The People when her father had instructed her to take on the task of babysitter. It makes you laugh now to think back on those months. Neytiri wasn’t nice by any means, but she had quickly developed a fond friendship with the dreamwalker despite her early aggression. And even though you hissed at him, smacked him instead of guiding him into place when learning to shoot a bow and arrow and use a knife, and called him every insult you knew straight to his face while fully taking advantage of the fact that he was still learning Na’vi - you had grown to be quite fond of him too.

The differences you had once held against him were now things to be cherished. The five fingers that once made you nervous, too associated with the demons that had come and killed people that you cared about and tried to destroy your home, were a symbol of his loyalty to you and The People. He chose you - chose to be with you and give his loyalty to you and Eywa and the rest of the clan over the species he was born as, and you take pride in seeing that fifth finger on his hand, playing with it lovingly between your own fingers, and knowing what it symbolizes to you. Made a human but created by the Great Mother: different, but still Na’vi. 

But you are a warrior - fierce and focused, courageous and determined. Maybe a little aggressive. Stubborn. So maybe you’re not always as nice as you could be. The fondness grown from spending the time of getting to know Jake and the unavoidable blessing of love that came after couldn’t have stopped the aspects of your personality and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you were always a patient, kind, and understanding bundle of joy. You argue and expect things, fierce in your opinions and beliefs just as fierce as you love. 

You would never have found a worthy match with someone else in the clan. No one else could have ever handled you the way Jake can. No one else would have ever loved you as much as Jake does. 

You’re a pain in his ass - on him from the start if he’s wrong about something, making a bad call or the wrong decision, and you push him to be better as a good mate should. Direct communication. No sugar-coating things. Jake can handle it and you hate it in the moment, but you’re grateful that you can say he returns the favor too. 

“My perfect mate,” Jake agrees and your tail shakes with excitement as he digs his fingers in deeper.

You’re so wet already, slick pooling between your thighs as you spread them more to give him a little more space for his hand. The hand on your breast clings to it, not letting go or loosening its grip for a second as he squeezes at your chest. His clever fingers form a cage around your nipple that pinches the hard bud between his third and fourth finger with each squeeze, and the sharp pang of pleasure that courses through your body from the stimulation drives you to grind down on the hand between your thighs even harder.

His fingers feel so good inside you, stretching you and thrusting as deep as they can go as you leak around them. He knows all your good spots, fingertips curling and rubbing against your slick walls as he torments the spots he can reach in his position and rakes the tips of his fangs on the back of your neck to make up for the ones he can’t. Your hand is still laying on top of his, moving with it as if it’s guiding its movements. Jake lets you keep it there. He knows you like to act like you’re in control sometimes. 

The thick head of his cock pokes at your ass, sliding against the curve of it and your hand finally leaves the top of his to reach behind you. Your hand curls around his length, stroking gently and feeling each textured bump and barb rub against your fingertips. His fingers are good, magical even. But even in the soft morning glow when things are quiet and you should be satisfied, it’s still not enough. 

“Ma Jake, please?”

He chuckles. “You’re so polite when you want something,” 

You grin. “Don’t make me be mean,”

Jake shifts his hips harder against your ass, somehow shoving his fingers deeper inside you as he rubs his cheek against yours, lips pressing just off to the side of your own in a quick kiss. “Yeah, wouldn’t want you to be mean, would we?”

The joking tone is there again. The humorous sarcasm. Jake likes you when you're sweet and pliant - it's a rarity that he likes to enjoy in the odd moments that it comes like this one. But he loves it when you're mean. 

He doesn’t let you respond, instead choosing to be nice and halting the sweet torment of his fingers in your cunt and replacing them with the blunt press of his cock at your entrance. Your body mourns the loss of his fingers when he pulls them from between your legs, but you do well to push the feeling down when he hooks his hand under your knee and bends your leg up, spreading you more to give him easier access to push his cock inside. 

Your eyes flutter shut in bliss as his length spears you open, stretching you and filling you up the way you know only he can. You can feel every delicious raised bump on his cock as he slides into you and you squeeze down on him, reveling in the way the texture scrapes against your slick walls. 

Sometimes you wonder what it would have been like to be like this with him in his human body. Wheelchair and paralyzing spinal injury aside - you still imagine him standing straight, as tall as he can be, and staring at you with that daring, cocky, fearless expression of his - smirking and ready to tame you just as he had tamed his ikran. 

He’d be so much smaller than you. Your hand easily encompassing the entire side of his head as you pulled him in for a kiss, and the agitation you might feel at having to wait even for the few seconds it takes for him to pull off his breathing mask. He’d be smaller down there too. The thought makes you giggle a little. It’s a shame really - because the idea of trying the human version of him, despite your pretenses, is very appealing. Smaller human Jake is still your Jake, no matter what body he is in.

How would it feel? There would be no barbs or added texture for stimulation, no extra slick other than a small amount of precum to make taking it any easier. No knot to lock you in and keep you close afterwards. 

How would it feel encased snugly inside your walls? It would be smooth, right? Save for maybe a vein here and there. He’s told you before that a human’s genitalia hangs outside the body, balls included. You think that’s rather interesting. Stupid - but interesting. A flawed design in a species that mostly considers itself perfect. But what would that feel like? You can picture what you think that would be like - Jake’s own swinging, unprotected, with each thrust. Would they slap against your ass as he fucks you? Could they hit your clit if you make him fuck you with you on all fours?

You’d never ask him. Your pride would never let you. But sometimes, you think about it and wonder. The desire to try something you know you never can and to do it with the only person you would ever want to try it with. 

The first retreat of him pulling back and then the slow and dragging slide of him pushing back into you makes sure to clear that lingering thought out of your mind. What could you possibly want that for when you have this right here? 

Perfect, passionate, intimate, and completely yours. 

His lips are at your ear, panting breath fanning at the curve of it as he murmurs to you about how tight you are and how good you feel around him. Like a perfect sleeve made just for my cock, he tells you, and groans when the words make you clench around him like a vice. 

Jake’s hand lets go of your knee to reach around your front again, fingers finding the sensitive bud between your thighs. Your clit throbs under his touch and there’s people around you in the nearby huts - families who can definitely hear you if you get too loud. And even though sex is not taboo among the Na’vi like you’ve learned it is among many humans, it's still early on a morning post celebration and people are sleeping. You don’t think Weim, Tsuakir, and their young daughter, Iski, would appreciate getting woken up by the pleasured mewling cries of their Olo’eyktan’s mate before it’s time for them to rise. 

You get out one loud moan before Jake is pulling his hand from your breast and shoving his fingers in your mouth. 

“Shhh, babygirl,” Jake whispers. “Can’t keep you all to myself if you wake up the whole damn village.”

A part of you wants to bite at the fingers in your mouth, the urge to rebel in any way you can against Jake’s slight increase in control over you, but they work too well - long digits pressing into the sides of your cheek and against your tongue just enough to keep you quiet. His other hand is drawing swirls around your clit, using the combined wetness of both of your slicks to make it nice and slippery.  

The knot on the base of his cock is swelling, pushing and pulling at the rim of your entrance with each rhythmic rock of his hips, and you suck eagerly at Jake’s fingers in your mouth as your body molds to each stretch and give. Jake’s voice is in your ear, gravely and deep as he groans about how he’s going to tie you to him, keep you locked on his cock and fill you up until your belly swells. 

“Maybe next time it will be us up there introducing our kid to the clan,” He grunts, nipping your ear with his sharp teeth. You moan, eyes fluttering as his thrusts speed up, the wet sounds of skin on skin and his voice filling your ear is all you can hear in the small hut. “Would you like that, baby?”

The swollen knot catches on your rim, pushing inside with a pointed snap of Jake’s hips, and you gasp when it slips inside you, stretching you to what you always feel are your limits but your body welcomes him willingly. The shock of his knot locking inside you and the insistent circles on your clit trigger your orgasm, and you cum to the warmth of Jake’s own release painting your insides as you clench around him, pleasure crashing through your body and leaving you feeling all the more fuzzy and weightless in the soft morning glow filling the hut than how you woke. 

Jake’s arms cuddle around you, his head laying on top of yours as you both bask in the afterglow. The village is starting to come back to life around you, sounds of children playing and the usual hustle and bustle of clan life making its way through the entrance of your home. Soon, you’ll have to leave the safety and closeness of Jake’s loving hold.

But not right now - you still have some time left. 

Taglist: @eywaite @lyannalothbrok @erenjaegerwifee @f-cklife @beautiful-brown-skin-05 @minnory @localjasmine @skywonder @luvv4j4ybe11 @vampirefilmlover @aria-tempest @pocky444 @xylianasblog @anemonelovesfiction @sbrn0905 @cuddle-stuff @pandoraslxna

**Comment here to be added to/removed from my taglist!

[citrustan]

slipping through my fingers [prologue] (myg)

pairing: min yoongi x reader genre: dilf!yoongi, exes and co-parents au, angst, fluff, smut summary: you've always thought you had it way too easy. all of a sudden, your life seems to be taking a few unexpected turns. it's time your luck ran out. word count: 1.4k warnings: none, you're all good > : ) here's the masterlist to the series

The soft whirring sound of the radiator echoed through your cozy apartment.

It’s homey and comforting to hear the constant hum in the background. Sometimes, you’d leave the window open for the cold air to enter your space just so you had an excuse to use your radiator.

Still, you ought to get that fixed up before your ex-boyfriend lectures you about getting a new one already.

It was one of those days when time seemed to have slowed down. As you folded your daughter’s fresh laundry, you went over your tasks for the day.

You were in no hurry because for once, you had everything together.

The living room bathed in the sun’s golden hue.

Your daughter sat on her favourite spongy floor mat, completely absorbed in creating her new art piece. Her fingers were covered in pink, purple and white paint.

Momentarily pausing, you take note of what type of paint she used.

Acrylic.

You sigh. That would be a pain to clean off.

After putting away the laundered clothes, you remind your daughter to get into the bath.  

You stood in front of her with your hand on your hips, “Nao, do you want mommy to run you a warm bath or would you rather shower?”

She simply hums.

“Mommy needs to shower too. You better get in there…” You walk away after adding, “Before I do.”

At that, Naomi instantaneously stops and rushes into the bath.

Naomi was a lot like you. She hated using wet bathrooms, as do you. But motherhood had changed you. Now, you’d do just about anything for your daughter.

As if you just remembered, you yelp, “Hold on! Let me clean the paint off of you first.”

You didn’t want your pristine white bathroom tiles to stain.

After bathing and dressing your daughter in a sage green cotton dress that you stitched yourself, you decide to let her watch TV even though it isn’t time for that just yet.

“Is daddy coming to get me today?” Naomi’s enthusiastic voice stopped you. It’s a bittersweet moment for you. On one hand, you’re happy that your daughter’s happy, on the other, you’re reminded that Yoongi and you aren’t together anymore.

“Of course, he is. It’s Friday!” You match her tone. She perks up and resumes watching the Barbie movie you put on for her.

Naomi would be distracted for a good thirty minutes now.

That does not leave you a lot of time for your ‘everything’ shower, but you were aiming high either way.

While in the shower, you let your thoughts wander to Yoongi.

He suggested you have dinner together because he had a few things to discuss with you.

You don’t think too much of it. It’s probably something about his upcoming business trip. You’ve got everything covered either way.

Your breakup was… inevitable. It wasn’t mutual at first, but you knew it’s where you were headed to.

After five years of dating, while simultaneously parenting Naomi, you wanted to get married. Yoongi didn’t.

You yearned for the validation and commitment of marriage, while Yoongi held steadfast to his belief against it. He refused to confine himself to a traditional marriage.

When you opened up to him about your insecurities about him leaving you for someone else, he grappled to reassure and console you. It worked for about a month.

Your differences, once manageable, had now grown into impossible divides, creating a rift that stretched beyond mere disagreement.

Self-doubt and a lack of validation destroyed your relationship.

The water had almost run cold by the time you finished your shower routine.

You pick out a sage green dress for yourself, similar to Naomi’s, just longer.

In no hurry, you moisturize and blow-dry your hair.

Even though you’re broken up, you still try to dress up for him. You don’t know why.

Apart from some lingering stares, there hasn’t been any sign of a reconciliation since you broke up. Yet, you always try to look good for him.

Although, that’s just who you are. You’d dress up for anyone. But, it’s still different with Yoongi. You especially enjoy his compliments.

The doorbell rang, forcing you to hurry and spritz on the first perfume bottle you touch.

“Don’t open the door! You don’t know who it is!” You warn Naomi, but to no avail.

He’s early today.

Naomi races you to the door, “It’s daddy!” You let her win. You rush to tidy up the living room as you walk to the door.

“You’re so early!” Your daughter clings to his leg. Yoongi laughs and drags his foot in.

“How are my girls feeling?” He smirks at you. “A little troubled now that you’re here.” You bicker.

Yoongi vocalizes a groan, “Why’s mommy so mean to daddy?” He directs it to Naomi.

You smile and wait by the coat hanger stand to receive his jacket.

The apartment feels a little livelier every time he stops by.

“Why are you here so soon? I haven’t even begun cooking yet.” You walk into your kitchen to quickly gather ingredients to prepare a fresh pasta dough.

“No reason.” Yoongi cleared his throat, “Let me help you cook.” You gladly accept his help.

You assign both Nao and Yoongi to make the sauce and the salad.

Soon, your kitchen was filled with the clatter of pots and pans and laughter.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

After dinner, Naomi spends time watching TV and working on her masterpiece.

In the serene quiet of your kitchen, the clinking of dishes echoed softly as you and Yoongi worked in unison, a familiar rhythm of cleaning up after a shared meal.

The warmth of the evening meal lingered; the comforting ambiance contrasted with the weight of the impending conversation.

Yoongi sighed for the fifth time that evening before you finally asked him, “What is it you wanted to talk about? Is everything okay?”

As you wiped a bowl dry, you stole a glance at Yoongi, noticing the hint of unease in his demeanour. Your heart fluttered with a sense of foreboding, sensing something amiss.

Yoongi paused for a moment; his hands still submerged in soapy water. "I... I have something I need to tell you."

You laughed uneasily, “I know. Spit it out already. You’re worrying me.”

The air around you felt heavier.

You set down the dishcloth, turning to face him, a sense of apprehension settling in.

Yoongi stared back into your eyes.

"I... I'm getting engaged," Yoongi finally uttered, his words hanging heavily in the air.

WHAT?

The world seemed to pause for a moment as you tried to process his words.

Your chest tightened, emotions swirling within you—a mix of surprise, disbelief, and an (un)expected pang of sorrow.

You searched his eyes for reassurance, for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

"Engaged?" Your voice was barely a whisper.

You’re hoping he misspoke. Maybe he’s getting engraved or encased or embraced.

Yoongi nodded, his expression a blend of remorse and an unspoken plea for understanding. "It's been on my mind for a while."

“Has it, now?” You scoffed.

WOW, really?

You didn’t even know he was seeing someone like that.

Even though you’re broken up, you feel cheated on in some way.

“I don’t know what to say.” You deadpan.

Your conversation was interrupted by the distant sound of Naomi's laughter, a stark reminder of the delicate balance you maintained for your daughter's sake.

"I wanted you to know first," Yoongi added softly, his eyes a mosaic of regret and an unspoken apology. One that you don’t want to acknowledge or accept.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you look down at your floral dishcloth.

You have a lot of questions but you don’t really want answers to all of them.

Yoongi feels ashamed of himself. But he knew he’d have to have this conversation with you someday. The sooner the better. He thoroughly beat himself up for this too.

You excused yourself promptly, “I’ll check on Nao.” Yoongi simply nodded.

Alone in the quiet of the short hallway that connects the kitchen to your living room, you leaned against the wall. A mix of emotions threatened to overwhelm you. You took a deep breath, bracing yourself against the ache in your chest.

₊˚.🎧 ✩｡ in my dreams by red velvet ₊˚.🎧 ✩｡

note: this is a self-indulgent drabble series i'm writing, nothing is planned and i'll just write as i go

i hope u guys enjoy it!

find the series masterlist here.

[pearlsinmyhair]

✧˚ · . think i need someone older

inspired by the unreleased isabel larosa song. this is my first time writing jake.

warnings: older man (37), younger woman (23). mdni. nsfw ahead. mentions of oral sex (fem!receiving). smut starts immediately.

“easy, baby girl. there’s no need to rush.” jake cooed as he held your tail, keeping you from pushing your hips back against him. he followed your movements with ease, always keeping the tip of his dick just inside your beckoning cunt, just enough to make you squirm.

“daddy, please.” you tried, burying your face into the crook of your elbow as your back arched deeper, trying every trick you had to get him to put it inside you already. but he just chuckled, rubbing his palm against your ass in a pitying gesture.

“look at you, acting so good.” he hummed, moving his hand down your spine and to the back of your neck. he pulled the inch of dick he had inside of you out, and you whined out of frustration and need. your pussy clenched around air, the tantalizing pull of jake’s body too much to bear, too much to deny.

it had always been too much to deny.

you had never found comfort in the boys your age, never found the burning heat in their eyes that you longed for.

but jake? oh, you would have never. he was the olo’ektan. he was off limits to you, a less prominent woman of the villiage. let alone that you were only twenty.

think i need someone older

but he had no mate, your friends reminded you, giggling behind their hands as the very man passed them on his way to a hunt.

and you had rolled your eyes, thinking that this little crush would blow over.

and after two years, it was all but gone. you had yet to find a mate, but you stopped looking for him in them.

and then, on the night of one of the hunting celebrations, he spoke to you.

“may i dance with you?” came a voice, soft but deep. you turned, startled at the proximity of it, only to find the man who you had worked so hard to ignore standing before you.

and like a lovesick idiot, you had nodded.

the dances of the omatikaya were close in nature, sinuous in movement, and sensual in rhythm. your body brushed against jake’s with every sway, his hand finding the small of your back and the dip of your waist with ease.

experienced, you mind whispered, and you shivered.

one dance turned into two, and two turned into four.

until you had somehow ended up on a ledge away from the villiage, legs spread wide by jake’s hands as he ate you out like a man starved.

he was so soft with you at first, getting you up to par with his own level of expertise before he started getting more… complex in your nightly (and, quite honestly, daily) escapades.

which brought your mind back to now.

his hand closed around the back of your neck, so very gentle but with the promise of more force. he lifted you head up, placing his chin on your shoulder as he leaned over you to look at your face.

“but acting good now isn’t gonna save you.” he whispered, and you keened as he rocked his hips forward to slide his cock through your soaking folds. the stimulation was much needed, but it wasn’t enough.

“i’ll be good.” you promised, your thighs shaking as he pushed your shoulders back down to the floor of the hut, your cheek pressed against the soft mat. “i’ll be so good, daddy. so so good. just give it to me.”

he tsked, still moving his hips in a steady rhythm.

“i know, baby. but daddy has to make sure you’re gonna be good. gonna have to fuck the brat out of you.” he whispered, and his hand came down on your backside in a sharp slap.

just a little bit colder

you squealed, jerking forward at the pain. but his hands grabbed your hips, keeping you still.

“this is a punishment, not a reward.” he said, voice low. his hand came down on the other cheek, and this time you kept your body still.

“if you wanted me to fuck you, all you had to do was ask, sweetheart.” he hummed, pressing the tip of his dick to your dripping cunt. “but you couldn’t just ask nicely. no, that’s not in your nature. you wanted this. you let that boy put his hands all over you, knowing damn well i was watching.”

you whimpered, and his hands traveled back to your hips.

“color?” he asked simply.

deep breath.

“green.” you said, your pussy clenching.

he slammed his length fully inside you in one movement, and you screamed at the mix of pleasure and pain that burst from your core.

“damn, baby, you wanted this bad. you feel how well she’s sucking me in? shit, i could just sit like this all night, plug you up until you try to fight me away.”

take the weight off your shoulders

you whined, moving your hips back to get some friction against your walls, squealing as he pulled out and slammed back inside.

his pace was brutal, his hips unrelenting as he pounded you down into the mat, the squelching of your pussy and both of your sounds of pleasure filling the hut.

“you hear that, baby? no one can make you this wet, definitely not some boy who wouldn’t even know where to start with you. only daddy can fuck you this good, isn’t that right, baby?”

you babbled, turning your head to the side to give some affirmation to his statement. he must have been content by it, because he gave you permission to cum.

his thrusts continued through it, fucking you dumb as orgasm after orgasm flowed over you, until your legs shook terrible and you were incoherent.

no, no boy could fuck you like this, you thought as jake pumped his seed into your abused cunt.

you had always needed someone older. someone willing to take you down a peg when you tried to make them jealous.

and as the soft pouch of jakes stomach pressed against your ass, the warmth of his cum deep in your womb, you closed your eyes and sighed contentedly.

think i need someone older

masterlists.

@teyamsatan, how’d i do?

[pekoehoneyncream]

Ghoaptober # 15

Prompt: Scar

Words: 2500~

TW: Explicit Sex (Not sfw)

This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels

Fair warning: this is plain old smut from start to finish.

Enjoy!

Soap let himself be dragged through the door to Ghost’s room without protest, they had been giving hand-to-hand demonstrations for the recruits and Soap hadn’t been playing nice. Not to Ghost at least. He hadn’t been doing anything too overt, so the group they’d been assessing should have been oblivious, and if they had caught on -as they’ve gotten this far into the training process- they should know when to keep their mouths shut. 

He’d taken down every recruit as fast as he could, choosing strength pins over arm or leg bars when possible. Letting the loose armed tank top he’d chosen to wear show off the muscles in his arms and over his ribs. When Ghost had gotten that possessive clawing tension to his hands and demanded that his Sergeant come demonstrate with him, rather than tussling with the trainees, Soap knew that his plan was working. 

The final straw had been when rather than letting Ghost take him down without struggling -as he normally would, to make the move easy to see and follow- he’d fought back. 

It probably didn’t help that he’d been refusing to spar with Ghost for the past month or so. He’d been busy inserting himself into Captain Price and Gaz’s workout routine, so that he could spar against them. He and Gaz were well matched, it had always been a fifty-fifty on who would win their bouts, but Price was more towards Ghost’s level and made Soap work hard to eke out any victories. 

It goes without saying that Soap had never won a sparring match against Ghost. 

This morning was the closest he’d ever come. Ghost had been caught off guard when Soap had turned their demonstration into an all out spar, and Soap had pressed that advantage to keep his L.T on the backfoot. Giving Ghost a feral grin while he slipped out of the holds and dodged the usual dirty tricks his L.T liked to use. The greedy fire that had lit behind Ghost’s eyes sparking an answering blaze low in Soap’s belly. 

He’d put everything he’d learned from Price, along with a few underhanded tactics he’s picked up from Gaz, to work and watched Ghost get more and more eager the longer their fight went on. By the time Ghost had finally slammed Soap down onto the mats into a pin he couldn’t wriggle out of -if he still wanted to keep his shoulders in working order that is- they were wholly focused on each other and were only snapped out of their predatory tunnel-vision by the trainee’s clapping for what was probably the most brutal sparring match they’d ever witnessed. Thankfully, by then they’d run over their time-block and Ghost had immediately dismissed the group. 

“Driving me mad, Johnny.” Ghost growled, throwing him up against the door, barely pausing for the second it took him to reach up and drag his balaclava off his head before leaning forward to bite mean bruises into the skin stretched over Johnny’s adam’s-apple. 

“Did ye-” Soap paused to let out a long whining moan as Ghost clamped his jaws around Soap’s trachea in a toe-curling threat, then let go to lick over the indents his teeth had left behind, “Did ye like mah surprise, Si?”

Ghost pulled back, pinning Soap to the door with a hand around his throat when he tried to follow, and pushed their hips together in a dirty grind. The hard line of his cock rutting along Soap’s.

“What do you think, Johnny,” His pupils were blown wide, swallowing up the lovely brown of his eyes, “Nearly killed Jacobs for popping a boner after you pinned him,” Ghost leaned in close again, holding Johnny’s head back against the door when he tried to steal a kiss, but folding and giving him a quick peck when he whined and pouted.

“Didnae even notice.” Soap panted, and it was true that he hadn’t.

“That so?” Ghost released him, but turned his head away when Soap tried to seal their mouths in a kiss, “Distracted?”

“Aye, Si.” Soap said in between planting kisses down Ghost’s throat, “Was busy watching ye.”

“Good answer, Johnny.” Ghost groaned.

Grabbing Soap by the arm, Ghost tossed him onto the bed, an amused smirk curling his mouth when Soap’s complaining whines abruptly cut off as Ghost started working his compression shirt up over his head. Hooking his thumbs under his trouser’s waistband he paused before pulling them down to raise an expectant eyebrow at an unmoving Soap, who was gawking from Ghost’s bed. It was a very nice sight, but Ghost didn’t drag him here to put on a show. Soap got with the program and started scrabbling free of his own clothes. 

Ghost crawled up onto the bed, letting his hips swing a bit more than was strictly necessary to see that hungry swallow bob in Soap’s throat. Knowing he was the cause of the want darkening those eyes sent a hot prideful thrill pounding through Ghost’s veins. 

“What do you want, Johnny?” He teased, climbing up over Soap’s body to sit himself on Soap’s thighs, spreading his legs to bracket Soap’s hips, “You nearly had me, must have taken a lot of work. What’s your reward?” He leaned back, letting his spine arch and flexing his stomach a little to make his abs show through the healthy layer of fat that padded them.

“Whatever ye wannae give me, Simon.” Johnny rasped, petting his hands down Ghost’s sides to land on his hips and squeezing greedily at their plush give. 

“Very good answer, Johnny.” Ghost purred, dropping his voice down into that basso rumble that sent shivers skipping down Soap’s spine, “But today I want to give you what you want, pretty boy.” 

Soap pulled at Ghost, tugging at him until they were pressed chest to chest, until he was within easy reach for Soap to steal more kisses. Ghost teased him a bit more by only letting him have quick closed-mouth pecks, until Johnny’s whining was truly pitiable, then opened his mouth to let the Scot lick behind his teeth the way he’d been craving to. 

They made out for a long moment, until Johnny felt he wasn’t at risk of falling apart at the seams the moment Ghost pulled away.

“Wan’ ye in me, mo chridhe. Jus’ like this.” The unguarded want in Johnny’s eyes made it impossible for Ghost not to drown him in more kisses, reveling in each little begging ‘please’ that he breathed into the air each time their lips parted. 

“Anything, Johnny.” Ghost promised. 

He properly pulled away, sitting up and sliding down to settle between Johnny’s legs, taking the lube that Johnny had hunted out of its drawer for him with an appreciative kiss laid against Johnny’s belly. Hitching Johnny’s legs up to settle over his hips, Ghost popped the cap on the lube and squeezed a healthy dollop into a cupped palm, letting it sit there and warm for a moment, as he snapped the tube closed and dropped it back into Johnny’s waiting hand. After coating his fingers Ghost reached down to pet a warning over Johnny’s hole, then slowly pushed a finger in. 

“Been playing without me, Johnny?” Ghost groaned hungrily when his finger slid in without resistance, 

“Aye,” Soap nodded, a hot blush blooming over his cheeks and creeping up to stain his ears red, “Been 'hinking ae this, wanted ye in mE!” Soap’s last word shot up into an ungainly yelp as Ghost pulled free his finger and slammed home with three. 

Ghost froze for a moment when Johnny shot a hand down to clutch at Ghost’s knee, only moving when Soap started grinding his hips down, reveling in the small sting and throb the sudden stretch had given him. Ghost’s free hand came up to fondle Soap’s balls, holding them in a firm grip and occasionally pulling them taut, making Johnny toss his head and gift him such pretty moans. He was careful not to accidentally pinch or squeeze too hard, they’d tried that type of play before and found it was just a bad hurt for Johnny. 

Soap would close his eyes and give into the pleasure building in his bones, if the sight of Ghost focused on making him feel good wasn’t so enrapturing. He reached his free hand down to lay on his stomach, cupping over his dick, but not touching. He’d been building this up in his head for so long, that now that it was happening he felt so worked up that if anything even brushed his dick he’d cum right there and then; and he wasn’t even close to being ready for this to be over. 

“Simon,” Soap moaned, lifting his head and pushing at Ghost’s hips with his heels, “In me. In me noo. please. please, mo chridhe. In me.” 

“Alright, Johnny,” Ghost soothed, pulling his fingers free and slicking over his cock with the gratuitous amounts of excess lube left behind. He always used more than was strictly necessary as Johnny didn’t like the burn of a dry stretch and they both liked it when they could easily hear Ghost fucking into Soap’s willing body. 

Lining his cock up with Johnny’s hole, Ghost let it rest there until Johnny couldn’t help but tease himself by rocking his hips down and sliding the head in, unable to take more in this position without Ghost’s help. Ghost waited until Johnny leveled him with a truly ferocious glare, then knocked the snarl off his face by slamming home all at once. Reveling in the ecstatic moan that ripped free of Johnny’s throat. 

Falling easily into Johnny’s favourite rhythm, Ghost bent forward to hook his hands under Johnny’s shoulders, pressing him tight up against his chest. Johnny’s arms and legs came up to wrap around him as he knew they would, and the Scot nuzzled at his cheek, begging for more kisses. They made out sloppily, with hard panting breaths and whispered adorations, until the sawing over his sweet-spot and the pressure of Ghost’s belly rubbing the against the sensitive length of his dick started to overwhelm Johnny. 

Ghost knew Johnny was close when his limbs tightened into a rib-creaking clutch and he buried his face into the crook of Ghost’s neck. He angled his hips to aim his cock so it was bullying directly into Johnny’s sweet-spot and slid a hand down Johnny’s back to rub a finger over his well-filled hole, teasing at pressing it in. 

The wet feeling of Johnny orgasming between their chests was completely overshadowed by the sensation of him sinking his teeth through Ghost’s skin. 

The unexpected pain sank its hot claws into Ghost’s hindbrain, lighting up his nerves and spurring the gluttonous beast that breathed only for Johnny awake. The sight of Johnny pulling away to throw his head back into the pillow, with his neck arched so trustingly and his panting mouth open to show Ghost’s blood staining his teeth red, made all of Ghost’s higher thinking die an inglorious death. 

He snapped his hips, driving hard into the hot clutch of Jonny’s insides, still listening carefully to the whining moans the building overstimulation was jolting out of Johnny for any signs of real discomfort. Reassured when Johnny just held Ghost closer, encouraging him on. Ghost fell into his own orgasm with a loud groan, instinctively grinding his hips into Johnny to plant his seed deep. 

“Ah’m sorry, Simon,” Johnny winced after they’d both come back themselves enough to start cleaning up. 

Ghost had gone into his attached bathroom to fetch a damp washcloth to wipe them down, and as he was running the warm flannel over Johnny’s belly he’d turned enough for Johnny to see the mark he’d bitten into the side of Ghost’s neck. It wasn’t small nor was it shallow. He’d only had just enough sense to not bite into the muscle by the looks of it. 

“Ye’ll have tae go tae medical,” Soap leaned up to prod assessingly at the skin around the near perfect impression of his teeth now carved into Ghost. 

“An’ how am I gonna explain this to them?” Ghost asked skeptically, “How’s that incident report gonna go? ‘Cause of injury: Feral Scot’.”

“Get tae fuck, ye smeggy bastard.” Johnny whapped at his arm, playing at being offended, “Donnae go then. Ge’ an infection, see if ah care.” 

Ghost caught the hand that had been hitting him, bringing it up to his lips for a kiss, slightly undermining the romantic gesture by nipping at Johnny’s knuckles. 

“Or you could take care of me.” he murmured against Johnny’s palm, lowering his head to gaze coyly at Johnny through his eyelashes.

Soap snatched his hand back and gave Ghost another whap for good measure, then got up to grab Ghost’s medical kit. 

Two weeks later Soap noticed that it wasn’t healing as well as Ghost’s scapes usually did, but didn’t have the time just then to try arguing Ghost into going to an actual medical professional to have them look it over. It promptly slipped his mind to bring up later, as he couldn’t see it under Ghost’s masks and he had a terrible memory for things that weren’t jumping out at him. 

Another week after that, they were hanging out in Ghost's room again -this time with all their clothes on- and the red, irritated, only mostly healed wound caught Johnny’s eye again. 

“Si, tha’ shoulda been healed over by noo,” He spoke up, reaching forward to pet over the slowly forming scar, “Ye really shoul’ le’ someone have a looksee.”

Ghost caught Johnny’s hand, pulling it down away from the bite mark and Johnny watched with some confusion as Ghost looked away with a pretty peachy blush creeping up his neck to settle high on his cheeks. 

“I uh-” He hesitated uncharacteristically, releasing Soap to hide his face in his hands.

“Si?” Soap pet a hand over Ghost’s arm, “Ye okay?”

“Yeah,” Ghost answered quickly, but didn’t uncover his face, “It’s- I’ve been-” 

Ghost let loose a despairing moan and Soap started pulling at his hands, well and truly concerned now. Ghost snapped his arms out to gather Soap up close to his chest then flopped them backwards onto the bed, rolling like a crocodile to pin Soap under him without any finesse.

Now hiding his face in Soap’s chest, Ghost could find it in himself to own up to the embarrassing truth. 

“I’ve been picking at the scab,” He confessed to Johnny’s sternum.

“Why’ve ye been doin’ tha?” Johnny asked, honest bafflement dancing in his tone.

A mortified groan tripped out of Ghost, pitching up into a reluctant whine. He brought all limbs in to squeeze at Johnny, rocking them as he struggled with the sheer levels of embarrassment that were rioting inside him.

“I wanted it to scar.” He eventually forced himself to say, not brave enough to look up at Johnny. 

“Tha’s-” A shiver quaked through Soap and Ghost dared a glance.

Johnny was staring down at him with eyes that bled lust. Ghost’s mouth dropped open and Johnny hauled him up to kiss the surprise off his face. 

“I love ye, Simon,” He groaned between kisses, “I love ye so much,”

Ghost let Johnny push them over and pin him on his back, feeling held in place more by the intensity of his gaze than by his hands. He stayed where he'd been put, content to lay belly-up and let Johnny show him just how much he loved the idea of Ghost wearing his mark for the rest of their lives.

Thank You For Reading!

This is actually my first try at writing pure long form smut with no twists or subversions, so I'm really not sure how well I did.

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

[2af-afterdark]

Teasing a Dragon

Fandom: What in Hell is Bad? Content: Gamigin x AFAB!MC (you/your), breeding, semi-public sex, MC is in a skirt for easy access, kind of sweet actually, Gamigin has two dicks A/N: Inspired by this post by @r0-boat. If you wanna see the dicks, check this post. Word Count: 731

“I'm not wearing any underwear,” had been the way you teased Gamigin. A simple sentence whispered in his ear as you both walked down the streets of Avisos -- the land of fun and irresponsibility.

To make your point even clearer, you pulled up the side of your skirt to your hip – making sure no one else was looking at you – so he could see your bare skin in all of its glory.

You didn't mean to do more than tease him. It was simply a playful gesture meant to keep him on edge while you indulged in a day of frivolous fun, also known as a date. It was his first one and you couldn't help but want to tease and pick on him for being so innocent in this one way.

You forgot that Gamigin didn't understand teasing.

All your teasing had done was get you dragged into the first alleyway Gamigin could find and bent against a wall. He hiked your skirt over your ass and sunk one of his already hard cocks into you. The other one, the bottom one, rubbed over your folds each time he thrust forward.

“So warm. So tight,” he said far too loudly as he rutted into you from behind. If it weren’t for the hustle and bustle of the kingdom of mindless pleasures and indulgences, you had no doubt that passersby would hear him.

“You’re too loud,” you scolded as you looked back at him.

His lilac hair fell messily across his face, matted in place by a thin sheen of sweat that had just barely started. His blue eyes were focused solely on you, as if he couldn’t look away. His usual smile was absent, replaced by an open mouth as he panted and called out for you.

You reached up to wrap your arm around the back of his neck and pull him down to your level. You shut him up by dragging him into a kiss. As your lips clashed together, you could feel both of his cocks pulse – the one inside of you and the one bumping against your clit. You pressed your thighs together, squishing his cock between them so he could fuck them just like he was your pussy.

Gamigin moaned into the kiss as his hands began to wander across your outer thighs, hips, stomach. He was indulging in you, seeing which spots made you clench down around him. 

You broke the kiss only to ask, “Are you trying to put a baby in me?”

You knew the answer because his next thrust was more brutal than the last few and he was practically growling into your ear.

You chuckled before kissing the tip of his nose.

“Fine,” you said. “We can move that part of the date up, but you owe me a rain check for all the parts we’re about to skip.”

His hands settled on your lower stomach as if he was expecting something. He nuzzled his face into the back of your shoulder, muttering and mumbling, “Sorry.”

“Apologize after we find a bed. I’m going to need one if you plan to turn my legs into jelly.”

He nodded. “I’m going to-”

“I know.” You could feel it in both of his cocks. “Let it out inside and don’t make a mess.”

He tightened his grip to pull you flush against him so he could bury his cock to the hilt inside of you. His other one stayed nestled between your thighs. It wasn’t much longer before you felt something hot pouring into you and across your skin.

He pulled out hesitantly, clearly wanting to stay in your warmth.

Despite having just received a lesson in why teasing a dragon is a bad idea, you flipped against the wall so that you were facing him and held the edge of your skirt up high so that he could see the mess he had made of you. It was a compliment when his cocks started to get hard again.

You let go of your skirt so that it covered the evidence of what had just transpired. Then, you helped him fit back into his pants before wrapping your arms around his.

“Let’s find a hotel.” You couldn’t wait any more than he could.

And, as you both started to walk, you had to be careful so that his cum didn’t drip out.

[genjispeace]

Looks Good on You - Oneshot

In which you accidentally end up wearing one of Genji's hoodies. He likes the way you look in his clothes, maybe a little too much.

tags: smut, slight fluff, genji x reader, gender neutral reader but afab, unprotected sex, genji is a tease

a/n: i don't really write smut, so go easy on me lol but I hope you enjoy. also this is not meant to be accurate to the lore

(using the same gif as price of love because i am OBSESSED)

Living at Overwatch Headquarters has its pros and cons. You do get free food, and the security makes danger nearly impossible. The cons, though? Well, you somehow got roped into laundry duty as your chore for the week. It could be worse, at least. You could have gotten the chore of cleaning the mats in the training room again. That one was pretty bad. At least for laundry, you are basically sorting it out and delivering it to people. You pull a hoodie over your head and start to leave your room. The next load of laundry should be done by now, and you can sort it and take it to its owner, then start the next load, then you can finally head to bed. 

You know the instant you put the hoodie on that something is wrong. It doesn’t fit quite the same way that your clothes do. You don’t have the energy to change, though, so you don’t worry about it and head out your bedroom door.

It doesn’t take you long to reach the laundry room and you grab the empty basket meant  for the dry clothes. You take a look at the bottom of it, and see “GENJI SHIMADA” scrawled across the plastic surface in marker. So it’s Genji’s clothes you’ll be delivering tonight. Your stomach does a slight flip as you start to unload the dryer. You’ve always had a small crush on Genji, but you forced yourself to always push it away. Sure, he is alluring and handsome, but it had to be just like any other crush you would get over. It would never happen.

Unlike other crushes, though, it never went away. You would find yourself watching him train, entranced by his graceful yet calculated movements. You would find his eyes in a crowd of people. He’d bring a smile to your face every time he talked. Your skin would burn whenever his touch happened to graze it. It’s frustrating how he had such an effect on you, and it is even more frustrating that you’re sure it is one-sided. 

You push the thoughts of your pointless crush down and pick up his basket of clean clothes. His room is relatively close to the laundry room, so you thankfully don’t have much time to think about him on your way there. You reach his door and pin the basket against your hip to knock softly on the door. 

The door quickly opens, and your breath is nearly knocked out of your chest. Genji stands there, his black hair disheveled in a way that makes him look all too tempting. He’s wearing a fabric face mask loosely over the lower part of his face instead of his typical metal one. He has on sweatpants that hang low on his hips and a black long-sleeved shirt that is tight around his figure. You can nearly see the muscles of his abs through it, but you snap your vision back to his face quickly, worried he would catch you ogling otherwise. His crimson gaze watches you.

“I have your laundry,” you say. He steps aside, letting you walk into his room. You’ve been in his room before, having delivered his laundry multiple times. His lamp is the only light in the room, keeping it mostly dark. He closes the door behind you, walking to take the basket from you. 

“Is that my hoodie?” His voice is husky and slightly muffled from the mask. You frown, looking at the sleeves of the black hoodie.

“Is it?” You ask. It did feel strange when you put it on.

“Well, it has my last name on the back, so unless we got married without me knowing, I’d say you got mine,” he says with a slight chuckle as he puts his basket on the bed and starts taking the folded clothes out and stuffing them into his dresser. You laugh too, covering your mouth with your hand. 

“Nah, I married your brother and didn’t tell you,” you keep laughing. You remember once you mentioned how handsome you thought Genji’s brother was, and despite Genji and his brother  being on good terms now, Genji’s eyes darkened then. They darken now, too, and he shakes his head. He knows you’re joking, but there is still a spark of something in his crimson eyes. You talk yourself out of thinking it’s jealousy. He’s certainly not jealous of you talking about his brother. 

“Haha. Very funny,” he says. His muscles flex as he moves, and you have to fight the feeling of getting mesmerized by it. 

“Seriously, though, I’m sorry. Whoever did the laundry last must have given it to me by accident. I’ll give it back tomorrow,” you say. 

“Why not now?” Genji asks. He moves the now empty laundry basket to the floor, and his full attention is on you now. Your cheeks start to warm as he watches you, waiting for a response. He sits on the edge of his bed.

“Well, uh, I’m kinda not wearing anything under it,” you say, feeling your cheeks heat up even more. You hope it’s dark enough for him to not notice, but you can see him clearly, so surely he can see you too. 

“Ah, well give it to me when you get the chance,” Genji says. He seems utterly unaffected by the thought of you wearing his hoodie with nothing under it. Though, you do notice the way his eyes glimmer, but you aren’t sure why. 

“Nope. It’s mine. I’m keeping it now,” you say, hoping to raise the tension you start to feel in the air as he watches you. 

“That’s fine. It looks good on you anyway,” Genji says, but there is no humor in his voice. Is he trying to joke, or is he serious? Surely, he’s messing with you. If it were possible, you’re sure your cheeks would heat even more. You want to change the subject so badly before you say something you’ll regret. He leans back in his bed, resting his hands behind himself. He looks too good like that, and you have to look away. You see his metal mask sitting on his dresser near you and reach out to it.

It feels hard in your grasp, and you hold it up to your face. It covers the lower part of your face. You glance at him over it, and find him watching you intently. His eyes dart along your face, then return to your eyes. 

“What do you think? Does it suit me?” You say, a slight giggle in your voice. Genji looks at you in silence, his eyes glazing like a fire. You start to take the mask away, but Genji moves  quickly and, in the blink of an eye, he is standing in front of you with a grasp on your wrist. You look up at him, through your lashes, confusion wracking your features. 

“Genji?” You ask. 

“Don’t do that,” he whispers softly. He sounds as out of breath as you feel. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. You try to pull the mask away, but he tightens his grasp and you stop trying to move. “I’ll take it off if I offended you.”

“That’s not it,” he says. 

“I-” you start, but cut yourself off. He’s standing close enough to you and his chest is nearly touching you, and you try to take a step back to clear your mind a bit, but you feel the wall against you. Did he back you against the wall? Your brain clouds with thoughts you should not be having about him. You try to walk away, but his spare hand moves against the wall and cages you in. 

“To be honest, you look fucking delectable. So irresistible,” he says. Your heart jumps in your chest as you look up at him. His crimson gaze holds yours, and a shiver runs up your spine. His voice is so low and husky, like it’s laced with desire. 

“Genji,” you sound breathless to your own ears. He releases the arm holding you, and you lower the mask. He reaches out, running his thumb along your lips. You almost sigh at the feeling of his touch against you. It’s his human hand, and his skin is so soft against you. You have to admit that you have thought about a moment like this before, but never thought it would actually happen. 

“Can I ask you something?” Genji asks. You nod. You’re pretty sure you would agree to anything he asks you right now. “Have you ever thought about fucking me?”

Your eyes widen, just slightly, at his question. You feel embarrassment start to invade your feelings. Of course you have thought about having sex with him before. Though, you are far too stubborn to admit it. You shake your head. Genji’s hand moves to the base of your skull, yanking on your hair and forcing a tilt in your head, so you have to look into his head. You sigh at the feeling of his hand in your hair, and you pray you don’t notice.

“You’re a bad liar,” he whispers. “You’re saying you’ve never thought about me?”

You aren’t able to shake your head again, but you don’t nod. How can you admit to something like that? Genji leans closer, until your face is practically touching the mask, then he dips his head. His hand that was caging you in pulls his mask down and you feel his lips press against your neck. It’s a barely-there kiss, but it’s enough to make your heart race and the mask slip out of your hands. It hits the floor with a clank, but neither of you seem to care. 

“Never thought about my lips?” He whispers against your skin. His hold on your hair starts to loosen, and he gives you enough space to get away from him if you want to, but you don’t move. His mouth returns to your neck, and you bite your tongue to stop a whimper from escaping as he sucks on the sensitive skin by your pulse point. His tongue darts out and runs along the spot he was sucking on, and you bite down hard on your lip. 

“Never thought about my tongue?” He says against your skin. Your knees almost buckle at his husky voice, especially when he presses another kiss to your neck. 

“Never,” you say again, but you can’t help the way you lean into his touch. He chuckles against your skin. 

“So, so stubborn,” he pushes his mask back into place, leaning away from you. It’s all a tease, like he’s playing a game with you. Your head spins. “It’s a shame you don’t want to tell me anything. I’d do whatever you wanted, angel.” 

“I-Genji?” You say. Your head still spins. Of course you have had thoughts like that about him. You have had feelings for him for a while now. You just thought he would never feel the same way about you. 

“Hm?” He says, his eyes burning.

“I’ve thought about you before…like that,” you say, embarrassment heating your face as you admit to it. 

“Like what?” He tilts his head to the side, feigning innocence. 

“You know what,” you say back, but he just shrugs. 

“I’m afraid I don’t. Fill me in, angel,” he says. You’re sure if you could see the lower half of his face, he would be smirking right now. He really wants to hear you say it before he does anything else. 

“I’ve thought about you fucking me before,” you practically scream out, your cheeks heating up even more. 

“That’s all I wanted to hear,” he says. You start to question him, but he grips your hips and spins you around, walking you to his bed. You fall against the mattress, his soft blankets greeting you. You reach to him, your hands twisting in his shirt as you pull him closer. God, you want to kiss him so badly. You always have. His hand reaches to you, sneaking under the hoodie and against your skin. You let out a soft sigh against his touch. You want more. You need more. 

“I want to kiss you,” you say softly, the words slipping out. He pauses, his hand freezing at its spot on your ribs. You look up to him, finding his crimson gaze. 

“Close your eyes,” he says, but you shake your head. 

“I want to see you, if you’re comfortable with that,” you say. You know he isn’t the most confident in his current state, but he is still beautiful to you. He raises one of his brows, but nods. He slowly releases you and lowers himself to his knees in front of you. He’s letting you take the mask off for him. You reach out, pulling one of the loops off of his ear, before pulling it the rest of the way off of his face. You drop it, but he catches it before it can hit the ground.

You’ve seen his face before here and there in passing, but never directly like this. You cup his face with your hands, a soft smile on your features. He’s so beautiful, scars and all. He always has been to you. He watches you, holding the mask in his hand as if he’s waiting for you to tell him to put it back on.

“You’re so beautiful,” you lean forward and press your lips to one of the bigger scars on his face, then you move your mouth down and press your lips against his. 

You start off slowly, giving him plenty of time to back away if he wants, but he never does. You run your tongue along his bottom lip, and it’s like something in him snaps. He quickly takes control back, dominating the kiss. His kiss is rough and needy, like he’s suffocating and you’re his very air. 

He stands up just enough to push you back against the bed, then lowers himself on top of you, all without breaking the kiss. His hands find their way to your wrists, pinning them above you. The command is simple enough. Stay.

His hands lower, down your arms and chest, until he reaches the bottom of your - his - hoodie. Your skin burns as if his touch leaves flames in its wake. He pushes the hoodie up slowly, until your chest is bare to him. His hands wander, one metal and one flesh, running across your skin. He pulls away from the kiss, and you can see the way his lips are slightly swollen. He looks down at you, his eyes tracing your body. You can’t help the shy feeling you get as he looks at you, and you start to move to cover yourself, but remember the way he pushed your hands into the mattress. He wants to look at you like this, completely under his control.

You feel his soft hair tickle your skin as he leans down and presses soft kisses into your stomach, trailing up until he is at your breasts. You take a sharp intake as he runs his hand along one of your breasts. It’s his metal one, and the coolness is a stark contrast to the heat of your body. He rolls it in between his fingers, pinching slightly. It takes every ounce of self-control you have to not moan.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers against your skin. Once you’re thoroughly flustered and he’s satisfied, he moves lower, until his lips are just above the waistband on the sweatpants you have on. He pauses, kneading your thighs through the fabric. 

“Please,” you say softly, and you see a smile on his face when you look down at him.

“I like the way you say that,” he says, then slips his finger under the waistband. You lift your hips enough for him to pull the pants down, and he takes your underwear with it. You’re completely bare now, and he’s still fully clothed. You don’t have any time to feel insecure, though, as he pushes your legs apart and settles on his knees by the end of the bed. 

His lips quickly attach to your thigh, sucking softly just like he did your neck. You know it’s going to bruise, but part of you is happy about that. Having a mark from him on your skin, it’s so arousing. 

One of his hands finds its way to your core, and you gasp at the contact. His metal hand just barely touches your sex, just barely ghosting along your clit, but it’s enough to make you clap your hand over your mouth to prevent any sound from escaping. The touch is gone as quickly as it came, and you yelp as you feel a slight pinch in your leg. It’s replaced with another lick, before Genji looks up at you.

“Don’t you dare cover your mouth. I want to hear you, angel. I want to hear how I make you feel,” he says, his voice stern and eyes blazing. You whimper at the command, at the way he looks at you, at his hands kneading your thighs, at all of it. You drop your hand, obeying his order. A soft moan escapes your lips as he curls his finger, and he smiles. 

“Good. Keep making noises for me like that, yeah?” You nod, which makes him smile even wider. “Where is all that stubbornness now, hm? You’re so obedient.” 

You start to say something back, but when he presses a kiss against your clit, any response you had fizzles away and you let out a soft whimper. He continues licking at you, and you clench your legs around his head. You reach down and tangle one of your hands in his hair, whimpering at each lick. He brings his hand up, his metal one, and presses it against your entrance while continuing to suck on your clit. More. You need more. 

“Genji, please,” you whimper out, and it’s all he seems to need to hear. He presses one finger into you and your head falls back against the mattress. He pumps in and out in a painfully slow pace, but it’s still enough to have you writhing under him. You feel him pull his face away, just enough for him to look up at you. You feel him smile against you. 

“You look so pretty like this,” he says. His voice sounds like pure sin. 

“Don’t tease me, please,” you beg. 

“I don’t know, angel. I like teasing you,” he says, slowing down and pulling his face away. You whimper softly.

“Please,” you say the word again. 

“So fucking pretty,” he says, before adding another finger. He quickens the pace until you are a writhing, whimpering mess. You can’t even form any coherent thoughts. His thumb reaches to your clit, rubbing over it. 

“Genji,” you start to say something. He knows exactly what buttons of yours to push, and you are so close. 

“I know, angel. I know,” he says softly. Your legs start to shake as you feel your orgasm coming. Genji seems to notice the way your body is responding to him, and he picks up the pace. You throw your head back and moan. You squeeze your eyes shut and clutch onto the blankets under you as your orgasm rocks your entire body. It’s the best one you have ever had, and Genji seems to know that, because he gives you a minute to breathe before he does anything else. 

“I need you,” you say once you recover. 

“You have me,” Genji replies, rising from his knees and pulling his shirt over his head. His pale skin is covered in scars and the metal takes up about half of his torso and reaches down just slightly. His abs are still mostly flesh, as are his hips, which you can see over the waistband of his sweats. He doesn’t seem to mind your eyes on him, because he lets you watch him before he moves again. 

He reaches down to his waistband, sliding his sweatpants down his legs. He lets you watch as he does so, and your eyes trail below. You had been curious before if his cock was made of metal or flesh, and now you know it’s made out of flesh. His upper thighs are too, the metal starting around one of his legs. He cuts off your staring leaning over you and pressing your lips together once before pulling away again. 

“I have condoms in my nightstand,” he says, trailing off to give you the chance to answer.

“No,” you reply quickly. You want -  need - him, no barriers included. He raises an eyebrow, as if he expected another answer, but still wraps a hand around your ankle and pulls you down the bed. You yelp, caught off guard by the movement. You are much closer to him now. He seems to love the sight of you under him, because he has yet to look away from you. 

He tears his gaze away from you long enough to line up at your entrance. He looks back to your face, his crimson eyes watching you as he pushes inside you. You moan, but you can still hear the groan he releases. He sinks all the way into you, not moving at first as you both adjust to it. 

“God, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to be inside of you,” he whispers. 

“Genji,” you say his name, but it sounds more like you are pleading. He starts to move, quickly finding a rhythm in his thrusts. He leans down, pressing your lips together once again. His kiss is a little more sloppy now, but you still love the way his lips feel against yours. You wrap your hands around him, your nails digging slightly into his back. You have a feeling it’ll leave scratch marks on his skin side, but he doesn’t seem to care. 

He keeps going until you are another whimpering mess. It’s like he knows exactly how to get you to unravel for him. Your legs tremble around him and your nails dig into his shoulders. You moan his name as your orgasm rocks you, and his body seems to respond to both your orgasm and the sound of his name on your lips. 

His thrusts start to get less rhythmic, and you clench around him, which is enough to send him over the edge. His head falls onto your shoulder as his orgasm takes over his body. You hold onto him as he moans into your skin. It’s funny that he said you look pretty like this when you’re certain he is the most beautiful person you have ever seen. He eventually pulls his face away and presses a soft kiss to your cheek, before he pulls out and walks around the bed. He pulls the hoodie, which you just remembered you still had on, down over your body. You’re too fucked out to resist, but you don’t mind. His hoodie is comfortable anyway. 

You try to move, but your limbs don’t want to cooperate. It’s like they are made of jelly. He chuckles, pulling you up and bed before crawling in himself. He pulls you against him, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. He presses another soft kiss to your skin. 

“I should wear your clothes more often,” you say with a slight giggle. He nods.

“You definitely should. Let me take you out sometime, though. Have a proper date,” he says. Your heart jumps in your chest. After all the two of you just did, you shouldn’t feel shy, but you still are. He wants this to happen again? He wants to…date you? You find a smile creeping its way up your features at the thought.  The two of you fall asleep like that, him holding you against his body, his face buried in your neck, you with a massive smile on your face. You should definitely wear his clothes more often.

[the-californicationist]

he takes your breath away

MDNI/18+

Captain Price is sick of your poor performance, and he decides to give you his own demonstration on the practice mat.

TW: choking, dark!Price

AO3 Link

“Again, Corporal! Get up, you muppet,” Captain Price’s cruel growl stung your ears as he shouted at you, “At least try to put up a fight, would you?” 

You dragged yourself to your feet. Your braid was tangled, your body was sore, and you were drenched in sweat. 

“I’m trying, sir,” you may have been tired, but you still had some fight in you. 

Price narrowed his eyes at you, 

“Prove it. Lieutenant Riley, on your mark.”

“Aye, sir,” Ghost responded.

Ghost at least had the decency to be panting a little. You’d been at this sparring match for an hour and a half. Price wanted you to break out of choke holds, but you’d gotten pinned time after time. 

You squared up to Ghost again, a full foot shorter than him and a hundred pounds lighter. It was nowhere near a fair fight, but neither of you fought fair. Terrorists didn’t adhere to any rules of engagement, so Price insisted that you practice how you play. The masked soldier lunged for you, but he telegraphed it - or you were getting better at picking up on his tells. Either way, you dodged his attack and kicked his leg out from under him without hesitation. He fell, but reached around and took you with him, wrapping his arms around your head and squeezing your throat until you tapped out. 

“That’ll do, Lieutenant. I’ll take it from here,” Price said, his tone laden with disappointment. 

Ghost grabbed his bag and headed for the showers. Your captain gazed down at you with his hands on his hips, and then he sighed as if he had reached some sort of conclusion. He took off his hat, tossing it to the floor, and ripped his shirt over his head, folding it half-heartedly and throwing it down. He didn’t give you a chance to square up to him. Price lunged, quicker and more ruthless than Ghost had ever done, and you felt a jolt of adrenaline in your veins. The captain’s eyes were cold and unfeeling like a shark, but every bit as hungry. He was out for blood. 

You rolled away just in time, slipping from his grasp. You managed to get to your knees before he slammed his body into yours and knocked the air out of your lungs. His huge, hairy arm curled around your neck like a python, constricting your air and waiting for you to yield. You tapped out on his elbow almost immediately, giving up on yourself. He didn’t let go. You tapped again, your breaths becoming harder and harder to inhale as he tightened further. You gasped,

“Captain…what…?”

“Out there,” Price whispered, “no one will take it easy on you. There are no second chances in the field. If your enemy is foolish enough to keep his knife in his belt, you have less than a second to get free. So…go on, girl. Get free, or I’ll choke you out.”

“But…” You protested. Sparring was practice, and he never let anyone put another soldier in any real danger. 

“Either you fight me like you want to live, or I’ll send you to the medic and take you off the team. Your choice.”

Live or die. It was as real as it was going to get. You started to push at his arm roughly. It didn’t budge. You elbowed him in the ribs, hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough to break a bone. He laughed into your ear, his voice sinister,

“If you’re going to faff about, just go limp, love. Make it easier for me to cut your lights out.”

You elbowed him again, much harder this time. He grunted, but tightened his arm. You were truly choking now, and you began to panic. You scratched at his face, his skin, and went for his crotch, punching back, hoping anything would land. You kicked at him with your legs, struggling in earnest. He coached you as he killed you,

“That’s it, babe. Fight for your fuckin’ life. Show no bloody mercy. C’mon!”

You headbutted him, connecting with his nose and hearing a crack. He released you, reacting to your attack, and you rolled away, coughing, trying to get oxygen back into your lungs. He was bleeding all over his mouth and beard, and it dripped onto his neck. You glanced over at him, ready for him to shout at you again, but he was smiling like a maniac. 

“Yes, love. That’s the right way. Why are you holding back?”

“You told us not to hurt each other,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. 

“No,” he pulled you to your feet, “I told you not to end up in the med office. There’s a difference. C’mon, again.”

“Captain! I can’t. You’re bleeding,” you protested. 

“And? Do you think the enemy will give up after you break his nose? No, he’ll fight harder,” Price grabbed you around the neck with his bare hand, shoving you backwards toward the wall, pinning you into it, “Are you really going to make me watch you die out there, or are you going to start taking this seriously, Corporal?”

You hit his elbow and knocked his hand out of place before ramming him, full force, taking him to the ground. You’d surprised him, and you capitalized on that opportunity, clamoring onto his back and wrapping him just as the lieutenant had done to you, trying to make him tap out. 

He tossed you off of him like you were a rag doll, gripping you cruelly at the nape of your neck and pulling you back into him,

“Not good enough. You need to fight harder, girl. There’s men out there bigger and meaner than me. Come on. Dig deeper!”

You tried to kick him again, turning your hips so your leg could reach, and this time, your ass connected to his groin, jamming into it. You froze as soon as you felt it. Price was as hard as a stone. He knew that you felt him, tightening his hand around the back of your neck in silent response.

“Captain…?” You whispered, confused and exhausted, not understanding. 

“Corporal,” he groaned, “You’ve got my blood up, you have. Fightin’ like a little demon. You’re tough as nails, and it’s damn hot. More than an hour of dealing with Ghost and you’re still able to make me bleed? Makes me wonder what else you’re capable of.”

He grunted, putting you back into a chokehold, closing off your airway immediately. No more practice rounds. 

Your head spun, but your instincts took over and you sent two sharp blows to Price’s jaw before he moved his head out of the way. You returned to his rib, elbowing the same spot as you had before, earning yourself a pained groan. Then, he used his other arm to fully bind your body, trapping you against him. You writhed, slamming yourself back into him, trying to gain purchase.

“C’mon, love, use your head. Figure it out.”

You felt your leg pressing against his, and you wrapped it behind his knee. If you straightened his leg out at this angle, you’d break the joint. You started to do it, but something stopped you. He was legitimately taking your air from you, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to injure him. 

“They won’t show you any mercy, girl! Do what you need to do,” he shouted at you. 

You shook your head, your voice strained and barely intelligible. 

“No, sir.”

“Very well.”

He released you for a moment, and you felt air burn through your chest as you sucked it in, then he wrapped you up again, only allowing you to breathe in shallow, struggling gasps. Price lay back, trapping your legs with his, spreading them apart. He was kissing your neck as he choked you, moving his mouth messily around his huge grip, sucking on the skin of your shoulder. Then, he looked you in your eyes, angling your head so you could see him. 

“If you tap out now, it all stops. We’re done. Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” your heart banged against your ribs, partly from the strain, partly from the sick excitement of knowing that your determination had turned your captain into a lustful monster. You wanted to see him come undone. 

He dragged his free hand down your body, playing with you, teasing you by plucking at your nipples through your shirt, running his fingernails along your ribs, and finally shoving his hands down into your pants, finding your fleshy core covered by a pair of practical underwear. He cupped your vulva through the fabric, rubbing his palm in wide, slow circles, and a moan tried to escape your mouth.

He controlled your breathing, giving you more and less as he saw fit, rubbing in that same steady pattern until you began to tumble into an orgasm. He felt your body tensing, and as you came, he cut off your air entirely. What would have been a perfectly normal orgasm became absolutely blinding, and even though it was only a few moments, when he finally did allow you to take in a full breath, it intensified the feeling, making your vision go completely white, and your pussy clench down around its own walls, aching to be filled. You trembled in his arms, reeling from the aftershock. 

“Forgive me, Corporal,” Price let you go, trying to put you mostly back together, his face red with shame and stained with his blood. He set about fixing your shirt and your pants, nervous and suddenly too gentle. He gritted his teeth before confessing, “You make me want to do... things... to you that no gentleman should ever want to do.”

You rolled over to meet him on the sweat-covered mat, running your hands down his bare chest and dipping your fingers into the waist of his shorts, using the other hand to wipe away some of his blood from his mouth before you kissed him, licking the tip of his tongue with your own. You reached a little further and found him throbbing for you, his cock drooling with precome. You broke the kiss and whispered into his open, gasping mouth,  

“What things, Captain?”

[im-the-reader-of-which-you-speak]

Cool Cut

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Reader wants a cool, unconventional haircut, but is too shy to get it. Or at least that would be the case, if she wasn't dating Eddie Munson.

Word count: ~1,000

Notes: Reader is implied to have hair long enough to cut. The hair cut they want is described in the first sentence. Not sure if it will work for all hair textures. I think the details are pretty vague otherwise. -- Eddie calls Reader "Babe" and "Baby." -- No pronouns used, but the haircut they want is on a girl. -- Y/N is not used.

Her hair was long in the front and short in the back, like a reverse mullet. The magazine she lies in is a few years old at this point, the cover reads "August 21, 1984." That's how long you've been thinking about the damn haircut.

It was weird. It was unconventional.

It was cool.

You run your fingers through your hair, imagining what it'd be like to have a cut like that. Eddie pokes his head over your shoulder.

"With how much you stare at that lady, I'm starting to think you have a crush, babe." He kisses your neck. "Should I be jealous?"

"No no- don't worry, it's nothing like that! I've only got eyes for you, promise." Setting the tattered magazine down, full attention now on your boyfriend... Only for Eddie to pick it up again and flip right to the page.

"Ya sure? This is the third time you pulled that thing out this week. You study this page like Picasso painted it."

"She just has cool hair 'is all. Don't think I've ever seen anything like it."

He lets out a knowing hum, playing with his curls. "Think I should get it? Would ya like it shorter?" He shines a playful smile.

"No!" You snatch away the magazine before it gives him anymore ideas. "I love your hair exactly how it is!" You grab two fists full of his locks as if that will protect them.

He chuckles, gives you a kiss on the forehead and grabs your hands. "Yeah I love it too. Don't worry, this mop isn't going anywhere." He gives his crown a good shake, relishing in his abundance of curls.

"So do you want a cut like that?"

"Oh uh. Ha, I don't think real people have that sort of hair. That's reserved for like, rockstars and models. Not us lowly serfs."

"Says who? What, are the fashion police gonna stop us?" He hops off the sofa, finger gun pointed in your face. "Place the shears on the ground! We have you surrounded!"

"Officer! I was only getting a bob, I swear!"

"Likely story. With a cut this stylish, you're looking at a lifetime of conical bras high-waisted suspenders."

"Noooo!" You throw your hands up, surrendering to Officer Munson.

Grinning from ear to ear, Eddie ends the scene and returns to his place next to you on the couch. "I know you have shears in the bathroom. The style doesn't look that hard, I bet I could do it if you want."

You thought about it again. Feeling the breeze on your neck. How the long bits in the front would frame your face. You sigh. "No... Thanks but, nobody has hair like that. I'm not trying to put a target on my back." You fold in on yourself. "Probably wouldn't even look good on me anyway."

"Woah. First of all, you'd look hot wearing a fishbowl on your head. You'd look even better embracing your own style." You shy away from his words, but he pulls you right back to him.

"Second of all, what with this target? You're already dating the Freak of Hawkins High." He hops out of his seat, putting on the theatrics. "Are you gonna let them suppress you? Stamp out your individuality? Mold you into a drone like them?"

"Yes."

"So not metal." He rolls his eyes, shot down by words. His body drops down like a sand bag, weighted by disappointment. "I can't control you, babe, but I hope you know I love you. No matter the hair style."

"Even if it's matted and ratty?"

"Even if you were bald. And I think anyone worth a damn would too. 'Cuz you got good taste, baby. And anyone who thinks differently can fuck off!"

How does he make it look so easy? He dances through life like no one is watching. He screams to the world that he's a nerdy metalhead freak every day. He doesn't give the backlash a second thought.

If you were Eddie, you would have had this haircut for years now. And here you are longing for it. What to you is a dream, for him is a reality. You loved Eddie. You loved his style, every little weird thing about him, all his unconventional hobbies. To you he's the epitome of cool.

Man, how did you score a piece like him?

"Okay let's do it."

"Wait what?" Eddie tuned out while you were admiring him. It takes a second to process what you're saying.

"We have hair clippers. Let's do it" You hand him the magazine for reference.

"Fuck yeah baby let's do this!"

You wash your hair and throw on one of Eddie's shirts, one that you don't mind sacrificing to the prickly hair gods. You look in the bathroom mirror. Eddie stands behind you, pulling goofy faces, pretending to be some crazed killer with the scissors.

"Ready babe? Standing firm? Don't move around too much, I don't want to cut your ear off." You take a second to ground yourself, you're really gonna do this. Grasping the sink, you look at Eddie's eyes and he gives you a reassuring smile in the mirror.

"Ready."

He combs through your hair, separating a bit from the back.

Snip!

There's a drop in your stomach as you watch the wet loc fall to the ground.

"Hey could you pull your head back a bit?" He gently guides your face back up to the mirror. "Stay still, let me work my magic here."

Snip snip snip

Eventually you close your eyes-- you can't keep looking anymore. Deep breaths, you focus on Eddie's guiding hands. His fingers lightly scratching across your scalp. The long inhale he takes before holding his breath as he focuses. The long exhale that leaves his mouth as he makes the last cut.

"Done!"

You open your eyes, but he covers them immediately.

"Uh oh Munson, what did you do?"

"Gave you the perfect hair cut. But don't look yet! Let me comb it out and dry it first."

Your eyes mostly remain closed as he gets rid of all the stray hairs, but you manage sneak a little peek while Eddie is blowdrying your hair. His tongue pokes out as he concentrates.

"No peeking!" He blasts your peeping eye with the blow dryer.

A final brush out later he finally announces that you can look.

"What'd'ya think babe? Lookin' like a rockstar?"

Any reasonable person would probably not let Eddie cut their hair. Any reasonable person would probably lock away any sharp objects in his line of site.

But good thing you weren't reasonable, because it was perfect.

"Wow. Eddie, when did you go to cosmetology school?"

"So you like it?"

"Eddie, it's exactly what I wanted."

"Yeah, but how do you feel?"

Finally seeing yourself with the hair you always wanted, only one word comes to mind.

"Metal."

"Damn right you do babe." He squeezes your torso and places a fat kiss on your lips.

If there was any question amongst the student body of Hawkins High that you two were dating, there isn't anymore. Because you two freaks belong together. You guys were too cool for the rest of them anyway.

[tiredlilguy]

The Mafioso's Runaway [2023]|Ch.1|Whiskey

i forgot to post ch.1 officially on here... this is on A03 as well >:D enjoy! [pt.2] Reader's Ability: Silent Ocean - the ability to manipulate water of any form/temperature (from freezing to boiling), so long as a water source is nearby - user can manipulate their own tears if a water source is not available, can lead to exhaustion

I’m tired…

I just want whiskey to wash away today. That’d be nice.

Maybe a cigarette too, if I feel like it.

Oda turned the corner to an alleyway, his footsteps taking him to a small side door with a neon sign over it:

LUPIN

It was labeled underneath with a smirking western-looking man, wearing a top hat and a monocle. The mustache on the character’s face is slightly tilted up to follow the smirk on his face. Oda looked up at the sign for a second, before sighing. He ran a calloused hand through his hair, opening the door.

Behind this door was an underground bar, one that wasn’t very popular. It was the kind of place where the only noise you could hear was the barkeep tidying around, light jazz in the background, and on occasion the small conversation in one of the booths. To put it simply: it was the perfect place for Oda on the nights that he felt like he couldn’t find himself going home just yet. He’d sit there, either alone or with a fellow bandaged friend alongside him just to drink away his worries.

As he placed his coat on one of the side hooks, he walked down the stairs to be met with a familiar face: one that he thought wouldn’t be behind the bar.

“ You’re not the same barkeep from before,” Oda said simply, plopping himself down on a chair.

Behind the bar counter was (Y/N) (L/N), a fellow low-level handyman just like him. They were wearing a white button-up with a couple of buttons open at the top, high-waisted pants with a thick waistband that was buttoned at their stomach, and lastly, white gloves to keep their hands clean.

(Y/N) had been in the Mafia for just a year, doing easy work and keeping low. Oda would normally question it, but everyone had their reasons for joining the Mafia: getting certain people off your back, money, protection… so on. They’d met each other in passing, sometimes drinking at this very bar, or having a job together. (Y/N) was a close friend, and someone that Oda knew he could rely on if he needed, so seeing them was a pleasant surprise.

(Y/N) was standing behind the bar with the whiskey bottle already open, as they were preparing his glass. It seems as though they’d already known he was coming.

“ Old barkeep died,” they shrugged,” The Mafia bought out the bar, and they needed someone to manage it, so I got transferred here.”

“ That’s unfortunate. Say, how did you know I was going to be here?” Oda put his elbow on the counter, leaning on his hand. (Y/N) slid a glass of whiskey with a ball of ice in it.

“ I didn’t actually,” they shrugged, walking over to him,” I just noticed your footsteps, so I already got the whiskey out… I also had a feeling that you’d meet me here eventually. Sorry if the drinks won’t be tasting the same.”

“ Whiskey’s just a hard liquor,” the redhead looked down at the glass,” Don’t sweat it. I doubt pouring whiskey in a glass is hard.”

(Y/N) scoffed,” Beats me, it could taste like shit just because I poured it wrong. Just… don’t ask me to mix anything.”

“ You shouldn’t have given me the idea. Maybe I will, just to throw you off,” he put his lips to the brim of the glass.

(Y/N) frowned in response, before rolling their eyes and bottling up the whiskey bottle. They’d placed it down on one of the shelves behind them, but as they pulled away they felt a mat of dust brush their gloved finger. They scrunched their eyebrows together in a pout as they realized that they probably had to clean the shelves as well.

Ignoring that thought, they turned around again, taking a stool that was folding up on the side, and unfolding it. They sat facing Oda, crossing their hands together to place their head over their hands.

“ Anyways, what brings you here?” they asked.

“ Just wanted a drink, I guess,” Oda answered looking over at them,” Though, I have a feeling I’ll meet someone here?”

“ Oh?,” (Y/N) smirked,” So it’s not just me you’re gonna see tonight.”

“ I got some unusual friends. You’ve probably heard of this guy before. He’s an exec.”

“ Wow, Oda Sakunosuke… friends with an executive,” they tilted their head and shrugged,” Why am I not surprised that you have such unusual friends, for an unusual person just like yourself?”

“ Probably because you’re just as unusual. I mean, after all, you’re from-,” (Y/N) held up a hand interrupting him.

“ Let’s not get into that today…,” they gently pleaded.

“ Sorry,” he dipped his head in a light apology.

“ Don’t worry about it,” feeling the awkward tension, they broke the silence,” Hm… let me guess which executives and I get three tries. If I get it right, you gotta buy me a drink.”

Oda took another sip of his drink before nodding,” Alright, hit me.”

“ Alright then! My first guess: Chuuya, the gravity manipulator. He’s pretty friendly.”

“ Nope.”

“ Damn… would’ve thought it was him, but now that I think about it, you don’t seem like the type to attract people like him. Ok… let me think.”

(Y/N) leaned back, putting a hand on their chin as they thought for a second… It wouldn’t be a woman because Oda said ‘he’…

… and Oda wouldn’t be the one to attract flashy types. They widened their eyes.

“ No way…”

“ Did you come to a conclusion,” Oda raised a brow, knowing that they probably found out the answer.

“ You’re friends with Mori’s kid?!,” They slammed their hands on the side of the counter, standing up in shock.

“Mori’s kid” was a term that a lot of the lower ranks used when referring to Dazai Osamu, the youngest executive in Port Mafia’s history, not to mention the “Demon Prodigy". People knew that they weren’t related in any way, but many had given him the nickname due to him being so close to the boss. A lot had assumed that Dazai never knew of that nickname, but he definitely did, and Oda knew that it was a name that Dazai disliked rather heavily.

“ Jeez… I really hate that title, you know,” a voice and a pair of footsteps interrupted the conversation. There was Dazai, in the flesh, walking down the stairs with his hands in his pocket. His long black coat was hung up on one of the hooks near the door.

(Y/N) felt themselves tense up, as they had just flat-out disrespected an executive, though, not with any malicious intent. Quickly, before they felt like their life was about to end, they smacked their head into the bar counter in a bow,” Sorry sir…! I didn’t mean to disrespect you like that, I apologize.”

Dazai took his seat next to Oda,” Don’t worry about it. We’re off duty, so I don’t really care too much, but just call me Dazai.”

(Y/N) stood back up straight, forehead now having a small red mark. They slightly rubbed it before introducing themselves,” Apologies. I’m (Y/N), nice to meet you.” The brunette nodded in response before greeting Oda. He didn’t want to admit it, Dazai felt his chest tighten as he witnessed their face: they were strangely… beautiful. Maybe it was the way that they looked slightly disheveled and laid-back due to the relaxed nature of the bar… or maybe it was just that they looked nice in their current outfit. Either way, Dazai couldn’t help but let himself speak aloud without thinking.

“ You’re really pretty…,” he mumbled under his breath, but still loud enough for them to hear.

“ Huh…?,” (Y/N) raised a brow, adjusting their collar, as it got messed up when they were bowing.

“ I’ll have whiskey,” Dazai pretended like he was repeating himself, confusing (Y/N) even more. Oda watched silently as they tried to think to themselves whether they heard wrong or if they were just becoming hard of hearing. He gently kicked the boy in the shin, making Dazai wince slightly and frown at the redhead. They shook their head and nodded, taking a glass out from a cupboard below the counter. However, this time, instead of walking back and forth to grab the whiskey and bring it back to the shelf, they snapped their fingers.

Dazai watched as a portion of the whiskey pushed the cork out of the bottle. The cork gently popped and fell onto the shelf. The whiskey balled itself together before moving over to (Y/N)’s side. (Y/N) twirled one of their fingers in the air, making the ball circle around itself before it started to split into somewhat of a donut shape. Their other hand pulled out a square ice cube from a freezer underneath. They snapped again, and the cube seemed to shape itself into a dimensional circle.

The brunette looked over to Oda, seeing if the man reacted. However, to no avail, not only because he usually never showed much expression on his face, but also because he was familiar with their ability. (Y/N) motioned the whiskey over the glass as it started to pour itself. Dazai’s eyes seemed interested, as he watched in silence.

Soon enough, another pair of footsteps were heard.

“ Neat party, trick, huh?”

It was Ango, he was wearing his usual suit and had a bag slung over his shoulder. He took his seat on the other side of Dazai and placed the bag on his side.

“ Oh, Ango!,” (Y/N) smiled, gently sliding the glass over to Dazai, who didn’t actually catch it, as he was too enamored by their grace. Oda compensated for him, stopping the glass and pushing it in front of the brunette.

“ Heard through the grapevine that the bar got bought out by the Mafia. I just wanted to see if it changed, if so it would’ve been a shame, but I’m glad to see that you’re managing it. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to try and find another quiet bar,” Ango smiled up at them gently,” I’ll get whiskey too.”

(Y/N) continued to prepare another glass, and for the first time since he’d gotten there, Dazai finally blinked,” Wait… Do you know them too?”

“ Yup,” Ango got comfortable in his seat, slightly shuffling,” (Y/N) protected me one time by coincidence. I ended up being caught in the crossfire of a shootout, and they so happened to be nearby and protected me with their ability. I almost got shot in the head, I’m grateful to them for saving my life.”

They blushed, looking off to the side, letting the glass fill up with whiskey,” Oh, shut up. You make me sound like such a hero.”

“ Ah, I get it now!,” Dazai nodded, proud of himself,” Water manipulation, right?”

(Y/N) nodded, putting the glass on the counter and sliding it to Ango this time,” Indeed. I just happened to get lazy because I just put the whiskey bottle on the shelf, so I just used my ability.”

“ I’d say you were just bragging,” Oda spoke up, taking another sip before pulling away from his glass. Dazai went silent again, as he watched the other three talk amongst themselves.

They rolled their eyes with a smile,” You’re being such a tease today, Oda. I wonder what caused this. I missed the sweet tired man who just takes care of orphans.”

He tilted his head,” I’m always like this.”

“ Really…? Show me your agitated face then, will you?” Ango looked past Dazai with a curious gaze.

The four fell silent for a moment as they watched Oda. He looked just the same. Same old tired, deadpan expression.

“ Eh…?,” (Y/N) frowned,” What’s that?”

“ I’m doing it right now.”

They chuckled in response,” You’re funny.”

“ What do you mean, I’m doing what you asked me to.”

“ See, this is why no one takes you seriously,” Ango frowned from the other side,” You only keep one expression and tone, so nobody actually knows what you’re thinking.”

“ I agree, but to be honest, Oda wouldn’t be Oda if he was full of expression,” (Y/N) replied.

“ I guess you’re right,” the man in glasses shrugged, finally taking a sip of his glass.

It went quiet again, up until a familiar calico cat purred, hopping onto a corner stool and meowing. “ Oh,” (Y/N)’s attention was on the cat now,” I gotta go feed the cat. I’ll be back.” They walked to the side, opening a door that read “Staff Only”.

“ Say, Oda,” Dazai finally spoke up, turning over to the redhead,” How do you know, (Y/N)?”

“ We were coworkers,” he answered,” Worked a couple of jobs together… we’ve gone drinking at this bar too before it got bought out, just like how I started taking you here.”

“Low-level runt work for such a hardy ability,” Dazai smirked,” That’s quite interesting… Usually, people like that would go up the ranks. I wonder where they came from.” Oda only shrugged. He knew of their past, as he’d gotten close to them, but he knew it was a secret that they only shared with certain people. Even Ango didn’t know where they came from.

Dazai crossed his arms,” Anyways, I’m a little bit disappointed that you didn’t introduce them to me sooner. They’re really attractive, I would’ve loved to commit a lovely double suicide with someone like that.”

Not knowing what to say, Oda could only say something that sounded entirely wrong,” As determined as ever.”

Dazai smiled, raising his glass in his hand,” You know me.”

“ Don’t let him stay stuff like that, Odasaku…,” Ango cringed a little bit.

Soon enough, (Y/N) popped back out with an open dish with cat food in it. They placed the dish again in front of the cat, and it looked over at the food before taking a bite. Their other hand had a tin can in it with a crab logo: one that Dazai was familiar with.

“ Hey, you have canned crab,” Dazai questioned, peering over to see if his vision was right.

“ I do,” they answered,” You must like crab, don’t you, Dazai?”

“ What makes you say that?”

“ You’re practically leaned over the counter…,” they giggled, making Dazai blush,” Don’t worry, I’ll go get you one. I don’t feed it to the cat because I know it’s not really good for him, but every now and then I leave a piece in his bowl.”

Dazai smiled, sitting back down in his seat, now kicking his feet. He felt something bump within his chest as he spoke to them. “ You’re painfully obvious,” Ango dismissed Dazai.

“ Is there anything wrong with that?,” Dazai shrugged,” Just seems like life is getting a little bit more interesting for me.”

Ango only hummed in response, as (Y/N) came back in the room, with a can, putting it in front of Dazai. He silently thanked them, once again, getting stiff in the back. From Ango’s eyes, he’s never seen him sit so nicely, as Dazai was always hunched over.

“ Hey, Oda,” the redhead looked up at them with a hum. (Y/N) smiled,” I’d say I’ve won my drink now. You, gonna buy it for me?” Oda placed down a note on the table, and they grabbed it with a smile before making themselves a glass.

“ Here, cheers,” they raised their glass to Dazai and Ango, Oda soon followed.

“ For what now, exactly,” Ango asked, Dazai still hadn’t moved.

“ Hm…,” (Y/N) tilted their head before raising the glass high,” To anything really. Like that time I saved Ango, maybe to me getting transferred here…”

Dazai listened to them ramble. It sounded like a random bunch of gibberish, but strangely nice to his ears. He didn’t feel bored anymore. Though, yes, being around his friends made him feel less bored, he felt… more… excited. As if being here at this bar was some sort of epiphany.

“ Dazai? What’s up?” they snapped him out of his thoughts. He shook his head before clearing his throat.

He’s deep in it now, Ango thought from the side.

“ How about that the four of us are here at this moment in time?,” he asked,” You know, I don’t get to see any of you like this at all. You don’t get to enjoy moments like these quite often in the Mafia. Not to mention, it’s my first time meeting you, (Y/N) so that in itself could be a toast too.”

“ So a toast to a coincidence?” Oda asked. Dazai raised his glass, and so did Ango.

“ Yeah, I guess so,” he shrugged.

Dazai raised his glass higher, as the four of them clinked theirs together. The noise of the glass was rather satisfying until it went silent once again.

A cheers to a coincidence.

[colderdrafts]

Can I request a short one-shot of this "your beauty never over scared me" with Dren and reader? The song has been stuck in my head for a while and I noticed that this part fits Dren and reader's relationship in the future In my mind, I didn't think the day would come when I thought spiders were cute lol

That's adorable. Here ya go <3

You’re settled on top of a makeshift nest of furs leaning against the wall, book of glossaries in hand. Certain words are still difficult, and the strange lettering isn’t helping, but you’re slowly coming to grasp the basics. The ‘library’ is small but cozy, and it’s a nice place to spend the day when it’s rainy on the outside.

Well, cozy for you, perhaps.

You’ve watched Dren roaming around in here, skidding from wall to wall and reorganizing his things. The last trip to the marketplace came with a haul of new books, and he’s spent most of the morning carefully putting everything in place – putting things in another place – putting them back again – for about ten minutes.

When you first met you wouldn’t have taken him for such a neat freak. It brings an amused smile to your face when he suddenly snaps to attention, zeroing in on one of the lanterns whilst hanging sideways on the wall. He eyes it like it offends him.

Very carefully, he uses a leg to reach over and re-adjust the length of the string connected to it. It now hangs perfectly in accordance with the other one.

Even more noticeable from his haphazard level of motion, however, is how he consistently blows his long hair out of his face. Several times, he wipes it away with his hands to keep it out of his eyes. The way he deftly ventures along the walls and crawling across the ceiling, his hair looks like a bigger obstacle than the fact he’s sometimes hanging upside down.

You sigh and snap the book shut. Dren halts, crouched on the wall, and stares at you from the sudden sound.

“Get down here and let me help you with that,” you chuckle at him, getting up and waving him to you.

He cogs his head at you, though climbs down to join you on the ground. “With what? Pardon if my moving about is disturbing your reading.”

“It isn't," you shake your head, gesturing in front of you. "Come on, have a seat here, I can’t reach you when you're standing up.”

You’ve definitely piqued his interest, judging from the curious stare. He folds his legs and settles down, getting to eye level with you.

You step closer and brush the curtain of long black locks away from his face. “It looked like a hazzle to keep all of this out of your face while you’re climbing around. Want me to tie it for you?”

He glances to the side, as if subconsciously trying to avoid your eye. It’s a habit he’s gotten into recently, he's either hiding behind his hair or his hands. Even now you can feel him fidgeting to suppress the urge to do so again.

You brush a thumb across his cheek to calm him, and he instinctively leans into your palm, chittering quietly.

“That would be nice. Thank you,” he mutters.

It’s not exactly easy to get behind Dren from the way he’s put together, so you end up using one of his legs for leverage to climb on top of his abdomen, sitting there to get easier access to his hair.

As you feared, it is horribly matted and full of knots.

You run your fingers through it as best as you can, making a mental note to invest in a hairbrush the next time you venture the marketplace. Hoping for conditioner is probably a long shot, but maybe you can pay someone to tell you where to find a substitute.

“Dude, do you ever take care of this?” you ask him, carefully unraveling a particularly stubborn knot. “Sorry,” you add quietly when he winces from the pull.

“There’s not much point,” he shrugs. His voice comes out like a soft breath, so you surmise he’s enjoying this regardless. “I could braid it to the moon and it wouldn’t make a difference.”

“What difference? That you would be able to see?” you grin, running your fingers over his scalp to collect a starting point for a braid.

He hums pleasantly as you do so, enjoying the attention. “I will still be 'a terrifying ugly creature',” he chuckles. “Just with nicer hair.”

You pull softly at his hair on purpose. It sounded like he's heard that from someone else, and perhaps you'll have to do some stern speaking to of whoever that might be. “Don’t say those things,” you scold him. “You’re none of that.”

“Ow. That’s just how I’m put together," he clarifies. "It is not a bad thing, I'm supposed to be intimidating. If I’m not, I cannot do my job properly, can I?”

You huff, starting the process of tying the stubborn strands together.

“You’re scary when you have to be, and you’re.. very good at that,” you give. You've seen it first hand on multiple occasions, after all. “But that’s because of how you act against threats. It’s on purpose. The way you look isn’t scary. Not to me.”

He pauses. You don’t miss how he starts fidgeting again. “Most would be inclined to disagree.”

“Most don’t get to braid your hair,” you tease.

He buts the back of his head against your hands in gentle retaliation, forcing you to scramble lest your work comes undone.

“Hey, hold still. I’m not done!”

You sit in silence for a bit, slowly interlocking strand by strand. A low hum and pleasant chitter occasionally escapes Dren as you work, calming noises mixed with the familiar warmth of his body almost enough to make you sleepy.

Eventually, you’ve managed to create a makeshift ponytail, held together with a small braid of his own hair.

You hop off his back, and step in front of him to admire your work. It’s not perfect by any means, but it suits him. The uncanny mixture of arachnid and human aspects of his face in full view could be off-putting, but he still has a kind face. Especially when he hits you with his usual warm and calm expressions, pitch-black eyes drawing you in.

Dren leans down and presses his face against your cheek. “Thank you. For this, and for the kind words.”

You reach up and trace your fingers around the back of his neck, leaning back into him. “And I mean it. I won’t deny that you scared me when we first met. But I like the way you look because it’s you. That would never ever scare me.”

He seemingly swallows a lump in his throat, but nods against your shoulder. You realize he's using you to hide again, and pull back to look at him. A stubborn strand has escaped your notice, and you quickly tie it back in place.

“There we are,” you announce, giving his shoulder a comradely pat, an attempt to pull him out of the stupor. “Beautiful. Not that you weren’t before, of course.”

He freezes and stares at you, wide eyed with a dumbstruck expression. "I- What?"

Whoops. You broke him.

“Sorry. Was this too much?” you ask gently.

He regains his composure after a beat, shaking his head with a chuckle, a faint blush across his cheeks. He curls his front legs around where you're standing and leans in again, pressing his forehead against yours and looking you in the eye. “Not at all."

[powpowpunchout]

What Else Can You Do?

It was the night of Bald Bull’s fight. Tiger sat atop his floating red carpet, hovering above the crowd in the farthest row, hidden in the shadows casted by whatever pipes and wires hung above.

The third round had begun. People were going wild.

Bull’s opponent looked like he was moments away from collapsing. Bull, however? He only got a few measly hits to the gut, and the most that did was make him stumble back.

Tiger watched Bull–well, he tried his best to. His eyes had such a hard time following the boxers from all the way back here, and as much as he’d love to sit closer to really enjoy the show and give Bull his support, he didn’t want to risk the security guards seeing him and escorting him out because he didn’t pay for a ticket. Hopefully Bull can feel his presence from here.

As the boxers started to pick up momentum, the white and yellow spot lights started flashing wildly. Tiger shielded his eyes and cursed to himself. It was bad enough he struggled to watch his friend, did he really need to be blinded on top of it?

Thankfully, the lights soon stopped.

Tiger wished the stadium stopped trying to put on some fancy light shows during the matches–especially for the World Circuit’s ring of all places. It was already magnificent! In fact, the ring looked better when the lights were still.

Even with the lights off, the World Circuit ring was truly a sight to behold. The marbled walls with a color that reminded Tiger of a fine glass of sparkling wine? The towering columns that aligned the walls and held up the ceiling, columns that looked like they belonged not to a boxing ring, but a colosseum? The bold red banners that hung between the columns and swayed with elegance? It was a ring truly fit for the World Circuit boxers, a ring that spoiled everyone with its size and craftsmanship, a ring that captivated the audience as much as the fights themselves.

But when the ring was illuminated? It was breathtaking.

The vivid, golden hue that filled the room always sent a rush of energy through the crowd, and watching a boxing fight under these lights-- paired with the hundreds of twinkling cameras--always made each match feel like a valiant battle. It was brilliant. What else could Tiger say?  

As Bull and his opponent swung at each other, Tiger couldn’t help but start to mimic some of Bull’s motions. Tiger always saw boxing as its own form of magic, one that Bull made look so easy.

His uppercuts were swift, his jabs were sharp, and his strikes were stunning.

When Bull started to deliver several fast punches to his opponent, Tiger followed along, lightly throwing his fists in sync with Bull’s, but he got a bit too excited and swung a little too hard.

He lost his balance for a split second. He held his breath as he felt his carpet waver beneath him. He quickly gripped onto its edges, and when his carpet finally steadied, he exhaled.

Tiger scooted to the center of his carpet and pulled at the collar of his crimson vest, a little hot in the face for getting so carried away. He then tugged at his sleeves–which were a lighter hue than his vest–and folded his legs.

He felt his dark, mahogany-colored pants dig into the crease of his legs, and though it was a bit uncomfortable, he didn’t want to risk shifting around and losing his balance again. The last thing he needed was to fall on top of someone.

Tiger fiddled with the golden buttons on his vest, his dark brown shoes bouncing slightly as he still felt a bit of embarrassment linger inside of him, but it didn’t stay for long as his attention was quickly sucked back into the fight.

Tiger watched as Bull walked backwards until he was mere inches from the ropes.

One of Bull’s feet dug into the mat before he kicked it back.

A surge of energy shot through Tiger.

‘Yes.’ He thought to himself, a grin spreading across his face.

The Bull Charge.

Bull’s best move. The most iconic attack he had.

Tiger clutched onto the edge of his carpet as he watched Bull ready himself.

He watched as his miserable little opponent stumbled back and raised his gloves in front of his face, as if that’d do him any good.

Bull charged towards him.

The opponent swung–

And missed.

His glove just barely scraped Bull’s face before Bull delivered a devastating uppercut, sending the man flying back and hitting the ground.

“Yes!” Tiger whispered through his teeth.

The people cheered and roared, though Tiger could make out a couple of boos and hisses. Tiger’s eyes narrowed. If he knew where they sat, he’d teleport them right to the stadium’s parking lot.

Tiger’s annoyance fled away when he noticed the hundreds of other people chanting Bull’s name, and soon, he found himself hollering along with them. The excitement was intoxicating.

The referee rushed over to the man and started to count.

Even from all the way back here, Tiger could make out each number he hollered.

“ONE!” The referee shouted, throwing down one hand before bringing it back up.

Bull stood tall and let out a hearty laugh.

“TWO!”

People screamed at Bull. They screamed at the man to get back up. They screamed for the fight to go on.

“THREE!”

The cameras flashed.

“FOUR!”

The opponent started to lift himself up.

“FIVE!”

Bull dug his shoes back into the ground.

“SIX!”

In one quick motion, the man shot back to his feet and raised his fists.

Tiger couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

Some people didn’t know when to quit, did they? If he were wise, he’d save himself the humiliation and give up now.

The man threw a hit at Bull’s face.

Bull dodged it.

The man threw another and another.

Bull dodged them all with ease.

A sudden sharp jab was delivered to Bull’s gut.

Bull hunched over and stumbled back.

Tiger couldn’t help but cringe.

Bull was able to shake off the blow and strike the man across the face again. He went for a second hit–but the man jumped out of the way.

The two kept throwing hits at one another–

Bull received another blow to the gut.

Tiger sharply inhaled.

He gripped onto the edge of his carpet as he watched Bull clutch onto his stomach. Even from all the way over here, Tiger could tell just how hard those hits were.

Bull tried to recollect himself, but the man used what little time he had to send hit after hit to Bull’s face.

Bull was backed into the ropes.

The crowd's chants grew louder.

The cameras’ flashes grew brighter.

Bull threw his hands over his face to protect it–

But the man immediately socked Bull’s stomach again.

Bull hunched over again.

He took a step forward, his body swaying before he hit the ground hard enough to shake the stadium.

The people roared.

Their applause filled the stadium.

Cheers and hisses collided.

And all Tiger could do was keep a hold on his carpet as he watched Bull intensely.

The referee walked over.

‘Get up.’  Tiger mouthed.

“ONE!” The referee started.

‘Get up.’

“TWO!”

Bull started to push himself up.

“THREE!”

Each second he spent on that mat felt like an eternity.

Before the referee could hit ‘four’, Bull hoisted himself back to his feet.

Relief washed over Tiger.

The opponent shouted something at Bull, it was impossible to tell through all the chaos, but whatever he said made Bull’s posture shrink.

Bull cocked his head to the side and rolled his shoulders back.

The man shouted at him again.

Bull grit his teeth.

“FIGHT!” The referee shouted before he quickly stepped aside.

Bull charged forward and swung his arm back.

The man stepped back–but it was a second too late as Bull struck him across the face.

Spit and blood sprayed from the man’s face.

It flew in the air and glistened under the golden light.

An absolutely mesmerizing and disgusting display.

Bull swung at whatever chance he got.

The opponent kept swinging as well.

Tiger narrowed his eyes.

That opponent was getting a little too confident now.

He kept shouting in Bull’s face while wearing a cocky smile.

What gave him such the ego boost?

Him knocking Bull down once meant nothing. What made him think he was suddenly superior for throwing a few cheap shots?

Tiger watched as Bull gave the man an uppercut while he was mid-taunt. Tiger couldn’t help but smile and imagine how wonderful that must’ve felt.

As the man tried to steady himself, Bull prepared another Bull Charge.

The crowd screamed.

The spotlights shone on the boxers.

The camera lights were blinding.

Bull brought one foot down and shook the ring.

He lunged forward.

He pulled his arm back, ready to send his opponent out of the ring–

But the man managed to give a devastating blow to Bull’s stomach–completely stopping Bull.

Right on impact, Bull’s mouth opened.

It looked like he was trying to scream, but Tiger couldn’t hear anything.

Not through the noise of the crowd. Not with the constant clicking of the cameras. Not here.

There was an indescribable look of pain in Bull’s face as he pushed himself away from the man.

He only managed to take a couple steps back before he collapsed.

Tiger watched.

That was all he could do.

He watched Bull stay on the ground as the referee counted.

The drumming of his heart completely drowned out the referee’s voice.

He couldn’t even hear the screams of the people anymore.

The world started to slow.

Bull just laid there, clutching at his stomach.

He didn’t even twitch.

Everything and everyone in the stadium felt as though they were slowing down.

The referee’s gestures, the opponent’s steps, the crowd’s claps, it was all so painfully slow.

But the second the referee shouted ‘KNOCKOUT’, everything came crashing down.

All the noise, all the lights, and every little motion assaulted Tiger’s senses.

Everything was too fast now.

Too many people were standing up and cheering.

Too many cameras were going off.

And too many spotlights were rushing around the stadium.

Tiger had to cover his eyes as he listened to the crowd go wild.

He listened as the sound of hundreds of footsteps clashed with their applause.

Tiger peeked through the cracks of his fingers and watched as people rushed into the ring.

Medics, staff members, interviewers, and so many more nearly tore the ropes off their hinges as they clawed their way towards the boxers.

Plenty of people surrounded the opponent, asking him millions of questions while he struck pose after pose, wearing such a smug, punchable smile on his face. It made Tiger’s blood boil.

But he won’t give that miserable man another second of his time.

His head darted over to Bull, who was struggling to stay steady on his feet even with the help from the medics.

Even more people were surrounding Bull, despite the fact he lost.

He covered his face as photographers took picture after picture.

Far too many interviewers were shoving their microphones into his face.

Tiger couldn’t even begin to imagine how horrible it must’ve felt being surrounded by so many fans.

Despite how far he was, despite the clamor of everyone, Tiger could still hear bits of the interviewers’ questions.

Questions about Bull’s loss, how he felt about his record being further tarnished, if his skills were declining, some even had the audacity to ask how he could even lose in such an ‘easy’ fight.

Bull tore his hand away and gave himself a sharp hit to the head as he tried to back away from the people.

That only made the people grow closer.

Tiger gripped onto the end of his carpet again.

Were they blind?

Did they choose to be so ignorant?

Could they not see that Bull was trying to escape?

Tiger sat up and tugged at the bottom of his beard.

Just watching Bull struggle to push himself away from the crowd was making Tiger stressed.

He considered teleporting him away for a moment–but in front of so many people? Who knew what the higher ups would say about that.

He watched Bull for a second more before he sharply inhaled.

He quickly waved his hand towards the crowd, and suddenly all the camera flashes stopped.

He turned them off. It wasn’t much–and it certainly wasn’t going to stop some of the paparazzi for long–but at least he could slow them down for a bit.

While the paparazzis were frantically trying to turn their cameras back on, Tiger watched as Bull managed to trudge his way out of the ring and to the doors that led back to the private halls.

The moment Bull was out of sight, Tiger teleported away.

He reappeared in the locker room.

The sharp smell of bleach made his face scrunch.

The white light that bounced off the polished lockers was about to give him a headache.

Tiger hovered in the air, legs crossed and fingers dug into his legs as he kept his eyes on the door.

He heard footsteps, but not from outside the room. It almost sounded like someone was already–

Tiger’s head darted over to the sound.

Instead of Bull, though, he saw a custodian mopping between the rows of lockers with their headphones on.

Tiger’s brows lowered and he looked back to the door.

Bull should be here any second now. He’ll come in, grab his belongings from his locker, then Tiger can teleport them home.

Tiger’s look soon turned to a glare.

It’s not like Bull had much in his locker these days. Back then, however? His locker used to be full of life. He used to have little strips of colorful fabric that decorated his walls, he used to keep small containers of snacks that he’d always eat from during breaks, and he used to have an array of colorful gym supplies, but his fans–those deranged animals–kept breaking inside. They’d pry his locker open and steal whatever they deemed worthy as a ‘souvenir’ or something they could sell for a quick buck.

It didn’t take long for Bull to tear everything down and leave it barren for good. Now he was too hesitant to even leave his boxing gloves and shoes in there for a day.  

Minutes passed. Tiger grew restless.

Where was Bull?

He should’ve been here by now.

Was he hurt?

Did the people get a hold of him already?

Tiger could hear distant shouts. He could hear a mob of people demand for Bull’s whereabouts, they demanded to speak to him, demand, demand, demand, and as much as it made Tiger furious, it seemed like they didn’t know where Bull was either.

Their voices grew louder, as did their footsteps and camera flashes.

Tiger breathed in. He then teleported in front of the custodian, who jumped at his sudden arrival.

Tiger motioned for them to take off their headphones. They did so. They opened their mouth–

But when they heard the clamor of hundreds of people, they immediately shut it and scowled. They muttered to themselves and positioned themself near the door with their mop tightly in hand, ready to whack whatever freaks were going to try to come in here.

Tiger’s gem flashed and he teleported again.

He appeared in one of the many private halls, hopefully far enough from those fans.  

His eyes scanned the doors that aligned the murky green, poster-ridden walls.

It was a disgusting mess in here.

It was always the times after a fight that highlighted just how foul the stadium could get. The spilt drinks that seeped into the cracks of the floor, the food crumbs that had gathered in the cobweb-filled corners, and the overflowing trash cans? It was putrid.

And the smell. That horrible, vile smell. A disgusting mix of sweat, hot garbage, and the breaths of a hundred people that loved to linger in the air for days. Just thinking about it made Tiger’s stomach curl.

Tiger approached the door closest to him; a dirty shade of green with chipped paint, just like all the other doors here. The sign beside it read ‘Janitor’s Closet’.

As he reached for the knob, he heard a voice in the back of his head say: ‘Do you truly think he’d hide in here? You’re foolish.’

A part of him couldn’t help but agree. As if Bull could fit in such a small, cramped space, but Tiger needed to start somewhere.

He opened the door.

As expected, nothing but brooms, paper towels, and far too many cleaning chemicals.

Tiger let out a bitter sigh and closed the door.

He continued down the hall, and as he kept walking, one question plagued his mind.

‘How?’

How could he lose sight of Bull so easily? How could he lose his own friend? How could he struggle to find Bull of all people?

If Bull’s size wasn’t enough to catch someone’s attention, then his powerful stomps surely would have, and if they didn’t noticed that? Then they would’ve heard his loud belly laugh, or his deep voice that boomed through the halls. He was the most noticeable man in the WVBA.

Tiger stopped.

He scanned the other doors.

He’ll be here all night if he goes through them one by one.

He started walking again.

His gem flashed. Several clones appeared behind him. Without saying a word, they all split off into different directions.

As the sound of doors opening filled the hall, Tiger couldn’t help but plunge into his thoughts for a moment.

He had already been terribly upset over the shouting fit he had with his friends mere days ago, but now having to worry about Bull on top of his friends’ anger? It only made his stress worse.

Tiger had been replaying that argument in his head constantly–save for the times he was helping Bull train–and oh, the things he wished he could’ve said.

How he wished he had called Hondo out for his judgment towards Overload. Oh, when Overload says harsh things about others, it’s horrible, but when Hondo does it behind people’s back, it’s perfectly fine? At least Overload could say it to people’s faces. At least Overload didn’t accuse other people of terrible deeds. At least Overload didn’t have big, ridiculous brows that constantly twitched at every passing second.  

Tiger took a deep breath when he felt himself getting riled up.

After that argument, none of the men had attempted to reach out to Tiger, and Tiger hadn’t tried to reach out to them either.

Truthfully, Tiger wasn’t all too sure if he wanted to speak to Hondo again at the moment. Certainly not now. Not when Hondo would most likely demand an apology out of him and shame him into ‘admitting’ that Overload set up those mousetraps, despite having absolutely zero evidence. As if Tiger would throw his friend away like that.

Tiger didn’t expect any texts from Bear Hugger given the state of his hand, though the fact he’s yet to call Tiger has made him a bit nervous. He didn’t want Bear of all people to be upset at him. Hopefully Hondo didn’t convince Bear that Overload was at fault. After that dreadful dinner, the last thing Overload needed was more people that despised him.

And Joe…

Tiger’s mouth curled into a frown.

He was glad not to have any sort of contact with Joe.

The only person Tiger had called recently was Overload, but that was a few days ago.

They didn’t talk about much. They just asked about each other’s day. Tiger didn’t bring up what happened in the locker room after Overload left. He can’t remember why, but he just couldn’t.

And now this?

Bull losing a fight? The aftermath that was sure to follow soon after? Just the mere thought of it flooded his mind with worries.

‘Bull will be fine.’ A part of him said, ‘Just give him some time.’

‘Why?’ Was what the other half of his mind argued.

Why should he step aside and wait for Bull to recover on his own?

Was it so wrong for him to want to support his friend? Was it so wrong to want to check on him from time to time to let him know he wasn’t alone? Was it so wrong to want to be there for him?

‘Bull, are you in here?’ He heard one of his clone’s voices echo through the halls. It’s voice was much more warped than it should be.

‘Hello?’

‘Where have you gone off too?’

‘Are you alright?’

‘Please be safe.’

‘Bull?’

It didn’t take long for Tiger’s clones to disappear.

One by one, they all turned into smoke and rushed back into his gem, leaving a trail of open doors behind him.

Tiger’s chest tightened.

He turned a corner and saw even more doors that awaited him. His gem flashed and he summoned more clones to help him.

He stumbled as he felt a wave of weariness wash over him.

He was using too much magic too quickly.

He knew his body was going to hate him if he kept doing this, he knew he was going to be sore and exhausted before the night was over, but he had to find Bull.

The sound of more doors opening echoed through the hall.

The voices of his clones rang through his ears.

The smell of cleaning chemicals and garbage was starting to make him sick.

He passed by the door leading to the Major Circuit’s control booth.

He stopped.

He stared at the door for a moment.

There was a chance that Bull could be hiding in one of the other rings–at least, Tiger hopes so.

‘What if he went home?’ He thought to himself as he slowly curled his hand around the knob.

He couldn’t have gone home. Surely.

Not when there were still hundreds of people out there looking for him.

Tiger inhaled and opened the door. His gem blinked. He summoned a few more clones and ushered them up the stairs. He caught a glimpse of their distorted figures; their several eyes, their stretched mouths, their arms that were a little too long, and their bare torsos covered in bulges of swirled skin. He shut the door.

He felt a headache start to form. He clutched at his head and stared straight ahead. His eyes locked onto the door that lead to the Minor Circuit’s ring.

He kept going.

His limbs were getting sore.

His head was starting to pound.

His vision kept flickering.

Yet he kept moving.

When he finally reached the Minor Circuit, he leaned against its set of cold, metal doors and took deep, heavy breaths. Clouds of smoke rushed back into his gem as he tried to keep himself steady.

It felt like his entire body was burning.

He slowly pressed his hand against the door and pushed it open.

The smell of sweat and bleach hit him.

He stared into the ring. It was dark, save for the stream of fluorescent light he was letting in.

He could barely make out the silhouette of the ring in the middle of the room, along with the hundreds of folding chairs that surrounded it. The bleachers that aligned the walls were impossible to make out.

He couldn’t see any signs of Bull.

“Bull?” Tiger said, head barely poking through the door.

No response.

He gripped the edge of the door tightly.

“Are you in here?”

Nothing.

A lump formed in his throat.

Tiger turned, but just as he was about to close the door, he heard something–

A sound.

Tiger snapped his head back into the room.

“Bull?” Tiger repeated as he stumbled inside.

He heard the sound again.

He didn’t know what it was.

Something falling?

Someone getting hit?

Whatever it was, it’d stop for several seconds before he’d hear it again.

Tiger weaved his way through the seats. He followed the sound, his eyes darted everywhere until they landed on the intense, red glow coming from the emergency exit’s sign.

As he grew closer to the exit, the sound grew louder.

When he passed a set of bleachers and turned a corner, a mix of relief and heartache filled him when he saw Bald Bull sitting against the exit door.

His boxing gloves had been thrown to the side, his posture was hunched, and his face hidden in the shadows.

The sign’s red light gently illuminated the top of his head and ran down his back.

Tiger stepped forward.

Bald Bull didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at him.

Tiger opened his mouth but froze when he saw Bald Bull hit himself.

Then Bull did it again. And again.

He kept hitting the same bruised area on his head, muttering words Tiger couldn’t make out.

“Bull–”

Bull struck himself again. Harder this time. The bruises grew darker.

“Bull!” Tiger snapped and quickly grabbed hold of his friend’s hand. His expression softened when Bull finally brought his tired, puffy eyes to his. Through the darkness, Tiger could just barely see the rest of the bruises that were scattered along Bull’s face and stomach.

Tiger mumbled his friend’s name again. His hands loosened before it carefully curled around Bull’s as he knelt down.

“Tonight has already been so cruel to you,” Tiger whispered, “you shouldn’t be treating yourself this way.”

He felt the way Bull tensed. Tiger tried to sit beside him, but that gesture only seemed to have made Bull feel worse, as he’d strike himself again with his other hand. Tiger jumped and tried to grab it.

“Now that’s enough!” Tiger raised his voice.

Bull tried to bring his fist up again, but Tiger held it back.

“It helps.” Bull finally said, his voice quiet and unsteady.

Tiger stared at him. His mouth hung open for a moment before he asked, “How?”

Bull’s fist lingered in the air before falling.

“It can–it is… I am…” Bull's voice dwindled. He stayed still, shaky breaths filling the silence between them.

“I am a stupid man.” Bull mumbled, “A horribly stupid man.”

“And what makes you believe that? A losing round?”  Tiger asked.

Bull said nothing.

“Don’t let this one night define you.” He looked at his friend’s tear streaked face, “You are Bald Bull. One of the greatest boxers in the World Circuit.”

Bull turned his head away.

“I was messing up horribly. Mistake after mistake.”

“Everyone is bound to make mistakes. Do you truly believe–”

Bull cut him off, “I should have known better. I should have noticed what was happening and stopped him, but I did not. I’ve been doing this for years and here–and–and even now, I continue to make such stupid mistakes.”

Tiger hesitated, “Did… Is this because of what the other boxer sa–”

“No.” Bull said, “No, it was not because of him. I do not care for him. I have heard–I can put up with their… No one else cares for–” Bull couldn’t finish a single sentence. He kept rambling. He kept going and going, struggling to piece together whatever it was he wanted to say until his words started to drift apart. Until he was silent again.

He carefully placed his hand over his mouth before he spoke again, “I’m… I know I have mentioned her before, my mother, she–” He swallowed, “When I–I was… I was never a bright boy when I was younger. Always making mistake after mistake. It was the only thing I could do, and my mother would always… She would–she wanted to fix that.” He covered his eyes and breathed in.

Tiger leaned closer to his friend.

Bull slowly ran his fingers across his bruised face, “Was never as smart as my father, was never as smart as my classmates either, so I tried to study. I would study for so long–sometimes I would hardly be able to see what I was reading.” He let out a dry chuckle at the recollection. He didn’t know why. He hated those nights where he stayed up countless hours and skipped meals, where he’d stare at his books until tears started to form just to understand his school work a bit better. He hated it.

He kept going, “My mother, she never believed I was doing anything, so one day she would–she would stand behind me as I studied. She would stare down, she would find the mistakes–she would find them faster than I ever could–and she would strike me.” He grabbed onto the side of his head where his mother would constantly hit.

“That’s horrendous.” Tiger whispered, gently squeezing Bull’s other hand.

“It’d hurt, but it’d help.”

Bull’s mouth lingered open for a moment more before he repeated himself, “It helps.”

It helped in the same way all of his mother’s words would, along with the constant scoldings, the insults, and all the times she’d grab him by the arm and drag him to the corner of a room to talk down to him.

He could still recall his mother’s voice so clearly. He could remember the mixture of distraught and anger she wore on her face as she’d speak to him.

‘Bull, you drive me mad.’ She’d always say, followed by another hit for motivation, ‘You are a horribly stupid boy. I have seen you do better–I know you can do better–why are you doing this to me?’

‘You are doing it all wrong. It’s all wrong. I have never seen another boy do so poorly.’

‘Why can’t you be like your other classmates?’ She’d always ask. His classmates never struggled to finish one page, his classmates didn’t have to read the same line over and over until they were on the brink of tears. His classmates were never as slow as him. They didn’t lose sleep over writing one sentence, they didn’t struggle to spell out a single word, they just did it correctly. But he couldn’t. To this day, he still didn’t know why it was so hard for him, how he made so many mistakes, or why he couldn’t be as good as the them.

‘You can’t read one page!’ His mother used to scream with tears streaming down her face, ‘How do you expect to get anywhere if you cannot even read?!’ There were far too many times she’d grab whatever book he had and throw it to the ground as she cried.

Her outbursts were one of the only things Bull remembered about his mother. They’d always terrify him, yet they’d motivate him. They’d motivate him to push himself past his limits so he could get a decent grade, so he didn’t fall behind the others and be seen as the ‘stupid’ one.

Had it not been for his mother, he’d still be stupid. As much as he despised her hits and shouts, a part of him couldn’t help but believe if she had never been so cruel, he would’ve never gotten anywhere. He probably wouldn’t have gotten a chance at the WVBA.

Now here he was.

Sitting in the ring of the Minor Circuit with horrible bruises from a fight he was too stupid to win.

His hand curled to a tight fist as he asked himself: ‘Why?’

Why couldn’t he be as good as the other boxers? They didn’t struggle as much. They didn’t go down as quickly as he did. They didn’t keep messing up. They didn’t do every little thing wrong.

If he wasn’t stupid, he would’ve won that fight.

If he wasn’t stupid, he’d be in a higher rank.

If he wasn’t stupid, people would love him.

He��s so stupid.

He’s so stupid.

He’s so stupid–

“Bull, please! Enough with this!” Tiger exclaimed, tearing Bull’s hand away.

Bull froze.

His head felt like it had been set on fire. He didn’t even realize he had started hitting himself again.

He stared at Tiger’s expression. The look of hurt and heartache on his face was something he had never seen before.

Bull’s mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t.

He knew he shouldn’t hurt himself. He knew it was wrong, but it was all he could do at this point.  

There was nothing else he could think of that could possibly help.

Tiger carefully held both of Bull’s hands and let out a heavy sigh.

He brought his eyes to Bull’s, “Let’s go home now, shall we?” He asked in a wavering voice.

Bull nodded, and with a flash of Tiger’s gem, the two teleported away.  

[i-siriusblk-padfoot-blog]

Humid Nights

Humid Nights

The night was humid and balmy. Well into the middle of summer in the Lemoyne swamp, this came as no surprise to you. There was no reprieve from the heat, even at night. The hairs on the nape of your neck clung to your damp skin, hands constantly battling against blood thirsty mosquitoes. You think it’s fair enough to say that you’re miserable. of course, no one would argue. The camp seemed to be in a stand still, the heat sucking any remaining energy out of its members. These past few days mostly consisted of lounging around under tents, wagons ,trees. Not even Mrs Grimshaw had the energy to reprimand the girls from lazying around and neglecting their chores.

Letting out a huff, you used the back of your wrist to brush away strands of hair sticking to your forehead. Hands submerging back into the bucket of lukewarm sudsy water that you were using to scrub the stubborn left over bits of food stuck on the pans from one of Pearsons stews.

Rinsing off the last dish, you dried off your pruney hands on your skirts. Standing, you stretched out your back and rolled your shoulders, grimacing as you felt the fabric of your dress stick to your damp skin. Letting out a sigh you look around the now quiet camp, well past midnight. All inhabitants in the camp have retired to their tents for the night. You offering to stay up and clean the dishes.

You made your way to your tent, smiling softly as you saw the dim glow of a lantern through the material. Ducking through the tents opening, your smile grew bigger at the sight that greeted you. Arthur lied propped up in your shared cot, linen sheets pooled around his bare waist. Head stuck in his journal, scribbling away. At the sound of your entrance, he looked up, bluey green eyes glittering against the light the dimly lit lantern allowed. “Finally” he murmured. Sticking his pencil in the bind of his journal, he flicked it shut and placed it on the crate off to the side.

Scoffing playfully, you move towards the makeshift vanity placed in the corner of your shared lean to. Hands starting to pull out the pins holding your long tresses up. “Not my fault that Pearsons stew is impossible to scrub off our cookware”. You say, fingers combing through your hair, untangling all the knots and tangles from the day. Arthur just comfortably watching you. “I swear the man puts cement in there or somthin” you joke. Arthur stretches his arms up behind his head, watching as you unbutton your dress until you’re in nothing but your thin lacy chemise.

“Don’t like you doin all that extra work” he replies. “specially in your condition”. You laugh, rolling your eyes good naturedly “in my condition?” you question. All you get is a grunt in return. After folding away your dress you turn your attention to the man in your bed, finally taking in the sight. He’s without his union suit, weather to hot for all those uneeded layers. His bare chest is on display, the hair there slightly matted from humidity. The muscles in his tanned arms more prominent from the way he has them crossed behind his head. He has his head tilted to the side, eyes half lided with sleep and……something else. You feel heat pool between your thighs. You move across the floor towards the cot just big enough for two people. Crawling up the bed, you move to straddle his lap. His hands instantly go to your thighs. Big, rough hands smoothing the soft skin there. “Need you to take it more easy, Don’t want anything to happen to the two of you” he murmurs. Hands smoothing up towards your stomach, where theres a small swell of life growing. “ok?” he demands softly but firmly. You smile softly, your chest tightening with love and affection for this beautiful man you get to call your husband. You slide your hands over his chest, up his neck, until your fingers are threading through his soft tawny locks. Thumbs gently sweeping over the stubble on his cheeks. “ok” you whisper. He gives a small nod, “good, now c’mere” he gives your waist a gentle tug, chin lifting in search of your lips. You giggle quietly, pressing your soft lips to his slightly chapped ones. Exchanging a series of short but sweet kisses that soon turn to heated when teeth gently nip at skin. Quickly followed by hot swipes of tongues to soothe the ache.

Arthurs lips leave yours to trail hot, wet, nipping kisses over your chin and down your neck. “Arthur” you moan quietly, huffing out quick puffs of breath as your fingers tighten in his hair. Holding him to your neck. Arthur grunts, sucking a bruising kiss into the hollow of your neck. He wraps his arms around your waist and gently guides you so that your back is lying comfortably on the mattress. He unbuttons the front of your chemise, sliding the delicate material down your shoulders and over your chest. You give a slight shiver, full breasts on display, Rosy pink nipples pebbling. Arthur gives an appreciative hum, hungry eyes racking over the display. He smooths both hands down until he’s got a handful in each hand, gently massaging the flesh. He continues kissing his way down your neck until he’s lathing his hot, wet tongue over a dusky pink nipple. You softly cry out, back arching and fingernails gently scratching his head. Arthur grunts around your nipple, only releasing it to do the same to the other one.

Arthur peels the rest of your chemise off your body until you’re completely bare to him. He grabs the backs of your thighs, bending them until your knees are touching your breasts. “Been wantin to taste this pretty lil pussy all week now” he practically growls out before sucking your clit into his hot mouth. Your back bows up at the suddenness of it “oh, fuck Arthur” you cry out quietly, still vaguely aware of your neighbours. He lathes his tongue over your bud, repeatedly flicking his tongue around your clit until he brings it back into his mouth and suckles, hard. “oh my god, yes yes. I’m gonna cum!” you pant. Hands fisting his hair. “c’mon sweetheart, want you to cum all over my face. C’mon girl” Arthur moans, lathering his tongue through your folds until your weeping. Slick dripping through your folds and down your cheeks and drenching the sheets underneath. “fuck, look at you. So wet for me.” He moans before moving his attention back to your clit and furiously working his tongue over it. “ I’m cumin, Arthur im cumin!” you moan out as wave of pleasure surge through you. Hips withering in his grasp until he finally lets up.

Arthur leans back on his heels, wiping his hand furtively over his mouse. His beard is covered in your release, its practically glistening in the lamp light. His hands go towards his pants where he shucks them down his hips. Your mouth nearly waters at the sight of his thick cock, the tip flushed red and dripping with pre cum. You whine and wrap your legs around his waist, eager to be filled. Arthur laughs cockily “Easy sweetheart, so eager for a nutha one huh?”. His hand grabs his member, teasing his tip between your dripping folds. He places the tip against your entrance and slowly slides in. “god dammit!” he snarls when he's fully seated inside you “Been way too long since I’ve been without this pussy”. You whine at the feeling of being filled and stretched out, your muscles clenching and unclenching around his cock happily. He starts up a quick pace, the sound of wet slapping skin filling the small tent along with rough grunt and soft throaty moans. “you nearly there, sweetheart?” Arthur questions without stopping his pace, jaw clenching and skin shining with perspiration…. He was beautiful. “my god yes, please” you moan out “please, I want you to cum in me”.

Arthur groans, pace quickening. “c’mon baby, want you to cum with me. Want you to cum with me so I can fill you up”. His thrusts start becoming more erratic now as his release approaches. “want me to fill you up huh?, have you dripping with my cum”. You nod your head, not able to form words as pleasure wracks your body in waves. Arthur soon follows after. You moan at the feeling of thick ropes of come spurting inside you. His softening cock slips out of you, cum dripping out of you. “fuck, I love you” Arthur pants, face flush and exhausted. You giggle and pull him down to you by his neck smothering his lips with yours. “I love you too”. You whisper in between kisses.

[outeremissary]

🍒📀💙 for Balthazar and 📙🍇🌸 for Carmen?

From this prompt list! I really enjoyed these, so thank you! And it was nice to talk about Carmen as well.

Balthazar

🍒 What kind of things do they expect from their relationships? Does this differ between platonic relationships and romantic ones? Is your OC “demanding” or a door mat? What kinds of things do people expect from them in a relationship?

This one is fun because it changes drastically over the course of Kingmaker. Get changed by the power of friendship, idiot. If you’d asked Balthazar in the past what he wanted from a friendship he’d have said advantage, and what he wanted from a romantic partner was obedience. And he’s never been a doormat. He’s generally been as demanding as he felt he could get away with. When he was younger he took a great deal of pride in his ability to get anything he wanted through his connections. He learned his friends and partners like marks, and used them just the same. To him it felt fair. He felt that he’d been denied more than enough by the world at large, and that he was always giving these companions what they wanted from him: the exotic thrill of having an angel on their arm or at their parties, someone to gawk at and banter with. He was sharp and fun and pretty. It was what they expected, and he gave them what they wanted.

Time and experience have changed him. What he wants now is to feel respected and to have others place their trust in him. Awakened to a hunger for genuine connection that had been there all along, there’s not really any going back. The desire for those things is pretty consistent across his friendships and his romantic relationship, although in his relationship there’s a much stronger desire to also be understood. And although he wouldn’t want to face it, he’s also afraid of people he's begun to care for leaving him… it’s the last thing he wants, letting go of people he values. Over time he’s become a bit better at meeting people halfway with his expectations. He was good at folding on his demands to play it safe before, but being more earnest about compromise is new. As for what others expect of him… more than anything, to be worthy of that trust when it counts.

📀 How easy is it to shock your OC? To confuse them? To lie to them, to manipulate them? How are they with feelings of trust? Can your OC be trusted?

Well, I can certainly say that he’s embarrassingly easy to deceive for someone who’s so mistrustful and so skilled in deception. Consider it a fault of pride- when he’s confident that he understands someone, he tends to put them out of mind and miss hints at their motives. Up until then, he’s guarded and attentive (maybe to the point of paranoia), although how much good it does him varies wildly- his expectations of betrayal are just his own cynicism as often as they’re good instinct. I think he’s not easily shocked- he’s seen a lot of nasty things in his life, so there’s not a lot that shocks his senses. Although he’s as susceptible to being snuck up on as any ordinary person, haha. Confusion is similar. He grasps new situations fairly well, so really throwing him requires either a pretty significant contradiction to previous assumptions or a lot of unfamiliar technicality. I suppose that’s an ordinary level as well…

In terms of trust, he doesn’t extend it easily. He’s lived a life where trust hasn’t been very rewarding. Most of the adults in his life when he was young weren’t really unconditionally trustworthy or attentive to his needs, and when he was older he suffered some very nasty betrayals that undermined a lot of his faith in other people. And of course, there’s the fact that he’s not trustworthy at all himself! He’s built a life on using people’s weaknesses against them and leading them astray. Knowing that playbook so well, it’s hard not to see it everywhere.

Although perhaps for a small number of people, he’s really quite trustworthy after all.

💙 What did your OC want to be when they grew up and why? Did they have any lifelong dreams or ambitions they never got to work on or are they currently working to achieve this dream? Has their life taken a very unexpected turn and put all these plans on hold for a while or have they given up on any dreams?

Ah, this is an easy one. When he was just a boy still playing dressup with the landlady’s kids, what he wanted more than anything was to be a prince. Just like a fairy tale, you know? Balthazar grew up relatively poor. The situation was never desperate, but it could be tight, and he felt deprived of a lot of opportunity relative to people he knew. The disparity between Absalom’s high society and the lower classes is also pretty readily observed. There was such a powerful element of fantasy to being wealthy and glamorous, as well as commanding the attention and affection of others (especially before his celestial heritage began to manifest, he was bullied fairly frequently as a child). When he became older he started to think that was a fairly stupid dream. No one just “becomes” a prince, and the position of any kind of leader is precarious. He wanted to believe that he was above that naivete- what strange tricks fortune plays.

Of course, in terms of lifelong goals he never did give up on wealth and power. As a young adult he spent a lot of time cozying up with affluent friends and making something of a socialite of himself. His scholarly pursuits were also generally directed at finding ways to better harness his inborn abilities or to find entirely new paths to power and influence- history is full of very successful ruthless, ambitious magicians, after all.

It's really the embodiment of Balthazar’s luck that he’s found his dreams both entirely derailed and somehow fulfilled in ways he’d given up on being possible. On the one hand, all those ordinary paths to his goals were completely annihilated by the circumstances under which he was forced to leave Absalom, but somehow it really is possible to trip and fall directly onto a throne.

Carmen

📙 What kind of subjects (of conversation, of discussion, in school or whatever) does your OC find interesting or engaging or that they can talk for hours about? What kind of stuff do they just find fun?

What things bore your OC to tears and they couldn’t care less about? Why?

Oh, there are a few things she could talk quite extensively and knowledgeably on, although she’s more of a listener than a speaker… She can talk quite a bit about strategy and martial technique, of course, but that’s more business than anything. She does enjoy talking about her horse June though, and about animals in general. She enjoys peaceful natural scenery and likes to hear about it. She likes to know about the quiet daily routines people have. She has a frivolous fondness for tea and if you got her going she could probably go on about it with all the knowledge and passion of a connoisseur. Idle chatter about mundane things actually brings her a lot of joy. She wants to know about the bedroom that’s being repainted or the fence that had to be mended after the sheep broke loose the week before. She likes to know where children go to find brightly colored stones. It makes her happy to hear when the stray down the street had puppies and people have been leaving out food for them. She doesn’t see herself as a part of that world anymore and she doesn’t regret leaving the chance for a normal life behind, but she never wants to lose touch with what she fights for.

As for things that bore her? Politics are at the top of the list. She couldn’t care less about the social maneuvers of aristocrats and private interests. She pretty much let Konomi just do whatever she wanted unless it was really inconvenient. It seemed like the path of least resistance and she did not care what was going on there. She’s also not very interested in business enterprises or the high theory of anything- she found that academic in Kenabres pretty irritating and she doesn’t have a lot of patience with Nenio either. Things that seem abstract and disconnected from the lives of most people just don’t matter very much! I suppose she’s very socially oriented in that way. And although it’s a bit outside of the prompt, there’s nothing she hates with more of a passion than people who talk about the lives of others like expendable items.

🍇 Day or Night? Sun or Rain? Summer or Winter?

Day, sun, summer, easy. In some indescribable way she’s a fire person, you know? Like, not in a literal sense, but if you’ve ever seen an anime or comic that represented characteristics of someone’s personality or martial prowess with fire, it’s like that. She’s a fire person. Like a blaze that’s both cold and hot at the same time. Or maybe it’s more like a raging inferno struggling to break through a shell of cold control. On a somewhat related note, the most recent song added to her playlist was Iron Lotus by Mili.

🌸 What does your OC’s voice sound like? Their laugh? Are they good at singing? Do they have an accent?

Her voice is easy to describe. It’s husky and deep, with a lot of carrying power without yelling. Although when she does shout, it’s a sharp bark. Her tendency to speak with unflinching authority probably gives her speech a lot of sensual qualities that she’s completely unaware of. As for accent, she’s got a very rural north Andoren accent. Imagine the fantasy equivalent of a thick country drawl. She can suppress it, but she prefers not to.

Her laugh is sharp and rough- there’s nothing especially refined about it, and her genuine laugh is quite loud. But that’s a very rare thing. She doesn’t really chuckle, although she will give a sort of half smile and “heh” that are the closest she comes. She’s not really good at singing in a technical sense, but she’s got plenty of talent joining in on the singalongs soldiers have at the tavern or around the campfire after several drinks.