#couch ar

[shelandsorcery]

shoutout to this lego dragon

Futzing around with this little guy was really inspiring when it came to posing some wyverns in a long drawing last night:

[arkhonarchive]

i love my boyfriend sebastian (and his boyfriend sam) and my boyfriend sam (and his boyfriend sebastian)

[aurosoulart]

[ID: tags via @lanixigay that read "#BUGS IN LOVE #THEYRE LOVEBUGS YEW #HOW COULD YEW NOT" /end ID]

dragons in love is winning but Yew puns are my secret weakness. this is too stupid to be an official video so it's literally just for tumblr, enjoy ghskgh

[sesamenom]

Ar-Pharazon from the Reverse Gondolin AU and as Witch-King of Numenor - thanks to @who-needs-words for helping develop this idea!

[rambiing]

My car

[silvery-bluish]

22 or 47 for ars x ortega or danny or both 👀👀

Prompts from here

Wordcount: 511 + 432

Contents: For 22- post-retri innocent ending, so Spoilers Beware. Chargeflystep but nobody's had a coherent conversation. Some discussion of injury, specifically the CPR incident.

For 47- Sidestep days, pre-Psychopathor kiss incident so pre-Chargestep in general, Ars briefly panicking.

22. falling asleep on the other’s shoulder

You still haven’t actually talked about what’s going on here.

But, evidently, the whole broken legs and broken ribs and concussion thing is buying you a little time, because nobody’s pushed yet. You think Ortega might be afraid to, he’s treating you like something fragile. Like you could break beneath his hands.

You suppose you have, a little. Ribs break in just shy of a third of CPR cases, and most of those probably don’t involve people with enhanced strength. You’d gotten a peek at your chart. He wouldn’t let you die. It bothers you less that it’s him hauling you back, this time.

And Daniel hasn’t pushed either-- you’d said something about your concussion, about the pain meds, to buy yourself a little time, and it’d worked, for now. And apparently gained you movie picking rights.

It’s not-- you don’t want your old standby, right now, even though Ricardo offered. Quoting stupid superhero movies back and forth at each other feels wrong, with what you’re still hiding, so. Your backup. The movies you don’t usually subject Ortega to, because he makes fun of you and says you and Chen should compare recommendations.

He’s not making fun of you right now, so there’s that. Might feel more normal if he did, though.

Instead, you’re ensconced on his couch, watching documentaries, ottoman pulled up so your legs can rest on it. Ricardo had rearranged the furniture, Daniel had floated you from your chair to the couch. Change of scenery, or something. Taking care of you. It makes the tangleknot of emotions in your chest crawl a little further up, into your throat, writhe a little harder around itself.

Daniel on one side of you, Ricardo on the other, two blankets between the three of you. Daniel’s nodding off, slowly, mind drifting to… late nights watching nature documentaries to lull himself to sleep, and it makes you smile, a little. His head lists sideways, curling into himself on the couch so he’s closer to your height, for now. Gently connecting with your side, like a boat bumping into the docks. Except instead of rebounding, he sticks, cheek to your shoulder.

Tired. Trusting. The thing in your chest twists again.

When you look away, you catch Ricardo watching you. There’s something-- soft, there, that you don’t know how to read. Can’t read, through the static of his mind. Your uncertainty must show on your face - you’ve never been that good an actor and you’re worse here - because the softness around his eyes spreads to a smile, and he leans closer to press a kiss to the top of your head.

And then he wiggles his arm at you briefly, to draw your attention to it, and wraps it around the back of the couch so it’s over your shoulder, shifting the dominoes of you and Daniel so you’re both leaning further over, you into Ricardo’s chest and shoulder, and Daniel into you.

It’s unsettlingly difficult to force your attention back towards your documentary, after that. Too busy thinking about trust and duty of care.

47. touching their elbow to get their attention

You’re standing on a roof, in costume, watching several people talking to each other in an alleyway-- you’re too far away to read their minds right now, so you’re thinking about if there’s a closer spot so you don't have to read their lips through a pair of binoculars.

The building closest to them is too exposed, and for the one on the other side, you’re not sure there’s a good pathway between where you are now and the spot next to the air conditioning unit that would make a good hiding spot.

Mapping out potential paths in your head is familiar, comforting-- you know how to do this. You’re good at getting places unseen. One path takes you over that exposed roof-- no good, you don’t want them to know you’re there. Another is-- too far around, you’ll miss too much of what they’re saying that way. A third path--

Something touches your elbow.

You freeze, stock still, a useless impulse but running would draw eyes too many of them and now that you’re looking for it there’s a blur-fuzz of static behind you, touching your elbow and--

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

Hand off your arm, now, and it’s just-- Charge. Ortega. Right. Okay. You know that voice. You know that person, when he comes the rest of the way around your side, familiar in his blue-and-white skinsuit. “Don’t blow my cover,” you say, grabbing for the acidic to get yourself back together.

“Right, right,” and he makes a show of ducking behind the air conditioning unit on this roof, peeking around the side of it at the people in the alleyway. “What are we doing?”

“We’re not doing anything,” you say, because you don’t need his help with this, not yet, you’re not to the point where someone needs to be arrested, and he’s shit at sitting still during stakeouts anyway. “They’re talking about shipments. I’m trying to figure out what the shipments are of.”

He nods, settling in to watch with you. Scanning the streets and alleys farther away so you don’t have to. Teamwork. Two sets of eyes is usually better than one.

You turn, deliberately, taking Ortega out of your line of sight as you return your focus to reading lips. He’s not a danger, not the way you keep assuming he is, you don’t think. So you can let him stay on the edges of your perception, sometimes, and trust that he won’t do anything more than startle you. 

It’s nice, having people who’ll have your back, you think. Even if you haven’t exactly tested it yet.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Imagine you're having plumbing issues at your house so you've been living it Rough for a few days (Brushing your teeth with bottled water, using an abundance of wet wipes, waiting to do Toilet Things when you're at school/work/the shops, etc), waiting for the plumbers to come and save you, and when your F/O finds out they invite you to use their water!

Maybe you don't live together yet but you've been discussing it, or maybe this is a new relationship, or maybe you two just like having your own homes. This situation allows y'all to have a little domestic Moment together without moving in ^^

Like, they want you to be vomfortable coming over any time to:

Take a shower (Imagine complaining that you feel grotty and they say that you always look ravishibg- but hey you're welcome to come over and use their amenities. Or maybr they make a dirty joke here. Like, you are always plenty welcome to their shower~~ XD )

Wash your dishes (Imagine them leaning on the bench beside the sink watching you, talking about your/their day, discussing dinner, suggesting you order in together?, maybe drying them for you!)

Do you laundry (Imagine you're watching TV with them and folding your lovely clean laundry at the same time. Are they helping you? Are they holding a pile of shirts cuz you ran out of room on the floor?)

Pee-

etc.

If you wanna stay over that's just fine. That's great actually! They love having you, and this is the perfect excuse. If they have roommates well that just means you can stay hidden away in their room, with them! Cozy, Huh? XD ^^

[mumblelard]

saving the world one couch nap at a time meets, manifestations of my familiar, and she is well pleased

[drs3x]

to a cat. every day is a new platformer level

[cinnabeat]

im half concinced the spider is gonna crawl out of some crevice to menace me personally but im also half paranoid the spider is going to JUMP out of some crevice to MENACE me personally

[bookishdreamer28]

You and Mattheo were laying on the couch inside the common room, with no one else around but just the two of you since you skipped another class today.

Mattheo had your body cradled in his arms, as he softly ran his fingers through your hair. He was watching you in admiration as you read your book and he felt his stomach flipping as you looked up at him to give him one of your tooth-rooting smiles, a warm light reflecting in your eyes. It was still unbelievable to him how he got so lucky to have someone like you, loving him the way you do and making him the happiest he could ever be.

The light from the fireplace was hitting your face just right. So beautiful Mattheo thought to himself as he kept his gaze on you, feeling so hypnotized by you.

No words were needed, because just the way you looked at each other alone, was enough to understand what and how the other was feeling. You moved up a little and captured his lips into a love filled kiss, which Mattheo melt into the kiss and hum with satisfaction. After a while, you pulled away and when you looked at each other, you let out a small laugh which made Mattheo's smiled wider.

"Gosh you're so beautiful" he whispered and kissed you again, with more passion. When you were done with your make out session, you just stayed there, snuggled up closer to each other and enjoyed each other's company.

"You know at some point we should tell them" you murmured against his neck and turned to look at him.

"You kidding? They'll start tormenting us about not telling them and they won't Ever, leave us alone again. And trust me the last thing I want, is to want to have my moments with my gorgeous girl, and having the guys eavesdropping"

He placed a kiss on your forehead and laid back as he looked at you with a smirk. You shook your head as you laughed and laid your head on his chest.

"I love these secret moments together. We don't need anyone else to know. Now that I finally have you, I want to cherish you every minute of the day" you giggled as he laid you now on your back and he got on top of you.

He kissed you hungrily and his hand traveled up to your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh. You softly moaned as he bite your lip and you wrapped your arms around his shoulder, pressing him closer to your body.

You suddenly heard a weird thudding sound coming from outside and you stopped kissing. He looked at the door and then down ar you.

"Whoever it is they'll leave. I can't stop now" he growled and was about to kiss you again but this time the sound was a bit louder.

"Who ever the fuck is out there you better get lost or else-" The door opened and slammed on the wall by the impact, and two bodies were laying on the ground.

"What. The fuck?" You and Mattheo said and two heads looked up at you.

"Annoying presences? Do you really find us annoying?" Theodore aksed with furrowed eyebrows.

"I'm sorry, were you eavesdropping the whole time?"

"I wouldn't call it eavesdrop-"

"Oh shut it " Mattheo said to Enzo and then turned to you ready to kiss you again but then he noticed how Theodore and Enzo hadn't left from the room yet.

"You're not going to watch me kiss my girlfriend pricks" Mattheo angrily said to them and the boys hurriedly stood up and just left the room.

"Well that was easy-"

"And just so you're know we're not annoying. Y/N loves me" Enzo's face appeared behind the door and smirked at you.

"Berkshire you have one second-"and before Mattheo could finish the sentence, Enzo was already gone.

You laughed and Mattheo turned his head to you when he heard the joyful sound, smiling too.

"And now, where were we?" He leaned down and started trailing deep kisses along the nape of your neck, making you forget about everything.

💚 🙌

[eufezco]

just a little fluff + angst scenario i wrote because we don't have enough content of logan x reader looking after laura and the three of them forming a family.

english isn't my first language. marvel masterlist <3

—laura, go back to the couch —. logan grunted.

she had opened the door to your room and her head was peeking out. her big brown eyes stared at you. you were in bed, tucked in, waiting for logan to lie down next to you. the dim light from your bedside table was the only thing lighting up the room.

—don't make me tell you again, kid.

—it's fine, lo —. you grabbed his arm and stopped him as he was going to the door to close it. logan huffed. —is everything okay, laura? —you sweetly asked the little girl.

she simply stood in the doorway, biting the inside of her cheeks. laura looked at your bed, if logan lay down there wasn't much more space left but if you squeezed in a little bit maybe she could… logan called your name and shook his head. the little girl looked at you from the door with big dark eyes, glossy with exhaustion and decorated with small dark circles underneath them.

the night before logan and you woke up to her screams. you ran to the living room, followed by him, both scared that the men who wanted to hurt her might have entered your house. but laura was having a nightmare. when you knelt next to the couch and shook her gently to wake her up, she pulled out her claws in panic and cut you on the arm.

you hissed, watching as the blood began to run down your arm. she was more terrified by what she just did than you were.

it's okay, i'm okay, laura. look, it's nothing. are you okay? were you having a bad dream?

the girl nodded to your questions, her eyes could only stare at your arm, bleeding nonstop. logan knelt next to you and grabbed your arm to take a better look. he then looked at the girl, you could see on his face that he was angry. you put your other hand on top of the one he had holding your arm. i'm okay you assured him. his expression relaxed when he realized that with your eyes you were asking him not to blame laura. he walked you to the kitchen to clean your wound and then covered it with a bandage.

it wasn't her fault, lo. you told him and he looked at you in disbelief. he went to your room without saying a word to laura and you kissed her forehead after tucking her in. no matter how much you assured her that you were fine and that it had been an accident, laura didn't sleep at all that night, thinking that she had hurt one of the two people who cared about her the most.

but this night she was at your door as you looked at logan with your lips pressed together. he called your name again. —don't —. he spoke firmly. but how could you say no to the little one? she hadn't asked you anything yet you knew exactly what she wanted.

there was a few seconds of silence.

—you wanna sleep here? —you finally asked.

laura nodded and logan grunted. she was quick to enter the bedroom and close the door behind her. she was wearing a t-shirt of logan's that she almost dragged on the floor. she liked his t-shirts better because they were bigger and she could curl up in them while sleeping.

she went to lie down between the two of you but logan was quicker and took her place. laura huffed and you rolled your eyes. it was like dealing with two small children. but there was no way he was going to sleep apart from you, not even separated by an eleven-year-old girl.

laura ended up curling up next to you in bed and before turning off the light, you made sure that she was well covered by the blankets. she subtly moved closer to you, hiding her head in your chest, and she did not take more than five minutes to fall asleep. you didn't take long to fall asleep either, following the girl's deep breathing and playing with her hair.

the next morning logan was the first to wake up. your back was against his chest, one of his arms was hugging you against his body. well, one of his arms was hugging you both against his body. his arm not only reached you but laura too, who lay with her back against your chest as you hugged her from the back.

as he went to get up to make breakfast, he felt how some small fingers closed around his big ones and kept him from getting out of bed. he looked at the little girl sleeping peacefully, letting you be her big spoon while she held logan's fingers tightly in her hand.

he lay next to you on the bed again, he could afford to stay there a little longer just to spend some more time with his two girls.

[theoldsports]

SHITHEAD.

Art Donaldson x Reader.

warnings: a lot of them. 18+, slapping, begging, major angst, brat!Art, an argument with make up sex. Art is really manipulative because… he is a bit and we all know it. [Y/N] is very ill-tempered too. it’s dirty.

can be a part ii to SPONTANEOUS, or read as a standalone. this is my favorite piece of writing i have published on this account.

The bed was empty beside [Y/N]. She stared at Art’s empty side of the bed. The soft green sheets and mix-matched pillowcases went unoccupied. Not because he wasn’t home, but because [Y/N] hated Art so he had to sleep downstairs on the couch.

It wasn’t that she really hated Art. She did hate him right now. Not in a funny way. Their drive home had been silent. Poor Art didn’t know how to facilitate conversation that wouldn’t worsen the situation. His sorrowful eyes, but honest eyes kept glancing from the road to where [Y/N] sat in the passenger seat. The real showdown had started between them something awful when the door to their house slammed shut.

See, Art cried when he got mad. Or sad. Or profoundly excited. Their wedding photos were two-thirds Art crying and trying not to show that he was crying.

Art hadn’t cried tonight yet. That pissed [Y/N] off. She was furious and he seemed to feel absolutely zero discernible feelings about that.

They argued all the time. It rarely lasted all too long.

It was different this time. When [Y/N] started to say something cruel or shout or weep, Art got a little smaller, but he alarmingly stood his ground. He averted his gaze and said “I respectfully disagree,” or “What the fuck do you know about how I feel?” in a dangerously level tone.

Fighting with Art about this wasn’t fun. He was too cool about. He knew he was right. [Y/N] wanted to yell and scream because Art was so relaxed and condescending in his tone. When the man who had spent his teenage years getting referred at competition after competition as literally Ice tonelessly said: “Jesus Christ, aren’t you bored yet? What, going to over-explain the same information to me again, or…?” Finally, that had made [Y/N] drag herself to bed and yank the door closed violently enough that she felt the metallic vibration run all the way up to her shoulder.

And she was still laying there, staring at Art’s side of the bed.

At the Zweig’s party that night, there were a few hot topics in the Donaldsons’ sphere:

1) Lots of congratulations from people that had known them grow up, but hadn’t seen them since the wedding or prior.

This was mostly very kind. It dragged that smirk up Art’s face and caused his fingers to dig tighter into [Y/N]’s waist. That look of pride and tenderness on his face was more than welcome.

2) Lots of questions about Patrick. His lack of attendance was felt.

Both Donaldsons dodged these question as much as they could. Art kept an eye on [Y/N]’s liquor consumption. He knew how embarrassed she would be if she said something she regretted in front of Patrick’s family. Patrick had hurt them both, but Art’s heart went out to [Y/N]. Her world had been built around Patrick’s from a young age. Art was trying to engineer his own world higher around her so she wouldn’t be able to see the old place and people that had burned her over the walls.

3) “You’re married. When are we going to be seeing a little Donaldson running around?”

With Art keeping an eye on [Y/N]’s drinking, she hadn’t really been keeping an eye on him. She just assumed he would keep his shit together. Art drinking in public was never really a concern. He wasn’t a big drinker anyway. At this point, his career mattered more and he was approaching his mid-twenties which made him feel surely less young than he had once. He wasn’t a casual beer guy either. It was Patrick who liked beer and Art who would have a moledo or something sometimes. Art did like white girl drinks, though. Tequila and fruity stuff. He had been able to shoot shot after shot of vodka like a pro in college at a season-end celebration.

Art was a tight-lipped man, but he was a giggly drunk who he got pretty comfortable talking out of his ass from behind a glass with an umbrella in it. Art was rarely comfortable with anything, so a drink or two at a party was welcome to him.

Another important point of context is that the largest point of tension between Art and [Y/N] was starting a family. They desperately wanted a child together, but they disagree on when. [Y/N] felt like she was fresh out of college, so she figured they had plenty of time. Art felt that he was fresh out of college, so he figured they may as well get to it.

Their arguments about this were once semi-regular. In the last four months or so, Art timidly bowed out and hoped [Y/N] would tell him when she was ready (sooner rather than later). He got tired of the low-tier shouting matches. Instead, he would pick fights about things that were decidedly lower stakes when he was bored.

Art had let [Y/N] field comments about family planning throughout the night. Unfortunately, when Art was polishing off a second drink, he ran his mouth a little bit.

Knowing he was the designated driver that night, Art did go easy. Art was also, like, five pounds. While he could hold his liquor with grace, he always got giggly. He watched with heavy eyelids as [Y/N] walked away to collect another drink following the dinner portion of the evening. The paper placecards with their shared last name emblazoned on them rested comfortably in Art’s inner jacket pocket to be kept as a memory.

Some guy who sold boat insurance and liked to rub elbows with talent was talking Art’s ear off. Art couldn’t remember his name, but [Y/N] would know it.

This was the precise moment that got Art in trouble.

Because when the guy whose name Art was sure started with an R said: “So! You’re married. When are we going to be seeing a little Donaldson running around?”

Art said:

“Any day now, I hope. Tomorrow. I’m good to go. [Y/N] thinks now’s not a great time for her.”

He had said it with a smirk and a stupid little laugh. It was basically locker room talk. Big deal. He would’ve said it to Patrick with [Y/N] present in the room. This guy wasn’t Patrick and he was technically speaking behind her back.

Art had forgotten how close they were standing to the bar. He had forgotten that the frequency of his pitchy tenor was known to carry. He had forgotten that he was well known to be an instigator of fights even though he never actually threw the first punch. He had forgotten that he hadn’t been whispering. He had forgotten that this guy… Richy? Ronnie? was pretty much a stranger who had no business knowing their business.

Now, Art was sleeping on the couch and his side of the bed was empty.

Jackass.

[Y/N] stared still at the empty bed and didn’t know how to articulate her upset to an Art who had seemingly yet to feel ashamed.

She had a headache and was tired. But sleep wasn’t going to come easy and all she had to look forward to was a hangover.

Art didn’t really snore, but he was a heavy breather when he slept. The lack of his white noise made the A/C blowing and the stairs creaking too loud. Maybe all of this was on [Y/N] for making Art uncomfortable, she dared to think.

Then she reminded herself that it was Art’s fault for talking too much and for drinking when he knew he was supposed to drive home.

[Y/N] rolled over to face away from Art’s spot. All she could think about is how his hands always sleepily pawed at her to pull her back when she got too far away from him before he fell asleep.

“So, what’d you do?” Patrick asked.

“She hates me.” Art replied. It was almost a question.

“I asked what you did, not what she feels. She already told us what she feels and it’s that she hates you.” Patrick stated. When Patrick had stopped through town for a match, he had come by for dinner with, well, his best friends. This had been right after they’d gotten engaged.

Art sniffled. He didn’t want to cry in front of Patrick. Art would sooner cry in front of his own father. Both men would have laughed in his face, but it would have stung more from Patrick. “We got into a fight yesterday. A big one. Like, the first, uh, big one. She’s worried about the f—“

“The future? Please,” Patrick said bitterly. He frowned and his jaw tightened, but he combatted it by tossing Art a smile before the other man noticed the tension. “Stupid. You’re gonna marry her. You’ll play tennis. She’ll do her… columns? Articles. I don’t get what it is that she does—“

“She writes for—“

“Sure, yeah. You’re gonna have two kids so you can each pick a favorite one. And she’s gonna be a pain in your ass forever. Don’t be a pussy.”

Art sniffled again and stared at the floor. “I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. I didn’t think I did,” Art said meekly. “I don’t get it. She gets so mad sometimes. At me.” Patrick stared at him blankly. Art had to know that he was usually at least a little bit the problem.

“Did she do the thing where she calls you a—“

“Shithead bastard?”

“Shithead bastard.” Both boys said at the same time. Art dragged his hands through his hair and looked up at Patrick. Both of them quirked a smirk at the other.

“See,” Patrick started. “You’ll be fine. Fuckin’ go after her.”

“And say what!”

“Uh… ‘I’m sorry?’ You do that kinda shit. She’ll like that.”

It was impossible to know how long [Y/N] laid there. The clock was on Art’s side and she would get spitting mad if she rolled back over.

She could just go downstairs and tell Art to come back to bed. He was probably sleeping just fine.

“Hey, hon, you don’t hate me, right?” Art’s voice whispered in the darkness.

[Y/N] was fairly certain she had imagined it. She had not heard his sweaty feet on the stairs or his fingers against the doorknob. Quickly, [Y/N] whipped over to face the door behind her.

There was Art. His sweatpants sat low on his hips and his shirt was long gone. Clothing didn’t often survive the night on Art’s back.

Really, she couldn’t help but wonder how long it had taken Art to work through coming upstairs so quietly. “Mm?” [Y/N] groaned in question.

Art rocked his right shoulder into the doorway to lean. His arms were crossed and his eyes straight ahead on her from what [Y/N] could tell in the glow of the hallway’s thermostat. “Please just tell me you don’t hate me and I’ll let you go back to sleep. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

With a sigh, [Y/N] sat up and rolled her cracking shoulders back. “I don’t hate you, Art.” Her heart melted a little bit. [Y/N] knew it was immature, but her special attack in arguments since childhood was to bandy around the word hate a lot. Not that she had said it to Art tonight, but she had no doubt said it before. More than once. More times than she could count, maybe.

She was surprised Art had never asked this before. That surprise hurt in an a way that was too complex to describe. “I could never hate you.” [Y/N] continued, voice hushed only because it was dark out.

Art’s posture relaxed slightly. “You promise you don’t?” Said Art’s evermore crippling lack of self-confidence.

“I promise.” [Y/N] replied calmly.

“Okay. Thank you.” Art said in a small voice.

“I love you, baby. I don’t hate you. You shouldn’t have to ask that. I’m sorry I made you feel like you even have to ask that.”

Art frowned sharply. “No, I’m the one that should be sorry. You told me nicely not to talk about—“

“Don’t play that. You have to know you don’t feel like you did anything wrong, so you don’t have to invent a situation where you’re some horrible person.”

Art was silent.

[Y/N] continued. “I’m pissed because you told Randy,” RANDY. His name was RANDY. That’s it. “Our business. My business, really. He’s an asshole. It’s fine. Well, not now, but eventually. But you kinda martyred yourself on it. You don’t have to do that and I don’t hate you. You know I don’t… Right?”

“I’m sorry.” Art said quickly. He was gifted at making every single minor problem his own fault. He knew he was a little bit of an awful person for that, but he would die before admitting it. Art would hide behind his martyring habit as long as his cross could hold him, though. [Y/N] hadn’t noticed before this moment, but she could see the shining of his eyes in the digital blue-green glow. Tears. This time, less than obvious waterworks. Aw.

“I’m sorry. I’m still pissed at you for running your mouth, but I’m sorry too.”

Art nodded, said nothing else and reached for the doorknob.

Here is a frustrating thing about Art.

He said he was going to leave for downstairs once [Y/N] said she didn’t hate him. He started to make good on that vow. If he says something, he’s going to do it, even though he doesn’t have to do it.

“Come on,” [Y/N] called louder than she’d been whispering. “Come here, pretty baby.”

Pretty Baby by Blondie had been their wedding song. She had been calling him that for almost as long as she had known him. Saying it, or hearing the song always made that stunning, small crooked smile stretch up beyond his sad puppy eyes all the way to his ears.

Art’s kryptonite was pretty baby. They both knew it.

He turned to look at her with a slight blush on his cheeks, almost visible in the dark. Art shifted one of his feet childishly over the other in apprehension.. “Don’t make me say it again. I don’t like to ask twice.” [Y/N] reminded him.

After a hasty nod, Art was in bed before he [Y/N] blinked. The blonde sat bolt upright beside [Y/N] with his eyes wide. Hesitant, but coyly so. He knew this pattern. The agony and shame from her brutality would only last so long. Housepets loved to cause trouble for treat.

Not to say that Art liked to start fights so he could play some low-status lapdog that got to feel his wife’s fingers comb through his hair the way he liked as a reward for an apology. The man bit his cheek to avoid a devious smirk. A part of him did like to do that sometimes, though.

He always got away with it. He was such a nice boy.

[Y/N] rolled her eyes and leaned back into the threadbare pillows. With a finger, she beckoned Art nearer. Hesitation eliminated, Art flopped slowly down beside [Y/N]; she on her back, he on his side, facing her. Delicately, Art’s fingers dragged down [Y/N]’s arm to curl in her fingers.

Not long after that, his plush mouth climbed down from her neck. Then shoulders and collarbones. Then bicep. Elbow. Forearm and wrist. Down her hand to her silver-studded ring finger. Each kiss with accompanied with an honest and dutiful I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. He was sorry. Genuinely. Sorry for the upset he brought his wife, but not the cause. Art’s beautiful duel-colored eyes glanced up at [Y/N]’s blown pupils through her own fingers.

“I didn’t mean to talk about you like that… I just… I love you so much that I want more of you. That’s all, honey,” Art laid his head on [Y/N]’s upper chest and his mouth moved against the front of her throat. “I’m just a little stupid, huh…”

Under his lips, Art could feel the rumble of a laugh rip through [Y/N]’s throat. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair to hold him in place. “Do-don’t talk about yourself like that,” she mumbled and gave his hair a lovely tug with both hands. He whimpered. [Y/N] wanted to bottle that sound. Art would always remember what she said next and how she said it: “Only I get to talk about you like that… St-stupid.”

This was the version of [Y/N] he was going to remember when he thought of her every day for the rest of his life. That sentence, the way her hair hung from where he had pushed it away from her neck. The sting of the cold metal from her wedding ring on the back of his neck and the stone of her engagement ring pressing into where he reached his palm to place his hand over hers. There was just the wrong amount of clothes between them. Her eyes ringed smoky from the makeup smudges and the exhaustion.

“Say it again.” Art whispered, swinging a knee over [Y/N]’s thighs so he could stare down at her. His forehead pressed softly against [Y/N]’s.

[Y/N]’s mouth fell open slightly with a breathy exhalation. Holy shit. “What, pretty baby, you want me to tell you how stupid you are? You like that?” [Y/N] almost whispered into Art’s still lips. He was too shocked to kiss her back, but too turned on to pull away. Art whimpered louder than before. [Y/N] felt him nod.

So she didn’t hold back. “You think I need to punish you after you behaved like that today or something? You need to atone for what a moron you were, shithead?” [Y/N] kept her tone light enough to just about tease as her nose trailed along the side of his. Her objective was to belittle. Her nails slid down Art’s muscular, sturdy back.

They both knew Art was a masochist on his worst days. Did he get off on being degraded sometimes? Sure. But this series of events was ridiculously new and exciting for [Y/N]. And shockingly obviously for Art too.

His hips pressed into her pathetically. “What? Did you need help with something?” She asked innocently when she felt Art’s hard-on against her thigh. [Y/N] kissed him distractingly warmly for how she was treating him. Art’s head spun and he couldn’t seem to make sense of anything anymore. He had backed himself into the best kind of corner.

Across Art’s hips and side went [Y/N]’s left hand, to the front of his sweatpants. Humiliatingly, Art blinked tears out of his eyes and screwed them shut. His mouth opened and closed, but no intelligent sound came out. [Y/N] planted a kiss at the corner of his parted lips. His strong arms boxed [Y/N] protectively in from above, but she had him locked into place, really. “Baby, if you want something, you know you have to ask for it.”

“Nnh,” Art tried, eyes stuck shut. His attention was mostly spent hold himself up over his wife. His insanely gorgeous wife. [Y/N]’s other hand grabbed his jaw tenderly. He still didn’t look at her. Art was gathering his courage. “Yo-you already told me I couldn’t have what I wanted.”

With a sharp inhale, [Y/N] grip went from gentle to nonexistent. At the lack of contact, Art’s damp eyes crept open one at a time to see if his brattiness had overstepped the situation. His frightened eyes caught [Y/N]’s. She popped the side of his face sharply with an open palm. Art blinked and tipped his head to the side like a dog.

That was big trouble, huh?

“Fuck,” he said. Both of them panted in sync. “I’m sorry.” He meant it.

[Y/N] pulled Art’s face to hers and kissed him hard. “I love… you.” She said.

[aurosoulart]

AR christmas tree!!!! 🎄 I made the ball ornaments and multicolored string lights using 3d brushes, and then hand-placed everything (including all the little white dot sparkles ghkdghdk)

[ohbo-ohno]

Kinktober Day 3 - Pet Play

Ghost x Soap, Gaz x F!Reader, Soap x F!Reader - 3.7k (on ao3)

summary: Gaz and Ghost have an arrangement that allows their pets to get out some restless energy with one another. (Reader POV)

cw: puppy play, kitten play, muzzles, bondage (armbinder, handcuffs), leash, rough sex, reader is consenting but lowkey pretending she's not into it (she has a safeword but it's not mentioned in the drabble), degradation, exhibitionism

“Hey, Kyle,” Simon says, the door held open for Gaz to guide you through. “Brought the girl?”

“Course, mate,” your boyfriend laughs, one big hand snagging the hem of your sleeve and tugging you out from behind him. “You know her, she’s just bein’ shy.”

Your heart beats a little more quickly when Ghost just hums, looking you up and down with dark eyes. Kyle’s jacket covers your entire body, the long tan trench coat making you look just like the hooker you feel like tonight. The feeling of the material on your mostly-naked skin keeps you just on edge enough to hover around Kyle’s back, Simon's presence only making you more nervous. 

“‘S that them?” A voice calls out from further in the house, and you can’t help but wince at the loud and quick footsteps as Soap runs to the entryway. He nearly stumbles to a stop when he appears in the doorway, too ridiculously large and broad to look anything but clumsy. His wrists are hooked to the collar around his throat, hands wrapped in black mitts and hanging loose over his chest, and he can’t quite keep his balance without leaning a shoulder against the doorway.

Other than the collar and the wire muzzle strapped to his face, he’s naked as the day he was born, cock hard and dripping between his thighs. You shift a bit, can't help imagining what he'd taste like if you were allowed to use your mouth tonight.

“Who the fuck else would it be?” Ghost gruffs, taking a puff from his cigarette and locking the front door behind you. Your nose curls beneath your muzzle at the smell of smoke, thankful that he snuffs it out a moment later. 

“Hey, Tav,” Gaz greets, nodding at Soap instead of stepping forward for a bro hug like he usually would. He wraps an arm around your shoulders instead, leading you further into the cabin with Ghost at your back and Soap eagerly turning to lead the three of you to the living room, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds. He looks silly with his hands locked like they are, but you know that's the point.

None of them try to speak to you, the black mask covering half of your face making it obvious that you couldn’t respond even if you wanted – that, and none of you are under any illusions of who’s role is what tonight, and yours has been the same since the four of you started playing around like this.

Johnny’s still got his freedom to speak, though, even with the wire muzzle strapped to his face. You’re thankful that he won’t be able to get his teeth into you this time, but a spiteful part of you wishes Ghost would’ve just shut him up fully instead. Johnny can get mean when he’s got his cock stuffed to the hilt inside a warm hole.

(You like it, is the thing, but you’d never admit it – Johnny’s insufferable enough with Ghost as a partner, and you’ve never met someone meaner and quicker to humble. You’re sure if you gave him even the slightest compliment, he’d somehow become a smug monster.)

Gaz shifts one hand to the base of your neck as he guides you behind Johnny and into the living room, where the couch and coffee table have been shoved against the walls to make room for you and Johnny. Ghost heads straight to what you’ve come to know as his chair, the seat of it sunken in from his weight and a beer already resting in the built-in cup holder. Soap follows him and kneels in front of his legs as soon as Simon settles, twisted to watch you and Gaz.

Kyle is sweet when he takes his jacket off of you, tugging it off slowly so you’re not exposed to the cool air too suddenly, calloused fingertips petting your skin.

“There we are, pretty,” he hums, tossing the jacket carelessly to the side and caressing your hips. “Gonna let Johnny have fun with you?”

You lean your head back, exposing your throat so you can nose at his jaw through your muzzle, trying to convey yes, but only for you without words. The little bell around your neck tinkles with the movement, the metal warmed by your skin.

Johnny moans aloud when your half-naked form is fully revealed, knees spreading as he sinks even lower, cock nearly brushing the floor. Your cheeks heat as you follow the way his eyes trace over your body, just as eager as he was the first time you did this.

You were fully naked then, but now Kyle’s dressed you up in what has to be the most girly lingerie he could find. The bralette provides no support whatsoever for your chest, but you have to admit that the white lace covering your nipples and cupping your breasts is pretty. The bows on the garters and panties were a nice touch, too, adding to the hyper-femininity of the overall look that you know Kyle loves. He let you keep the makeup from your face though, knowing how much you hate the feeling of streaky mascara.

Your arms are tied together straight in front of your body, with enough slack that you can fold them in half but not so much that you have anywhere near full movement. Kyle had spent almost an hour meticulously tying little white ribbons around the rope, kissing your arms as he went and making sure he had you exactly as immobile as he wanted.

The muzzle over your mouth is a clean white leather, something that Kyle works hard to keep clean and pristine, and it's fitted to the bottom half of your face. The gag in your mouth is small and non-invasive, allowing you to make as much noise as you want but keeping you from saying anything – that would ruin the fantasy. The gag causes plenty of spit to gather beneath your tongue, and every time you swallow you can feel your lightweight collar press against your throat, the little bell attached shifting with even the most minute movement. 

The resulting look – the rope, the bows, the lace, the muzzle – is one that you love, even if it does make you feel like a doll being dressed up for someone else’s approval. You’re happy to get it in this case, when you know that Johnny will enjoy the look just as much as Kyle does and be all the more eager for you.

Ghost appreciates your appearance too, if his hum and the smirk lifting his lips is anything to go by.

Kyle presses a kiss to your shoulder as he lingers behind you, running his hands over the lace wrapping each of your curves, toying with the ribbons. “Like what you see, Si?”

Simon hums again, shifting further in his seat and spreading his knees, a king on his worn leather throne. “Sure. ‘S not gonna last long, though, not with this mutt.” He snorts, one booted foot knocking against Johnny’s naked thigh. “You know how he gets.”

Kyle laughs, warm breath puffing against your naked shoulder, then moves towards the couch, leaving you alone in the middle of the room, unsteady in your heels. You try to instinctively follow him, unsteady without your arms to balance.

He holds you with one hand for a moment, steadying you just enough so you don’t fall before moving away again. “You’re alright, love, just stay there for a second.”

You track him intently, feeling incredibly vulnerable without him at your side. He’s got a calm confident about him as he settles onto the couch, smiling at you and giving you enough comfort that you don’t quite melt into a puddle. You can’t keep yourself from shifting nervously, but your heartbeat is steady.

“We ready then?” Kyle asks once he’s comfortable, tapping his fingers on the arm of the couch.

“Hm,” Simon hums, shifting forward to lock a hand in Johnny’s collar where the chain connecting his hands is still locked. “Get on your knees, girl.”

Your eyes dart to Kyle’s, and at his nod and reassuring smile you take a deep breath, settling into your skin a bit.

It takes quite a bit of balance to sink to the floor without falling, trussed up as you are, but you manage it. The fact that you can bend your elbows helps tremendously, and you’re thankful for Kyle’s foresight. 

You hesitate for a moment on your knees, taking a few steadying breaths and making sure you're not pushing yourself too quickly. You let your eyes linger on each of the other men, sizing them up, then begin to shift even lower.

Soap moans loudly when you sink to your stomach, back arched and ass pushed in the air with your arms laid out flat in front of you. You watch him carefully, face pressed to your arms as you settle as much as you can against the plush rug. 

Johnny’s panting open-mouthed behind the muzzle, pupils already blown and cock kicking against his thigh. His hands keep twitching above his chest, like he’s tugging against the chain keeping him caught. You’re certain that if Ghost weren’t holding him, he’d already be on top of you and shoving himself deep even without hands to guide him.

“Pretty girl,” you hear Gaz coo, and when you glance at him you see he’s pressing the heel of his hand to the tent in his pants. “You gonna let your boy go anytime soon?”

“Please,” Johnny pants, wiggling towards you as much as he can.

“Easy,” Ghost scolds, yanking Johnny closer as he unclips the chain leash from his belt, metal jingling. “Trust me, Garrick, you don’t want him havin’ free-rein with the mood he’s in.”

You mewl behind the gag, but it goes unheard. Johnny certainly doesn’t miss the way you wiggle your ass though, eyes trained on the lace cupping you perfectly.

“Fuck, sir, c’mon,” he moans, turned to face you fully and straining to get as close as he can.

Ghost only grunts as he yanks Johnny back, forcing him to fall back against his legs and clipping his leash to the D-ring on the back of Soap’s collar, holding it tight to keep the pup from moving forward.

“You want to actually use your paws or not?” He growls, grabbing the chain connecting Johnny’s mitts to his collar and yanking, nearly sending the man to the ground. “Huh?”

“Yes, yes, c’mon, lemme touch her, sir, please–”

“What do you think, Gaz?” Simon asks, eyes trained on your form as you shift against the floor. “Want him touchin’ your pretty kitty? He might fuck her up.”

You mewl again, just barely audible, and Johnny moans like he’s already coming.

Gaz hums, stroking himself slowly over his pants. "Leave the mitts on,” he decides. “I like what she’s wearing, don’t want it ruined because one mutt can’t control himself.”

You know Johnny’s already sunk decently far into his headspace because he doesn’t respond to that even though his mouth's free, just continues to wriggle in Simon’s hold with his focus centered solely on you. 

“Fair enough,” Ghost says, tone near a laugh. “Wouldn’t mind seein’ that set again, myself.” He shakes Johnny a bit, the leash’s links jingling loudly. “How about it, pup? Want to get dressed up all pretty for me?”

Johnny’s eyes nearly roll back in his head as he moans, and you’re momentarily concerned he’s going to come before he can even properly fuck you. 

You shift against the floor to try and encourage Simon to just let go, shifting your knees apart so that you’re exposed more fully, the crotchless panties letting air brush over where you’re most sensitive. 

Johnny’s whine is nearly drowned out by Simon’s laugh, and he’s unhooking the chain keeping Soap’s hands tied in the next moment.

You can hardly blink before Johnny’s on you, his heat enveloping you entirely as he throws himself over your back, hard cock already pressed against your folds. 

Your arousal coats him immediately, and the two of you moan in sync at the feeling, his sound vibrating through your back and yours silenced by the soft gag in your mouth. His mitted hands rest on either side of your head, and the wire muzzle digs into your cheek as he tries his best to kiss you.

“Pretty, pretty,” he slurs, voice lower than it was just a few minutes ago. “Such a pretty kitty, all for me, yeah? Just for me.”

There’s a loud clink sound, and Johnny’s head jerks away from yours as he chokes.

“Not yours,” Gaz reminds as Ghost keeps Johnny from pressing back to you fully. “Just cause I let you fuck her doesn’t mean she belongs to you, puppy.”

You can just barely see Johnny’s scowl out of the corner of your eyes, your vision slightly blurred from tears as you wait impatiently for what you know comes next.

“Fuck, fine, Christ,” Johnny grumbles, and a moment later he’s back on you fully, tracing the muzzle over your shoulders. You know that if it weren’t there, you’d already have bruises slowly taking shape all over the column of your neck, and say a silent thank you to Ghost for sparing you the soreness. 

Johnny ruts against you steadily for as long as you know he can handle, his thick cock hot against you. You writhe as best you can beneath him, but you’ve got almost no room to move with your arms bound as they are and Johnny’s weight holding you down.

“Can I fuck her, then?” He says, voice rough as the head of his cock brushes your clit. “C’mon, let me make her a mess, yeah? Shit, Gaz, she fuckin’ needs me, lemme fuck her, please–”

Gaz’s laugh is warm but Ghost’s is mean, and even you can’t help but melt a bit at the sound, trying to sink into the carpet.

“You should be askin’ me, mutt,” Simon says, yanking again on the leash so that Johnny’s head is tugged away from yours. “Gaz already gave you the girl, ‘s me you ask if you want to use that little prick.”

“Ghost, Ghost, c’mon, sir,” Johnny pants, and you can’t help but arch and press your hips back against him, just as desperate as he is. “I’ve been good, ye said so – I’ll fuck her good, promise, give ye a good show an’ everythin’, just let me- fuck, need to fuck her, cannae breathe, Si, just lemme–”

“Fine, fine,” Ghost finally says, tugging his cock from his pants as he lets the leash fall limp in his grasp and gives Johnny near freedom. “Pathetic thing, aren’t you?”

Anything else either Simon or Kyle says is lost to you, your ears ringing when you go from painfully empty to amazingly full, your cunt spread wide around Johnny in one breath.

He growls when he can’t bury himself to the hilt in one thrust, your walls clenching tight around him and desperately trying to accommodate his length. Kyle had just barely prepped you – just enough so you wouldn’t be seriously hurt, not enough to make this easy – and you can feel the lack of it now, hole stinging.

Your breath is stolen when, what feels like just a moment later, Johnny jerks back then sinks himself fully inside of you, balls resting against your clit. You’re glad the muzzle is breathable, because your lungs are spasming as your entire system is rocked, desperately trying to accommodate the sudden rush of pleasure, then need.

You can’t help the way tears stream down your cheeks as Johnny starts to truly fuck you, completely disregarding any need you might have to adjust to the stretch of his cock inside of you, immediately bullying himself into you again and again. The rush you get from going from almost no sensation to this is one you adore, and you try your best to fuck back on Johnny with what little leverage you have.

Your nails scratch desperately at the carpet, wide eyes locked onto Gaz as you’re relentlessly fucked, again and again. He’s fished his own cock out of his pants, sitting up straight and leaning towards you as he jacks himself with quick, smooth tugs. You nearly go cross-eyed trying to focus on his length, face bouncing against your tied arms and blurring your vision even further.

“Damn,” you hear Ghost grunt, voice so low you can barely hear it. “Look’it that, Garrick.”

“I see,” your boyfriend purrs, and you melt all the more at the sound of his voice, Johnny’s pace finally shifting onto the right side of too much, the burn in your hole shifting from pain to pleasure. “Your boy is wreckin’ her good, sir.”

“‘S what he’s trained for,” Ghost says, and Johnny moans. You can feel the way his cock twitches inside of you, and your orgasm is so close you can taste it.

Johnny doesn’t talk much as he fucks you this time, but he never does once he actually gets inside of you – he gets drunk on your cunt, always has, gets drooly and melty over you, thinking of nothing but his own pleasure. Lucky for you, the way your cunt spasms around him as you come is usually the fastest way for him to trigger his own orgasm. 

That’s what you know he’s chasing now, as he bullies his cockhead against your g-spot again and again, one hand pressing on your shoulder to keep you held in a steep arch, his precision impressive considering he’s far past words and has been reduced to nothing but growls and moans. 

Your moans escalate to squeals as you squirm against the floor, the lace of your bra rubbing perfectly against your nipples and your fingers twisting into the fibers of the carpet. You can feel the lines pressed into your back from where Johnny’s shoved his face against you, trying to get his mouth as close to your skin as possible. Instead of hickies you get spit, drool smeared all across your shoulder blades and neck. 

You can feel your heartbeat in your fingertips when it finally hits you, your orgasm shuddering through every limb as you convulse on the floor. Your cunt squeezes Johnny tightly, making him feel even larger inside of you as you scream through the gag. 

Your vision whites out as Johnny fucks you even harder, free arm wrapping around your neck and hauling you as close to him as possible. He has to work to fuck in and out of you now, your body doing it's best to keep him still.

His muzzle presses into your cheek as he holds his face next to yours, both of you sweaty and hot as he uses you for his pleasure, clawing closer and closer to a peak you’re already floating blissfully on. His bicep flexed around your neck and your eyes roll back in your head at the display of strength, mindless with pleasure.

Your collar tingles delightfully as you’re jerked against Johnny with every thrust, melting into the music of Johnny’s moans and Kyle and Simon’s hands against their own cocks - Ghost is silent but you can hear Kyle moaning, always vocal when he's close.

You’re still blinking the stars from your eyes when you feel Johnny’s cum spurt inside of you, cock jerking as the man himself melting into a puddle over your lax body and humps you slowly.

Your eyes are half-lidded as he rides his own orgasm, sweat-slick and sticky as you float in the after of getting fucked rough and raw, a cock still plugging you for your hole to milk.

You can feel Johnny panting against your neck as he slowly comes down himself, running his paws over your sides once he lets his arm fall away from your neck. You’re pressed flat to the rug, his weight almost suffocating when he isn’t bothering to hold himself up. 

You manage to open your eyes just in time to see Kyle come, the edges of your vision still blurred as he paints his own palm white. You’re yourself enough to whine, always sad to see his come go to waste when you could taste it or feel it painting your insides. Kyle’s smiling even as he shudders through his orgasm, like he knows just what you’re thinking and how badly you wish you could crawl to him and make it a reality.

But you’re firmly pinned beneath Johnny, even when he lifts his hips just enough to let his cock slip from you before dropping his weight again so you’re pressed entirely against one another. 

Simon is the last to come, though he does so silently and you miss the exact moment he finally finishes – you only know because Johnny moans against you, hips rocking like he’s the one getting off, not another man nearly six feet away. Your eyes are already heavy by then, and you don’t bother looking over to see Ghost finish himself off, he’s never been the one you’re here for.

It’s several long moments before anything changes, and by then you’re nearly half-asleep. You’re distantly aware of Johnny either pulling away or being pulled away, even more aware of the unpleasant chill to your skin when your sweat and spit soaked back is left naked. You hear Gaz coo and feel his arms wrapping around you, leaving the soft rug slowly and behind lifted into his arms.

You purr softly, arms folded up to rest your hands beneath your chin, curling as far into Kyle’s arms as you can.

“Hush, kitty,” he whispers, settling back onto the couch with you on his lap. You press your face into the underside of his jaw, collar softly jingling. “You did so well for us, put on such a pretty show.”

“I was half of it,” you hear Johnny slur, his voice muffled, always the fastest to recover and get himself ready for round two.

“Hush,” Ghost scolds, and for once, Johnny obeys.

Gaz laughs softly, and you smile beneath the muzzle as you relax fully into his arms, warm and content as he holds you.

[cheyisagirlkisser]

・゜゜Gamer Ellie Headcannons ・．

NSFW CONTENT BELOW, MDNI

✧.* Gamer Ellie wears those plaid boxer-shorts around the house adorned with some random t-shirt she often sleeps in. When she's out and about, she loves her classic flannel or white wife-beaters, sports bra peeking out of the fabric when she moves just ever so slightly. Converse and doc-martins all the way. You'll beg her not to wear it in public, but Ellie's got this one black Call of Duty t-shirt that is she is obsessed with.

✧.* Gamer Ellie ismore introverted than anything. She likes staying inside with you and watching movies with you rather than going on restaurant dates. Speaking of movies, gamer Ellie would be more into comedy and sci-fi than anything. I've mentioned in previous headcannons Ellie would be a huge Jurassic park fan, but some other movie / shows she'd be begging you to watch with her are Airplane, Star Trek, and Pulp Fiction. Anything with action or on her level of dumb humor, and Star Trek for when she's geeking out. It's her guilty pleasure.

✧.* Gamer Ellie's favorite type of physical touch is having your fingers running through her hair. She likes to feels your touch in such a light, vulnerable way. Sometimes when she's playing a game, you'll approach her from behind and massage her scalp with your sweet touch. "Babe, you're distracting me!" She'll complain with a dramatic but playful groan, but her freckled face will melt like ice on a hot day from your touch.

✧.* Gamer Ellie isn't good at multi-tasking. She loves having you all up in her lap while her fingers are punching keys, but she always seems to lose when you're touching her, let alone near her. Why? Her thoughts are filled with the night before when the two of you were about to fall asleep, giggling in bed about some video on your phone, and specifically she's thinking about when you forgot all about sleep and had a late-night make-out session with some 90's movie tuned out on the television. It's so hard to remember to reload her virtual AR when all she's feeling is the way your warm fingers slid down her back and how your breathing turned into soft pants when she got all greedy and latched her filthy mouth onto your neck. Still, she'd never tell you to get off of her lap so she could focus. You were worth every aggravating respawn.

✧.* Gamer Ellie, in bed, isn't some huge dommy-mommy or whatever you're thinking. She's really touchy, sure. But she's honestly just your average lesbian who is absolutely obsessed with her girl, and she blanks at time. You'll be on top of her, and she's got this cave-woman aura going where she's just staring at your pretty face, focused on chasing your lips for a kiss. Her hands are awkwardly perched on her sides because she forgets how to even touch you: you're such a fucking goddess, and she's kind of a loser. You're a savior, though; guiding her hands to your waist with a sweet, patient smile. Ellie will get the cue and her fingers will spread across your waist to the top of your hips, and she remembers how desperate she is. (This one was inspired by me with my gf, you're so real gamer Ellie)

✧.* Gamer Ellie is also a switch! If you want her to be the top, she'll do it, but like I said she's going to be all cute and embarrassed about it. She'll be eating you out and her thoughts will be going at 100 miles per hour: "Am I doing this right?" "She's moaning Ellie, stop overthinking it." And sometimes the only thought she can really be having is "I love pussy." Cute. When she's bottom, which is most of the time, she isn't really all submissive and whiney but more like, defensively flustered like how she got with Dina when Dina threatened to bite her on the couch. Gay panic type of bottom. She does get pretty loud when you use a vibrator on her, though. That's a personal favorite in the bedroom.

✧.* Gamer Ellie did have a Fortnite phase. She hates talking about it but she spent like an ungodly amount on the stupidest skins. She used to make you watch her play at first, and then it was you having to create a whole Epic account so you could be her duo. Ellie's favorite season? Chapter two season seven. Why? Aliens. She got the battle pass and unlocked the alien skins, too. A little after she got super obsessed with it, like yelling at some 12 year old boy telling him his mother wishes she swallowed him, she moved on to a game that wasn't making her yell at at her screen. You were thankful.

✧.* Gamer Ellie is a huge night owl. While your sleep schedule is pretty average, she will blink and it'll be four in the morning. She'll groan and pop her back before stripping down to underwear and a t-shirt and then crash on your shared bed, making you stir from your rest. She sleepily curls her body into yours, peppering the warmest smooches wherever(probably with her eyes closed or half-way, at least) and muttering out apologies for waking you in the most ethereal voice known to woman-kind (it's raspy and the one she uses during sex when she's attempting to be a good top).

A/N: Thank you everyone for over 500 followers! I hope to post some longer fics this week or at least some more arcane fics. I promised some Jinx content, hopefully that'll be soon. Love you all.