#do not click if you don't want x rated material

[brain-rot-central]

Alright, hear me out again.

Astarion railing a Cleric/Paladin Tav from behind as she's bent over the sermon pedestal of an abandoned church, all while he's whispering filthy nothings into her ear about how good he's going to breed her sinful little cunt.

[hhhhoffman]

the cure

summary: mark comes home late, drained and dejected. you comfort him with your body.

pairing: mark hoffman x f!reader

word count: 1.2k

rating: explicit, 18+

cw: piv sex, rough, comfort, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names, orgasm, creampie (dominant!hoffman)

you can also read this fic on ao3

Mark is wordless when he returns home, his eyes dark, hair unkempt, his entire body visibly beaten down and fatigued.

He's late again.

You don't ask him why, only swiftly stride to him, taking him in your arms as soon as he steps through the door.

You missed him.

The tension in his body seems to lessen when you touch him, and he melts into you, sharing his weight with you. Your skin always seems to soothe him, and in truth it does - so soft and sweet scented from the fancy soaps you use in the shower, so reactive and responsive to him. He considers you a balm to his broken mind and aching heart, anticipates your scent, voice, touch when on his way home to you. 

Craves you, always.

He places a kiss at your neck after holding a moment to relish your embrace, then inhales deeply into your hair. He sighs, then steps back slightly to take a proper look at you. You smile and reach forward, pushing some of his unruly hair away from his handsome face as your gazes meet. His tired eyes gleam in the lowlight, and you frown in concern at this level of exhaustion in him. He shakes his head firmly when he notices your worry. 

So you don't ask. You drop it.

You help him start to undress, still wordless, not needing to speak to understand him and what he needs from you tonight. He shrugs off his coat. You remove his tie with nimble fingers, gently slip his suspenders aside from his shoulders, then unbutton his shirt from collar to hem. You trace your fingertips across the skin now exposed above his undershirt, lightly working your way across the top of his broad chest to the column of his throat. He softly sighs an exhale at your gentle, ghosting touch. 

You cradle his cheek, gaze into his eyes. Reverent and adoring. His large hand covers your own as he breaks the silence. 

"You stayed up."

You nod.

He tuts and gives a slight shake of his head, now fingering the spaghetti strap of your nightshift. He lets it slip and hang down on your upper arm, your skin electric beneath the tenderness of his touch. He steps forward again, and places a soft kiss at your bare shoulder, and you gasp gently, leaning into him. His arm swiftly circles your waist and his kisses on your throat deepen, his lips and tongue and teeth grazing across the sensitive expanse of skin. 

You inhale a sharp moan, one of your hands in his hair, encouraging him closer, the other at his bare back. He grunts as his hands slip to your ass and squeeze at you through the sheer material of your shift. You feel his hardening erection rubbing into you through his pants, and a jolt of hot desire shoots through your core. 

You want him. Badly. 

"Mark," you groan, his fingers now beneath your night shift, massaging your flesh. "Take me, have me. Use me. Please."

He chuckles into your throat. "So needy."

Then one of his hands is in your hair, pulling your head back with a yank so he can look at your face. "So good to me." 

The corners of your lips pull into a smile, which he pecks gently before turning you around and bending you over - holding you down against a waist-high storage cupboard. One of his hands is grasping your arm to your lower back tightly, and you can hear him use the other as he undoes his belt with a metallic click, then frees himself from his pants. 

He spreads your legs and hoicks up your shift, exposing your wet, aching slickness to the air. He seems to move so slowly, and you need him now, and you whimper your complaints to him. He aligns himself with you, and teases the head of his cock against your hot, throbbing clit, then returns to your entrance. 

"How badly do you want me, baby...?" He asks breathily, his words rich with carnal desire, yet unable to resist making you beg for him. 

"I need you. I need you, Mark, please..." 

Then it's too much for him to resist, and he's slipping inside of you, your arousal so rich with wetness that he sheathes himself deep inside easily. You both groan with relief, and then after a brief pause, he begins to fuck you. 

His rhythm is steady at first, his pace quickening with every thrust, and you whimper at his sweet pounding, so glorious and blissful inside of you. He continues to hold you down as he moves in and out of your cunt, and you mewl and whine, spreading your legs as much as you can, arching into him to take him as deeply as possible. 

"My good girl," he praises you, his breathing laboured from his exertions, his pace unrelenting and his strength increasing. "You can take it for me, my sweet girl."

You encourage him with your moans, loud gratified whines that he fucks out of you, his grip on you unyielding, his own groans of pleasure from behind you almost as decadent as the feel of him fucking you. He's vocal tonight, clearly taking out whatever is bothering him on you, and you do take it, you can take it. It feels fucking incredible to take it. 

Time bleeds away as you feel that tightening sensation flourish deep inside, that hot pleasure beginning to pool in your lower back with each furious pound of his cock. It builds and builds, the tension an ever-growing carnal torment, and you cry out in bliss as you near your peak.

He grunts as he feels you tighten around him, then gives you his all: pounding you so hard and fast and good until that tension snaps and you cum hard, as hard as he is thrusting into you, powerful and gorgeous and strong.

Your form melts, limber and passive, your body orgasm-struck beneath him. He pauses in his rhythm but continues to hold you still, and you feel his fingers in your hair, grazing tenderly and with care down the clamminess of the back of your neck. Affectionate. You can hear his heavy breathing, and a deep groan of satisfaction.

"That's my girl," he praises, his tone thick with both pride and desire, his own need to be sated spiking, and he begins to move again, and it feels so good and hot and perfect as he restarts his rhythm, fucking you from behind once more.

He uses you, takes his time and his pleasure with you, until your sweet skin and tight heat cure him of all his anguish, until you are all he can see and feel and experience, and when your hot flesh stokes his lust to it's peak and he finishes inside of you with a possessive groan, he softly collapses on top of you - his comforting weight a gratifying heaviness. His lips are in your hair, on your cheek, finding your lips.

"Beautiful," he mutters into your skin, "perfect girl."

He then pulls you to your feet, sweeps you into his arms and carries you to bed, where you spend the rest of the night curled up beside him, his arms around you, your head on his chest, his soft breath on your face, the woody scent of his cologne lingering in your dreams.

-

[madamefluffnstuff]

Reunions and Confessions

Fandom: Elder Scrolls Online

Pairing: Bastian Hallix x Ebonymist (Fem!Khajiit! Vestige)

Rating: T

Warning(s): Reconnecting with long-lost family, Romantic confessions, Mutual Pining, Mentions of a rough past, Near Death Experience. Bastian is a lil clueless and Ebony is shy for quite literally the first time in her life.

Words: 1,687

AN: @alaxon had requested a while back if I could write out my Ebonymist confessing her feelings for our dear Bastian. I had already had it planned out but kept getting distracted lol. But- I am happy to say it's finally finished! If you're curious, this is what she looks like! (Art by @soft-and-horny, their commissions are open!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ebonymist lounged on her rented bed at the Cloudy Dregs Inn. The book that had been sitting on the nightstand when she arrived made for decent reading material, but it was more to distract her from the agonizing waiting. Bastian had left a few hours earlier to meet with his long lost sister, Clairene. He had offered his Khajiiti companion to come with him, but she didn't want to intrude- this was for him, and he needed to do it himself, if nothing else to heal his hurt heart.

She was pulled from her thoughts as the sound of familiar footsteps caught her attention. Her sensitive ears twitched, trying to locate the sound. Just as she was about to pinpoint the source, there was a knock on the door.

"Yes? Who is it?" She called as she set the book down.

To her surprise, the door opened and in walked Bastian.

"Bastian! You're back already?"

He gave a sheepish smile, "Yes, it- It didn't, well. It didn't last as long as I was thinking it would. She is a countess, after all. She had business to attend to."

The Khajiit nodded. "Makes sense, I suppose. Did you get to talk to your sister at all?"

"First, before I go any further, I want to get something to eat. I'm starving."

"...Your sister didn't even feed you?"

~*~

Their ordered meal from the inn's kitchen arrived sooner than they expected. Ebony didn't eat much, she was too excited about what her companion would tell her of the meeting with his long lost family. As she watched him eating, her... complicated feelings began to well in her gut. His focused gaze, his polite mannerisms, how fierce he was in combat-

How he cried out in horror when he first watched her fall from the Worm Cult assassin that snuck up behind her. Silent as the grave, their presence only made known when she felt the puff of their smokescreen and the jagged dagger slicing into her shoulder blade. As the air was forced out of her lungs with a choked scream, the stinging, burning sensation rapidly spreading across her back meant only one thing- Worm Venom. Realization sunk in as Ebony's vision started to blur and she began to panic.

Bastian's voice laced with terror and dread and pain- the "pain" part stunned her. She was still conscious enough to somewhat register his tones. Countless fights and heroic escapades and such a sound never left his throat. While she lay bleeding out, scrabbling unsuccessfully for a potion in her pack, Ebony could barely make out his blurry form running toward her.

It was when he was kneeling over her, the acrid smell of his staff burning tickling her nose, her heartbeat slowly and hollowly beating in her ears, and his fear stricken voice saying "I'll make them pay!"- there, something in her brain clicked.

She shook her head a little to clear the memory. Bastian didn't notice, as he hadn't looked up from his plate. He was clearly enjoying the amicable environment of the inn room, with his dear friend. Still, Ebony was more interested to hear what had happened with Clairene.

"Well. Now that you've eaten," she said calmly, "Why don't you tell me what happened?"

"I don't even know where to begin," Bastian replied quietly. "My sister and I haven't seen each other in twenty-five years! She remembers me as a two-year old child, and I don't remember her at all. What if we have nothing in common besides a name?"

Ebony smiled and hummed a purr, "You'll figure it out."

"For the first time since we started down this road, I think I believe that, too." He stared into his cup and slowly nodded. "But we have so much time to make up for. And the thought that I missed the chance to be a part of this family decades ago is almost too much to bear."

The pain in his voice nearly broke Ebonymist's heart. It was all too similar to the tone he used back then. Her tail tip curled a little at the thought.

A moment of anxious silence passed. She broke it with a soft "Can you forgive Count Auzin for that?"

"For all I know, Elmonde Auzin saved my sister's life by lying to her," he immediately replied. "And it's obvious that he loves her with all his heart. They are happy together. ...For my sister's sake, I can set aside old sorrows."

Ebonymist smiled again. She adored that about him, his willingness to compromise for his friends- and now family. Plus, these were unusual circumstances. Were she in his shoes, she could definitely see herself doing the same thing.

"But I am done with the Silvelles."

"As am I, Bastian. If we ever run into them on our travels again, you might have to hold me back."

"That won't be necessary, my friend," he nervously chuckled.

She gave a slight smirk and her ears twitched in amusement. "Can't promise that."

He stifled a laugh at that, then sighed. "Well. It's late. I spent longer there than I expected to, and I'm sure you need your sleep too."

Her head snapped up. "Oh no no, that's alright, I don't mind!" That came out a little faster than intended, she cursed herself mentally.

"Oh don't worry about me, I don't want to bore you," he started to stand up. "You've done so much for me, so. You deserve some rest after this journey." In reality, Bastian was mentally and emotionally exhausted from this ordeal. From discovering Clairene, to tracking her down, to rescuing her... he was worn out and needed rest himself. But he also didn't want to be rude and say that out loud to Ebonymist, who nearly bent herself backward to make this possible.

Ebonymist, on the other hand, felt her heart suddenly leap into her throat and she froze. Bastian, understandably, took her silence as permission to leave and he bid her a friendly "good night". He stood up and made his way to the door and began to open it-

Before she knew it, the Khajiit blinked and she was standing next to him with her hand clamped around his wrist. She felt herself say "Wait-", but the sound didn't register in her ears. The same earlier feeling of anxiety in her gut returned, which was soon replaced with creeping dread as she feared she royally messed up.

They both jumped when she grabbed his wrist, both equally surprised at this sudden reaction. Bastian blinked. As he waited for an explanation for her action, they locked eyes. He could see something odd; Anxiety? Desperation?

No. Pleading.

The mage was very much puzzled by this. Ebonymist, one of the strongest, most resilient individuals he had ever met in his life, acting like this.

"Eb?" he asked. "Is... something wrong?"

A small silence followed, before she quietly answered, in a voice just barley above a whisper, "I... I don't want you to go."

He blinked again. "You don't?"

Ebony was silent a moment before her ears drooped and she shook her head no. He felt her hand trembling against his wrist.

"I've never seen you this nervous," he relaxed his stance a bit, if nothing else out of morbid curiosity. "What's the matter?"

"I..." she averted her gaze. Now or never, she thought. "I- I want you to stay. I want you to spend the night here. With me."

The following silence was deafening. Neither one moved. All Ebony could hear was her heart pounding like a war drum in her ears. Bastian slowly reached over to the doorknob and pulled it closed. Then he turned his undivided attention to the anxious Khajiit.

"You know I have to go soon, but... This is clearly important to you. So I'll hear you out."

Once they sat back down at the table, he realized he'd had so much on his mind this evening, he barely noticed her. Now that she was sitting in front of him, it was clear as day something was on her mind; her normally alert ears were turned back, and her tail tip was twitching back and forth.

She took a deep breath and laid it all out. Her feelings for him, how much she cared for him, how valued he was as a companion, how he had been occupying her thoughts as of late- ...Perhaps that was a bit much.

Bastian laced his fingers and rested his chin on them, thinking as he let this sudden information sink in. Every second that passed felt like a literal eternity to Ebony. "Well... I have to be honest. I had suspected that was your intention. It seems I was reading you right, for once."

"For once?"

"You can be hard to read sometimes. Not always, though. Remember when I mentioned in the Valenwood market, "I don't have a romantic partner back home, but I know a girl who would get mad if she heard me say that"?"

Ebony scowled at him. "You did that on purpose."

He chuckled, "Perhaps. Your reaction gave me an inkling I was right, though." She rolled her eyes.

He continued, "But, after that, I had some time to think on it. And, well." His hand reached across the table and carefully clasped hers. "I can't picture myself with anyone else, especially not with someone who hasn't done as much for me as you have."

"Are you saying-"

"We're definitely partners in arms, and in crime, depending on the situation. So... how about we be partners off the battlefield as well?"

Bastian barely got the words out of his mouth when Ebonymist jumped up and launched herself into his arms, the biggest smile on her face as she hugged him. "Yes! Yes! A thousand times, yes! Oh Bastian you have no idea how happy this made me!" She nuzzled her face into his chin.

The mage laughed as he spun her around, reflecting the sheer joy radiating off of his partner. Today was definitely a chaotic day. But it definitely ended in the best way possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Special thanks to @rvnwtch for helping! <3

Tag List: @lithiumrev, @arisenlicious, @alaxon, , @itheliaapologist, if you want in on the tag list plz let me know!! <3

[rayshippouuchiha]

yo i'm seeing a lot of dishing about the purity culture of fandom and i absolutely agree

but i'd like to ask

do 'incest fic' count, i mean specifically i'm in the batfam fandom and if you try and write pairing with batman's adopted kids /former robins together everyone and their mother starts screaming at you both online and on ao3, and if you point out the lack of blood relation all you get it 'it's still incest oh my god you're a horrible person who doesn't believe in adopted sibling relationships' and like... i just wanna smush the two pretty vigilante characters together, it's very exhausting, and it also applies to discord, the fandom is very hardcore about policing this and like I get it to an extent because I've seen a lot of posts about how 'seeing batcest on my dash turns my stomach' 'having to scroll past bastcest on ao3 to get anything good is disturbing and disgusting' and tagging, is not enough for these people, i've seen some poor fools pointing out instances of real life adopted siblings who've ended up together due to the adoption being their parents decision ect and the vitriol that's met with is very aggressive, they basically just don't want it to exist and don't want people who ship it to feel safe talking about it out in the open on tumblr because it's weird and something to feel ashamed of that you shouldn't force 'normal people' to see.

And it's like, why do I have to be treated like a fucking leper in online spaces over a ship? It's literally scarlet letter shit where if someone posts something with nightwing x red hood art even if it's cute and utterly harmless like one of them blushing over a hot chocolate people will literally go into their mutuals askbox and 'warn' them that that person you reblogged from likes batcest. Legitimately. It's so toxic.

See, if you're tagging your ship correctly, if you're rating it correctly, if you're posting it in the appropriate places, if you are making it clear what it is that you've created so that others who don't want to interact with it can keep scrolling without clicking or can use their blacklist functions, then you're not doing anything wrong and your responsibility is pretty much over.

And that goes for any ship, any trope, and any fic in any fandom.

It does not matter.

No singular person or group of people has the right to police an entire fandom just because there's content being created that they don't personally like or agree with.

As long as those creators are keeping their content to the appropriate places (i.e. not posting explicit material in a general audience server or purposefully putting ship content under the wrong tag to force others to see it) then it's everyone else's responsibility to curate their own fandom experiences by using blacklists, mute functions, exclude filters, the block button, or just not clicking on content they know they don't like or agree with.

There are ships and tropes that turn my stomach. I don't want to see them, consume them, or even think about them because they squick me out.

And that's on me.

So I block, I blacklist, I mute, and I don't click.

Because the burden of responsibility for what I consume in fandom is on me.

Fandoms are like villages. Yeah, we're all living in close proximity but that doesn't give anyone else the right to come into my house uninvited and tell me they don't like my decor or that I can't cook this particular meal in my kitchen because they are allergic to it even though I never invited them to dinner.

So ignore the people who try and do that.

Tend your roses, fill your shelves, make your meals, and enjoy yourself instead.

[salemsimsrender]

Beginner Blender Tutorial Basic Render: Part Three (Adjusting Render Settings, Adding Lights, and Rendering!)

(Continuing from Part Two)

Step 1: Adjusting Render Settings

I exclusively render in Cycles, and though I'll be doing some Eevee runs for the sake of tutorials, I'm going to share what I know today and show you how to set up a Cycles render the way I do

Navigate to Render Properties and select "Cycles" in the Render Engine dropdown

If you have an older system, leave CPU selected If you have a newer or beefier computer, select GPU complete I render on a MacBook Pro, so I'll select GPU

Under Sampling -> Viewport, make sure you click on the Denoise, this will clean up our render preview so we can more easily see what the final result will look like

Under the same Sampling tab, adjust your Max Samples to match mine (32 in the viewport and 128 in the render window, this will speed up your render time)

Click into Output Properties and select "Render Region" and "Crop to Render Region", and change the frame rate to 50fps In the Output tab, change the Color Depth to 16 Nothing will change in our 3D Viewport, but the settings are ready to go

Step 2: Adding Lights

Right now, if we were to change our mode to Rendered, we'd have nothing but a black box. This is because our sim is in a cube with no light source Let's add some lights! For portraits, I like to use a combination of Spot and Point lights You add in lights the same way you add in the camera and the cube, either by clicking "Add" in the top menu or with Shift+A on your keyboard and selecting Light -> Spot or Point I'm going to add a Spotlight first I like to add in lights in Rendered view, but be careful using rendered view as it ups the chances that your Blender will crash

I added in a spotlight but it appears that nothing happened Objects are added into Blender at the Cursor point. I never adjusted mine so it's at the center of the axis, meaning below my sim's feet and outside of the box Using G and X,Y,Z, I'm going to move my spotlight up

Now the light is above her, but I want it shining on her, so I'm going to rotate it forward Rotate objects using the R key and X,Y,Z directions on your keyboard

That's not bad, but I want more dynamic light. I'm going to add two more spotlights for 3 point lighting

This is looking better, and you can see where my lights are and how they're oriented Now let's adjust the background Select your cube in the Outliner panel and navigate to Material Properties Click "new" in the bar Then navigate to your Shader Editor window and you'll see a Principled BSDF Node is here

We're not going to do anything too fancy here, just change the color of the cube and some aspects of how it looks Change the color of your box using the color wheel then adjust your nodes to everything is set to zero except roughness

You should have something like this (of course use whatever color compliments your sim best)

I don't want the background to be super flat, so I'm going to adjust the Metallic value on mine Now I have this:

I like the lighting but I think it might be a little too bright Let's adjust it a little In your Outliner panel, select one of the spotlights then go to "Object Data Properties" (the little lightbulb)

I'm going to adjust the Power to 5 and click off multiple importance and click on shadow caustics, like this:

Do the same for all three spotlights and you should have something like this:

That's better, but let's draw attention to her face with a Point light Add in a point light the same way as a spot (shift+A, light -> point) or Add in the top bar) and move it in front of her face

This is obviously way too bright, so let's adjust it like we did for the spotlights I've changed the radius and adjusted the power to 8, as shown here:

Here's the result:

That's much better! Normally at this point I would probably change her hair and add in jewelry and make minor adjustments to this and that, but for the sake of this super simple beginner render, we're ready to go! Before you run your render, save this file somewhere easy to find. I'll be using the same file for future tutorials!

Step 3: Rendering!

Once you've done all the setup, rendering is actually super easy Make sure you switch your 3D viewport back to Material Preview (rendering while in rendered mode has a tendency to make blender crash) Then go up to the navigation bar and select Render -> Render Image

A new window will pop up, and your render will begin!

Rendering time will depend on how complex your scene is and how many assets you've added in. Ours is very simple so mine says it'll take about 6 minutes

And it's done! Save your render and either post it or edit it in your favorite photo editor!

UPDATE 7/17/23

As you can see, my render was looking very glowy. I didn't know why (there was no glare node in the compositing settings or anything that would cause this, or so I thought), until I adjusted the roughness values on my sim.

Now it looks like this:

So if yours is looking glowy, adjust the roughness to 0, then back up to 10 and that should fix it!

Homework:

Your Render School homework is to create a simple portrait render using these tutorials and tag me in it! I can't wait to see what yall make!

Please leave any questions in the comments below or send an ask and I'll help as best I can!

Happy Rendering!

[theycallmebecca]

18+ Drabble: The Great Tease

A few days ago, I was inspired to write a thirst trap story, but with a twist and that's what this is. I made a moodboard and I used photos I found here on tumblr and shared with friends in a discord, but that means I don't remember which blogs the photos originally came from...

Title: The Great Tease

Pairing: Andy Barber x female reader

Rating: R

Warnings: suggestive, fade to black sex scene

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

18+ Disclaimer: This work contains sexual material that is for those over the age of 18. By clicking the keep reading link below, you are agreeing that you are over the age of 18 and are not offended by sexual content.

Usage Disclaimer: This work is for fans only. This author does not give permission for it to be shared, spoken of, referred to in any public manner (podcast, tv, online, etc.) that wants to either make a celebrity uncomfortable, mock fan fiction/fandom in any way, or the author themselves. Requests can be made, but it is unlikely the author will change their mind. If no response is given to a request then the answer is a solid no, not interested and the work cannot be shared, spoken of or even referred to, regardless of the manner or context. 

“Have fun this weekend,” you said to Andy before you kiss him goodbye.

“Ugh, come on, you two,” your best friend said, feigning disgust. “Save something for the honeymoon.”

“Go wait in the car,” you told her with a laugh. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Fine, but I’m setting a timer for five minutes,” she said before leaving with your bags.

“What are you doing this weekend?” you asked Andy.

“Just hanging with the guys,” he replied with a shrug. “Probably play some golf, maybe some video games. I’ll definitely be available for anyone who needs to escape…”

“She’d kill us both,” you said with a laugh. “And killing the bride and groom during the bachelorette party would probably ruin the wedding…”

“LET’S GO!” your friend yelled from outside.

“I’ll text you when we get in there,” you told him then gave him one more kiss before you left.

“About time,” your friend muttered.

You stuck your tongue out at her then got into the car.

It wasn't until the two of you arrived at the rental house and you grabbed your phone to let Andy know that you were there, that your friend said, "This is a no boys allowed weekend. That includes texting."

"Just let me tell him that we got here, I promised,"  you told her.

"Fine, but I'm warning you right now, if he texts you at all while we're here, you're showing it to all of us," she stated. "No matter what. And no warning him, either."

You shook your head and sent Andy a quick text:

Here. Have a good weekend! 😘

Then you showed it to your friend. She nodded her approval and then the two of you got out of the car.

—------

"I know this was meant to be a girls' weekend, but I'm surprised I haven't gotten a single text," Andy said, later that evening as he and his friends had dinner together.

"Maybe we should text them and make sure they're ok?" one of the guys he didn't know as well said.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," your best friend's husband said.

"Why not?" one of the others asked.

"What do you know?" Andy asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I overheard my wife on this phone this morning," the husband explained. "If anyone, but especially you, Andy, sends a text while they're at this thing, it's getting read aloud and shown to everyone."

"Even dick pics?" one guy asked, nervously glancing at his phone.

"Anything that is sent from the moment they arrive to the moment they leave," your best friend's husband stated. "So be careful what you send."

After dinner, Andy went back to the house with your best friend's husband and another of their mutual friends, who were crashing at the house since they lived out of town.

"Your wife doesn't know you know, right?" Andy said as they drank beers.

"No, I didn't say anything to her about it, why?" the husband asked.

"Because we could have some fun with this," Andy said with a smirk.

"I'm not showing my junk to all those crazies," the mutual friend stated.

"We're not showing junk to any of them," Andy agreed. "But it doesn't mean we can't take some staged photos and send them to them. Think thirst traps."

"But won't it be suspicious if we all do them?" the husband asked. "Maybe it should just be you."

"I agree, it should just be you," the mutual friend stated with a laugh. "It will get the best reaction."

"Fine, you chicken shits," Andy said. "But I'm going to need help taking the photos."

————

The first text came as you, your best friend and your three bridesmaids were getting ready to play a game.

At your best friend’s insistence, you’d all changed your text alerts to be something different so it was easier to tell them apart. You and the others had overruled her idea, however, that the person receiving the text couldn’t be the one to look at the phone.

“That’s you,” she said, smugly.

“I know,” you replied as you got up to get your phone from where they sat on the counter. Looking at your phone, you saw that Andy had sent a photo and found yourself grateful that the majority had overruled the dick pic sharing rule, too. Meaning no dicks would be exposed.

Going into your messages, you nearly choked when you saw the photo Andy had sent you. It was just his bare pecs and torso, but it was a close up, showing off all his muscles.

“She definitely got something good,” one of the others cackled.

“Come share it with the group,” your best friend said with a smirk.

Grudgingly, you handed her your phone and they all leaned in to take a look.

“Hot damn,” one of them said while another whistled.

“I knew he was hot, but lucky you,” another said, winking at you.

“Ok, enough ogling my future husband,” you said, grabbing the phone. “We have a game to play.”

“Fine, but you aren’t allowed to text him back,” your best friend reminded you.

“I know,” you replied though you were suddenly wishing you were at home with Andy and his muscles instead of with your friends.

Hours later, a second photo came as you all were getting ready for bed. This photo was of Andy in bed with a picture of his torso and half of his hip 'V' on display with the rest of his lower body hidden under the sheets.

“Are you sure we can’t call our partners?” one of your friends asked after passing the phone.

“No boys allowed!” your best friend stated.

“She’s just jealous 'cause her husband doesn’t look like that,” another muttered as she looked at the photo a little too long for your liking.

Once you had your phone back, you gave it a last, longing look then locked it for the night, thankful that each of you had your own room.

The third and fourth photos were waiting for you when you woke up the next morning. One was Andy standing at the kitchen island, coffee cup on the counter and his hoodie unzipped showing his entire torso. The other was Andy with his back to the camera and only wearing an apron with the top of his ass showing.

“I don’t know if I can look Andy in the eye anymore,” one of your friends said. “Not after these thirst traps.”

“Did you tell him?” your best friend asked, looking at you.

“When would I have told him? You only let me text him once and that was to let him know we were here,” you replied. “And you read that message.”

“You told me on the phone the other day,” another friend spoke up, looking at your best friend. “Did your husband overhear? He’s with Andy isn’t he?”

“I’m going to kill him,” she muttered and reached for her phone.

“Uh huh,” you said, grabbing it with a grin on your face. “No boys allowed. Your rule.”

“Your future husband is sharing all his goodies,” she replied.

“Not all of them,” you stated. “Besides, it’s kind of fun. They think they have one over on us.”

Your phone dinged at that moment and you opened it and your jaw dropped. Andy was wearing his wedding tux with the shirt completely open and he was stretched across the bed, showing off his torso.

“Fuck,” you muttered when you could finally think again. You looked up at your friends and blinked, once again wishing Andy was nearby to jump.

“Distance makes the bride to be hornier,” one of the girls teased.

You flipped her off and placed the phone on the table for them all to see.

Five additional thirst trap photos were sent to your phone during the remainder of your girls weekend, each of them highlighting Andy’s torso and/or arms and proving that Andy knew just which parts of his body you liked the most.

You were so turned on by the photos that you didn't invite your friends and their significant others to have dinner with you and Andy like you had originally planned to. Instead, you had practically rushed them all out of the house, upon getting home, then turned to your future husband.

"Strip," you ordered him.

Andy's eyebrows shot up and then he grinned. "You did get the photos then," he said, obviously pleased with himself.

"And we figured out that you knew about the no boys allowed rules," you replied, crossing your arms over your chest. "Now stop stalling, hot stuff, you showed off all weekend and now I want a taste."

"As you wish," Andy said, simply.

Then took his sweet time undressing, which you normally appreciated, but your desire had been building for nearly two days. Yes, you had masturbated last night in the shower, but that wasn't the same as being with Andy.

After what seemed like forever, he was naked before you, partially aroused.

You'd planned to play with him a little, but you needed him sooner rather than later. You quickly removed your clothes and then closed the gap between the two of you.

"Remind me to torture you a bit later," you said to him before you pressed your lips against his.

"Will do," he whispered against your lips.

Then he made love to you.

[silkendandelion]

Don't Waste My Time (Please)

A One Piece fanfiction (completed one-shot), prequel to All This For A Coin, ao3 link

Trafalgar Law x OC (male) Words: 2.5k Genre: Angst, drama, AU world-building

Rated Teen and Up Audiences for brief descriptions of violence, blood, and discussion of slavery in the context of the Saboady Archipelago Arc

Over the timeskip, Law spent 2 years sending letters back and forth with a new revolutionary, someone he hesitated to call a friend for a long time. He wonders how close they would have become, had he thrown away that first letter like he planned.

Or: Law and River had a rocky start to their relationship, years in the making, not for either of their faults, but possibly for lack of trying.

AN: The plan is for this to be the start of a new series for the timeskip, fleshing out the OC's places in the world, including Aurelio's backstory, River's relationship with Law, and the possible events of the Rocky Port Incident 👀

~*~

He almost threw the letter away.

“Captain? What’s it say? Who’s it from?” Bepo asked, his furry brow wrinkled in worry.

The paper was flawed, containing a repeating mark from a poorly maintained (or damaged) press, and even at arm’s length Law could smell the expensive, bergamot-heavy perfume that had soaked into it’s curled edges on the long journey from sender to ship. It fell open in a long ribbon, folded in on itself at least twice to fit in the envelope, and he clicked his teeth at such a lengthy correspondence from a stranger.

Quick skimming revealed the rambling affection of a member of the Revolutionary Army, he believed, one he had treated after the Battle of the Best. A thank you note, he realized with a start. Thinking back, he hardly struggled to recall that long, chaotic day, the difficult surgeries that followed, and his unexpected patients. Guests, he hated to admit.

“Get on! Quickly!” He had shouted over the deafening roar of the battle, swords clashing and cannon fire. For Law, his target, Monkey D. Luffy, lay limp and bloody in Jinbei’s arms, exhausted beyond defeat and all but broken. The fish-man was rightfully skeptical of neither submarine nor captain he recognized, even as he hung half-useless in Buggy’s arms, who was currently the only reason they hadn’t plummeted to the freezing ocean below. But with Akainu recovering behind them, sure to be back in the fight the moment he dealt with the revolutionaries that volunteered to hold him off—he had less than seconds to decide.

From the deck, Law and the Heart Pirates watched the surrounding Marine ships preparing their guns.

“Do you want both of you to die?!” He tried again. “I’m a doctor.”

Buggy shook his head. “This doesn’t feel right, Jinbei, maybe we should—”

“Put us on the submarine.”

“THINK about it longer, maybe?!” Buggy gave a tired huff, and pitched him towards the vague direction of the submarine’s deck.

Meanwhile on the ice shelf, Aurelio’s lungs burned, all but seared and stuck to his ribs from closing the distance between himself and Akainu. One after another, he and his friends had been defeated, half-charred and perforated as they used the last of their strength to push the Admiral back. With the Whitebeard pirates scattered and the marines pushing forward, the fact Aurelio was concious was the only reason anyone stopped to collect what was left of the little band of revolutionaries.

He knelt to feel for Iva and Inazuma’s pulse, smearing blood where he touched but finding them alive. Behind him, River lay all but gone, having passed out when Aurelio cauterized his wounds. In both their defense, Aurelio had warned him it might be too much.

Materializing in a whirl of sand, Crocodile appeared to kneel by River’s side, locating the weak pulse in his gentle grasp on his wrist. He meant to speak, some sigh of relief he lived, but was instead forced to dodge Aurelio’s rokushiki, his shave to get close and a bullet of light from his finger, close enough to nick his face.

“Get AWAY from him!”

Still reeling from his own wounds, Crocodile found he had no strength to smother his rage at being chased away like some common criminal. Though, for all his screaming bruises and sore muscles, the part of his brain that relived his mistakes was all too ready to remind him why. Why Aurelio looked at him with bloodshot eyes and bared teeth, promising of nothing but an impending death if he took so much as a step towards River.

He lowered his hook. “He needs a doctor, or he’s going to die!”

“I’m working on it. When he’s awake, he can choose to talk to you all he wants, but when he’s vulnerable—you deal with me.”

Aurelio had expected a biting retort from the former warlord, appropriately venomous, perhaps coated in his own promise to settle their differences at later date in hate and sand—but all he received was calm. Crocodile stood at his full height a few feet away with arms lowered, his golden gaze empty of all but compliance.

“Do not let him die.”

“You don’t get to ask me that.”

To Aurelio, the unwavering stone of Crocodile’s mask was just more proof the ill will he harbored was deserved in all it’s unfiltered fury, but to it’s owner said that of all the hateful truths he could possibly spit at Crocodile—the man had already laid them upon himself.

They parted in silence, and Aurelio carefully stacked all three revolutionaries in his arms to carry them with his sky walk off the forsaken battlefield, towards the submarine in the harbor. On the deck, Law was shouting for them to submerge, his crew having already carted Luffy down to surgery.

“Captain! Look!” Bepo called to him, pointing at the sky towards the battered Aurelio and his armful of unconscious friends.

Crowded by the smell of salt and gunpowder, and as pressed for time as they were, Law had no reason yet to hear him. “We’re leaving, I don’t know who that is—”

“That is the strangest way to beg for your life.”

The crew and captain whipped around to face him, take in his desperate stare and arms beginning to shake, legs nearly to failure where he held their combined weight in the air. Blood dripped over his knuckles where one of their wounds wasn’t holding. “You remember us from Saboady, yet you would turn us away? Doctor Trafalgar Law?”

“This isn’t a lifeboat, and I don’t answer threats—”

“So take them!” He shouted, voice hoarse from calling his friend’s names, each one louder than the last as he watched them fall to Akainu. “I’ll be fine, I always am, but they deserve to live!”

Law recalled Aurelio and River from the auction house, how River had stood up in a crowded room and offered every berry he had (which was millions at the time), to buy the freedom of the Oasin who knelt on the stage.

“Only 800 in the entire world, the Oasin is a beautiful addition to any collection, best displayed how they live in the wild, studded with gold and dressed in blue,” the auctioneer had said.

He remembered the fight that followed, of Jean Bart saying goodbye to the Oasin as River gave her the money, what looked like all of it, and a kiss on the forehead that must have tasted like his tears.

They spoke for the first time after he watched Aurelio rest his friend against a tree in the heat of the battle, alone where he believed he would be safe, suddenly off to fight again with just a few comforting words Law couldn’t hear.

“Hey.” Law shook him, gently. “Wake up. Are you all right?”

River’s eyes had peeled open, surprised to see a stranger above him. “You’re the doctor from the posters. The rookie pirate Rayleigh spoke about.”

“I guess. Are you hurt?”

“Oh no, I’m okay,” he smiled, drowsy and sore. “I got caught up in some trouble recently, and haven’t healed yet. Aurelio’s definitely going to scold me when he gets back. He cares so much.”

Law combined both his memories with the man before him, the distress rolling off him in waves, the pile of broken revolutionaries he carried with what looked to be the last of his emergency reserves.

“Come on,” he jerked his head to signal Aurelio was clear to board. “Hurry!”

“Do you know them?” Jinbei asked Law as they all rushed inside, washed by the rotating red lights that signaled the submarine was beginning it’s descent.

“I’m not going to let them die,” was his answer, one Jinbei readily accepted.

After a deceptively short pursuit and hours upon hours of touch-and-go surgery, Law finally allowed himself some rest. In their rooms, all the wounded were cared for, sleeping, including the revolutionaries, Jinbei, Luffy, even Ikkaku who had sprained her wrist during the chase.

He sat down heavy into his desk chair and tossed his hat aside, right onto the stuffed owl who sat on his pillow.

His hat flew up, suddenly thrown by the startled owl who was decidedly not stuffed—also yelling now—and his frightened shout rang off the metal walls almost loud enough to wake the entire submarine. Loud enough Bepo came running to check on him, not just because he knew exactly what had scared his captain to crack his voice.

“Captain! This is Rinai. She was complaining—” The owl squawked in offense. “Sorry! She informed me the others were snoring too loudly, and she needed a quiet place to rest. After all, your quarters are the quietest place on the ship. I meant to tell you but I forgot, captain, we’ve all been awake for so long.”

Law curled all his limbs away from the perturbed owl who sat on top of his books now, smoothing her feathers where his hat had ruffled her. “… Not in my bed,” he insisted.

“I’ll bring you a pillow, miss.” Bepo bowed his head politely to the owl and went off to find her a suitable replacement.

After a few moments, footsteps wandered back into the open doorway, and Law expected it to be Bepo except for the soft, tired voice that spoke up was easily not the polar bear. “Oh? I’m lost again, this isn’t the bathroom.”

He looked up from where he had nearly fallen asleep sitting up, to find River staring at him expectantly. Law had never seen him so haggard, his dirty hair pushed away from his face, albeit brushed somehow, and a dark, achingly purple bruise around one of his striking violet eyes.

His hands briefly scrubbed down his face. “It’s fine. I’ll show you.”

Law paused as he stood from his chair to gape at him. “Is that MY robe?”

“Hm?” River touched his bandaged chest with equally dressed hands, bared by the loosely tied, plaid robe (royal blue) that threatened to fall off his shoulder where he touched the door frame.

“Shachi gave this to me when I asked for something to wear. Rinai keeps most of my clothes in her pocket, but she’s asked to not be disturbed.”

He knew his face must betray how little River’s statement cleared up any of his multitude of questions—but he was handedly too tired to seek answers. How far away was the nearest island, anyway? Maybe they had a dinghy big enough for them all? So he might get some peace.

“I—fine.” He rubbed his eyes. “Let me show you the way to the bathroom.”

When they reached the end of the metal hallway, River spoke up. “Uh, doctor?”

“Hm.” Law grunted his vague attention, and he turned to notice the formerly extroverted, bright revolutionary stood a few paces behind him, downright wilted. Perhaps he was just exhausted or… maybe shy? That certainly didn’t fit with Law’s current perception of him, the showy mercenary and resolute pillar of his people.

With River’s bare feet shifting on the cold, metal floor, they no longer stood eye to eye, and Law waited patiently for him to speak, looking down the couple of inches difference between them.

“I want to thank you, you know? You saved all of our lives, Aurelio told me how many hours it was to treat all of us. My words are all I have, unfortunately.”

“Yeah, you bankrupted yourself on Saboady.”

River perked to attention, visibly fluffed in his realization. “You saw that?”

“Everyone did. I don’t want your money anyway.” His boots shifted in a mirror of River’s previous fidgeting, bordering on uncomfortable at both the ardent praise and River blocking his path of retreat to his room.

River beamed at him suddenly, his smiling cheeks flinching where they pulled on his bruise. The answering twinge of Law’s heart worried him, it felt too much like a murmur, bordering on full panic.

“You’re incredible, doctor. I used to think pirates only cared about money. I thought ‘How can there be a doctor among them, aren’t they bound by an oath of selflessness’? But you and Luffy continue to surprise me. I’m finding I quite like pirates, actually.”

Law’s neck and face flooded with a blush, his uncomfortable frown twisting back and forth. “Don’t get the wrong idea, I just know you’re broke. And I should have charged you double for the way Aurelio spoke to me.”

“He just cares so much, but I understand. I’ll apologize on his behalf then,” he bent in a poor imitation of his usual flourish, only able to bow until his bandages pulled tight, “I am so sorry, Dr. Trafalgar Law. And thank you again. From all of us.”

“Get—out of here,” he grumbled, shouldering him out of the way to get back to his room where he wouldn’t be bothered by earnest mercenaries with soft hearts. “You shouldn’t be out of bed with your injuries, anyway.”

“Yes, doctor.” River smiled at his back.

‘And call me Law!’ There came a vague shout among the slam of a door, after he had already turned out of sight down the hall.

In spite of how his heart had raced back then, now Law frowned down at the letter with only bruised, embarrassed disappointment. He flipped it back and forth, recalling his new perception of River, the man that wanted his chest to tighten because it was all part of the plan.

It wasn’t hard for him to find what the underworld had to say about River Faustina, called “Kingfisher” where bounty hunters were concerned. Named for a hunting bird, Law found no one willing to refute the idea that the mercenary was equally a hunter: beautiful and sharp, unafraid to manipulate powerful people until his wants and desires fell out. Whatever he wanted from the Revolutionary Army, Law decided that wasn’t his problem, but the gentle, soft smile he cast up at him while wearing his clothes, was.

He took a moment to examine the innocently plain envelope, signed with the same flourishing hand as the letter. “It’s a letter from those revolutionaries we treated after Marineford. Nothing I have to answer,” he replied to Bepo, and folded the letter to put in his pocket.

But when he went to crumple the envelope, it didn’t give completely. Inside, turned out to his open palm, was a poker chip, carved with a red heart on the opposite face and belonging to some bar he didn’t recognize by name.

He recalled the last lines of the letter. “I’m working on getting my finances back, so watch your mail. Do you like hearts? Or is it a coincidence?”

“What’s wrong, captain?” Bepo inquired again, as Law slipped the chip into his pocket beside the letter.

“It’s nothing to worry about, Bepo. Let’s not waste our time.”

[tickldpnk8]

Trope Game

Ooo! this one is fun! Thanks for the tag @orionsangel86! I had way more opinions on this than I thought I would.

Rules: How much do these tropes affect your decision to click on a fic?

• -10 -> very dissuaded

• 0 - don't care either way

• 10 -> very enticed

• nope -> if it's a hard no and you'd never click on a fic with that tag or or you even have the tag blocked or you'd insta click out of the fic if it wasn't tagged

Bonus points for explaining the rating and whether it's conditional.

Age Gap: -5 depending on context

Basically, it’s gotta be two consenting adults. I don’t care if it’s an immortal and an adult, 2 ordinary humans with a 10 yr gap. As long as they’re both adults, I’ll consider it.

Codependency: 0

On its own, this one doesn’t necessarily entice or dissuade me.

Enemies to lovers: 9

Gotta love this trope! That’s Pride and Prejudice and Romeo and Juliette right there. But give me a good reason for them to fall in love: show the stages and the aha moment. Don’t just tell me it happened and leave out all the juicy details.

Enemies With Benefits: -7

Meh, I’m actually here for the plot and the characterizations.

Fake Dating/Relationship: 6

This one could be fun: love me some good rom/com material. So yeah, put them in all sorts of funny situations and I’m in.

Found Family: 0

This on its own isn’t enough to entice me. But! What if it’s not a romance/ship pairing. Then I’d be more likely to see how this group ended up claiming each other as family.

Friends to Lovers: 9

This is it! Like Enemies to Lovers, I live for that a-ha moment. Only now it’s in a nice package where they’ve been there all along.

Friends with Benefits: 0

Same as above with Enemies with Benefits; slightly more likely to click since this trope seems to pair more with Friends to Lovers

Hurt/Comfort: 0

Meh, depends on the fandom. Morpheus emerging from a fishbowl is going to have some issues to work through. But in mg other fandoms, it’s not as relevant.

Love Triangle: 0

Somehow these always end up feeling really stressful to read. I’m not opposed to the idea tho.

Mistaken/Hidden Identity: 9

Hilarity ensues! Yes!! But also could be good for a mystery or paired with enemy to lovers…lots of great possibilities here. I’m talking myself more into this and just upped it from a 7 to a 9. Ha!

Monster Fu... Relationship: 2

Only if one side of the pairing is actually supernatural somehow? And then it’s probably more about supernatural powers and less about sex.

Obsession, Possessiveness, etc.: -7

I can’t think of a good example story I’ve liked with this. In general, it can border on bad power dynamics for me. But maybe I’m missing something.

Opposites (like grumpy x sunshine, etc): 9

All good pairing balance each other out! But there’s also just good tension for plot to be found in opposites.

Poly: -9

SALS, but I’m just into monogamy with my escapist romances.

Pregnancy: -5

Never say never, but it would have to be the right pairing and the right story. I’m not into MPREG and don’t really read omega-verse so that feels like it rules out half of these. For the other half, I’ve yet to see a plot I really want to get into. Maybe a Momma Mia 2 fusion??

Second Chance: 7

With the right pairing, this could be a Lovers to Enemies to Lovers. And I’m Here For That! (Which is why I lament the lack of Calliope/Dream fics: in the right hands, it could be so good)

Sex to Feelings: 4

Indifferent unless paired with some of my favorite tropes.

Slowburn: 9

Bring on the yearning!

Soulmates: 4

I didn’t realize this was a trope until this game? Ha! I’ve apparently read a few of these, but it’s not something I look for.

Tagging: @two-hands-toward-the-sun, @windsweptinred and @writing-for-life if you haven’t done this, and anyone else who wants to play. (Or just tag me on a post I missed somewhere 😳 work continues to stress me out)

[swampstew]

Raven, I have a question since I frequently buy stuff from Etsy. What does arbitration mean in this case? Or class action lawsuit? I don’t understand and am not sure how this will impact me and the stores I support.

(Also had no clue you sell stuff and need to know in order to buy and support my precious family. I love you!)

Hey Blaze, thanks for asking. When using Etsy (as a seller or buyer), you sign an agreement to not participate in a class action lawsuit against Etsy and that they will handle disputes internally. This has been done by giving blanket refunds to customers and taking funds from sellers before actual reviews could be done. This was a real sucker punch for people on Etsy who need to be paid first in order to make their products, plus it sucks when you sell something for $X and then your buyer demands a refund for whatever reason and Etsy will just pluck the money back, no process, no customer support whatsoever (they don't even have a hotline number anymore).

In an attempt to sweep customer service issues under the rug, Etsy has been offering disgruntled buyers no-questions-asked, no-return-required refunds, with funds automatically taken from sellers’ payment accounts.  In order to prevent sellers from bypassing this issue, Etsy has been imposing “Payment reserves” en masse.  This means Etsy outright refuses to pay sellers the money they’ve earned from sales until after the order ships. 

This opt-out clause allows people to be able to participate in lawsuits but because the update was very lowkey and they bury the opt-out information under all the legalese, people tend to not read that bit and aren't aware they have that option. So if they ever try to sue Etsy for whatever reason, Etsy can use that clause to say you have no case. This newsletter was to let people know how to opt-out without having to read the whole damn thing.

There have been a lot of shady things happening on the backend with Etsy the Corporation - including design theft from alibaba/express dupe pages AND drop shipping pages even though Etsy is supposed to be a hand makers marketplace; no customer service at all except online articles; forcing sellers to participate in Etsy ads with no option to opt out and than forcefully taking fees from sales made through clicking on Etsy's forced ad; encouraging sellers to opt into an additional advertisement program to have listings appear higher in searches which NEVER resulted in actual sales; charging sellers for shipping fees per products but not providing any support, material or stamps or anything to justify charging for shipping costs that sellers ate to ship products; if you had 5 items for one listing, Etsy would charge renewal listing fees each time as if it was making a brand new listing each time (it was not); forcing sellers to use a payment service that is infamous for the lawsuits against it for committing fraud; and then the godsdamned star seller program that actually punished sellers for not meeting ridiculous benchmarks every quarter, just a lot of awful shit.

My suggestions - if you use Etsy and have a problem with your item, message the seller directly instead of using Etsy's refund/help program because it will cut out the seller entirely. When using Etsy, check the profiles ratings/reviews for bot reviews or if you see multiple pages selling the exact same items using damn near identical product pictures, and uhhh if anyone you want to support sells anywhere off Etsy use that instead! Some of my Etsy friends have started using Kofi now too!

My Etsy shop is still closed and I put all my online shops and social medias on hiatus to figure some stuff out. The Etsy shit was the straw that broke the camel's back of my online seller's journey so I pretty much sell locally at farmers markets when I have the time. Haven't done a table in a while and I do miss it. I don't want to publicly share that information though because I do value my privacy but I will share that my store was about mental wellness and self care. I made bath products, jewelry, stim toys, and art. Support your small business owners!

[literaticat]

Very little of what was mentioned in my marketing plan on the publicity side ever materialized, especially not on the scale they were talking. Is there any way for me to determine why that is? I know that a lot of it comes down to luck and it doesn't necessarily mean someone dropped the ball or that all of the major outlets hate my book, but I also don't understand why my publisher talked such a big game if it wasn't likely they could deliver on any of it.

It's hard for me to say, based on the zero actual info I have and not being part of the process, seeing the plan, sitting in on the calls, etc. But (and forgive me if you know all this already), I can just say generally:

"Marketing" means things that they PAY for. Those things are often somewhat invisible to you from the outside, because in the book world MOST marketing efforts are really geared toward booksellers/librarians/gatekeepers rather than the general public.

Examples of marketing: ARCs / eARCs, sending ARCs or finished copies to specific "bigmouths", offering retailers a special discount if they buy x-number of copies or a display, "swag" creation, ads in trade publications such as PW, Edelweiss and Shelf Awareness newsletters, promoting at Winter Institute (big bookseller conference), regional bookselling conferences, and ALA (big librarian conference), wining and dining librarians, etc. There's a wide variety of things that fall into the marketing bucket, but what they all have in common is, they cost money and the publisher wants to spend that money in the wisest way they can.

(That's why they focus on booksellers/librarians/gatekeepers -- because if one buyer for a library system or a book chain buys, say, 100 books, has them on display, talks them up to patrons and customers and classrooms, etc etc -- and then checks out or sells them to the public and orders more, that's a better bang for their buck than trying to reach a hundred individual people randomly who don't have the power to reach lots of other people. Each ONE bookseller or librarian might be able to reach hundreds of people. A dozen booksellers or librarians might reach THOUSANDS of people. And so on.)

"Publicity" means earned media -- it doesn't cost money, but it's a LOT harder to get. The publicist pitches your book to a variety of media sources -- that could be anything from reviews in the newspaper to interviews in a magazine to keynoting a conference to a special feature on Good Morning America. The problem is, of course -- all those outlets have A MILLION publicists pitching them things, and they are in full control over who and what they actually cover. So they are mostly probably going to cover, frankly, things that they think their audience will be most interested in. Which often translates to "people they have already heard of" or "people with a quite resonant and unusual story to tell" or "people who are writing something incredibly timely" or "people whose thing has gone viral" -- or something like that. Basically, they want the clicks.

Unfortunately most "regular" books probably won't fall into those buckets. So of COURSE the publicist has to try -- but the hit rate is likely kinda low for MOST books. I'm guessing the publicity plan said something like "targeted outreach to major media, local media and trade review outlets (NYT, WaPo, LA Times, Newsweek, Sacramento Bee, NPR, PW, Kirkus, etc)" -- well OK. But all media is stretched thin, and even trade journals like PW and Kirkus are trending toward reviewing less and reviewing later than in the past...

So if the publicist pitched to, say, 100 places and only four decided to cover the book -- that doesn't mean she didn't do her job. She still had to write to those 100 people. (Nor does it mean the Sacramento Bee hates you -- they just only had room for 5 reviews and had 100 books to choose from).

ALL OF THAT TO SAY: I guess the publisher "talks a big game" in their publicity and marketing plan because they are so often accused of "doing LITERALLY NOTHING" to promote people's books -- because so much of the work they DO actually do is rather invisible. So they want to show, like, no, look, we ARE doing things.

(Do those things matter or move the needle? Eh. Sometimes. Mostly not, but sometimes. Are they doing them? Yep.)

[tikoy]

Kinktober 2022 Day 3

Orgasm denial

Series: FGO

Caster Gilgamesh x AFAB master

Warnings: sexual content, slight degradation

Spoilers for CasGil's valentine scene

Rating: Explicit/MA

---

"Don't be a fool! I speak of quantity, not quality!" Gilgamesh said, shaking the red bag of chocolates vehemently. "This measly thing will barely last me two bites! Our feast would be over in but a moment! Were you planning to share a table with me for no more than a few minutes!?"

"If you don't want it, I'll take it," you huffed, tugging the package back from his grasp. "I'll just snack on these and just go hang out with Mash instead."

"Heh, Pitiful." A wide smirk graced his infuriatingly handsome face. Before you could react, he grabbed the red bag back. "But, I suppose this IS the best a Master of such lowly origins as yours could muster. Very well, you leave me no choice, Just this once, I will show you what a true Valentine's celebration entails."

"Follow me, Master. I will teach you about the true essence of my treasured Uruk personally."

--

You reclined on your lounge chair, enjoying the view on the river Euphrates. You drew the wool shawl tighter against your shoulders to keep yourself warm. The wise king had insisted that you change into traditional garments from Uruk for this demonstration, stating that it would be a great opportunity to experience their culture more. The deep blue wrap-around dress was draped around one arm and reached your ankles. The material was thick and sturdy, but you'd grown used to your mystic codes doing the bulk of the temperature control.

"That's a head shawl. It isn't supposed to be wrapped around you like that."

You turned to to look over at Gilgamesh, sprawled over his own lounge chair, cradling a wineglass. The ruby liquid sparkled in the moonlight as he swirled the glass. Even while lounging, he still oozed arrogance. He'd changed into clothes resembling a loose white tunic and pants with an ornate red cloak hanging on his shoulders. He also looked a good deal warmer than you were.

"I'm cold." you argued. "Besides, the sun isn't up anymore so there's no point in covering my head."

You heard him click his tongue. "I had told you to drink your beer slowly, did I not? Now you reap the results of your foolishness." He sat up and beckoned you over. "Come, I shall play the role of a good host and warm you up."

You hesitated for a brief moment, but still wound up walking over to him. The night air in Uruk wasn't terribly cold but you'd still rather be warm. You settled in easily between his legs and leaned against his chest. His gold jewelry felt cold against your cheek, but he gave off more than enough warmth for you to be comfortable. You sighed and wrapped your arms around him. You felt him toy with your hair, running his fingers through the strands and running his nails against your scalp.

"So, where's this feast you mentioned earlier?" you asked, fiddling with his lapis lazuli pendant. "I'm getting hungry."

He chuckled. "First you complain of the cold, and now of hunger. Is my Master merely a pet I must look after? Truly my little mongrel?"

You sat up and pouted. "Well this little mongrel's gonna start biting if she doesn't get some food in her soon."

Mischief flashed in his red eyes as he leaned in closer, your noses nearly touching. "I suppose I better find something for your mouth to do so it won't bite."

You didn't know who moved first, but soon your lips met his. Your chapped lips moved against his as your hands found themselves at the back of his neck. You felt his hands drift down towards your hips. He pulled you close and made you sit on his lap. His fingers squeezed and dug into the soft flesh. You gasped. His hot tongue strode into your mouth, claiming it for his own.

You squeaked as you felt his hand travel down and squeeze your bum. The other went towards your inner thigh, tracing indiscernible patterns. Your body started to warm up. You shrugged off your shawl and loosened the draping on the dress. Suddenly, you felt cold.

"Ah," he murmured against your lips, "such a bold little mongrel."

You'd unfastened the dress too much, causing the fabric to fall away and expose your breasts. The skin pebbled in the cool night air, and under his hungry gaze. As if proving his statement true, you leaned over and shook his breasts at him, daring him to move.

He pulled you close. His mouth latched on to your breast immediately, suckling and swirling around the stiff nipple. His hand caressed the other, squeezing and stroking. A faint buzz of heat was starting to form inside you. You felt a slight dampness in your core.

He pulled away just as the heat inside you began to rise. He pressed a few kisses against your breasts and at the column of your neck, each one lighter than the last. He tugged the rest of the dress away, leaving you fully exposed. He grinned, and his gaze seemed to darken.

His hand pressed firmly against the apex of your hips. You shuddered from the contrast of his warm touch and the cold jewelry against your skin. A finger dragged against your slit. You gasped at the sensation, as well as the loud squelch. You were much, much wetter than you'd anticipated.

He gave a satisfied little hum before working a finger inside you. Your slick-coated entrance offered little resistance at first, but you could feel each little ridge of his rings as they rubbed up against your walls. Soon, a second finger followed. You fell forward and grabbed hold of his shoulders to steady yourself. The two fingers spread apart and bent as they pressed and probed.

You whimpered as soon as he rubbed up against your spot. It felt as if a live wire ran down your spine. His fingers rubbed up against that rough patch. His thumb made furious little circles against your clit. You sobbed. It was too much, too fast. You bit his neck as your tried to stifle your cries. He grunted in pain, but continued his onslaught. Your body began to twitch. You bucked and jerked your hips away, but his hand on your hip held fast. He continued to work you over and over as the pleasure began to mount.

And then nothing.

He'd pulled his fingers away at the last second. Just before your orgasm hit. Your body, weak with pleasure, fell against him. You looked up at him with bleary eyes. Your mind was still too awash with pleasure to form words. You gripped at his tunic with your shaking hands. He smirked.

"Did I not tell you, Master, that I didn't want our feast to end so quickly?" he said. He brought his fingers to his face and licked at the slick. "The night is young, and I have been starved of you for far too long."

He carried your slack body over towards the curtained central platform. Inside was a large day bed with several round pillows, and a table stacked with several brightly-colored bottles. He placed you on the bed, and spread your legs wide.

He knelt down and licked at your entrance. You bucked and whimpered, wanting more of the pleasure that had been denied you. He huffed before diving in to eat you out. He nipped and sucked at your lips. The sounds you made were pure filth. You whimpered and cried out his name. Your hands grabbed hold of his hair and tugged.

His wicked tongue brushed up against your clit. You saw pure white. You shuddered and clutched at him, pressing him harder against you. You felt him laugh. His tongue started to lick faster and faster. Fingers plunged inside you and crooked. He nipped your clit. You saw stars.

And again, it disappeared. He'd pulled away yet again. You felt like sobbing. Your skin felt aflame, it felt like each brush of the sheets could easily send you tumbling towards the edge. But never enough to push you over. Frustrated, you reached down and started rubbing to get yourself off.

"Tsk"

The Wise King slapped your hand away and leveled his glare upon you. He snapped his fingers. Gold cuffs and chains appeared and bound your limbs to the bed. You lay there spread-eagled, unable to move an inch.

"Oh mongrel. You should not have done that."

For hours upon hours he tortured your body with pleasure. You intimately came to know his fingers, his tongue, his mouth. Your walls memorized the shape of his fingers, and each and every stroke they made. His mouth left marks on your inner thighs, blooming on your skin like posies. Your body felt sore, and yet you still craved more of his touch. Just one last stroke to finally get you to the edge.

"Gil. Gil. Please. Please," you rasped, your throat dry and aching.

He pulled his fingers out with an embarrassingly loud noise. The bed was soaked with your fluids. You cried out at the sudden emptiness. Tears flowed down your cheeks as you babbled at him. Your mind too tired, too strained to properly communicate.

You watched as he shrugged his tunic and his pants off. His golden jewelry remained, glinting in the dark red of the early morning light. His cock stood full mast, swollen and dripping precum. He lined up his cock with your entrance. You whimpered at the sensation, but your body automatically bucked. He licked his lips and grinned.

"Hush, now mongrel," he said. "We're nearly to the end of our feast. Stay with me until the end."

---

I love Gilgamesh but holy hell I wrote too much. I really need to cut down on the preludes to the sexy times... but at the same time it also seems hotter if there's context?

[zaffrenotes]

To Ruined Friendships

Fandom: Westworld Pairing: Logan Delos x Reader Rating/Warnings: PG-13; spicy language, alcohol consumption, heavy smoochin Author's Note: This entire thing was inspired by a dream I had about one black hat cowboy who cannot for the life of him consume a drink without looking like he's going to inhale it. I tried to work on my other WIPs for an entirely different fandom, but my brain refused to focus on anyone other than Logan Delos. I don't have the energy to create a sideblog for this, so any Logan fans who happen to find this from the tags, please don't judge me for the other fandom(s) I'm in. I already know, lol. Word Count/Reading Time: +/- 2600 words (10 minutes reading)

hell if I know who to tag for this...if I ever write more and you want to get an update, leave a comment, I guess?: @the-blind-assassin-12 @ao719 @the-soot-sprite possibly @ofpixelsandscribbles @burnsoslow

Another night rubbing shoulders with the elite in a penthouse, and all you want to do is retreat into one of the half dozen empty rooms to rest your feet. Beauty always has a price, and tonight your feet were being sacrificed to the stiletto gods in the name of fashion. As a waiter weaves between guests, you deftly trade the empty crystal flute in your hand for a fresh one off their tray, the slim glass chilling your fingertips.

A tiny, imperceptible sigh slips past your lips as you look out at the wall of windows, city skyline twinkling in the distance. Glancing through the crowd, you try to find a familiar face of one of your girlfriends, when you feel someone’s fingers on your back, ghosting over the ink at the base of your spine. Over your shoulder, a warm, though somewhat world-weary voice makes your body tingle. “Hey gorgeous, I was wondering if I’d see you here tonight.”

You know he’s grinning before you even turn your head; a sly smile spreads across your painted lips when you see you were right, and you lean in to press your cheek to Logan’s in greeting. His beard tickles your face, and the movement is small, but you feel him pull you closer to him, pressing his fingertips into your smooth skin. “You know me,” you reply, gently squeezing his bicep for balance, noses nearly touching as you both move to kiss the other cheek. “Any excuse to squander part of my father’s fortune on a party dress.”

His cheek twitches up as he grins wider, and once more, the grit in his voice makes you want to find a dark corner and do unspeakable things with him. “Only you could make a napkin’s worth of fabric look like couture,” he teases, stepping back to admire your outfit. “I own pocket squares larger than what you’ve got on!” His gaze lowers appreciatively, taking you in, before settling at your feet. You shift your weight from one hip to the other; tilting your head back to take a sip of champagne, you’re surprised to see his dark eyes on you as you swallow and lower the glass. There’s a hint of something there, the way the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Been here long? Why don’t we find somewhere quiet to catch up? You can let your hair down, along with… anything else, to get comfortable.” Were it not for the playful expression in his eyes, his proposition would warrant throwing the remainder of your drink directly into his exquisite face.

But you know Logan. You’ve known him too long for the invitation to be anything but amicable, much to your dismay. You’re well aware of the caliber of women he’s taken to the bedroom, and while you consider yourself attractive enough for the circles you keep, there’s no way he would ever see you as more than just a family friend. Knowing that doesn’t keep you from stroking his ego and taunting him at every opportunity, though. “My hair’s already down,” you tease, grinning as you roll your eyes at him.

“You know what I mean,” he replies, brushing your tresses over one shoulder. His thumb lingers on the strip of silk there, slipping between the material to rest on your skin, before pulling away. “We’ve known each other for years now, you’d think there would’ve been one night of indecency.” Before you’re able to respond, he glances up, noticing one of the other guests. “To be continued,” he says, raising his brows to you. He’s already begun to walk away.

“As always,” you reply, raising your glass to him.

-

You catch his eye more than a few times as you both make the rounds, catching up with friends and being introduced to new acquaintances vying for a way into social circles and business ventures. He winks at you before throwing back a drink, appearing as if he’d take a bite out of the glass to get every last drop of liquid from it. You nod as you pass by him while he converses with another guest, your arm linked with a friend’s as you walk off to powder your noses. You even catch him looking at you from across the room like he wants to ask you something, but the moment disappears when he pulls his phone from his pocket to take a call.

The evening goes on much longer than you anticipated. Even with windows of interesting conversation to pass the time, you begin to grow weary of the company, drowning out a discussion around you while you stake a claim on one of the pristine white couches. Your legs are crossed in front of you, one foot dangling in the air, while the one closer to the floor looks like it’s about to snap away from the rest of your leg. You’re balancing the weight on a sliver of one side of the heels, and you gaze out at the outdoor pool, wishing you could sit by the edge and dip your feet in the cool, chlorinated water.

Scanning through the guests once more, you notice Logan at the bar. He’s in the middle of a conversation with two gentlemen, but he catches your eye, glancing over long enough to notice your legs again. He flicks his eyes upwards to the rooms, tilting his head at an angle in silent question. You scoff and shake your head, blinking slowly to dismiss his invitation, and give up your position on the couch to go to look for the bathroom. He simply smiles as you cross the room, before returning to the conversation at the bar.

-

You’re outside on one of the balconies, forearms resting on the brushed steel railing as you lean against metal and glass, absentmindedly staring out at the city. The cool night air feels refreshing against your skin, now warm and flushed from too much champagne and not enough food; there’s never enough food at these things, and you would sell your soul for a plate of loaded nachos or even a tiny slider. Behind you, there’s a click and a hiss from the plate glass door opening. Jovial music and conversation from inside filters through the temporary break, and you sigh to yourself in preparation of putting on your party face to make idle conversation.

“That is one hell of a view.” An all too familiar voice fills the air after the door hisses shut. Logan.

You respond without turning around to acknowledge him. “Your family sure knows how to pick a party venue, I’ll give you that.”

“We do, but that’s not the view I was talking about.”

Body warming at his suggestive tone, you turn around to see Logan’s eyes fixed on your backside, unashamed of his blatant ogling. There’s a glass tumbler in his hand, with barely a sip’s worth of what looks like whiskey in it. “There you go again, getting a girl’s hopes up,” you tease, fidgeting with your hair.

“You know you’re fucking gorgeous, especially in that dress tonight.” His voice travels as he walks over to a darker part of the balcony, swirling the remnants of his drink.

Emboldened by the alcohol still coursing through your system, you play along, walking slowly towards him. “Let me guess, next you’re going to tell me it would look even better in a pile next to your bed.” You roll your eyes at him, but your heart begins to race at the idea.

He grins warmly at you, a tendril of hair knocking loose when he tilts his head and shrugs. You want to reach forward and smooth it back in place, and run your fingers against the side of his scalp. His hair’s longer than it was before; he’s been away at the park for a longer visit this time around. His unnervingly dark eyes are practically black in the shadows, eyeing you like prey. Extending a hand towards you, he reaches for the strap on your shoulder again as if to adjust it, but instead he lifts it and lets it fall off the slope of your skin, staring at the unblemished swath of flesh before him. You feel the material fall until it rests in the crook of your elbow, thankful to be holding up a glass to keep the silk from falling away any further off your body. “A dress like this? I’d have the decency to hang it up first.” He tugs at the fabric again, pulling it up over your shoulder to return your modesty.

“Keep saying shit like that, and one of these days I might believe you.”

“Should I keep talking then?” He chuckles.

You exhale, shaking your head with disbelief. He takes another step away from where you can be seen, and you follow him. “I’m not drunk enough to take you seriously,” you scoff, looking just beyond his gaze.

Logan reaches forward again, fingers landing on the base of your glass, and he pushes it up towards your mouth. “Then by all means, take another sip,” he grins.

“Bullshit,” you utter through a nervous smile, though you don’t stop yourself from tipping the edge of the flute to your lips and tilting your head up, downing half the contents in one gulp.

“Fuck it,” he whispers.

You swallow, and effervescent bubbles tickle the length of your throat so much that it takes you a second to register feeling Logan’s lips at the juncture of your jawline and earlobe. The way his beard brushes against you as you pull the glass away from your lips makes you lose your grip, and the flute falls to the ground, shattering near your feet. You gasp with surprise, unsure if it’s from the shock of dropping the glass or from the fact that Logan fucking Delos just kissed you.

In one swift movement, Logan wraps his unencumbered hand around your waist to pivot you away from the broken glass. His drink-laden hand blindly stretches out to set the glass on the thin metal railing, and he kisses you properly this time, impossibly soft lips on your open mouth and both of his hands are on your waist. He tastes sweet, smokey and woody from the whiskey, setting your lips on fire as he kisses you. Your hands fly up to his shoulders, gripping at his suit jacket as he leads you both towards an exterior wall. The shock of the cool wall against your exposed back makes you gasp again, and you push Logan away. “What’re you doing?” Your head is swimming, blood pulsing from the alcohol and the rush of emotions as you search Logan’s eyes for an answer.

“Might be ending our friendship,” he laughs wryly. His eyes land on your lips, before looking up to meet your gaze. “Want me to stop?”

The look in his eyes is intense; two black pools stare into you, daring you to continue. You tug the lapels of his jacket, pulling him close as your pelvis tilts forward to meet his. “Finish what you start,” you whisper, Cheshire-grin giving away your desire. He kisses you again, grabbing hold of the back of your thighs as he lifts you. You spread your legs, wrapping them around his waist as he presses you up against the wall, the pair of you kissing each other like it’s your last night on earth. There’s an urgency in your actions; if there’s a moment of hesitation from either of you, the spell will break, so you ignore the burning in your lungs to kiss him again. When you feel how hard he is pressed up against you, you tilt your head back and let your eyes flutter closed. He takes it as an opportunity to swirl his tongue against your neck, and you think about feeling his tongue elsewhere on your body.

Your back presses against the wall even more, causing you to wrap your legs around his waist tighter, pinning you in place. As you utter curses of pleasure into the night air, your feet feel relief for the first time all night, weightless as you destroy any propriety that existed with Logan Delos.

-

You can feel the sun against your eyelids, and the soft sounds of someone typing away at a keyboard. Between the dull ache at the base of your skull and your throbbing temples, you smack your lips together a few times, grimacing at the dryness in your mouth. You turn your face into what you think is a pillow, but determine to be a fleece blanket due to its soft yet formless design. There’s a faint aroma of coffee in the air, and you hope your roommate left some in the carafe. “Dear god, don’t let me drink that much ever again,” you groan, voice strained and scratchy from dehydration. “I made a complete ass of myself in front of Logan.” A minute passes without your roommate’s usual prodding; all you hear is typing now and then. “How’d we get home?”

You’re met with more silence, but your level of irritation is nothing compared to the hangover headache growing with each passing minute of consciousness. You’re about to ask for Tylenol, when you hear the click and hiss of a glass door opening, followed by the sound of someone splashing in a pool. The apartment you share with your roommate has no access to a pool, let alone a back door made of glass. Opening your eyes feels like peeling apart pieces of tape, but with effort you blink slowly and allow your eyes to focus, trying to ignore the glare from the midday sun. You realize the fleece blanket you were resting on was your arm, nestled in the sleeve of a plush bathrobe. It was the kind of robe often seen hanging in the bathroom of high-end hotels.

“That was a side of you I haven’t seen before. Good morning, sunshine.” The voice is distinctively, impossibly Logan’s, with a new note of lightness to it that wasn’t present during last night’s party. “Care to see something interesting?”

You push yourself off the sofa slowly, adjusting the robe on you - apparently you fell asleep wearing it, and you have no idea where your dress or shoes are - and sit up. Logan’s dressed casually in black, seated at a desk a few feet away, with multiple monitors in front of him. One looks to be running code or tracking stock market activity, but he disconnects the laptop in the middle of the desk and carries it over to the couch, taking a seat next to you. There’s a video clip paused on the screen, and he waits to make sure you’re alert enough to watch, before letting it play.

The video shows a clip from the hotel’s CCTV cameras, pointed at the infinity pool. The only lights are coming from the pool walls, and the timestamp reflects it was the middle of the night, long after the party would’ve ended. There’s a naked male figure treading water matching Logan’s build, and then an undressed woman appears from the bottom edge of the frame, preparing to jump into the pool with him. You gasp, covering your mouth with one hand, making out a tattoo on her lower back - your tattoo - before cannonballing into the pool and making out with Logan just before dipping under the water’s surface.

Logan pauses the video, beaming an annoyingly adorable smug expression across his face as he resists the urge to tease you right away. Instead, he leans over, pecks your cheek, and eyes the glimpse of cleavage availed to him between the folds of your robe. “Lady’s choice - I could fuck your hangover away, or there’s coffee in the kitchen. What’ll it be?”

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Play with me [Billy Russo x Reader] - Requested [15+]

Title: Play with me Pairing: Billy Russo x Female!Reader Word count: 3.3k Published: 13 June 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Notes: There's no smut in it, but it is quite suggestive so I think it deserves the 15+ rating. Warnings: Suggestive phrases, mention of alcohol and drinking Summary: Once again you find yourself dragged to a fancy event as part of your work by none other than Billy himself. Your boss seems to be enjoying your discomfort, finding entertainment in your grimaces and sulking comebacks. That is until you decide to turn his little game against him. Request: [x] Prompts requested by @sunrisefairy for my celebration event.

Billy Russo x Reader Fluff #19 - “It’s not a double date. We’re just third and fourth wheeling.” Spicy #20 - “Are you flirting with me?” Spicy #39 - “I’m a little drunk and a little horny.”

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You've never been big on attending all those fancy events your company has been hired to work at, but Billy always said it was a good way to build connections. Not once have you found yourself in a pretty little ballgown, following your boss around with a stone-cold expression, silently trying to suffocate him with your murderous gaze. You were hired to be a security agent not a peacock, but Billy didn't seem to mind the invisible daggers your eyes shot at him, if anything, by the smug grin across his face, he appeared to be enjoying the situation.

Just like many times before, this event was organised by one of his clients as well and he had been invited, along with a plus one to your utter disappointment. Though it sounded like you were supposed to be guests, in the end the man made it clear that he wanted Billy to have his back and his people to be blended in the crowd. Therefore, most of the night, you and Billy have been following around the old man, some no name politician you couldn't even recognise with his wife on his arm, smiling like a wild beast.

"You know, if you think about it, this could be our first date," Billy smirked as his eyes scanned the room. "It's like a grand double date," he smirked, earning an annoyed huff from you.

"It's not a double date, I wouldn't even go out with you if you were the last person on this planet," you groaned. "We are just— third and fourth wheeling for the sole purpose of their security," you nodded towards the couple in front of you.

"If denial makes your sensitive little heart feel better about your attraction towards me, who am I to object," he chuckled. "Though I have to admit, that silk dress on you makes it very hard for me to focus," he scanned your body, his gaze studying every single inch as though he could see through the thin material. His eyes dwelled longer on the high cut design that ran up to the top of your thigh, exposing your bare legs. His intent gaze burned your skin, your ears feeling as though they were on fire before realisation hit you.

"Hold on a minute, are you flirting with me?" You asked incredulously.

"As smart as you are, I'm surprised it took you this long to realise," he replied with his smug grin growing wider.

"Wipe it off," you scoffed at him as he grabbed your arm, rougher than you expected and linked it with his, patting the back of your hand. You walked around the ballroom with him on your side as he shook hands with all kinds of men, each seemingly interested in every breath Billy took, almost as though he was more important than the old man in front of you.

"Why? If it wasn't for your distaste in all these events, you'd be drooling over me by now," he chuckled playfully, offering you a subtle wink, before he turned back to the sea of people with his head held high, his body straightening in an authoritative manner.

"You are delusional," you hissed, teeth gritting in frustration.

"Right, I guess you just love staring at me then. Though I'm not surprised, I'm certainly good to look at," he huffed.

"No and No," you scoffed with a grimace. "And remove that shit-eating grin from your face already," you retorted as Billy clicked his tongue.

"Pretty lips, but such a dirty mouth," he let out a low, throaty laugh as he leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear, his warm breath sending a shiver through your body. "You know, I have a couple of ideas what you could use that mouth for," he replied in a suggestive tone, arching a single brow as he pulled back.

"Oh, do you now?" You offered him a playful smile as your eyes looked him up and down before your gaze met his again. "Unfortunately for you, I'm not interested," you shook your head, trying to act as though his offer didn't affect you, as though his body so close to you didn't force your heart into a dangerous pace. Though mostly you found it easy to ignore his teasing, you had to admit a part of you was indeed inclined to know more about where his mind was wandering off to.

"Ouch," he placed a hand in front of his chest, acting as if he was indeed in pain before he rearranged himself. "Your loss, I guess," he shrugged nonchalantly, earning an annoyed eye roll from you.

As the night went on, you tried to ignore the music in the background and focus on your work. Your eyes scanned the gigantic room as you shimmied through the sea of people dancing in pairs whilst Billy followed right behind you, clearing his throat. Looking back over your shoulder, you realised his eyes weren't on the people surrounding you or establishing eye contact with the rest of the team. His gaze fell lower, lower than you expected.

"Do you like the view?" You asked, arching a brow as he finally stopped staring at your backside and lifted his gaze, running his tongue across his bottom lip.

"What can I say that dress seems to enhance your beauty in all the right places," he smirked, earning a scoff from you. "Hey, can't I compliment you?" He raised his hands innocently, but you didn't fall for it, his proud grin spread wider as he ran his eyes all over you again.

"Pig," you spat as you finally reached the end of the crowd and stole a glass of champagne from a tray one of the servers walked around with.

"You are not supposed to be drinking," he gave you a cold look.

"I can't handle you sober," you chugged the content of the glass in a swift movement, earning a loud huff from him.

"That's not very professional," he replied as he stepped closer and placed a hand on your waist, tugging you closer in his side.

"Well, screw professionalism," you huffed as you felt the alcohol hit you. It was already warm inside, but with the alcohol, you felt your cheeks flush. Your eyes wandered to your side, where his big palm cupped your side, his touch radiating further warmth into your already heated body. "Is it just me—," you asked as you met his gaze, "or your hand seems to wander way too carelessly on my body tonight," you squinted suspiciously.

"I'm just making sure you are safe," he shrugged nonchalantly.

"I'm not the client, you know that, right?" you huffed as you grabbed his hand, took it off your waist and walked towards another room, searching for the old man, before you heard a voice in your earpiece, letting you know about his whereabouts. Heading to his position, you felt Billy's presence right behind you again. You halted your steps and turned around, folding your arms in front of your chest.

"You were not supposed to be drinking," he repeated himself with a stern expression across his face, one that told you this time he wasn't playing around, he was indeed unhappy with you. But instead of apologising or acknowledging his presence for that matter, you simply ignored him and looked around the room. "Do you even realise that I'm your boss?" He frowned, looking at you with a questioning gaze. "I feel like I have been way too lenient with you," he groaned as you stared him down. You caught sight of a waiter heading your way, so you quickly snatched another glass from his tray and gulped down the champagne.

"So? What are you going to do about it?" You asked in a mocking tone, smirking at the man as he chewed on his bottom lip. The words escaped your vocal cords before you could even protest. In normal circumstances you would have never dared to say them out loud, but the alcohol in your system, the two glasses of champagne seemed to do the trick. As you weren't big on drinking and barely had any alcohol, it hit you harder than someone who was used to its strength.

"I could fire you in this instance," he hissed, his tone low and warning. You took a step towards him, barely leaving a couple of inches between you as you looked up at him.

"Then why don't you?" You asked, arching a brow, waiting for a reply. "Come on, why don't you, huh?" You taunted him. "What did you expect? That I'm going to beg you to let me keep my job? Humour me, Russo," you huffed, this time wearing the same shit-eating grin he wore before.

"You are playing with fire," he spoke through gritted teeth as he sneaked an arm around your waist and pulled you flush against his chest, forcing you to lift your head higher to be able to look up at him. "I don't appreciate that tone," he continued in a low, dark voice, one that made your knees buckle, the air stuck in your lungs. "If you want to get my attention, then you can stop, you have had it for a while," he growled as he brushed his lips against your earlobe, his breath fanning the sensitive skin behind your ear. "But if it's for the sole purpose of pissing me off, I advise you to cut the bullshit, because I don't like your stupid little game," he squeezed your side as he pulled back, his jaw clenched.

To be fair, you weren't sure why you were taunting him, but there was something about him when he was frustrated, when you knew he was just a push away from snapping. You never dared to cross that line, nor did you want to do it now, but that borderline dangerous look in his eyes made you feel weak, his strong arm around you rough and warning, still you couldn't stop yourself from poking the sleeping lion. "So, you can play with me, but I can't do the same? Don't you think that's hypocritical?" You scoffed, folding your arms in front of your chest, creating even more space between you. There was a moment of silence as Billy studied your face, trying to decide if you were serious or you had gone completely mental.

"You are drunk, you are not making any sense," he scoffed as he got hold of your arm and started dragging you towards a closed door. As he opened it, you found yourself in some sort of a lounge with a sofa on the opposite wall of the room, an armchair on each side and a small coffee table right in front of it. The dim light and empty room created a rather welcoming feeling after the loud ballroom. "Sit down and take a minute for yourself, I will be back in a second. Hopefully by then you will make more sense," he threw the words at you as he left and closed the door behind himself.

You didn't attempt to take a seat and lounge around, you didn't want to sit down and do nothing, though the slight dizziness you felt urged you to do so. For a second you debated if you should listen to your instincts and indeed rest your tired limbs, but you shook yourself out of the thought and instead wandered around the room, looking at the paintings on the wall. Each art was of the same man— the one you were supposed to be protecting— wearing the finest of clothing you have ever seen. Rich folks, you scoffed at the thought, but before you could have dwelled on them any longer, the door opened. Without looking over your shoulder, Billy's cologne filled your nostrils. "Did you come back to police me?" You said without turning to look at him.

"It seems I didn't give you enough time to clear your head," he mused.

"My head is completely clear," you shot back at him, stumbling a bit as you felt slightly lightheaded. He stood in front of the closed door, hands tucked in the pockets of his trousers as he casually leaned against the wooden panels.

"I can see that," he scoffed, this time with a tiny smile in the corner of his mouth, running his eyes up and down on your body, his gaze darkening.

"I'm not drunk," you pointed at his chest as you walked up to him in haste, halting your steps right in front of him, leaving a barely visible gap between the two of you, feeling the heat radiate from his body.

"And I believe that," he replied in a mocking tone. "Though it leaves me with a question. It seemed you had some difficulty standing on your own two feet just a minute ago. What was that about that then?" His smug grin grew wider, knowing he was right. Indeed, there were some side effects to the alcohol you have consumed.

"Fine," you replied, jaw clenched in anger, teeth gritting as you held yourself back. "I'm— I might be— a little drunk," you cleared your throat as though admitting it caused you physical pain.

"Okay, now we are getting somewhere," he said as he lifted his hand and brushed his fingertips along the curve of your shoulder, slowly following the path down to your wrist. "So, why did you drink then?" He asked, with a slight amount of curiosity.

"You pissed me off," you shrugged nonchalantly, earning a chuckle from Billy as he kept repeating his movements, running his fingers along your arm, causing goosebumps to appear on your skin, which he did not miss.

"That's not very professional, is it?" He asked, teasing you as his strokes moved from your shoulder to your collarbone, forcing your breath to turn shallow. He lifted his eyes, meeting your lustful gaze, only to caress his ego further. "If I didn't know you better, I'd say you are not only drunk, but that smart little head of yours might just be filled with some very— very dirty thoughts," he chuckled as you swallowed nervously, his palm cupping your face, running his thumb along your lip.

He wasn't wrong though. There were thoughts that you wished never to voice, thoughts that had him standing in front of you naked, completely exposed, your hands running across his toned chest, his mouth nipping at the soft skin of your neck. You licked across your lips as the thought became even more vivid, his grumbling tone forcing you to draw your thighs together, needing some sort of a friction. He arched a brow at the movement, a cocky grin spreading across his face. "It seems I'm right once again and you are not even trying to deny it," he breathed as he planted his other hand on your waist and drew you closer. "Tell me, where is that pretty head of yours wondering to?" He let out a low chuckle, but you didn't answer, you didn't dare to say it. "Let me guess," he leaned down to your ear, tickling your neck with his beard, causing a knot to appear in the pit of your stomach, your breathing turning ragged, "are you horny?" He let out a low chuckle as he bit your neck, earning a silent squeaking sound from you, his actions 'almost' sobering you up. 'Almost', because within seconds you find yourself leaning into his touch.

"I—," you tried to reply, but your throat seemed too dry, your heart was beating so heavily, you could hear the drumming of your own pulse in your ears. "I maybe— just maybe a little horny," you breathed as he ran his lips along the curve of your neck, forcing your eyes to flutter shut. Before you realised your own actions, you cupped his cheeks and pulled him away from your neck, pressing your lips to his, stunning him for a mere moment, before he returned your advances. The kiss was hungry, teeth tugging at lips, tongues fighting for dominance, but that was what you needed. You pressed your body against his, closing any remaining gap between the two of you, earning a low growl from Billy. He grabbed your hips, holding onto you as though he was trying to ground himself, keeping himself sober in the haste of that heated kiss.

"I think we should stop," he breathed as he finally found his strength to leave your lips. A deep frown spread across your brow as you studied him.

"Why?" You asked in confusion, knowing— feeling his body's reaction to you.

"Think whatever you want of me, I can be a lot of things, but I like to think that touching someone without their consent is wrong. I believe we have already done more than we were supposed to," he cleared his throat as he tried to push you back gently, but rather firmly and you obliged.

"I'm giving you consent, Russo," you replied in disbelief.

"You are drunk, so I'm not sure you are," he shook his head. A loud huff left your lungs as you walked up to the sofa and sat down, placing one leg over the other, crossing them as you sunk deeper into the cushions.

"Okay," you scoffed. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I said I was a little drunk. You see little is the key word here," you tilted your head, hoping he would understand where you were going with this. "As you can see, I'm capable of talking, walking, thinking and I'm certainly not crawling on the floor, am I?" You arched a brow, watching his expression turn contemplating. "I will make this easy for you, Russo," you continued, your tone inviting. You lifted your leg from the other and spread them just enough, so the opening of your dress fell between your legs, the high cut design revealing your bare thighs. Seemingly it was enough of an encouragement for Billy to tense up and swallow visibly. "So, what's it going to be?" You asked as a mischievous smile grew wider across your face just as you slowly started closing your legs. Before he could even stop himself, he pounced on you, kneeling between your legs, stopping you from closing the gap as he pressed his lips against yours, ready to take you up on your offer.

His mouth attached to yours hungrily, grabbing your thighs as he pushed you further into the sofa. You busied yourself with his clothes and started untying his tie and unbuttoning his shirt, impatiently trying to pull the material out of his trousers. You threw his tie on the floor, soon followed by his shirt, before you pushed him down beside you and crawled into his lap, earning a groan from him. "You little beast," he grinned at you as he grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you down to meet him halfway in a heated kiss, his hands grabbing your ass, pulling you further down onto his lap, his kisses trailing down to your neck, leaving you panting, whispering his name in your half-clear state of mind.

"Just so you know, I still hate you," you breathed against the crook of his neck as you returned the satisfying attention he was giving you, nipping on the sensitive skin, earning you a throaty groan from him.

"Yeah, I can feel it," he chuckled as he bucked his hips, causing a gasp to erupt from your lungs. "Let's discuss that after you stop screaming my name in pleasure," he replied through gritted teeth as grabbed your hips and with a swift movement changed your position, throwing you on your back, hovering above you. He studied your dishevelled look with a smug grin across his face, before he pressed his lips to yours again, his hands exploring every part of your body that he didn't have the chance to before, forgetting about everything and anything about the ball on the other side of the safely locked door.

Notes: If you enjoyed reading this little piece, please don’t forget to leave a like, comment and reblog. Your opinion matters and gives us motivation. Thank you ^^

If you enjoy my stories, please consider donating and supporting me on Ko-fi. Of course, it’s completely your choice, I will continue updating for free anyway :) Thank you <3

Taglist is in a reblog from now on.

[theycallmebecca]

18+ Drabble: Ari Levinson, Rock Star

Here it is! The result of the poll that ended last night, where you lovely people chose for Ari Levinson to be a rock star. I thought I knew what was going to happen in this drabble... and then it just took off on its own... for nearly 3,400 words.

This drabble is for my @the-slumberparty bingo card squares Rock Star AU and Airplane Sex. 😏

Title: Ari Levinson, Rock Star

Pairing: rock star!Ari Levinson x female reader

Rating: R

Warnings: semi-graphic sex

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

18+ Disclaimer: This work contains sexual material that is for those over the age of 18. By clicking the keep reading link below, you are agreeing that you are over the age of 18 and are not offended by sexual content.

Usage Disclaimer: This work is for fans only. This author does not give permission for it to be shared, spoken of, referred to in any public manner (podcast, tv, online, etc.) that wants to either make a celebrity uncomfortable, mock fan fiction/fandom in any way, or the author themselves. Requests can be made, but it is unlikely the author will change their mind. If no response is given to a request then the answer is a solid no, not interested and the work cannot be shared, spoken of or even referred to, regardless of the manner or context. 

"So this is how the other half travels," you say as you follow Ari Levinson up the stairs to the private plane.

"Maybe," Ari says with a laugh. "But I only travel this way when I have a wedding to attend in Boston a mere 36 hours or so before I'm supposed to headline a show in LA."

"You're a really good friend," you tell him as you look around the small, but elegant plane. There's a long bench of white leather seats as well as four rows of traditional seats. "Where should I sit?"

"Wherever you'd like," Ari replies. "It'll just be the two of us."

You set your purse down and then turn to look at him. "Wait, what? Where's the rest of your band? Don't you have a full entourage?"

Ari chuckles before saying, "They're already in LA. I can travel by myself, I do so quite often. Just because I'm a rock star doesn't mean I'm a complete idiot."

"Mr. Levinson, we are preparing for takeoff," the lone flight attendant says. "Do you or your guest need anything?"

"No, we're good, but thank you," he responds.

"Very good, we'll close the door and proceed then," the flight attendant tells him. "Ring if you need anything."

Instead of sitting down next to Ari for the cross country flight, you take a seat in the row across from the seat he has chosen.

"You really don't travel like this every concert?" you ask him.

"Definitely not," he says with a laugh. "I'm subjected to a smelly tour bus with the rest of the band and crew."

While his voice is dripping with sarcasm, you can see the glint in his eyes as he speaks. The tour bus might be smelly and full, but you can tell he still loves it.

Until last night, you hadn't seen Ari since the summer before you graduated college when he and his band had played a concert at your university. You had gone and hadn't planned to say anything to Ari, until your roommate had found out that you knew him. She'd convinced you to try and get backstage to say hello, and, you know, for her mingle with the band.

You'd convinced the security guard that you were a friend of Ari's from high school, which almost failed until the band's drummer happened to walk past. You'd called his name, recognizing him from school, and the rest had been history.

At least for your roommate and the drummer. You'd introduced the two of them and they'd been inseparable ever since. Even after he decided to leave Ari's band to take over his dad's business.

It had been their wedding, last night, where you and Ari had reconnected.

The two of you had been catching up when you'd gotten a notification to your phone that your commercial flight to Los Angeles had been canceled. Upon learning that, he'd immediately offered to join him on his private flight and hadn't given you a second to protest before he'd sent a message to his manager that he would have an additional passenger on his flight.

"Thanks again," you say to him, once the plane is in the air. "You really saved me. I would have missed at least the first day of my conference."

"What kind of conference? Is it for work?" he asks, running his hands through his perfect, rock star length hair.

"Yes, for work," you reply, ignoring the first part of his question. It's not that you are embarrassed by your work, because you aren't, but not everyone understands.

"This plane has wifi," he says with a grin. "Don't make me google you."

Even though you know he won't find anything, you give in, because if there is anyone who would discover the truth it would be Ari. Even in school, he'd had the annoying habit of being able to find out things that people didn't want others to know.

"I'm a romance author," you confess. "I'm not speaking at the conference, or anything, but some of my friends are, so I wanted to support them and attend some of the panels."

"You must write under a pen name," Ari says, looking up from his phone. "What is it?"

"Ari, it's romance, I write romance," you state, feeling your face heat up. "You don't need to read it."

"I thought we already discussed the fact that I spend a lot of time on a tour bus. I have a lot of time on my hands and don't tell the guys, but after a while, even video games get boring."

You cave and tell him your pen name. Afterall, it wouldn't take much work for him to get the name from your former roommate anyway.

Ari lets out a whistle as he obviously looks at your bookography.

"My publisher insists that half naked men on the cover sell better than those without," you say defensively.

"They must know my publicist," Ari jokes. "Why else do you think I, a musician, ended up on the front cover of a workout magazine with my shirt off?"

"Do you ever wish you could just do the music thing without the fame part?" you ask, wanting the attention off of you and your books.

"Definitely, but I've been a starving musician and it's a rough life," he replies, putting his phone down. He gestures to the plane. "This is what people picture, but really, it's hours on the bus, often where you fall asleep in one state and wake up in a completely different one. Sometimes, in a completely different time zone. It's far from being the glamorous life of the rich and famous, for sure."

"Do you date?" you ask, impulsively. Then shake your head before adding, "Please don't answer that."

"I don't mind, not with you," he says. "After all, who better to tell than the neighbor who spied on me growing up."

"I did not spy on you!" you exclaim, wishing you had something to throw at him. "You were the one who went skinny dipping in your backyard in the middle of the night and forgot about the security lights. It woke me up and I thought someone was trying to break in. I didn't expect to see you and your -" you gesture to his nether regions.

"My dick?" he offers with a grin. "Based on the covers of your books and one of the reviews I saw, I'm willing to bet you have a lot of terms for it."

"Ari," you say warningly.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he says. "I couldn't resist, but I'll lay off for now. But if you ever decide to write a book about a hot rock star, I'm happy to lend a hand."

You clear your throat, slightly embarrassed.

"You've already written one," Ari says, sitting up straight. He grabs his phone and in pure know-it-all-Ari-fashion, it takes him less than a minute to find the book and read the synopsis.

"Alex Lewis is a famous country music star who is taking over the world and breaking hearts everywhere he goes. Until he returns to the small town he grew up to attend his grandma's funeral. There he is just Alex Lewis, the country boy, who left behind his high school sweetheart, Rachel Andrews, to pursue his dreams."

Ari stops reading and you can feel his eyes on you. The two of you were never actual high school sweethearts or anything close to it, but you had been close growing up with only six feet between your bedroom windows.

"I didn't have a plane this fancy in it," you say, trying to sound casual. "All my research led to what you already confirmed, that it's mostly tour buses and such."

Ari says your name, but you ignore him and continue, "Honestly, it would be a sure fire way to impress someone, though." You choose not to mention the other idea that being on a private plane brings to your mind, but you tuck it away for another day. Afterall, you're still working in the same universe that Alex and Rachel live in and you could write a novella for them.

"Is it?" Ari asks.

His voice is closer than it was and you look up to see him standing in the aisle.

He picks up your purse and sets it on the seat he vacated before he sits down next to you.

"Real talk," he says. "When we went to that party in 9th grade at Bobby's? I wanted nothing more than to kiss you when we were all playing spin the bottle."

You remembered that night. Bobby's parents had gone out and he'd invited a dozen or so people over for a party. The bottle had been spun maybe four times before his parents had shown up unannounced and put an end to the party. Your mom had picked you and Ari up and had lectured you both about peer pressure.

"I wanted to kiss you that night, too," you confess.

"I wrote my first song ever about you. It was a horrible song, but I had to write it. Had to express everything I was too afraid to say to you."

You study Ari's face. He has matured over the years, obviously, but you can still see a hint of the kid you'd grown up with.

"I feel like I'm a character in one of my own books," you whisper to him. "Childhood friends who secretly liked each other and couldn't admit it until years later when they are suddenly thrown together."

"Characters that weren't ready for each other when they were younger," Ari continues, making it obvious that he is familiar with romance novels. "They needed time to figure out who they were without each other so that when the time was right, they knew they'd live happily ever after together."

Silence falls between the two of you as you process everything that's been said during the last few minutes.

Ari's confessions were everything you'd dreamed of as a teenager, but now you and Ari are grown adults who don't know much about each other and he is at the beginning of what is slated to be a two and a half year long world tour. 

"I can work from anywhere," you blurt out.

He raises an eyebrow in confusion, but seems to figure it out quickly enough. "Like in the back of a smelly tour bus? Or backstage at a concert venue?"

You nod your head. You know it's too fast for that, but the fact of the matter is that you can write anywhere.

"Good to know," Ari says. He sets his hand on the armrest between you, palm up, and you put your hand on top of his.

—---------

One Year Later

"I can't believe you got us the same plane," you say to Ari as you sit down.

"I wouldn't be the perfect husband for a romance author if I didn't," Ari states as he takes the seat next to you.

"Husband," you repeat with a silly grin on your face.

"Wife," he replies with a grin of his own.

After dating long distance for a few months, you sublet your apartment and went on tour with him full time. Then, after an awards show in Vegas, the two of you had eloped with just his band members in attendance.

Now, after stopping at home to renew your vows in front of family and friends, you and Ari are heading overseas for the European leg of his tour. The rest of the band and crew are already there, intentionally, and the two of you are, once again, flying privately just the two of you.

"We could have flown with everyone else," you say to him as the plane reaches altitude.

"We could have," he agreed. "But there's something we couldn't do with them on the plane."

You arch your brow but have to wait for him to explain when the door opens and the same flight attendant from the last flight comes in carrying a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

"Thank you," Ari says as she sets them down in a place obviously designed for them to remain secure.

"Ring if you need anything else," the flight attendant says.

"Would you like some champagne?" Ari asks, standing up to pour some.

"Yes, but first tell me what you were going to say," you insist.

"Alex and Rachel's love scene in that Valentine's Day book," he says with a twinkle in his eye, speaking of the book you'd released a few months into your relationship. "I want to recreate it."

"Now? Here?" You gesture to the plane.

"Yes," he says, handing you a champagne flute.

You narrow your eyes and ask, "Ari, is this why you insisted that we have our own, private flight to Paris?"

"Well this and getting to spend an extra night in our own bed," he answers. "I've only slept in that bed maybe 10 times since we got it."

Despite your insistence that you could work from anywhere, Ari had decided he wanted to live near where you guys had grown up. You'd given up your apartment and the two of you had moved into a modest house in a gated community that offered some semblance of security for a rock star and his romance writing wife.

"Alex was more seductive in his approach," you point out. "He at least had the decency to flash his abs to Rachel before he suggested they do it on the plane."

"Alex has nothing on me," Ari scoffs. He hands you his champagne flute and pulls off his t-shirt, tossing it across the aisle.

He reaches for the button on his jeans and you stop him, knowing full well he is commando under them.

"Slow down, turbo," you tease. "We have plenty of time."

"You compared me to a fictional character," he mutters as he sits down.

"A fictional character that I based off of you," you remind him as you study him. "A character that, honestly, fails to live up to the original." Leaning over, you kiss his shoulder. "Let's finish our drinks and then I'll show you why I wore a dress."

Ari pauses with his glass halfway to his lips and then his eyes drop to the skirt of your dress. "I know what your characters usually have under their dresses when you specifically mention them in the lead up to a sex scene," he says and then adjusts the front of his pants.

You smirk into your champagne flute.

A year ago, you weren't sure how Ari would react to the sex scenes in your books, not to mention the way your mind often worked through sex scenes as you were writing them. But he'd quickly become an asset when it came to writing them, especially when it came to trying certain positions to see if they were possible.

Champagne finished, and the glasses safely returned to a special holder, you lift the arm rest between the seats and pull Ari's hand over to your lap, encouraging him to discover what you both already knew: you'd slipped your panties off before the flight had taxied to the runway.

"Fuck," he groans as his fingers find the heated, bare flesh of your womanhood.

He makes to get down between the seats to see you and taste you there, but there isn't enough space between the seats.

"Fuck this," he says before picking you up and carrying you the short distance to the bench.

Your laughter fades away as he hikes the skirt of your dress up and begins to play. He teases the soft skin of your inner thigh and has you squirming and begging for his touch in no time.

"Please, Ari, please," you beg him as his fingers brush your sensitive numb again, sending shocks of desire through your body.

"I love it when you say my name all breathy like that." He smirks and then wraps his arms around your hips and pulls you forward so you're practically on the edge of the bench.

You moan as his fingers finally touch you there and your hips rock forward of their own accord. Years of playing guitar have left the skin of his fingers rough, but also amazingly strong from tip to base.

When you think you're about to come, he slithers a tongue through your slickness and takes you all the way to your breaking point. He softens his touch as you ride through your climax, but he doesn't let go of you completely.

"Fuck, I love your mouth," you mutter as you stare down at him. "Make love to me?"

"Forever," he responds. Standing up, he toes off his shoes and then drops his jeans to the ground. Then he looks at you and smiles when he finds your dress gone. "Couldn't wait?"

"For this?" you ask, reaching your hand out to caress his dick. "Never." The object in question seemingly grows harder in your hand.

"He's excited," Ari says with a shrug. "Can't say I blame him." He lets his eyes linger over your naked body. "I'm excited, too."

Letting go of him, you keep your eyes locked with his as you turn and lay down on the bench. He follows, positioning himself at your opening.

"Ari," you whine as he teases you by sliding in a little then pulling out.

"Babe," he mimics before he leans down and kisses you.

You gasp against his mouth as he finally slides all the way into you.

"They can't hear us," he whispers. "Be as loud as you want."

With his encouragement, you lose yourself in the moment as his body rocks against your own. You wrap your leg that isn't pinned to the side of the bench around his waist, groaning against his lips as you take him deeper.

It isn't until later, after you've both come and you're curled up in a blanket on the floor, that you find out just how much you lost yourself when you see the nail marks in Ari's skin.

"I'm so sorry," you say with a laugh.

"Guess it's a good thing I always wear a t-shirt on stage," he replies, leaning down to kiss you. "Besides, it's not like it's a secret or anything. I'm a married man." He holds up his left hand. "I wear this all the time, including on stage."

Grabbing his hand, you bring it to your lips and kiss his ring finger. You place his hand on your breast and close your eyes to rest.

"As happy as I am right now, I gotta admit, I wish you'd have realized how good I looked naked when we were 18," he says.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Rest forgotten, you raise yourself onto an elbow and study him.

"I did it on purpose," he states. "I could have turned the security lights off, but I didn't. I wanted you to see me."

"Ari!" you exclaim, playfully swatting at his chest.

"I was desperate and maybe a little drunk," he admits. "But I guess it all worked out in the end."

"After you told all your friends that I spied on you from my bedroom window," you mutter.

"Ok, that was one of my weaker moments," he says with a laugh. "But I really thought you'd see me naked and want to be with me."

"How drunk were you?" you ask, cautiously.

"Drunk enough that I was going to declare my love for you that night until you stuck your head out your window and told me to put some clothes on and go to bed because some people had to work in the morning," he replies, perfectly mimicking your voice.

"Oh Ari," you sigh though it quickly dissolves into a giggle. "Leave the romance writing to me."

"You are not allowed to use that in a book," he says quickly and firmly.

"I'm sure I can convince you," you say, letting your hand glide down his torso under the blanket. "One way, or another."

By the time the plane touches down in Paris, France, you've convinced him multiple times over.

[huenjin]

hold me down.

pairing – kim seungmin x reader | secretary!au

word count – 1634 words

ratings – 18+

genre – smut, includes grinding, creampie, slight overstimulation and dumbification (because i love it?), daddy kink, impregnation kink, size kink, bulge kink, office sex

"What are you doing, Y/N?" Seungmin's fingers tighten on the fake gold plated pen in his grip. "We're still in office."

"Yeah and," You push Seungmin back. The pen drops from his hand, falling onto the glass table and making a loud sound. His head falls against the soft rexine covered sofa in your office room. Your secretary, also your doting husband, groans as you climb on top of him, your leg swinging by the side as you sit on him, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your pencil skirt rides up and Seungmin's eyes trail your legs. "I run the company and it's already late so–" You drag your index finger over his shirt covered broad chest.

"Baby," Seungmin stresses. He tilts his face to look up at the surveillance cameras in the room. "Cameras and I have to finish going through these paper by today so that my boss," he raises an eyebrow at you, "–doesn't think I'm slacking just because I'm married to her."

"Well, your boss thinks you'd be doing your work even better if you just really listened to what she needed right now."

With a flick of your fingers hooking under his shirt, you tug open his shirt, a single button popping off the material as a result and Seungmin smiles. You press your lips against his chest, and mumble, "So please, Daddy. Do me, else I'll cut your pay."

"What a bad employer," he clicks his tongue. How was Seungmin expected to work in such a situation when his beautiful wife is on top of him, asking of him to have you in your very office. Something about it seemed so scandalous to him that it excites him way more than it should normally have.

"Don't care." You grind on his growing cock, your arms tightening over his neck. Seungmin holds your hips down onto him, helping you rub against him. You moan, voice airy as you inform him, "I got off once in the washroom at the sight of you rolling your sleeves and carrying those boxes into my office."

"You did what now, beautiful?" Seungmin stills your body, holding you fixed on his bulged length that stands through his pants. His eyes darkens and he feels you whimper in his hold. Seungmin has always found this reversal of roles enticing. The fact that you are this powerful CEO of one of the largest cosmetic companies in the country and that you are this dominating woman on the streets, conquering the market one by one and yet here you are – small in his hold and all his to have.

It is how he seems to cover your entire being. You pride yourself in being an average height for a woman but with Seungmin by your side, you seemingly become small by his side. Seungmin has to look down to talk to you, to keep a conversation.

"I couldn't help, daddy," you gasp, trying to move against him in hopes but your husband's large hands hold on to you, strongly. Seungmin's hand trails up your inner leg, fingers hasty to push your panties to the side. His fingers graze your wet lips, dragging residues or your last orgasm and your present arousal all over.

You're so small that it's fucking hot to Seungmin.

He can't help but fantasise about you. All these years, a ring to seal the deal and still he can't stop lusting after his wife. Of how short you are compared to him. Of how Seungmin can easily tower over you, as you look up at him with those innocent doe eyes of yours in the bed definitely turns him on. Of how a person of your size can command an entire room at the very same time. Of how he can hold onto your whole breast with those large hands of his as you moan and mewl on top of him as you are bouncing on his cock, begging for more. All while he uses you for a cocksleeve as he hoists you up and down just by using his bare hands to lift you.

Seungmin wants to do the same right now – to fuck your tiny being and to breed you.

"Baby, you're slopping wet." Your hand grips on the open ends of his shirt, trying to chase after his fingers. Seungmin kisses the side of your lips. "Should I just fuck you raw and stupid? Teach my baby girl to let her daddy work in peace?"

"Please do, daddy. Please. Fuck me stupid. Fuck me dumb."

Your fingers hastily move down to unbuckle his pants. You stand up slightly for Seungmin to pull himself up for you to pull his pants down, along with his boxers; his cock springs out, hot and angry, vein throbbing on the underside. You hold it in your hand, pumping it slowly. Positioning it, you lift your hips to angle it as Seungmin pushes your panties to the side and slowly, you drop your body to allow his cock to push into you.

"Fuck, daddy, you're so big," you groan, barely being able to let words out with the feeling of being stretched out by his cock. Seungmin doesn't let you adjust today. His large hands hold your acetabulum as he pulls you up only to bring you down, his hips thrusting into you. He plunges into you and you gush all over his cock, coating almost all of his length with your arousal. Seungmin is barely in but he is already hitting your spot, hot tip brushing against it vicariously that your hand moves up to hold your breast, softly hitting it over your clothing.

Seungmin thrusts into you again and his hand moves glides against your skin to press against your belly. He laughs, huskily and airy as he watches you squeeze his length. "Feel that, baby? Do you like feeling so fucking full and stretched out around my cock stuffed into you? What a pretty slut to call mine."

Seungmin's hands moved upwards to grab your clothes breasts, kneading it in his grip as he lets go of your hips. You bounce on his cock and Seungmin stares in fascination at how your breasts do the same, even in captive, both by your bra and his hands.

Your arms wrap around his neck once again as your walls squeeze around his cock, bouncing at a rapid pace to meet your end. Moans and loud unperiodic screams leave your lips as his cock stretches you out. You whimper in his hold, already sensitive from your last self-inflicted orgasm.

Seungmin holds your hips again as soon as he knows you're close. Kissing your neck and biting into the skin to make you his, not that the platinum ring on your fingers were a sign enough of branding, Seungmin whispers by your ear, "Going to fuck and cum in you. Going to breed you and have you stuffed with my cum like the little slut you are. Daddy is going to have you so full of my cum that you're bound to get pregnant. I'll do that, baby. You're going to keep it all inside of you."

"What it it slips out?" You gasp out, getting turned on by the thought of having Seungmin's kids.

"Going to fuck it into you over and over again," Seungmin grunts.

He thrusts into you rapidly, hips hitting into you over and over again, squeezing him as you edge closer and closer. "I'm going to cum, oh my god. Daddy, I'm going to cum." His fingers brushes against your clit and you know at that minute that you have come undone.

"No," he says, firmly, as he fucks into you ruthlessly. "Hold it. You're cumming with me."

"I can't, let meㅡ" You cry but Seungmin squeezes your harder harder, warning you. "Daddy! Fuck, please!" Seungmin's cock is repeatedly hitting your spot, your vision blurry in pleasure and you feel like you are going to explode.

"I'm close too." Seunhmin finally says and he thirst upwards faster, sounds resonating in the office room of yours and you don't care if people were to walk in and watch their boss fuck her husband in her office. Fuck, you think that would be hot, in fact.

"Fuck!" He exclaims. "Going to fucking cum inside you. Going to stuff you with my cum till your tiny little belly bulges with all that cum." Seungmin kisses you. It's messy, teeth clashing and desperate for some intimate contact as you soon tug at his lower lip with your teeth before letting go of it.

You scream your husband's name out loud – pretty sure for voices to have reached the corridor. Your orgasm coats his dick that still thrusts into you, staining his pants and your dress.

"Oh, god," you breathe in for air heavily. "Fuck," you whimper, body shaking almost violently, the muscles of your stomach contracting. Seungmin does not stop as he continues to ravage your pussy.

"Stop." You gasp, holding onto his shoulder, nails digging into it. Seungmin doesn't listen and continues to fuck you through your orgasm. "Stop, please! Ah! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Fuck, fuck!" One thrust at an angle and Seungmin releases into you, a small orgasm ripping out from your body simultaneously at the minor overstimulation that takes over your body completely.

You weakly pull yourself up from his cock, pussy clenching at nothing once he is completely out, releasing the mixture of both yours and his orgasm. It slides down your thigh and Seungmin's eyes stares at it before he holds your hips.

In one fluid motion, he pins you down on the sofa, your head against a cushion. Kissing you, he mumbles, "Told you to keep it in. Have to fuck it all back in now."

[mandoalorian]

Hi, I was the anon who asked if you could write something because I felt crappy. I didn't mean to put any pressure on you. I was just looking for something short and sweet. I'm having existential anxieties a lot (pandemic hasn't helped) and struggle feeling as if I have a purpose in life. I'm crap at everything I do. I've tried to find comfort in believing that you don't have to have a purpose but it's hard to really believe. I lost my job recently bc of the pandemic and it's been hard finding another.

Any pedro character, although my favourites are Javier, Ezra and Frankie. Don't worry if you can't write anything tonight or don't have time etc. I will be fine and you aren't responsible for any anons that ask you to cheer them up so plz don't pressure yourself. Sorry for asking :/ and being a downer.

Oh my love, this has been in my inbox for a few days now. I’m sorry I’ve only just got round to doing it. Please don’t apologise for being a downer or asking! It’s what I’m here to do :) I hope this helps ease your anxiety and makes you feel better.

Comfort Blanket [Frankie Morales x Reader]

Warnings: mentions of anxiety/descriptions of a panic attack, Frankie is a soft dumb dorky himbo

Rating: PG-13

Your cheeks were painted with your tears, and they glistened under the dull bathroom light. You thanked your lucky stars that this had happened whilst you were home alone. You couldn't deal with having to face Frankie. You knew he'd confront you about this. You knew he wouldn't understand and he'd demand answers. You were always so happy and smiley. Even the guys (Will, Ben and Santiago) said you were such a positive influence on the group. But you were only human, and as you sat against the cold tiled wall, your elbow leaning on the toilet seat, you weren't feeling very positive. You weren't feeling... anything really.

Anxiety had consumed you to the point of sickness, and it was uncalled for. You'd spent hours sobbing, holding your head in your hands and furiously tugging on your hair. It felt like you were choking. The feeling of impending doom swarming your body, drowning you. You couldn't breathe. Your chest felt tight, your vision became hazy and your mouth dried up.

Frankie was just a phone call away. He'd want to know. If you were scared or hurting, he'd want to know. You knew what your boyfriend was like. He loved you so much. But you didn't want to worry him. He'd ask what was wrong and you wouldn't be able to answer him, because you didn't even know yourself. It was pointless burdening him with this. Just for once, you had to be independent. You had to face this alone.

You hadn't even heard the front door lock click open. He'd gotten home early and you were too busy whimpering in the bathroom to hear his usual greeting, "Honey I'm home!"

The words were cheesy, and they often earned a roll of your eyes. But it was yours and Frankie's special thing— and you loved it. Frankie dropped his keys in the bowl kept on the kitchen counter and padded through your small apartment. He was confused when you weren't there to greet him the way you usually were. Sure, he had gotten home from work earlier, but you'd always run into his arms and embrace him the second he walked through the door.

Frankie padded through the living room, down the corridor, thinking you might be in the bedroom. He paused midway when he passed the bathroom, freezing in his footsteps when he overheard your cries.

He stood outside the bathroom. You'd been together for six months and Frankie had never heard you cry before. He didn't know how to approach you. He felt an anger, wanting to know exactly who and what had hurt you. The sobbing stifled for a second and Frankie breathed a sigh of relief. Until you started again. Frankie opened the door.

You looked up at your boyfriend with glazed eyes, feeling your cheeks heat up with embarrassment. He wasn't supposed to see you like this. You hid your face in the crook of your elbows with shame, muffling your sobs.

"What's wrong?" He asked hesitantly.

You let out an even louder and infuriated cry when you couldn't answer his question. You shrugged your shoulders helplessly and let your tears soak your clothes as you held your knees to your chest. "I just... I just..." you gasped for air, unable to get any words out. Frankie understood. He knew how you were feeling.

"One sec." he said, holding up a finger before bolting out of the bathroom.

He dived into your shared bedroom, fell to his knees and stretched out his arms to pull out a box that he kept under his bed. It was your bed too, and yet you had no idea he kept it there. It was a relatively small sized cardboard box, messily stuck shut with strong masking tape. He carried the box back into the bathroom and slouched down next to you. He took a deep breath and passed you the box.

"What's this?" you sniffed, letting your fingers curiously trace the tape.

"It's my panic box. Inside this box is everything I need to help me calm down when I'm anxious or upset. Open it." Frankie urged, nudging you playfully. You giggled at his touch and wiped your eyes, trying to regulate your breathing. Frankie wrapped an arm around you and held you close as you peeled away the tape.

Inside the box was an array of things. The first thing you picked out was a soft fluffy blanket. It looked old, slightly rugged, torn in the corners and even sewn up with patchwork. It had a distinct smell too. It wasn't a bad smell. You couldn't describe it. It just smelled like Frankie. You shot him a questioning look.

"This," Frankie said, taking the blanket from you and opening it up. He draped it over you both. "Is my comfort blanket from when I was a kid. It's been with me through everything. Heartbreak, death, even the times when I was upset for no apparent reason... my comfort blanket always seemed to fix things. The least I can do is share it with you." Frankie smiled sheepishly and he noticed the way your eyes sparkled in delight.

"I had no idea you kept a comfort blanket." You confessed with a shaky exhale. You relished the feeling, grabbing a fistful of the material knowing that the blanket was probably not much younger than Frankie. That the blanket had been there for him throughout everything.

"Well, I do," Frankie shrugged. "But uh— don't tell the guys."

You giggled. "Thank you for sharing this with me." you sniffed, immediately beginning to feel so much better.

"Keep digging through the box." Frankie ordered, taking your hand and rubbing comforting circles into your skin.

You nodded, reaching back into the box with your free hand. Inside was a scented candle, miscellaneous packets of candy and chocolate, an old teddy bear, and what could only resemble something you kept locked away in your nightstand drawer.

"Frankie!" you gasped, taking the device out of the box and turning to him. Your jaw had dropped and you were trying to contain a smile. "What is this? It looks like a—"

"Don't say it!" Frankie said quickly, snatching the pink device from your hands. He flicked a switch and it started buzzing. You slapped a hand over your mouth in disbelief. "I know what it looks like, okay. But it's a back massager." He pressed two more buttons and demonstrated how it changed speeds and settings.

"Frankie... I don't think—"

"It's a back massager!" Frankie exclaimed defensively, cutting you off. Once again, your dorky himbo boyfriend had you lost for words.

You burst into a fit of giggles as Frankie pressed the vibrating device into the small off your back. "Frankie stop it!" you laughed as he crawled on top of you.

"Feels nice, doesn't it?" He quizzed with a smirk. You squealed as he poked his fingers into your side, tickling you, and only making your laughter grow. You had been smiling so hard, your cheeks began to hurt. You pulled the baseball cap off Frankie's head and tossed it to one side so you could tug on his dark curls. He finally lifted off you and switched the ‘back massager’ off. "I'm glad you're smiling." Frankie admitted, pressing a soft and chaste kiss into your cheek.

"Frankie, I love you so much." You admitted, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend. He picked you up, letting the comfort blanket fall to the floor and carried you to the living room. He dropped you on the sofa and tossed you the television control.

"I love you too," he cooed, smoothing out your hair and kissing your forehead. "Why don't we have a movie night, huh? I'll order take-out and bring us a few beers in."

"Okay." you sniffed happily. As you watched Frankie wander into the kitchen, you wondered how you'd ever gotten so lucky.

You knew now that even when you felt like you had to be independent, there was nothing wrong with letting Frankie comfort you. He could make you smile and laugh like nobody else could. He knew the exact way to cheer you up whilst still being considerate and sensitive of your feelings. He loved you so much, and for as long as he was with you, you knew you'd never be alone.