#especially fantasie impromptu

[fewbles]

I wish that I see everything all the time like I see things when I listen to classical music 🙏

[fragiledewdrop]

WHERE NOW THE HORSE AND THE RIDER-Aka how I just had a Tolkien related freak out on the train

I can't believe what just happened to me. As in, it's such a weird chain of events that it has left me a little dizzy.

I was reading "Les Nourritures Terrestres" by Gide, and I got to a point he cites parts of a poem which I liked very much. The notes informed me that it's a French translation of "an 8th century saxon elegy called 'The Wanderer' "

That intrigued me, and, being on a train with a lot of time to pass (plus being a little tired of reading in French), I took out my phone and searched for the poem.

I found it here. It's the lament of a warrior in exile who has lost his lord and mourns the joy and glory of a world that has now disappeared. I was enjoying it a lot.

And then I got to this point:

And my mouth actually dropped open, because what?

Are you telling me that the Lament for the Rohirrim, one of my favourite poems in LOTR, which I learnt by heart at 13 and later took care to learn in the original English, which I sing when I do the dishes and which routinely makes me cry, is Tolkien's translation of an 8th century Saxon elegy?

Well, the notes at the end of the page confirmed it:

"Tolkien's rendition is hard to resist" I bet it is. I love that professional philologists add notes to their work saying "yeah, by the way, this bit here? It's in your favourite fantasy novel, and I am kinda jealous of how well it was translated, but it's Tolkien, the man spoke Old English, what can you do? Carry on, xoxo"

I mean, I had gathered that the Tolkien poem played on themes used in medieval literature, but I had no idea it was based on an actual, specific text. That makes it a hundred times cooler!

Maybe it's common knowledge, but it was a delicious tidbit of good news to me. Especially since I wasn't expecting it in the least, so I was blindsided by it.

Cherry on top? I had ignored the Old English text, since I don't understand it, but at the end I gave it a cursory read , and the line "Alas for the splendor of the prince"? "Eala þeodnes þrym!"

Now, I have never studied Old English, but I know roughly how to pronounce it (what kind of Silmarillion fan would I be if I didn’t recognize the thorn?). þeodnes has to be where "Theoden" comes from, right?

Apparently yes. I googled the "Lament for the Rohirrim", and Tolkien Gathaway has a nice little parapraph in which they explain all this. I don't know why I had never read it before, but it was a lot more fun learning it as an unexpected detour from my French practice, not gonna lie.

Bottom line: Tolkien was a both a nerd and a genius and continues to make my life brighter, and this is one of those moments in which I am very happy I have spent years of my life learning languages.

Thanks for coming to my impromptu TedTalk.

[lipglossanon]

Urban Legend

shape shifter/wendigo!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader - NSFW

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, monsterfucking, dirty talk, mentions of cannibalism, threats, CNC, rape fantasy, rape talk, oral (f receiving), impromptu thigh job lol, biting, blood kink, multiple creampies, fingering, overstimulation, belly bulge, cum inflation, breeding kink, double penetration in one hole

not proofread ✌️ it’s all made up and the points don’t matter 😜

I literally had to stop myself from writing so sorry if the ending is sudden/lame 😝

“There’s no way that it’s real,” you scoff into your phone.

“Then why was it in the newspaper, huh?” Your friend’s voice sounds tinny on the other end, letting you know you’ll be out of range soon. 

“To sell them, duh,” you laugh, “hey listen, I’m about to lose service so I’ll talk to you on Monday.”

“Call me if anything happens!” her concern makes you smile to yourself. 

“Will do, bye!”

You lock your phone and slide it back into your pocket. A quick glimpse of a chimney in the treeline lets you know you’re almost to the cabin. It’s just a small little one bed, one bath place deep in the middle of the woods. Your parents moved and left the place to you, so you’re not able to come out as much as you like so it’s a little more rundown than in previous years. 

You have to park at the bottom and make the mile long hike up the mountain in order to reach it. There’s an ATV parked in the shed for any emergencies, but you’ve made the trek all these years without any issues so fingers crossed this will just be another year in the bucket. 

Stepping up onto the small porch, you pull out the spare key and unlock the door. A branch snaps off in the woods and you shoot a look over your shoulder. Your friend’s nervousness seems to be rubbing off on you. Rolling your eyes, you turn back to open the door. 

“There’s no such thing as werewolves anyways,” you mutter under your breath. 

She gave you a quick breakdown of the last several month’s events while you talked to her on your walk. She told you there’s been missing livestock for weeks until suddenly a few local parishioners went missing after service and were found brutally mutilated days later. Attacks have been gradually ramping up, peaking around the full moon especially (which just happens to be the weekend you decided for a mini vacation at the cabin, go figure). 

The locals believe in some old wives tales about a werewolf returning every hundred years. You think it’s kinda cute they hold onto such old superstitions, but it’s more than likely some bobcat or mountain lion that’s come down due to deforestation in the area. 

You let these thoughts wash over you as you bustle around the cabin; you get everything in place and mentally thank your dad for putting up solar panels years ago. Those paired with the propane tank and generator outside means you won’t be without hot running water or lights. 

Once you’re all settled in, you decide to make something quick and simple for dinner before relaxing in front of the fireplace. Stretching out on the beat up couch, you scrunch your toes in the thick fuzzy socks you love to wear this time of year and flip open the book you brought with you. You’ve just found the most comfortable position for reading, becoming more engrossed page by page when a loud thudding knock rings out from your door. You jump at the sound and scowl over at the door. 

Another knock happens and you close your book, making sure your bookmark is securely tucked in the pages, and raise up. Quietly walking to the door, you peek out of the peephole and see an injured man slumped against the porch railing. Your heartbeat quickens and you watch as he raises a tired hand to knock on the door again. Glancing around the area yields nothing but trees and the dusky twilight. 

You tiptoe away and grab the rifle out of the gun safe next to the fireplace. As you walk back over, the man knocks once more. 

“How can I help you?” You call out from your side of the door, gazing back through the peephole. 

The man tilts his face up, fringe falling away for you to make out a strong jawline. 

“I-I was attacked and n-need help,” he winces, arm hugging his middle where you can see blood seeping through his shirt, “some kinda w-wild animal. I just need a phone or a first aid kit. Please, miss.” 

You pause, eyes glancing down to the gun in your hands. On the off chance he’s faking, well he won’t be for long.

“What’s your name?” You call out, pulling your phone from your pocket. 

“Leon. Leon Kennedy,” he grunts, clenching his waist.

You type it out in your notes as well as a text message just to be on the safe side and lock your phone again. Unbolting the heavy door, you pull it open, gun at your side. 

He glances down at the weapon and back up to you, a small grin pulling at the corners of his mouth before pain pinches his expression. 

“Promise I don’t bite.”

You gesture forward and he takes a staggering step before pausing. 

“Are you coming in or what?”

He grimaces and takes another halting step, “Yeah, just hurts to move.”

You shift on your feet, debating with yourself before setting the gun down and stepping forward. 

“I’ll help you,” you murmur, taking his other arm and placing it over your shoulders. 

You angle him in the doorway first and help him hobble over to a chair near the fire. 

“Thank you,” he breathes out a sigh of relief before groaning, “cut me pretty deep.”

You walk over to pick up the gun and move it back to the safe. Making your way to the bathroom, you pull the first aid pack from under the sink and walk over to your impromptu guest. 

“Can you take your shirt off?”

“Shouldn’t you buy me dinner first,” he jokes, but stiffly slips his shirt over his head. 

You smile sardonically and snap open the bag, “I usually don’t harbor strange men on my days off, so I guess I don’t quite know the protocol.”

He laughs but it ends in another pained groan, hand pressing against the clawed marks across his ribs. 

“Shit, that might need stitches,” you frown, pulling out the disinfectant. 

Once you clean off the area, you notice it’s not as deep as you thought.

“Luckily we didn’t need to use the quick clot,” you smear antibacterial ointment over the wounds and pull out the gauze. 

He hums but doesn’t say anything; his blue eyes haven’t moved from your face the entire time you’ve been ‘doctoring’ him. 

“Thank you for this, I really thought I was gonna be wandering the woods for hours,” he finally speaks as you tape a bandage across his ribs and wrap it with the gauze (to be on the safe side you murmur to him). 

“Well, tomorrow, we can ride the ATV down and call a friend or the local ranger since you were attacked by an animal,” you zip up the first aid kit and grab all the rubbish to toss in the trash. 

He nods, “Okay.”

“You’ll be sleeping on the couch,” you point to the old upholstered couch in question, “it’s not big but it’s better than the floor.”

His eyes flick from the couch back to you, “I appreciate it. Better than being outside, ya know.”

He quirks a smile at his own words and you give a tight one in response. 

Sitting down in the chair across from him, you give him a quick once over, “Are you okay though? Like I’m not doctor, but I can help you down the mountain to my car if you really need one.”

He shakes his head, a softer smile pulling at his lips, “No, I’m good. Thanks though.”

“What happened?”

“I have a place out here and decided to go for a walk and an asshole jumped out of the bushes and nicked my ribs, knocked me down. I got a little disoriented and wound up over here. I could hear it following me up until I reached your porch.”

You rub your arms and gaze over to the front door, “Did you see what it was?”

“Some kinda wolf I think,” his brows furrow as he thinks back, “big for a wolf though.”

His expression clears as he looks back at you, “You live here?”

Shaking your head, you drop his gaze to look into the fireplace, “No, just a weekend getaway. Shitty job and even shittier neighbors getting on my nerves, so here I am.”

He laughs, “You don’t love your job?”

“No, not really,” a small smile crosses your face turning back to him, “does anyone?”

Leon shrugs before hissing from jostling the wound, “Mine’s not so bad. I work security.”

“Ahh, any place I know?” 

He shakes his head, “It’s local.”

You hum in reply and glance at your watch. 

“Well, I’m going to head to bed,” you stand and make your way back to the gun safe, pulling out the rifle again, “not to be rude, but I don’t know you from Adam so if you need to get my attention, I highly stress knocking and waiting for me to reply.”

His gaze doesn’t move from your face, “Read you loud and clear, miss.”

“Bathrooms through there, kitchen is there,” you point at each in turn, but with the open floor plan it would be hard for Leon to miss any of this, “I’ll probably wake up pretty early and make coffee. Then we’ll head down, okay?”

He nods along with you, “Okay, I’ll see you in the morning then.”

You walk over to the bedroom and right before the door snaps shut, Leon calls out to you. 

“Goodnight!”

“Goodnight,” you parrot, giving one last look to the stranger now sitting on your couch. 

His eyes seem to reflect the firelight making you shiver. In a blink, everything seems normal making you think you only imagined it. Closing the door all the way, you slide the lock in place and crawl into bed, leaning the rifle next to your nightstand. 

He says he lives nearby but you’ve been coming to this cabin for most of your life and have never heard of any neighbors. It’s one of the reasons why your parents bought this place, the seclusion of not having anyone around for miles. He’s just really suspicious to you, even if he is cute. 

You eventually drift off, eyes trained on the door until they’re slipping shut. A loud jarring sound from the living room wakes you with a jerk. Raising up your hand hovers over your gun. A loud muffled curse makes you deflate a little. Leaving your warm bed, you unlock and open your bedroom door a crack to see Leon kneeling over the chair he must’ve ran into. 

“You okay?” You call out making him jump, head jerking around to the sound of your voice. 

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, “I sorta tripped. Sorry to wake you up.”

You shrug and step out, making your way over to the kitchen, “Shit happens.”

Leon watches you as you grab a bottle of water from the fridge. 

“You seem really interesting,” he tosses out as you drink your water, “it’s kinda refreshing.”

“No offense Leon, but this is super weird for me,” you blatantly state, squinting at him, “in all my time being up here, I’ve never run into anyone else.”

“I was attacked,” he gestures to his ribs, “and I walked around for a while before finding you. It’s not like I was hiding out for you.”

He laughs suggesting it’s a joke, but there’s a ring of truth to his words that makes your hair stand on end. You eye the block of knives to your left. 

Once he realizes you’re not laughing, he tapers off, a queer little smile tugging at his lips. 

“I think I’ve spooked you,” he sighs, placing his chin in his palm as it rests against the chair, “didn’t mean to, miss.”

Using the excuse of sitting your bottle down on the counter, you side step closer to the knives. 

A grin stretches wide across his face, “Those won’t do you any good.”

Your fingernails dig into the soft meat of your palms as you level a flat look at the man in front of you. 

“And why not, Leon?”

He tilts his head, fringe shifting until only one blue eye can be seen, “Because they’re not sharp enough, silly.”

By the time your fingers wrap around the handle of a butcher’s knife, four sharp claws are wrapped around your neck, thumb digging into your jaw to tilt your head up. Your brain stutters, trying to comprehend what you’re even looking at now. 

He’s monstrous, blocking out the light completely, his body towering above your frame by a couple of feet, not including the curled ram horns protruding from his head. From what little you can see, you’re grateful for the dark. He chuckles a low warbling sound that has your heart rate kicking into overdrive. 

“You’re very interesting,” you feel a cold press of something hard and smooth against your ear, “think I’ll keep you for myself.”

He drags you closer to the fire and you catch a flash of an animal skull in place of a face before he turns away and in a blink he looks human as he did earlier tonight. 

He smiles at you, “Gotta remember not to scare you too much.”

With all the insanity that has taken place in the last few minutes, you find yourself blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.

“You weren’t even hurt, you asshole. Made me waste my first aid gauze.”

Surprise crosses Leon’s features before he’s smiling again, too wide to be human. You can see his pupils are slitted now, like a cat’s.  

“Yes, very interesting,” he chuckles, facing off against you and blocking any access to the bedroom (and your gun), “and you’re right.”

Under his breath you catch the words, “fucking Chris.”

You purse your lips, “If I go missing, they’re going to come looking for me. They’ll know your name.”

He sits you down on the couch taking a seat next to you. Leon’s excited by your words, eagerly leaning into your space. 

“You’re just full of surprises,” his teeth are longer now, needle sharp as he speaks, “and so clever. I like you already. I don’t plan on killing you.”

You snort, “Sure, and all of those locals just fell down and hurt themselves to death?”

He laughs, a sharp bright sound that makes your chest flutter.

“Oh, well they had it coming to them. Needed to eat,” his eyes reflect in the low light, “you’re such fun.”

He leans forward and breathes in causing goosebumps to race down your arms, “You make me want things. Things I haven’t thought of in a long, long time.”

Confusion pinches your brows together, “How old are you? Wait, is Leon even your real name?”

“You ask such silly questions,” he pouts, “and yes, it is. Why? Think I should have something like Cthulhu?”

You huff a laugh at how offended he sounds but bite down the smile as soon as Leon lights up from your amusement. 

“You’re a tough cookie to crack,” he presses more into your space making your skin prickle, “think I know a way to get you to like me.”

He pulls back and tugs his shirt off and with a small flex of his arms, rips the clothing in half. You can’t help but stare at him. When you patched him up hours ago, you had a fleeting appreciation of his body and now it flares back up as your eyes trace his pecs down to the happy trail disappearing under the band of his jeans. 

After tearing the shirt again, he wraps a torn piece around your wrists and ties it off. You try twisting your arms, but it does nothing except pinch the skin. Embarrassingly, your clit pulses at the feeling of being tied up like this. 

Next, Leon strips you both down quickly; his eyes hungrily raking down your nude body as he removes each piece of clothing.  Feeling self conscious, even in front of a monster, you shift your arms to cover yourself. He grabs your biceps, blue cat eyes flashing with heat, and yanks them back up. 

“Let me have my fill,” he gnashes his teeth, sharp points drawing your eye, “look at how soft you are, all that lovely unmarked skin…”

His voice trails off as he runs his hands down your arms to your breasts. 

“Sweet little nipples that need sucked…”

You shiver as he tweaks your nipples until they’re stiff and sensitive. He runs his hands over your soft stomach and hips. One hand grips the fat of your waist and the other teasingly rubs across your mound. 

“And a fat wet pussy that needs licked.” 

You shudder at those words, thighs subconsciously parting for him as he grins wickedly into your eyes. 

“Yeah that’s what she needs, huh? A sexy cunt that just needs to be stuffed full with a big fat cock.”

A whine slips past your lips and you go hot all over with embarrassment, toes curling against the soft rug. 

“S-shut up, fucking perv.”

He laughs, a distorted chime that reminds you of a bell, and leans forward to nose against your jaw, kissing your cheek. 

“Mmm, I’ll enjoy every second of this. You’re so feisty,” he kisses down to your neck, “which means this pussy is gonna taste so good. Especially when you cum.”

You glare at him but can’t stop the slick leaking down your thighs from his words and touches. It’s your darkest fantasy come true; you’ve gotten off to the thought of someone forcing themselves on you more than you’d like to admit. And now this weird creature is going to have his wicked way with you; it makes your pussy thrum in anticipation. 

His hands distort into claws in front of your eyes; the fingers are multi jointed in the strangest of ways, skin discolored and skeletal with nails long and sharp, digging into your waist roughly making you suck in a breath. His teeth and eyes are still abnormal, but so far that’s the extent. 

“What are you?” you murmur, eyes wide as they move back down to his strange hands. 

He shrugs easily, “I’m me,” grinning mischievously he presses on, “wanna see something?”

Before you can say anything he sticks out his pink tongue. It unfurls from his mouth, long and thick with a rough bumpy texture. He laughs and pulls it back into his mouth. 

“Gonna show you how fun it can be,” he kneels down in the floor, between your parted thighs, “god, you smell fucking fantastic.”

He drools a line of spit down onto the hood of your clit making your cunt throb with arousal. 

“Yeah, you may say you don’t like it, but look how fucking messy this pussy is,” he sighs happily, laying his head onto your thigh to gaze up at you, “I’m gonna make you feel so good, little human.”

He kisses your cunt sweetly making your hips jump up. 

“So sensitive,” he growls, eyes luminous as he glances back up to your face, “gonna enjoy this.”

He buries his face into your pussy, slurping and groaning as he licks into your hole. 

“Such a fat pussy,” he grunts, mouth moving up to suckle your clit, “fat little pussy that’s gonna cum all over my tongue.”

You whimper, hooking your legs over his shoulders making him laugh at you. 

“You like that? Like that I wanna eat this sweet pussy until you’re creaming my face?”

“Fuck,” you moan, head tossed back as he dives back into licking and kissing your pussy. 

It should gross you out, turn you off, anything, other than wanting to have this monster eat you out. You blame it on your brain just giving into the craziness that’s happening. Hell, maybe you’ll wake up and this will all have been some kind of fever dream. 

You grind against his mouth and his thick rough tongue fucks up into your clenching hole, fluttering against your walls and stretching your cunt wide like a cock would. Reaching down, your fingers grip into his hair, using it as an anchor as you hump down onto his tongue. 

With a rumbling purr deep within his chest, you feel his hair shift as his horns grow out of his skull. Hesitantly, you move from his silky hair to the rough texture of his horns. You gently wrap your fingers around the base and he humps the air. 

“Grip’em,” he murmurs, eyes bright, sharp teeth nipping the meat of your thigh, “think we’ll both like it.” 

A shuddering whine leaves your lips as you grasp his horns and rock against his greedy mouth. He groans, the vibration thrumming through your cunt making more slick ooze from your hole. He pulls away to lick a broad stripe up your cunt, bumpy tongue lapping slowly at your clit making your thighs shake. 

With a rumbling growl, he buries his face into your pussy lips, tongue pressing into your drippy hole. You shift your wrists as the binding bites into your skin while you grip his horns. He purrs and rubs his head back and forth so his nose rolls across your swollen clit. Whining softly, you buck upward, grinding yourself against his mouth. 

More slick oozes from your cunt and he slips his tongue into your pulsing walls before licking his way up to your pudgy clit. Leon bites your pussy lips, sucking the skin roughly before letting go. He kisses the hood of your clit and across your mound before biting down on where your cunt meets your thigh. 

Letting go, he moves back to running his bumpy tongue through your slick folds. You arch off the couch and into his warm rough mouth as he keeps licking and sucking at your cunt until you’re crying out. 

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you pant, tugging his horns before grasping his hair. 

He hums and sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue licking over the swollen bud as you moan softly. Right on the brink, he pulls his mouth away, sticky strings of saliva connecting to your pussy lips as he denies you your orgasm. 

You narrow your eyes at him as he pulls away, his slitted pupils expanded as they move up from your glistening cunt to your pinched expression. 

He grins and the sharp teeth make your clit throb.  Gripping your arms, he slips your hands over his head to wrap around his neck. Moving up your body, he kisses you messily, tongue licking into your mouth greedily. You whimper to taste yourself on his lips. 

His claws slide down your ribs making your breath stutter, exhaling a gasp as they wrap around your waist. 

“So soft,” he murmurs, “just wanna sink my claws in you over and over.”

He slips his hands underneath your ass and lifts you up, standing to his full height where your head nearly brushes the roof of the cabin. Turning, he sits down on the couch with you in his lap.  

“You seem rather human,” you mutter, eyes taking in his body as you straddle his waist, legs tucked on the outside of his thighs. 

“Easier to enjoy a soft thing like you when I’m like this,” he laughs, clawed hands digging into the meat of your hips.

“It’s just surprising,” you shrug, arms still tied around his neck. 

His eyes gleam white before settling back into their usual blue; he shifts on the couch before a smooth cat like tail slips from behind his body to wrap around your waist. 

“Better?” A smug look crosses his face. 

You hold back the laugh bubbling at the base of your throat; maybe you’ve lost your mind, maybe this is some weird hallucination brought on by whatever you ate, but a monster trying to impress you before fucking your brains out is something you never would have dreamt in your wildest fantasies. 

“What about your face earlier?”

He rolls his eyes, “That’s so boring. Don’t you wanna see if I have two cocks or something?”

This time you do laugh, a small sound that you quickly stifle under his gaze. He jostles you as he pulls you down onto his bulge making your breath hitch from the sheer size of him. 

“The answer is yes by the way,” his grin widens at the same time as your eyes do, tail tightening around your middle in excitement. 

Burying his face in your neck, he mutters, “You seriously smell so good.”

His fingers move down and tease across your swollen clit, parting your pussy lips to drag slick up from your hole all around your bud. He lets go to remove his pants (which you’re not even sure how they’re still on), having you raise up on your knees as he shoves them down and off. 

Once you settle back down on his lap one of his dripping cocks is sandwiched between your pussy lips and the other presses against the front of your mound, uncut head smearing precum on your abdomen, making you clench around nothing. From the looks of this one, both are thick and long, definitely bigger than anything you’ve had before. 

“Eyes are up here,” his snarky tone pulls your attention back up to his face. 

You shake your head, “How—“

“One at a time, silly,” he nips your neck, “then once you’re stretched enough, we can try both.”

His voice drops a lower octave, “But you’ve also got two holes that we can try out, too.”

Your eyes flutter as your cunt oozes slick all over his cock making him laugh.

“You’re really interesting,” he sloppily kisses your neck, “never had someone so excited before. Usually have to rape their little cunts in their sleep.”

You whimper and he raises up to smirk at you. 

“Were you hoping for the same thing? Mmm, all half asleep as I stuff that pussy,” he purrs in your ear, “too tired and weak to push me off as I rape this tiny hole til I’m pulling out and covering you with cum.”

You grind down against his cocks as your nails digs into the back of his neck making him smile into the feeling. 

“You’re such fun,” he tilts his head, eyes glittering, “just for that I’ll give you a little treat.”

Your mouth drops open in shock as he changes between one blink to the next; his entire face morphs to that of a smooth animal skull, bright eyes flaring from the empty eye sockets. He bares his teeth at you in what you hope is a smile. 

“Ta da!” His voice comes out distorted and echoey, octave low and strange. 

A high keen slips past your lips as he eases the head of one of his cocks into your cunt. 

“You’re so wet,” he praises, “god, ‘m so lucky to get a little freak like you.”

You want to argue against him, but it’s hard when this monster is slowly sinking his fat dick into your spasming hole, stretching you out so good. 

He pauses when he’s only halfway inside, holding you still with his huge hands until you’re squirming. 

“Please,” you whisper, frustration making tears bead your lash line. 

“Awww,” he coos at you, “since you’ve been so good, I guess you can have it all.”

And with that, he drops you down on his lap like a stone, cock bullying all the way into your cunt until the fat tip is bruising your cervix making you wail. 

“Too rough?” He smirks. 

You nod and slump against his chest. 

“Must like it,” he mocks, “this pussy is gripping me so tight, don’t know if I can pull out.”

You shudder and drool on his pecs as his cock kicks inside your overly full pussy. His other cock drips precum all over your lower abdomen from where it’s sandwiched between you two. 

“Untie me,” you’re able to slur out, slowly tugging your arms over his head. 

He squints at you (or the skull seems to insinuate squinting) and uses a claw to slice through the tattered shirt binding your wrists. 

Sighing, you rotate your hands before placing them on his chest and dragging them down. You watch as his muscles jump and twitch under your smooth palms. Finally, you cup the base of his other cock and slowly pull down the foreskin. You drool a line of spit down onto the head and precum blurts from the tip of his dick.

He snarls and pulls out only to roughly fuck back into your pussy. Whimpering, you’re only able to loosely grip his second cock as he jackhammers into your soaked cunt. 

“Sensitive, huh,” you murmur, eyes half lidded as they gaze up into his skull face. 

He whines at your words, grinding his tip hard against your cervix making your eyes roll back, “Been so long since a pretty thing wanted to play with me.”

Your hands grip his cock and begin to jerk him off firmly, spitting down on his tip to make it wet and messy. 

His tail, which you forgot about, slips lower down on your waist and lightly teases across your clit. 

“Oh,” your eyes move from his slackened jaw down to watch his soft tail slowly tap and rub across your swollen clit. 

Your cunt squeezes around his cock rhythmically as he teases your bundle of nerves until you’re rocking against him. His claws let go of your hips to wrap around your thighs, spreading you open until he can see his cock pounding into your drippy hole.  

His tail helps you lean back some so he can leverage his hips into rolling thrusts up into your pussy. Your hands shakily keep stroking his other cock,completely  covered in spit and precum. 

His tail smacks across your clit and your orgasm hits you hard. Your toes curl and spine arches as your cunt clenches down on his thick cock like a vice, milking him until it must hurt but he only groans in pleasure. Your hands go slack and he grabs them to toss over his broad shoulders. 

He presses his mouth right against your ear, low baritone making your cunt spasm and clench around his fat cock. 

“Gotta pull out, little human,” he chuckles when you whine, “mmm, I’ve got to cause if I cum in you, we’ll be mated. And you wouldn’t want that, would ya?”

Your nails dig into his shoulders hard enough to pierce his skin and he purrs, “Unless you want me to fill up this sexy little pussy and keep you forever.”

You bounce what little you can down onto his dick, hands moving up to his horns to grab onto them. Feeling cockdrunk and unhinged, you swivel your hips to fuck him harder, wanting everything he has to give.

“Wanna feel it,” you sigh as he sinks his sharp teeth into your shoulder, “fill me up, Leon.”

He growls, a loud inhuman sound that makes your skin crawl and a bolt of fear spike through the arousal. Instead of letting go, you grind down even harder, pussy feeling sore and sensitive. 

“You want me to cum inside you?” He sounds pained and when he tilts back up his skull face has morphed into the one he wore earlier that night.

“Uh huh,” you pant and bring up one of your hands to cradle his jaw, hips swiveling down to prevent him from pulling out, “or are you all talk?”

In a flash, he has your back on the couch as he pins you down in a mating press, legs pressed open wide by his clawed hands. 

He snaps his teeth in your face, “You don’t even know what it means to be bred, do you? I’ll have this fat cunt stuffed so full you’re dripping my seed for days. You’ll beg for it constantly, needing me to breed your cute little hole cause you feel so empty.”

You whine, hands coming up to wrap around his horns again, “Promise?”

He growls low in his throat and smashes your mouths together, his sharp teeth  cutting your bottom lip so the taste of blood flavors your kisses. 

“Promise,” he mutters against your mouth before licking up the blood tinging your lips. 

“Gonna mate you all the time,” he mumbles against you as he pistons his hips deep into your swollen pussy, “have you cumming on my cock until you can’t even think anymore.”

You moan and pull him back in for more sloppy kisses, “Please, please, Leon, cum in my pussy.”

His second cock’s weeping so much precum, your stomach is a sticky mess, but it just makes you squeeze down on the cock inside you even more. Leon has flipped some switch in your brain because you feel like you’ll die if he doesn’t spill inside you.

“You promised me both,” you pout, tears clinging to your lashes as his cock presses into your cervix, “promised to stuff me with both.”

He groans brokenly, hips shuddering as he bucks into you one last time, spilling his thick load deep into your cunt at the same time his other cock spurts rope after rope of hot thick cum all over your body, jizz shooting all the up to your chin. 

He groans like an animal you’ve never heard of as he dumps load after load into your pussy until it’s spilling out around his fat cock. 

“Mated,” he sounds happy as he sinks his teeth into your neck making you scream out.

He pulls back with bloody teeth and that’s the last thing you see before passing out. 

~*~*~*~

The warm slant of sunlight from the bedroom window shines into your eyes and you roll over with a grumble. You raise up quickly once you remembered where you were, only to see Leon lounging on the bed next to you eating a bowl of cereal as he watches the small portable tv on the dresser. 

“These movies are so dumb,” he scoffs, digging into your Count Chocula cereal, “they always go overboard on the transformations.” 

Your bleary eyes squint at the small screen and see what looks to be The Thing and you frown at him. Pushing yourself up, you slump against his side, body feeling overly sore (the same as your sensitive cunt). 

“That better not be the last of it,” you mumble against his arm, making him turn his bright eyes over to you. 

“No, but good morning, little mate,” he purrs, setting the bowl down on your nightstand so he can roll over on top of you to pin you down to the bed. 

You whimper and arch up into the soft kisses he presses against your neck. The blanket slips down to his waist as he grinds his cocks against your needy pussy. He eases the head of one of them inside your hole, making you sigh and wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Gotta fill you up again,” he chuckles, “sucking me in like I didn’t spend all night pounding this little pussy.”

“Leon,” you whine, nails scratching red lines down his back and making his hips thrust into you. 

He fucks you slow and soft, rutting into your pussy as his other cock is sandwiched between your thighs. 

“Perfect,” he sighs happily, “can’t wait to give you both.”

Eyes fluttering, you moan and pull him down fully on top of you, his heavy weight squishing you into the mattress. He growls and snaps his hips harder, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass makes you clench down on him. 

“First pussy I’ve ever got to creampie,” he coos against your ear, “so taboo to mate a human, but damn if I don’t love fucking this tight cunt. S’all mine now, I own this tight little pussy.”

His words wring your first orgasm of the day from your sore body, pussy walls fluttering as you cum around his fat cock. He moans low in his throat, hips rabbiting harder against you as he chases his own climax. 

His blunted human teeth bite down on your neck as he buries his cock as deep as he can in your pussy, pumping his load right against your cervix as his other cock spills wet and hot between your legs. 

“Fuck,” you whimper, clit pulsing as he stuffs you to the brim and paints your thighs white with his thick cum.  

He pulls away with a grunt and snuggles into your side. With a soft giggle, he nuzzles against the bite mark he left on your shoulder. 

“Can’t wait to show you off. Chris is gonna eat shit,” he crows in your ear before kissing your jaw. 

“Chris?” you tiredly ask, twisting to look at the top of Leon’s head. 

“Yeah he’s the asshole who scratched up my ribs. He’s a part of what you humans would call my pack,” he leans up to kiss you on the lips, “don’t worry, I’ll introduce you after you’re settled in.”

“What?” You frown. 

“I’ve got a place not too far from here,” he gushes, eyes shining excitedly, “you’re gonna love it. It overlooks the river and everything.”

“You have a house?” Your brain feels like it’s lagging behind. 

“Of course, silly,” he kisses your neck again, “you’ll come live with me. I’ll take care of you, never have to worry about a thing.”

“Quit my job and just move out here?”

“It’s not like you liked it anyway,” he rolls his eyes before climbing on top of you, pinning you down again. 

His cocks rub against your cunt making you whimper. 

“I’ll take such good care of you,” he murmurs before kissing you, strange tongue licking into your mouth. 

Whining, you suck on the thick muscle as he rocks against you, cunt oozing creamy slick and cum all over your thighs. 

“Keep you forever,” he groans, pulling back to prop his weight on his forearms, “got me addicted to this little human pussy already. Definitely not letting you go.”

A high pitched moan slips from your lips as he slips the head of both of his cocks into your cunt. 

“Mmm, can’t fit quite yet but we’ll get there,” he laughs, “let me just slip the tips in for now.”

Your thighs tremble as he rocks the first few inches of each cock into your used cunt. He relaxes on top of you, letting your pussy cockwarm his dicks as he bites and kisses at your neck. He moves up to kiss you, all wet and messy, making you whimper and cling to him. 

It doesn’t take long before you’re rocking against him, slowly fucking the heads of his cocks in and out of your stretched pussy.  He sighs and purrs into your kisses as he tongue fucks your mouth. You can feel as his teeth change against your lips, sharp points digging into the sensitive skin. 

He works you for what feels like hours, just slowly sinking inch by inch into your spasming hole. His precum and your slick have soaked your thighs all the way to the bedspread underneath. It’s a wet mess between your thighs, but all you can feel is the pleasurable pain of being too full. 

“Never had someone take both like this,” he rumbles happily, nosing against your jaw, “god, what a perfect fucking pussy. You’re taking me in so well, such a good fucking girl.”

You hiccup a whine at the praise, walls fluttering against the stretch of his dicks. 

“Yeah? Like being my good girl,” he nips at your earlobe, “you’re the best I’ve ever had, so fucking lucky. Can’t believe I own a slut who likes being DP’d.”

Your nails dig harshly into his back as your toes curl, his words making you burn hot all over. 

“Like that?” He mocks, “like that I own you and your pretty pussy?”

His tail slips between your bodies to spank your clit making you cry out and  rock against him harder. 

“Leon,” you slur out, tears slipping from your eyes due to overstimulation.

With a groan, he buries both cocks to the hilt inside of your clenching heat. Your pussy feels stretched to the limit, overwhelmed by the sheer size of both of his dicks. You gasp and mewl, feeling like you can’t breathe from being stuffed so full. 

“Shh, shhh, I’ve got you,” he kisses your cheek, “taking me so well. Tight little cunt just made for me, huh?”

Not able to think, you just babble out nonsensical words, feeling on the edge of another orgasm. It’s not going to take much to make you cum. 

“Aww did I fuck you stupid?” He laughs, “wet little pussy just can’t handle me can she?”

His tail smacks across your pudgy clit and your orgasm slams into you, making you squirt around his cocks, too spread open to clamp down as tight as usual. 

“Oh fuck me,” he hisses, grinding himself deeper, making you wail as you continue to gush around him. 

“Got your cute little pussy to squirt,” he moans excitedly, “fuck, that’s so hot.”

He growls and you watch as his eyes shine before his body shifts into that monstrous form you saw last night. He’s huge, caging you in with his skeletal and strangely jointed body. You whimper and move your hands up from digging into his shoulders to the horns coming out of the skull he’s wearing now. 

He pulls out only to bully his fat cocks back into your well used pussy. Eyes rolling back at the pleasure he’s wringing from your body, you moan and grip his horns tighter making him buck harder into you. A few more thrusts and you’re cumming again with a weak cry, pussy walls fluttering and milking Leon’s dicks. 

“My mate,” his distorted voice rumbles, hips fucking roughly into your spasming hole, “gonna breed your little pussy, fill you up with my hot cum.”

All you can do is mewl and whimper underneath his body, feeling as he fucks harder and harder into your cunt until he’s finally burying himself all the way inside. His tips knock and rub against your cervix which set off fireworks behind your eyes as you cum one last time. 

Hot thick spurts of cum shoot out and quickly stuff your pussy full. Your abdomen looks bloated from how much Leon’s pumping inside your body. He’s snarling against your neck as he humps your pussy, dumping load after load into you until it’s dripping out around his balls. 

You must black out cause the next thing you know, you’re leaning against Leon’s chest in the bath. Whimpering, you weakly grasp onto the hand he has trailing across your stomach. 

“Finally awake,” he chuffs against your hair, “how do you feel?”

“Sore,” you croak out, throat feeling scratchy. 

One of his hands clasps yours while the other slides across your hip to your swollen pussy. 

“Leon,” you whine, “I can’t.”

“Shhh,” he kisses the side of your head, “let me make you feel good, my perfect little mate.”

His fingers quickly tease and rub across your sensitive clit until you’re rocking your hips up with the motion. 

“There we go, good girl,” he sighs, “let me play with that cute pussy. Feels so good to have my fingers on your little clit, huh?”

“Mm hmm,” you arch back into his chest, thighs parted until they’re touching the sides of the bathtub. 

“Want me to slip inside? Want my cocks to stuff you full of cum again?”

Your body feels molten with the arousal pounding through your veins. He shifts and both cocks are pressed against your cunt between your thighs. 

“‘M always so hard around you,” he whines in your ear, “you smell too fucking good, wanna eat you up.”

You shudder as his sharp teeth press against your neck, fingers dipping into your cunt to trail back up and smear slick across your pudgy clit. 

“Come on, I know you can cum for me,” he kisses your neck softly. 

In next to no time, your thighs shake as an orgasm crests and sweeps through your tired body, making you tense all over before going totally limp against Leon’s body. 

“Good girl,” he purrs against your back, hands rubbing at your waist, “can’t wait to take you home.”

Humming, you relax, letting the warm bath lull you into a sleepy state. Leon goes off on a tangent about introducing you to everyone as soon as possible as well as moving you into his house. While you listen to him talk about your new home, you think to yourself that being mated to a monster like Leon isn’t the worst thing in the world. 

divider: @firefly-graphics

[therhythmafterthesummer]

IBDIJEUIDJBEYAI

I JUST HAD A BIG BRAIN MOMENT!!

Kitten surprising Min with her old school uniform and a lil role play. His mind is racing from the skirt and the memories and he can like touch her how he always imagined her

-🥝

you're so absolutely right, kiwi. this was a humongous brain moment.

i've had this ask in my inbox since mid-august bc i just had to write something I HAD TO since it stirred something within me. thankfully, i recently figured out how i wanted to go about this, and finally got to writing it💜

Pairing: Werewolf!Minho x Human!F.Reader (one of the main pairings of my WereRoomies series, but you probably don’t really need to read any of the other instalments to understand this one, although it's highly recommended!). | Word Count: ~3k | Themes & Warnings: Supernatural/Fantasy AU · Smut · Fluff · Established Relationship · role-playing as high schoolers (disclaimer: they’re both consenting adults fulfilling fantasies of their past, neither are genuinely attracted to minors in any way) · nipple play · unprotected penetration [piv. no barrier method, but reader is on birth control] · a smidge of a breeding kink · cumshot · barely proof-read as it usually is with these “drabbles”...

minors do not interact.

“Min–Minho…”

Oh, how sweet you sounded when you said his name like that… It was just how he’d dreamt it’d be. He’d heard you before, of course. But not in this situation, in this particular setting…

“My dad could be home anytime now–Oh, shit…” Your words got caught in your throat the second he bit one of your nipples. How could he not, when you were on his lap, with your uniform shirt open, and your bra just down enough for him to play with your chest.

“Shh, it’ll be fine, kitten”, Minho mumbled against the swell of your breast, leaving a love bite that he hoped would be visible when you wore one of your low tops. “If he were to come home, you know he doesn’t bother us when we’re doing our homework…”

You whined as soon as his mouth reattached to your nipple, as he gently rolled the other between his thumb and index finger… Your hands buried in his hair, keeping him close while you rolled your hips to find some friction against his crotch. The pressure had his mouth salivating further, borderline drooling all over your nipple like the dog he’d recently become.

Or, at least, in this fantasy, he had probably been turned a few years prior…

When you and Minho had come to your father’s house today to help him clean up some of your old stuff from your childhood room, Minho certainly hadn’t expected for the afternoon to take him right here. To him sitting on the edge of your bed, dressed in his school uniform, with you sitting on his lap, and dressed in your school uniform.

It had been such an impromptu thing… You found the pieces of clothing at the bottom of your dresser, forgotten from the last time you wore them in your final year. Back then, you always kept a spare change of Minho’s uniform for those nights when he unexpectedly stayed over.

‘Ohhhh, you should put it on. I used to love how the uniform looked on you’, you’d told him as you handed him the dress shirt with the school’s logo on it, and the white vest top he used to wear under it.

‘Alright, but only if you put on yours. The whole thing. I also loved how you looked in that uniform’, he’d told you immediately, because it was the truth. That plaid skirt and the white button-up used to make stellar appearances in his teenage-hormones-driven wet dreams. 

He used to feel embarrassed about it. You were his best friend in this world, and the fact that he found himself daydreaming of how it’d look like if he took a peek under your skirt, or how it’d feel if he buried his face in your cleavage, certainly made him feel guilty.

Now, as an adult well into his twenties, after you both shared your affections, he no longer felt as guilty about it. Especially after learning that you yourself had those thoughts about him back then, too.

When you put on that uniform shy of fifteen minutes ago, Minho was reminded of all those thoughts he used to have, of all the sleepless nights and hidden chubs at school… It hit him then that maybe this was exactly why he loved seeing you in skirts so much in present day. A result of his teenage-self’s never fulfilled desires.

Sure, he couldn’t button his shirt since his shoulders and arms had broadened with age, and your skirt was certainly much shorter than it used to be, but that didn’t stop either of you from falling into your roles.

‘Mmm… It’s almost like we have just come back from school and are getting ready to get some work done’, you chuckled as you looked at yourself in the mirror and adjusted your thigh high socks.

That sentence alone lit up the bulb in his head, it sparked a naughty little idea that he knew you’d either entertain or laugh about. Either result was fine by him, so he had no qualms when he walked behind you, and looked at you through the mirror.

Calling your name as he placed his hands on your waist, Minho had asked you to turn around to face him. ‘There’s… there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for so long… Please don’t be mad…’

Minho feigned nervousness, like he was once again that boy that had seemingly unrequited feelings for his best friend.

‘I really, really like you… Can’t stop thinking about you. How’d it be like to kiss you, to feel you close in ways other than platonic. You’re my best friend, and I cherish that deeply, but I just… I like you so much’, funny thing, how those were pretty much the same words he’d wanted to say to you back then. Words he had practised in front of the mirror a few times, but he was always too much of a coward to actually tell you.

You looked at him in what Minho figured was feigned shock. Oh, how he loved you… You just knew him so well, and knew exactly what he was doing without saying a single word. ‘I… I like you, too. Have liked you for so long, Minho…’

Minho had cupped your cheeks and pulled you in for a kiss. He kissed you as if he’d never done it before, desperately, hungrily, no time for being tender and soft when all he’d wanted was to devour you whole. And you had retaliated, of course. You’d pulled him close by the collar of his shirt and pressed your chest to his, kissing him with fervour.

‘Even if I’m… If I’m now…’ A beast, was what he wanted to say as he spoke between kisses. Minho had maybe fallen a little too well into this role of his younger self. He could still remember how insecure he used to be about his condition, how he looked down on himself after being infected with this goddamn lycanthropy… Those were feelings that no longer existed within him, he had now long since accepted this was part of him. If anything, with time, he’d embraced it. 

‘I’d like you even if… Even if you were a worm’, you replied simply, making him giggle, which in turn made you giggle.

Minho scooped you into his arms after that, and he walked the remaining steps to your childhood bed so he could sit on it with you on his lap. In no time, he was groping you over your shirt, under your skirt, and you had started to beg for him to touch you more.

His instincts were stunted, you knew that, he knew that, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have this animal side to him. Sometimes, especially when he was horny, that animalistic side of him took over his logical mind, and, back when he was a teen, he could recall having a harder time with certain feelings and emotions like these. So, he let them cloud his reason a bit as he fulfilled this little fantasy of his…

Minho ripped your shirt open, the buttons flew all over your room, and you gasped when he buried his head between your breasts. The thing was also a bit too tight on you, so he was sure you wouldn’t miss the garment if it got ripped a bit in the process.

You scrambled to take a hold of his hands, bringing them to your chest so he could fondle you over your bra, once again begging him to touch you. To ‘Please, please, Minho, touch me. I need it. I need you…’

And he was sure his cock was about to pop out of his jeans with how hard it got at your desperation.

So here you were, grinding into each other, on your childhood bed while Minho feasted on your tits.

“Fuck, that feels so good, baby. Harder. Do it harder…” 

How could he deny you when you sounded so needy? When he’d wanted to do this for so long? 

He bit harder, pinched harder, pulling strangled sounds of pleasure out of your lips. The more attention he gave to your chest, the more you rolled your hips against him, effectively pulling sounds of pleasure out of his lips.

His senses were flooded by you. The smell of your arousal on your lavender scent, your weight of him, the taste of your skin on his tongue, all combined had him almost delirious, especially when his free hand found its way under that godforsaken skirt of yours to tightly grope one of your buttocks.

“Baby, I think I’m… I might…”

Fuck, if you came just from him playing with your chest and you grinding your cunt on the tent in his jeans, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to contain himself. Although, he supposed coming in his underwear would’ve been a very accurate representation of what would’ve happened if his teenage self had ever had the opportunity to have you on him like this…

Minho couldn’t help but groan when you tightened your grip on his hair, when you started to roll your hips faster, harder… God, all he wanted right now was for the girl of his dreams to come, he needed to feel you trembling in his hold, to drown in your scent so he could convince himself this was happening.

Seeing you come, holding you tight while you did, was just absolutely delightful. You bit on your fist to keep your moans contained, while your whole body shook with your release.

Minho had to make the conscious effort not to blow right then and there. He was sure that if this had happened back when you were still that young, he would’ve certainly done so. He imagined that this would’ve probably been your first sexual experience together, that you’d laugh about how he soiled his underwear and how needy you’d been, before you laid down and cuddled for a bit…

Maybe you would’ve had sex a different time, on a different day where you were sure your dad wouldn’t come back home… But this wasn’t about being fully realistic, this was about having fun while fulfilling a shared fantasy.

“Fuck, Minho, baby, stop… I’m sore…”

Minho finally pulled himself away from your chest, mumbling a very unconvincing ‘Sorry’ before he attached his lips to the pulse point on your neck, relishing how fast your blood was pumping in your veins.

“You’re so fucking hot, my kitten. I’ve been dreaming of this moment, y’know?” He mumbled in your ear, taking one of your breasts in his hand to fondle the flesh, with special care to not stimulate your nipple too much.

“Me too, baby…” You were still trembling occasionally within his arms, taking deep breaths to get your racing heart to slow down inside your chest. “I’ve wanted this so bad… Even… Even touched myself thinking about it”.

“Mmm, fuck…” Minho started sucking love bites on your neck, following this faint need in his gut to leave his mark on you. “Have you?”

“I have… Sometimes, I did it while we slept in the same room”.

Minho wasn’t sure if this was you playing your fantasy, or if this was a real thing that happened, but, being honest, it didn’t matter. It made his mind disconnect completely as soon as the words came out of your mouth regardless.

Before he could even register it himself, he had stood up and thrown you on the bed, eliciting a shaky, surprised gasp from your lips. In a second, he was on you, kissing you hard, messily, even desperately. Your limbs wrapped around him, your arms around his neck, and your legs around his middle, bringing him further down to lay flush against you in your heated kiss.

He was dizzy, lightheaded, and for a second, he almost believed he was in the past, that he was making out with you on your bed after school, that he was about to lose his virginity to his best friend.

“Fuck, I need to put it in…” Minho barely detached his lips from yours while he spoke, just kept messily kissing you between words as he ground his hips to your core. “Please, please let me put it in… Need you…”

“We–we need a condom, Min”, your hands found their way under his top, where they settled to caress his back, making him shiver. “I don’t have any here”.

“Fuck, I don’t have any, either”, Minho left your lips to instead attach his own to your collarbones, to nibble on the sensitive skin, making you whine. “I’ll pull out. I got quick reflexes, it’ll be fine, please…”

He certainly was playing into this horny-teenage-boy thing all too well. Although, he was sure his younger self wouldn’t have been this stupid to believe just ‘pulling out’ would be an effective contraceptive, and surely neither would you. After all, back then, your dad made sure you both knew about being safe, which Minho was grateful for to this day. 

Regardless, the very real implant you had in your arm made it so he could play like this, so you both could play like this.

“Shit, you’ll pull out?” Your hands trembled when they found his backside and squeezed him. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

“Promise, kitten. Cross my heart”.

One of your hands left his bum to move to his crotch, where you cupped and squeezed him and overall felt him over the fabric of his jeans. He couldn’t help but buck his hips to let you feel as much as you could of him. “Fuck, okay. But Min… I’m not sure this will fit…”

“It will. I’m sure it will. It has to. You trust me, no?”

With a deep breath, biting your lip, you nodded. “Trust you with my life”. 

When Minho pulled himself away from your hold, he just had to tell you how fucking gorgeous you looked with your hair all messy, your tits out, your ripped shirt, and that fucking skirt… The hem pooled on your belly, exposing your underwear and the mouth-watering wet-patch on them.

God, he wanted a taste… But there wasn’t enough time for that right now.

Minho hastily unbuttoned his jeans, pulling them and his underwear down just enough to free his length. You swore under your breath, taking him into your hand and spreading the pre-cum that had beaded at the tip so you could easily stroke him. 

“Baby, please…” You guided him to your core. With your free hand, you pulled your underwear to the side, and dragged the tip of his cock all over your folds. “Need it. Need you, Minho…”

One day you’d be the death of him, he was sure. 

Under normal circumstances, Minho would’ve stretched you open with his fingers, he would’ve made sure you were absolutely ready to take that annoyingly big alpha cock of his. But he figured skipping the step would be a bit more… in character.

“Oh, fuck, fuck…” Minho pushed himself into your heat slowly, letting your walls adjust to his length with what he hoped wasn’t much discomfort. He knew that if there had been any, you would’ve said the word that would immediately stop everything you were doing. “That’s so fucking tight…”

You whined, not necessarily in discomfort, but in that way that made him know you were feeling impatient. Wrapping your legs around his hips, you tried to push on his backside to get him to get in already. “Please, I need it all. Now”.

“Shit–!” As soon as Minho bottomed out and had propped himself on his forearms, you took a hold of his hair and pulled him down for a messy kiss.

There was just so much spit. Everything was so sloppy and messy and he was honestly enjoying it way more than he ever thought he would.

“Fuck, you’re so hard… Can’t believe you fit”, you mumbled breathlessly against his lips, releasing his hair to place your hands on his back.

“Didn’t doubt–Shit, if you keep clenching like that I’ll come, kitten… Didn’t doubt I’d fit right in. Isn’t this cunt for me? Hm? Hasn’t it always been?” Minho didn’t even give you time to respond, he just started to thrust, a borderline animalistic pace that had you biting on his shoulder to muffle your moans.

There was nothing but heavy breaths and desperate groans and whines and moans… Nothing but the sound of skin slapping against skin and the headboard hitting the wall and your nails sinking on his clothed back…

Minho vaguely realised he was growling with each thrust. Like an animal. He was making all these sounds like the animal he was. And every time he did, your body just immediately reacted. Either by clawing at his back, or biting harder on his shoulder, or clamping hard around his length…

It was honestly driving him crazy. It reminded him that, ultimately, you accepted him, that you loved him just as he was. What an odd, but pleasant reflexion to make when you both were fucking, and pretending to be your teenage selves at that.

“It–It is”, you meekly mumbled after a while, and Minho, a bit puzzled, pulled himself away from your neck to look you in the eyes. “It’s yours. Has always been. I’ve always been”.

Minho swore loudly, throwing his head back once your words registered properly in his hazy mind. Your cunt was his, you were his. You’ve always been…

That reassurance, coupled with the vice grip of your walls, got him so incredibly close…

“Fuck, kitten, gonna come. Need to–need to pull out”, Minho was panting, drunk on the pleasure he was feeling and the fog clouding his reason.

Your legs tightened around his frame, keeping him as close as you could while he kept thrusting into you. “What if–What if you don’t?”

“Oh, God… Don’t say that…”

“Why? What if I want your puppies? Hm?”

He was going to die. Minho was sure he was seeing the gates of heaven open up right in front of him.

“C–can’t. We can’t…” Shaking his head, Minho tried his best to hold back, a titanic effort with how fucking good you were making him feel, with how fucking in love with you he was.

“Can’t…?” There was a pout on your lips, highlighted by your blown pupils, and Minho, once again, shook his head in response.

Minho just desperately shook his head. “Kitten, baby, please…”

The hold of your legs relented. Minho immediately straightened himself and pulled out of your warmth to take his cock in one of his hands while the other gripped your hip tightly. One, two pumps and he was groaning deeply, coming all over your underwear, over your mound and your now only partially exposed folds.

The sight was nothing short of exquisite. Your wrinkled, open shirt, your tits still falling out of your bra, with your nipples slightly puffy after all the attention Minho had given them, the skirt hunched at your waist, and your underwear drenched in his cum… 

Minho felt light, satisfied, and, as he tried to catch his breath, he just took you in.

After a few moments of silence–silence, save for the sound of your heavy breathing and the ringing in his ears–a grin made its way to your face, and, a second after, you broke into laughter. It made him laugh, too. Maybe uncontrollably so.

“Oh, that was awesome”, you chuckled, wiping the tears that had collected in your eyes at your outburst. “So good”. 

“Totally agree”, Minho leaned into you to press a brief kiss on your lips before he left the bed to find a face towel from your dresser to clean up the stupid amounts of cum that had come out of his stupid monster cock off of your body.

“‘Suppose it was a good thing that my dad isn’t coming until very late today. It would’ve been seriously awkward to explain what was going on if he found us… Well, like this”, you started shrugging your shirt off as soon as Minho had finished cleaning you up, and proceeded to work the couple of buttons on your skirt.

“I don’t think he would’ve appreciated the sight, to be honest”, Minho chuckled, getting out of his shirt and vest top as well to put his t-shirt back on and do his jeans. 

As soon as you two were dressed properly and in clean clothes, you both laid back down, unbothered by the soiled sheets. Minho simply pulled you into his arms, and pressed a brief kiss on your forehead before he hugged you close.

“Kitten…” Minho mumbled against your hair after a while, dragging his hand up and down your back in a gentle caress. “Was that true?”

You absentmindedly traced patterns on his chest, shapes that he could’ve sworn were hearts and stars. “Was what true?”

“Y’know… that thing about… About you touching yourself while I was in the same room…”

You pulled yourself away from his hold a bit so you could look him in the eyes. A smile came to your lips, right before you started opening your mouth to speak.

© therhythmafterthesummer 2023. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my stories.

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[blushweddinggowns]

Eddie was dealing with a lot of firsts today. 

The biggest one being the first time he was getting married. Though, Eddie really hoped it wouldn’t be the last. If his fantasies about this day came true he was going to have to insist on a vow renewal somewhere down the line. Fuck it, if even a quarter of what he wanted came through he’d still insist on it. He was never not going to like showing Steve off, and this was the most ostentatious way he could get away with. 

Next, and most distressing, this was the first time Eddie had ever felt the lethal mixture of being incredibly happy and horrifyingly nauseous. He had no idea that a person could feel both things at once, and Eddie was starting to think the ability was just a flaw of the human condition. 

And last, he is a 100 percent sure he had never been this damn nervous in his entire life. Especially when the source of it was entirely self-made. It was an uncomfortable reminder of how he used to feel with Steve, back when he decided to be a fucking crazy person. 

But this was so much worse. 

“You really need to relax,” Chrissy said for the hundredth time, watching as Eddie fiddled in front of the mirror, “That anti-perspirant can only go so far.”

“I know,�� Eddie sighed. He was on one today, he knew that. But knowing it wasn’t stopping any of his anxiety. Eddie was trying to fix his hair in the mirror, suddenly unpleased with how it was styled but unwilling to go bother the stylist that did it. She was busy enough with everyone else, let alone the fact that he didn’t even know why he didn’t like it. If anything he was just making it worse. But then again, Steve always said he liked his hair wild, right?

“Hon, I’m serious,” Chrissy sighed, grabbing for his hand to drag him away, “You are driving yourself crazy for nothing. Everything is going to be okay. He’s going to be there. Are you forgetting that it was Steve who asked you to marry him?”

Eddie couldn’t help but smile at the memory, even now. The little shit had beaten him to the punch by a matter of days, completely ruining Eddie’s elaborate proposal plans. No, instead Steve decided to do it in the dead of night, getting down on one knee in the middle of their living room after getting destroyed at an impromptu game of scrabble. 

Eddie should have seen it coming, he really should have. But he had been so caught up trying to plan his own proposal he had completely missed the signs. Like how Steve kept picking movies that involved proposals and weddings, and how he was always very interested in what Eddie thought of them. Eddie just hadn’t realized how many notes he’d been taking around his innocuous comments. Not until Steve showed him the scrawled out list he had made down the line:

Not public, he said he wouldn’t want to cry in front of a bunch of strangers. Not again (whoops, sorry babe but at least this one would have been happy tears?)

Close to a bed or a bed-like surface for “celebrating” (I should have seen that one coming)

Diamonds are apparently ~stupid~ so look at colored stones instead (maybe emerald for his birthstone? Stick with sliver tones.)

No where cold so he can focus on the moment instead of freezing

Make it a surprise (But not outside? I don’t want to wait till summer though. Maybe I can do it randomly? Like when his back is turned?)

Write. A. Speech.

Eddie had to give it to him, his notes weren’t in vain. It had been amazing. Tailor-made to him in a way he didn’t even fully get until it was over. Because he had started crying, right in the middle of their living room with no one but Steve to see him. And it had felt so fucking safe. There was no embarrassment, no worrying over someone he didn’t know taking their moment to share with more strangers, none of it. It was just them. 

He had fucking loved the ring, the colors, the style, all of it fit him perfectly. The only thing he loved more had been dragging Steve straight to their bedroom spoil him rotten for hours. The speech had been beautiful, for what he had managed to hear through his own excitement and tears. He had ended up asking Steve to write it down for him considering how he couldn’t trust his own memory. Now it sat on a cute index card he kept in his wallet, right alongside his cute scrawled out list, a constant reminder that Steve Harrington wanted him.

It had been perfect. Almost too perfect. Perfect enough for Eddie to be where he was right now, the doubt of how he ended up with Mr. Perfect. 

from the upcoming last chapter of this fic

[stardewremixed]

So... I was scrolling through fanart which turned into impromptu stream-of-consciousness writing prompts. I hope you like how it turned out.

WARNING: (Mild) smut, references to alcohol, drugs, and smoking. (Does not assume Farmer's gender).

Abigail - Organizes the town charity softball games, breaks a few windows (and a few hearts). Tough girl to hide her insecurities - you know the ones - her parents don't get her or support her and she's lonely as an only child (still living at home with her parents). She has this smug side smile when she's got you right where she wants you and will argue with you over trivial matters because she has to be right. She pitches in when there's a town disaster, the first to roll up her sleeves, not afraid to get dirty and work hard. Would absolutely be the tank in your DnD party. She dominates no matter what sphere she's in, including the bedroom. And Abigail is as wild and adventurous in bed as she is out of it. Oh and you always do it at the farmhouse because she's loud (and her parents are light sleepers).

Penny - shy and sweet as usual, intimidated by the ladies of the town, especially Abigail and Haley. Always carrying books, keeps her head down, and her heart is plagued by being the daughter of an alcoholic and a sailor who abandoned her mom. Dreams of a Beast to rescue her Beauty, would kill (metaphorically) for that library and yellow ball gown, but doesn't actually believe she's that pretty, even though she's stunning and educated and articulate, when she's not stumbling over her words in painful shyness. Reads everything she can get her hands on. Would write a children's novel if she could ever work up the courage to ask Elliott to be her editor. She is the blushy kind of lover and reads up on tips and tries to apply what she's learned. You think it's freaking adorable when she asks for 'sex lessons.'

Haley is not a natural blond (*gasp*) - we know! We were shocked too. She's notoriously vain but it's to make up for the fact that her mother was a supermodel and never had time to be a real mom, so she desperately wants attention and to be noticed as beautiful and worthy. Critiques her nose, the shape of her breasts, her thighs, her brows, her hair style, and hopes to someday love herself as much as her mirror does. Got the Dino tattoo on her lower back as a drunken dare from Emily and now she kinda likes it because it makes her not so perfect for once and that's a relief. She wears the best lingerie - pretty, feminine, lacy. And her fantasy she shares with you after a few too many Cosmopolitans? To do it in front of a full length mirror.

Emily - yes the girl absolutely presses paste jewels on her face because why not? She's the cool big sis (stepsister of Haley). The free spirit. Blue hair. Who cares? Other people's opinions don't really define her. Always wearing multiple necklaces and bracelets and rings. This girl has rings. Believes in crystal healing. Lets her sleeve slip off her shoulder after one too many drinks at half-price karaoke nights. She gives you that side-eye, daring you to take her home. And this girl has got some freaky passion (in a good way of course) and yes, she's flexible. It's not that she is really into one night stands, but she doesn't get hung up on the morality of sex. She just goes where the wind blows and enjoys every moment. No expectations. No labels. Just serious fun.

Maru - is a powerhouse genius with a sort of perma-frown on her face when she's concentrating that's somehow annoyingly cute. It's never quite good enough - whatever she happens to be working on. She has those glorious thick curls always bouncing around as she moves from project to project with eager determination. Summer humidity might create the great frizz storm, but she's too focused to bother taming it. Her rims keep it out of her eyes. Always a gadget or two in this girl's hands and she doesn't mind the Inspector jokes. She is far too serious about science and technology to worry about (or even notice) the random taunts of a more average intelligence population. But just because she's super smart doesn't mean she isn't kind. It just might take her longer to notice you, but that hyperfixation, those beautiful eyes, when they are on you, it's really special.

Leah- when doesn't she have paint on her nose? Dried clay on her clothes? Ink beneath her fingernails? Art is her life and the forest outside her door is a veritable landscape of dreams, the mountain tat on her sleeve a mere imitation. Her thick and wild red braid flows free and swishes back and forth as she moves and every once in a while she gets self-conscious. She knows she is pretty but she would rather have someone notice and appreciate her art. But there's something super sexy about the half-buttoned shirt, suspenders, and the nervous tuck of hair over her ear. People fall in love with her everyday but not everyone stays, as she's learned. Still she perseveres and pursues her love of art, capturing raw, pure moments away from her former bustling city life. When you offered to pose for her and be a subject for her art, it wasn't initially meant to be sexual. But she couldn't hide the flicker of interest in her eyes. And then a few weeks later when you finally kissed good night in her doorway, it was like a fire had been released. You tore each other's clothes off and did it right there standing up, then again halfway to the bed and finally made it to the bed for the third round.

Sebastian - the wild, just-rolled-outta-bed hair that's too long and his mother is always saying he should cut it, but he doesn't listen, just like the warnings she gives about the cigs perched between his lips ("those things will kill ya"). Multiple piercings, skulls on shirts, arm bands, the ripped hoodies - all symbols of his rebellious youth carried on because he can't shake the ghosts of his past. Secretly afraid that he is just a teenage boy trapped in an adult body. Hiding behind clouds of smoke and blue glowing screens make it easier to deal with the fact that he didn't follow his dreams. Freelance programmer. Dungeon master. Designing s video game. Lives in his mom's unfinished basement because it's quiet and Maru used to be scared of the dark. So when he does surface and you remember he's alive, it's actually a big deal. He made an effort and when you thank him, he just shrugs in that sexy casual way and says he wanted to see you today. It's simple but so meaningful. He's quiet but he loves you in simple ways - stealing glances from his computer, using coupons to buy your favorite foods at Pierre's, and delivering a piece of furniture you bought at his mom's shop (and conveniently 'forgot' so he would have to bring it to you, and he knows this and did it anyway). Oh and there was the time your computer crashed in the middle of the night (yes, really) and you were in the middle of applying for a farm grant and thought you lost everything you'd been working on for weeks, and you cried and called him, and he came over to fix it and recovered the data. And you may have made out and landed in bed together after (it was a dark and stormy night and the rain is like an aphrodisiac for you). You apologized a dozen times and said this isn't what you called him for and it wasn't supposed to be a midnight booty call. He laughs and kisses you gently and says he wouldn't have minded it if it was because he's wanted you badly for so long. And you went for round 2.

Sam has so much energy, too much, and he usually channels it into making mix tapes, half-finishing songs, pranking Morris and Shane at JojaMart, and skating half-pipe. But if you thought he was an empty airhead, think again. Behind the beanies, cut off sleeves, and ripped jeans, the crazy hair, and goofy smiles, there's a heart of gold. He will kneel down and tie Vincent's shoes for the five hundredth time, even though his kid bro should know by now how to do it. He'll carry those groceries all the way back to Evelyn's house for her, chattering about animal shapes in the cloud and a wicked sweet song he heard on the radio. Maybe someday he will write a jingle for the airwaves too. He will work a double shift so Shane can take Jas to swim lessons or the dentist or because Marnie was irresponsible again and left his god niece alone again late at night. And he will always buy his friends a round at the Saloon. Even if he's broke and spent all his coin on some vintage rock vinyls and the sugary cereal obsession of the week. He's a kid at heart, but he rocks hard and loves hard. That youthful exuberance is just what you need - bubble baths with rubber ducks, half-burnt pizza, dollar stor rose petals, and (root) beers in bed, making you giggle when he gives you foot massages, and tickling you with his tongue (oh yes, he knows all your sweet spots)!

Harvey may be older and mild-mannered, but he remembers little details about all his patients, whom he has come to know as friends and surrogate family. He never met his dad, his mom passed when he was a kid, and he was raised by his grandpa on canned pork and beans, microwave dinners, and model planes. His grandpa was a man of a few words, but they would paint models every evening. Sometimes they'd go out to the airstrip and watch planes take off and Grandpa would reminisce about the "good Ole days" when he still flew in the Air Force. And he always wore ties so the doc has kept up the tradition, and he still wears the coats with the elbow patches that smell of pipe tobacco and peppermint. And even though grandpa has been gone for a dozen or so years, Harvey still paints models most evenings. And every once in a while, he drives out to that airstrip with you to watch the planes while eating tunafish and pickle sandwiches and sipping wine in paper cups. And when he holds your hand, when he puts his arm around you, when he makes love to you, it's like he fits in your life and your body perfectly. Oh yes! The doctor is in!

Elliott - for all his flowery prose, his day to day speech is actually pretty down to earth once you get to know him. Maybe he comes across as a bit of a snob with his extensive vocabulary, but he really just wants to impress you, not turn you off. He (literally) likes long walks on the beach, dreamy piano sonatas, and long soulful ballads. On Chat nights you can find him loosening his ties, letting his hair down, and kicking back a pint with his BFF at the bar. He is never awake before 9:30 or 10 because his writer brain comes alive late at night. He has a flawless complexion (and he's proud of his skin care and hair routine). Inspiration might strike anywhere so he always carries a pen and notepad in his pocket and says things like "can I quote you on that?" for the Pelican Town Times, a newspaper he's trying to revive and has a circulation of maybe 3 people. He's always publishing poems under a pseudonym but his unpublished novel is his pride and joy and he doesn't let anybody read it so when he finally shares an excerpt with you one day it's a really important moment. And of course, when he does finally publish, the dedication is to you, which will make you cry, and he also dedicate it to the particularly bothersome seagull, which makes you laugh, the one that always squawks at the most inopportune times like when you two are trying to "have a romantic moment." His bed might be a little creaky and his cabin a bit drafty, but he treats you and your body like royalty (and to regular nightly full body massages).

Alex - yeah, he's not a complicated guy. He likes sports, surf, and sun. Granny has been his favorite, the first woman in his heart, and he's kinda spoiled by all her love and attention (yes she still cuts the crusts off his sandwiches and does his laundry), but he isn't a brat. He can fix a leaky roof, a leaky sink, a leaky sprinkler system. He mows the entire practice field at the high school in the spring, rakes leaves in the fall and shovels snow in the winter for his neighbors. He still sells ice cream from time to time in the summer, but usually works as a seasonal lifeguard on Ginger Island. Sure, he might be a bit disconnected and doesn't always know what his partners want, but when he's wrong and you tell him, he admits it. And while he can lift you up on his shoulders so you can pick fruit in the orchard and he has the stamina of a Greek god in bed, he doesn't brag about it (at least not very often). He really just wants to make you happy above all else. Oh and he wants to be a dad someday.

Shane was like a drug, in the beginning - you're addicted to this man, dad bod, scruffy face, and all. You love him in spite of his mean and grumpy exterior. Somehow insults turn into foreplay. Maybe it's toxic but you don't care. This man sets records in bed, and he's not a one-hit wonder. As you start showing him affection and stick around despite his numerous attempts to scare him off, he realizes you're here to stay and maybe he can have something of a life again. So he cleans himself up, goes to therapy, quits drinking, and detoxes. Boy! It's not pretty. But it's worth it to him if it means he can have you. And that makes you love him all the more. Sure he's still addicted to Joja colas, but that's really not so bad. Nothing fazes him. Chasing down cows in a thunderstorm, setting Jas' broken arm, putting out a barn fire, rescuing you from a capsized fishing boat, carrying you out from the mines for the umpteenth time, even a chicken landing on his head while you're discussing favorite sex positions in the garden. Come on. That should have elicted a laugh. He's come a long way from that scowling drunk in the corner at the Saloon who just wanted angry hookup sex. He has become your rock just like you were for him all those years ago.

[medievalandfantasymelee]

THE HOT MEDIEVAL & FANTASY MEN MELEE

FIRST ROUND: 46th Tilt

Ahmed Ibn Fahdlan, The 13th Warrior (1999) VS. Robin Hood, Robin Hood: Men in Tights (1993)

Propaganda

Ahmed Ibn Fahdlan, The 13th Warrior (1999) Portrayed by: Antonio Banderas Defeated Opponents: - Trumpkin [Peter Dinklage], The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian (2008)

“He's a diplomat who got dumped into the Norse wilderness and had to adapt. And he did! He was given a Quest and he stuck with it, despite not speaking the language! Learned Norse by listening and was pretty respectful of the people he found himself among despite having reason to feel superior. Wears eyeliner, looks great in black, kicks ass with a sword and is really nice to his horse.”

Robin Hood, Robin Hood: Men in Tights (1993) Portrayed by: Cary Elwes Defeated Opponents: - Jaskier [Joey Batey], The Witcher (2019-)

"I saw this movie when I was about 10, didn't understand most of the jokes but fell in love with Robin. I love a silly guy! (especially when he's this hot)"

Additional Propaganda Under the Cut

Additional Propaganda

For Ahmed Ibn Fahdlan:

“i havent seen the movie in over a decade but theres a scene burned into my mind forever where all the vikings are making fun of his horse for being so small (as his is an arabian and theirs are warhorses) and he proceeds to absolutely whip ass on an impromptu show jumping course to display its agility and i think thats pretty sexy of him”

For Robin Hood:

[wandussyfantasy]

First Date

Summary: You ask Wanda on a real date this time. A part 2 of Movie Night. And 1/3 requests from @lesbianpizza!! Thank you again for the requests!!

Request: Wanda and Y/n go on a date to a restaurant but they’re so insatiable (and at this point I think it’s confirmed that Wanda is that girl) that R starts fingering her under the table and she’s rubbing them through their pants. They end up having to leave in the middle of their meal to get their hands on each other properly

Pairings: Wanda x NB!AMAB!Reader

Word Count: 4,290

WARNINGS:

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT READ & DO NOT INTERACT!!!

smut, gn!reader amab, powerbottom!wanda, fingering, dirty talk, fluff, masturbation, public touching, fantasies, teasing, and creampie.

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔��𝐄 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

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

“Hey, uh,” you clear your throat nervously, “hey, Wanda.” You call her attention. You are hosting your friends over for an impromptu pool party since your parents went out of town for the weekend. You haven’t been alone with Wanda in the past couple of weeks since you took her virginity. She told you the morning after that you have to make the next move. As an overthinker, you weren’t sure what that next move should be. Plus it didn't help that this is the first time you’ve been available in two weeks. There was an important project at work and your father was over working everyone to get it done in time for the expo this weekend. 

The only contact you had with Wanda was a text here and there and whatever memes and funny videos she would send you the links to. Beyond that, you haven’t had a chance to make a move or talk about what you see in the near future for your relationship. You thought about inviting only her over and then asking her out in person. Only problem was that every time you typed out the message you thought of a reason not to send it. Then you thought about going over to her house with flowers and chocolates and asking her out that way. But that didn’t feel right either. 

While you were working yourself up to text her, you got a new notification of another link from her. It was one of those trends of friends jumping into a pool to a song and you laughed and asked if she wanted to come over for a swim. Not realizing it was the group chat and everyone was more than happy to come over. You didn’t know how to tell them not to, so you let it be and figured this would be the best way to ask her. 

Unfortunately that left zero time for the two of you to be alone. Any chance you got to talk to her was ruined by a number of friends. Especially her twin brother, Pietro. The two of you have been friends a little longer than you and Wanda but not as close. He is protective of her and he’s aware of her crush on you. He’s also aware of your rocky dating history and he’d rather not have his sister on that long list of ex lovers. So when he catches the two of you standing a little too close for his liking, he takes the opportunity to intervene. 

You find it weird that he makes his way into every conversation you fail to start but you don't think much about it. You're just grateful to be given more time to find the words to ask Wanda out. You hate how hard this task has been so far. You and Wanda used to hang out and talk about anything and everything without any awkwardness. But this added pressure to treat her as special as she deserves to be and not really knowing how to do that has become draining. 

Then the perfect opportunity arises when the two of you are putting together lunch for everyone. This time the group of friends are distracted with an intense game of pool volleyball. Wanda hums in acknowledgement as she chops vegetables.“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” You finally ask. 

“Sure,” she answers simply as she keeps her focus on the vegetables, “there's this movie I've been dying to show you while you've been busy. I know, I know, it kind of goes against the whole-” 

“Wanda,” you interrupt her. “That's not what I meant. I um,” you bite your lip as you consider your next words carefully. You move from the kitchen island where you were preparing the meat for the burgers and make your way over to the counter where she is. “I meant like you and me, we get dressed up and go to a nice restaurant and share a meal…” you stop in front of her and lean on the counter. “I pick you up instead of us meeting there. We talk, we flirt, maybe I even get to kiss you at the end of the night.” You describe what you want to do with her instead of simply stating the simple word of what it is. 

Wanda drops the knife as she tries to contain her excitement. She wants to jump up and down and scream her answer over and over but the intense look you are giving her reminds her of the night the two of you slept together and she knows now is not the time for that. “Ah so you're asking me out on a date?” She asks to clarify as butterflies flutter around in her stomach. 

“Yes, I'm asking you on a proper date,” you confirm as you play with a strand of her wet hair.

“Okay,” she says in a sweet tone. “My answer is still yes. But um, Y/n, we've already slept together. You can do more than end the night with a kiss,” she leans against your body and whispers in your ear. “I have been craving your cock for two weeks.” 

You gulp as you clench your hand into a fist and imagine the worst thing you can so you don't get an erection. “Well then um,” you clear your throat and step back as you get flustered. There are too many people here waiting for food. “I will um… we'll see where the night takes us.” You feel the twitching in your dick as it remembers being inside of Wanda without any barriers and it gets excited at the idea of it happening again. “I um, I need to use the restroom. Uh have Peter start the grill will you? Thanks.” 

Wanda laughs to herself with a shake of her head as you slip out of the kitchen. You make your way to the restroom in your bedroom as your boner stands at attention. “Shit!” As much as you try, your thoughts aren't enough to get rid of it. So you grab the old pornographic magazine you kept hidden in the bathroom and lube up your hand with the sensation lube you keep to make yourself sensitive. Times like these didn't matter how long you lasted, you just needed to get rid of the thing.

You start stroking your cock to the naked image of some random woman but it does nothing for you. So you slam the magazine shut and toss it in the trash bin. This was no use to you now. You've been with the girl or your dreams and it was better than anything you could have ever imagined. You shut your eyes as you recall that night. The surprise hand job and the surprise blow job that followed. Oh how good her mouth felt on your cock. You pump your hand harder as you remember kissing her for the first time and having your tongue inside of her. Oh the way she tastes. You're craving it now. You remember trying to keep her quiet and there was an element of the secrecy that brought you closer to the edge. 

You remember how tight she felt as you entered her for the first time and you squeeze your cock just enough to mimic the feeling but there was no fooling your body. This is your hand and not Wanda's pussy. Then a new image pops in your hand. A fantasy that you wish to see happen. 

Wanda knocks on the bathroom door to startle you before she walks in. She giggles as you hold your chest with your cock hanging out of your swim shorts. “You look like you need a hand with that.” She says as she gets on her knees. She replaced your hand with her soft delicate hands. That alone brings you closer. She strokes your cock for a moment before she takes you in her mouth. Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the feeling of her lips sucking on your cock. 

“Wanda, I'm close,” you gasp out as she continues to suck on you. 

Wanda pulls off and looks at you with her big green eyes that have darkened with desire. “Good, I want to taste your cum.” She says and puts her mouth on you again. 

As you cum in the fantasy, you cum inside of your toilet in real life. “Oh fuck,” you say as you catch your breath. “I am in trouble,” you mutter to yourself as you clean up. You return to your friends and stay away from Wanda as much as possible. She made it impossible to stay soft in her light orange two piece bathing suit.

Later that evening, you're in a nice suite and tie. Your hair is still a little damp from your shower. A very cold shower at that. Not that your dick minded. On the bright side, after cumming three times already today, you're hoping you'll last longer for Wanda. That is, if things go that far tonight. As you get out of the car to make your way up to the front steps, Wanda comes running out of her house in an oversized sweatshirt, that you're pretty sure is yours, and sweatpants with an overnight bag. “Oh, I was just coming up to-”

“No need, my parents think you're giving me a ride to Carol’s slumber party,” Wanda pushes you back into your car and climbs in, throwing her stuff in the back seat. “Drive carefully, I couldn't leave the house with makeup on.” Wanda pulls her makeup bag out of her middle pocket. 

“You wear makeup?” You ask as you pull out of the driveway.

“Shut up, it’s a special occasion,” she says while she applies the makeup. As you drive to the restaurant, you warn her when there's a bump or when you're about to make a turn. 

As you get closer to the destination you ask, “Do you need me to pull over anywhere so that you can change? I mean you look hot as you are but I don't think the restaurant will let you in.” 

Wanda sits back in her seat with a satisfied smile at the work she did. “Don’t worry, I have my dress on underneath.” 

“No way, you're wearing a dress too?” You ask with wide eyes. “Wow, you really like me.” 

Wanda rolls her eyes, but when you park the car and look at her she softens and smiles. “Yeah, I do,” she leans over the console and kisses your cheek. Leaving a stamp from her big red lips. She giggles as she grabs one of her makeup wipes to clean it off. “But don't get used to all of this getting dressed up business. Especially not when all I want is for you to take it all off anyway.”

You are a little intimidated by how direct Wanda is. The shy girl you once knew is no longer in the body of this confident woman. You're impressed by her change but a little embarrassed that you didn't notice it sooner. You knew Wanda to be the one who takes it slow. She and Vision dated for years and yet you're the one who took her virginity. Not him. 

She was someone who loves romcoms and expects the roses and chocolates and the grand gestures and the romantic dates. At least, you thought she was. With how she was acting tonight, you wonder how she stayed a virgin so long. 

“Let’s get inside before I can't control myself,” you say. “Wouldn���t want to put your hard work to waste.” You get out of the car before she can say something to convince you otherwise. You go to open her door and while you walk, she is taking off the lounge wear so that when she steps out she can surprise you. 

Wanda steps out slowly, teasing you with the sight of her bare leg first. You're speechless when she reveals her entire look for the evening. Her hair falls nicely with her dark loose waves with red lips and light makeup that leaves her still looking natural. The dress is red and stops just below her knees with a small slit at her thigh, it's not a tight dress but it still clings to the right places giving her body a great shape. And to complete the look she is wearing black heels. “Close your mouth, you'll catch flies,” she pats you on the cheek and you shut your mouth, unaware of when it dropped open in the first place. 

“You always look good, but wow,” you compliment as you follow her through the parking lot. Wanda is strutting her way to the building and you're looking like a drooling puppy dog behind her. 

As the two of you are looking through the menu to order, things heat up as the two of you sit close together in the dimly lit booth. “I think I might order something light. I'm not sure I want to stuff myself with food tonight,” she says conversationally as she drops the menu on the table. Wanda places her hand on your thigh, “It's always best to save room for dessert.”

You swallow as your entire body reacts to her touch. “Yeah, I'm not in the mood for a lot of food either.” You lean in close and whisper, “I’ve got a craving for something off the menu.” You slip your fingers under her dress to caress her bare thigh. Wanda has been very clear about what she is okay with this evening and it relieves you from feeling like you have to try so hard. 

By the time the waiter leaves with your orders, your cock is swelling up with arousal from Wanda rubbing you through your pants and your fingers are teasing her through her underwear. “I've been practicing what you showed me last time and,” she gasps as you move her panties to the side.“Ooh, the only thing that gets me off is the thought of being with you again.”

You hum as you move to kiss her neck but don't put your lips on her. Instead you whisper, “Oh yeah? Do you have any fantasies that you want to share with me?” 

Wanda smiles, “It’s been weeks,” she bites her lip as you dip your fingers in her, “I have many.” She tries to pull your zipper down but you stop her by removing your fingers. 

“Uh-uh uh. Not here,” you tell her. “Through the pants is just fine. And a lot less illegal,” you joke. You kiss her cute pouting lips and she breaks into a smile. It's so natural between the two of you. 

An attractive waitress stops by to deliver the drinks the two of you ordered. You grin as you thank her and Wanda clenches her jaws to hide her jealousy until you slip your fingers back inside of her pussy. Your way of letting her know that she holds your full attention. You continue to pump your fingers in her at a steady pace. Her slippery walls constrict around your fingers every so often. The two of you try to present as normal and have a casual conversation when your meals arrive. 

“Can I ask you something?” You press on her clitoris causing her to gasp out a yes for an answer. “Why are you lying to your parents about where you are tonight? They know me, they know we're friends.”

Wanda wiggles on your fingers as you continue to fuck her. “I don't want the pressure on us. Whatever we're doing. They'll ruin it. My dad approves of you and my mom has been… oooh… she's been telling me to ask you out before I even realized how I f-feel about you… oh that's good.” She stumbles on her words as you continue to pleasure her with your fingers. 

“Ah, so I'm guessing you haven't told the girls about what happened last time either?”

Wanda shakes her head, “No, no, I want it to be just us until… oh my god… until we're ready. They think you… ugh… turned me down and said we're better off friends.” 

You nod as you understand her reasoning. Romance is not dead, if you keep it just yours. “Okay, I can agree to that. Especially since I don't want your brother to kill me and-” 

Wanda squeezes your bicep, “Baby, please can we not talk about my family when you're… ohh.. doing that to me.” 

“Right, and giving me a handjob in front of my family is acceptable,” you retort as you rub her clitoris again. 

“Oh please, you thought it was hot,” she shoots back as she squeezes your cock, you almost let out a groan. 

“Fair enough,” you take a few big bites of your food and nudge Wanda to start eating. She asks you what's up and you pull your fingers out of her. “I’m trying to at least buy you a meal before we go back to my house. So please, eat something or else I'll feel bad for keeping you up all night.”

Wanda perks up at the mention, “All night huh? You could barely last a few minutes the first time.” 

You smirk as you lean in close and whisper, “I already came three times today thinking about you.” You lean back and speak in a normal tone. “I hadn't done that in a while before you surprised me. Plus I'd never done that without protection, the moment you decided to do that it was over for me.”

Wanda tilts her head, “At least I was your first at something.” 

You hum and point to her plate with your fork. “Eat.”

“Okay, okay, I'm eating,” Wanda takes a few bites but the food isn't appetizing. No. She is craving something only you can give her. She watches you as you eat. Something that a few years ago disturbed her because you used to chew with your mouth open to annoy her. This time, you're clean with no desire to annoy her, only the desire to get out of this restaurant and fill her with something other than food. 

“I’m not hungry anymore,” you say as you drop your utensil and look at her. Wanda smiles and says that she isn't either. You flag down the waiter to pay for the check and leave. Back in the car, Wanda is quick to grab your bulge and try to pull your zipper down. “Can I drive us back to my house first?” You ask in a light laugh.

“Alright,” she sighs, removing her hand from your pants. When you get to the house, the two of you waste no time running to your bedroom. Thankfully you can be as loud as you want with your parents away. You shut and lock the bedroom door and bring Wanda into a passionate kiss. Staining your lips with her red lipstick. You don't mind one bit. “Finally,” she breathes out as she starts to pull on your clothes. 

“I’m sorry I took so long,” you go in for another kiss and she catches your face with her hands, holding you close. You grab her by the waist and guide her to the bed. You sit on the side of it with her still standing. “I was trying to be everything you wished for,” you say as you continue to kiss her red lips. 

Wanda puts her hands on your chest to stop you  and breaks the kiss. “Y/n,” her light laugh causes your heart to flutter along with the bright way she says your name. “You don't have to try, just be you. That's enough for me.” She gives you a light kiss on your nose and you smile up at her. Your heart tightens at her words. You had no idea that you needed to hear them but it means the world that she said them. 

“I… gosh I don't know what to say to that,” you admit as you're at a loss for words. 

“Don’t say anything, just,” Wanda climbs on your lap to straddle you. “Show me how you feel.” 

“Okay,” you nod and start to kiss her again. You start with her lips then you move to her neck, down to her collar bone, finally you arrive at her chest. Instead of reaching behind her to unzip the dress, you lower the strap on her shoulder and place a few kisses there. You raise your eyebrows when you notice that she doesn't have a bra on and you pull her breast over the dress and put your mouth over her nipple. You lick circles around her nipple and suck on her breast then you bring the other one out of the dress and give that breast the same attention. 

Wanda has her hands in your hair as she learns about this new sensation. Her pussy starts squeezing and making her hips move involuntarily and she knows that her body is craving so much more. She rubs herself on your bulge in hopes that will give you the hint to move this along. She has weeks of pent up sexual tension that was controlling her actions right now. Forget weeks. It was years worth. She's impressed with how well you've contained yourself all evening. 

“I need you,” she whispers as she massages your scalp. You remove your mouth from her chest and look up into her eyes of desire. “Please,” she begs, “I’ve been patient all night.” 

This makes you chuckle as you shake your head, “No you haven't.” 

She breaks into a sweet smile, “Okay, maybe not tonight but I have been waiting weeks for you to make the next move.”

“Okay, that's fair,” you gently bring her face down to yours for a kiss that she is eager to return. She moves her hips on your crotch again, making your dick as impatient as Wanda is. “Let me lay you down,” you say against her lips as her hands travel down your body and try to pull on your zipper. 

“No, I’m okay right here,” she pulls your hard cock out and strokes you underneath her. 

“At,” you struggle with breathing between the kissing and the hand job, “At least let me grab a condom.”

Wanda giggles as she pulls her underwear aside and teases the tip of your penis with her dripping entrance. “I already told you not to worry about that,” she reminds you as she slowly sinks down onto you. 

Your groans fill the room as you enjoy every sensation being sent through you from her tight warm walls. Nothing in the world felt better than this right now. “You are so awesome,” you compliment awkwardly. 

Wanda giggles, “Shut up,” she kisses you in order to keep your mouth busy. She has a tight grip on your shoulders as she rides you. As she picks up a faster pace, she stops kissing you and tips her head to the ceiling. Her breasts bounce in your face as she does. You can hardly handle the view. You don't know how you got so lucky. To show how much you appreciate her, you start kissing her exposed body. Letting her know the things you don't know how to put into words yet. Your hands claw at her dress to pull it further down her torso.

The next position Wanda wants to try is with her on all fours and you thrusting into her from behind. The two of you take your clothes off as you move around the bed to get in the position. This one has you doing all of the work now. You don't mind it at all. You reach underneath her to rub her clitoris and it causes her to release a noise you hadn't heard from her before. It encourages you to do more. 

You start thrusting into Wanda a little harder than before and she lets you know that she likes it. You hold her beautiful ass with your hands as you start to pound into her aching pussy. “Fuck!” you say as her walls tighten around your cock as she experiences an orgasm. Neither of you knew that she was so close. It was a surprise to her as much as it was to you. It causes Wanda's arms to go weak and she collapses her face into the pillow underneath her. You pull out of her to check on her. “Are you okay?” You nudge her shoulder softly. 

Wanda turns on her side and smiles at you. “Yeah, I um, didn't expect that but, oh it was so good.” She lays on her back and reaches for you to come closer to her. When you do, she whispers in your ear, “I want you to fill me with your cum again.” You nod and your dick twitches with excitement as you slip back inside of her slippery walls. You continue to fuck her in the missionary position, kissing her on the lips every so often until you feel it happening. Cum shoots out of your cock, filling the girl of your dreams up. 

When it's over, the two of you hold each other for a moment. Taking the time to appreciate the fact that this hasn't complicated your relationship the ways you've always feared. “I love you, Wanda,” you admit softly. 

She sits up and gazes into your eyes, she wasn't ready to return those words but she did appreciate hearing them. So, instead of a verbal response, she kisses you and that is enough for you, for now. 

The End.

[chouxsardine]

Hold Me (1)--- Jake Kiszka x reader

My fic for @seenoversundown 's Valentine's Day Writing Event! I choose the prompt: Play Truth or Dare

Summary: "hold me like you hold your Les Paul, have your way with me the way you play her.” || Your drunk slip-up leads to one of the best Valentine's Day gift you've ever got

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Word Count: 3547

Warnings (for this part): 18+! Minors DNI, sexual implications, cursing, alcohol, dom Jake/sub reader, guitar kink, bondage, scissors, inappropriate use of guitar strap, pickle slander

Author's note: Remember I said here about a series of improper guitar use fantasy? Well, here's another one! This idea has been circling in my mind for the longest time. Happy Valentine's Day, Enjoy!

🎧: Dirty Little Religion by Warren Zevon

“Come on, y/n, you have to play by the rules. That’s only fair.”

“Oh gosh, please don’t,” you groaned, banging your forehead on the table, regretting every possible decision you have made in the last two hours.

It was a Friday night, Jake and you were throwing your very own drinking party at home. It started out with some innocent cocktails but has somehow soon turned into chugging down straight tequila. To add to the fun, you proposed an impromptu and very informal round Truth or Dare, which, looking back now, was a very bad idea. Yes, your original intention was to fish out some funny anecdotes from Jake, but woe is you—how the tables have turned. Now, you were the one facing the difficult choice between spilling your dirtiest fantasy or drinking a shot of pickle juice.

That dare was definitely devilish, and Jake was setting it up for you to fail. He knew you absolutely can’t stand pickle juice, especially when it’s that bottom-of-the-jar “essence”— evilly green and murky with all the loosened pulp and seeds floating around. Simply one look at it made you sick.

“Pick your poison, darling,” Jake said, making no effort to hide his smirk.

You tentatively reached for the shot glass but immediately gave in as its smell reached your nose. Why trouble yourself? You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t an arousing tingle inside. Simply the way Jake said the word ‘fantasy’ sounds sexy. Talking about the chokehold this man has on you. It was clear that you were fighting a losing battle. To choose something so ghastly over a little spice in the uncharted territory is just straight-up stupid. Plus, you may or may not have had a bit too much to drink. You felt positive that one simple sip of that pickle juice would make you throw up before the alcohol does.

Sensing the silence, Jake’s demeanour changed. He was more than tipsy, yes, but not to the point that it stops him from being attentive to your feelings and reactions. It was a cute, hot little thing he came up with on the spur of the moment that he thought would be fun. It wasn’t meant to put you on the spot. To make you uncomfortable and ruining the moment is the last thing he wanted.

“Hey, it’s okay, you don’t have—”

“I’ve always—”

You opened your mouth simultaneously.

Jake took one look at you and shut up immediately. Your cheeks are flushed, your half-lidded eyes were fixed on him with a familiar look. Your left knee that was previously stretched out was now bent against your chest. Oh.

“Go on.” He whispered.

Fuck it.

“I’ve always felt jealous of your guitar, you know that? Especially when you are away on tour. The way you play it on stage, making all those girls scream for you…And that one time you fucking kissed it to make the vibration like that?” You let out a humourless laugh as your eyes narrowed, “it drives me mad.” The way you accentuate “mad” blurs its meaning, and it makes Jake wonder.

“Mad, huh? Which kind? Mad as in crazy, or mad as in angry?”

The drinking game long forgotten now that it has changed into your worship of Jake. You ignored his question completely as you continue. The words coming out much easier and at a faster pace.

“Or the way you slap it, the way you hold its neck and rock it,” all the images and videos you’ve seen are alive in your mind, overlaying with the sight of Jake right before your eyes, “the way you make her whine and scream.”

Jake’s heart skips a bit at the change of pronoun.

“Did you ever get hard while doing that?” You set down the glass on the table, got down on your hands and knees, crawling towards Jake until you were by his feet. “I bet you did. How can you not?” Jake beckoned and you straddled his lap in one swift motion, holding his face. Your eyes were glassy, your pupils dilated. “That’s when I get so jealous and….and insecure.” Jake frowned at that last word. He never thought of that.

“That’s when I wish I was there, waiting for you backstage. I want to kiss you and tell you how amazing you look up there because you deserve it,” with that, you studied Jake’s face intensely through your droopy eyes before defeatedly dropping your head onto his shoulder, your words muffled and slurred,“hell, you have no idea what I want to do to you.”

“I will if you tell me,” Jake tempted.

You pulled back, staring down at him. You caressed his cheek, your fanned breath tickling the loose strands of hair that frame his face. To Jake, you feel like a warm dessert soaked in bourbon; you looked…delicious. It was the same kind of primal desire that shares the same origin with hunger, the wild biological needs fuming. All your shame and self-consciousness unraveled by the alcohol, coming off like a corset with its ribbons pulled.

“I want you to tie me up with your guitar strap,” your eyes closed at how good it felt finally having those words freed from your mind, “I want you to hold me like you hold your Les Paul, have your way with me the way you play her.”

Jake’s jaw hung open. Damn, alcohol does makes people open up. He was not expecting you to say that and was also not expecting himself finding it so incredibly hot. Practically, whiskey dick, but mentally, he was so hard. Before he could come up with a decent response, your head dropped down again, this time with a heavier thud, and he could feel your breathing change.

“Y/n?”

No response.

He was so glad you finished that last sentence before passing out.

That was some weeks ago and you only had vague memories of the night. You knew that you must have spilled some crazy shit because since then, on several occasions, you have caught Jake staring at you. Well, it’s not like he can keep his eyes off you very often, but you can tell this is different. He would have his thumb and index fingers rubbing his chin, looking deep in thought as if composing a riff, except that his eyes are on you, and there is a predatory smugness that keeps you at your feet.

“For fucks sake, Jake. You’re doing it again! Why are you glaring at me like that?” You have tried fishing it out of him more than once.

“Secret” and a wry smile were the answers you got every time.

Luckily, he didn’t keep you waiting for too long; it was only a few days later when you finally get to find out about it.

Neither Jake nor you are the type of people who would go overboard on Valentine’s Day. In the past, it has always been a cute dinner date followed by a night that is both sweet and spicy. You could tell Jake is up to something this time. He’s been dropping subtle (or so he thought) hints throughout the day.

Evening was fast approaching. You opted for staying in and cooking. Jake made an amazing chicken piccata. (He even used heart-shaped pasta!) Dinner was quick and delicious, Warren Zevon’s record was playing in the background as you did the dishes. A pair of arms wraps around your waist as you turn off the faucet. Jake’s curls tickle your skin. He is humming to the song, and it takes you a second to realize that he was humming along with the record to the lyrics of Dirty Little Religion.

“I have a gift for you, sweetheart.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, as if his intentions couldn’t be clearer. But who says you aren’t equally (or perhaps more) excited?

“Oh love, you’ve been so good to me all day, how could I ask more from you?” You sound innocent, as if completely unaware of the implications.

“M’not asking. I’m offering. My good girl deserves all my loving.” Jake replies slyly.

Jake calling you good girl will always make you knees go weak. You turn around in his embrace and willingly accept his affectionate kiss on the lips before pulling open the dishwasher. ‘Fine. I’ll just finish up here real quick, okay?”

“Of course, and when you do, come downstairs and find me.”

You quirk your eyebrows. “Downstairs, huh?” It looks like he does has some ideas.

“And you better hurry up, sugar.” He gives you a teasing smack on the butt before turning on his heels.

Downstairs means his studio. Your steps are a bit wobbly as you reach the bottom of the stairs and your fingers shiver as they come into contact with the cool metal of the doorknob. Calm down, y/n, you could be getting all riled up over nothing; knowing that couldn’t be further from the truth, your attempt to calm down sounds pathetic. Throughout your relationship with Jake, the last thing this man ever did was disappoint. And if your nose serves you right, you detect a faint smell of magnolia in the air—the scent that was only reserved for certain occasions. God, what has Jake been planning?

On a second thought, you retrieve your hand from the doorknob, choosing to gently knock three times. A gut feeling tells me that the man of the other side of the door would prefer some manners tonight.

“Come in.”

You push the door open. The room is warm and well-lit, looking the same as usual. Jake is sitting in his Corbusier-style leather chair in the corner, fingers steepling together.

“Hmmmm, a girl with courtesy I see. Very well.” Jake commends.

Bingo. You smile coyly. Your praise kink almost made you curtsy to him.

“Already so good, perhaps I have to find something else to reward you with on top of your gift,” Jake says thoughtfully as he approaches you and pulls you in for a kiss, “but first, my princess deserves to live out her fantasy.”

Fantasy? The way Jake says it gives the word a familiar twang that triggers something in your brain. Your mind is racing as it flips through memories from the past few weeks. Looking around you, most of Jake’s guitars are hanging on the wall instead of resting on the stand. A rather odd thing for him to do. And every guitar on the wall has the strap attached, hanging below them and casting snake-like shadows on the wall.

Then it kicks in. Memories of that Truth or Dare night rushes back to you. Your drunken words replay themselves in your mind, clear and loud: “I want you to tie me up with your guitar strap.”

“Oh, Jake, you didn’t—” Your hands fly up to cover your face in embarrassment.

“Oh, but I do,” Jake laughs, taking your hands in his and thumbing them in soothing circles, “no need to be shy, love. There’s nothing shameful about having desires; it’s a very human thing to do.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. I’m so happy that you feel comfortable enough to share it with me,” Jake smile reassuringly, “and I find it hot beyond words.”

Your eyes shot up at him upon hearing it, and Jake’s gaze tells you that he is being honest. Seeing that you’ve relaxed, Jake leads you to stand right in front of his guitar display, his hands resting steadily on your shoulders.

“I’ll let you take your pick, doll. Whichever one that has the honour to have caught your eyes.”

You take a deep breath, feeling like a child in a candy store. This is not the time to get overwhelmed. Your eyes first travel greedily between the guitars, linger over their smooth curves, then you divert to the straps. Jake’s signature ’61 Les Paul SG is standing tall and proud in the middle, paired with the most often seen thin leather strap in back. Moving further right is his SG Classic with the Pinegrove brown padded strap from earlier days, and there’s the black one with the broader shoulder pad which was once used to hold a double-neck but now used on his Coodercaster. You picture them laying over Jake’s shoulder, the way they strain and slacken with his movement, the umbilical cord between his body and his creation. You also imagine the what they would look and feel when wrapped around your waist. The slightly nervous you is inching towards the brown strap—it looks so comforting with its suede texture and its wrinkled surface, and its also wider, therefore leaning towards a cuff rather than a rope when tied; however, the bolder voice obviously prefers the black one—classy, timeless, direct and succinct like a command. It’s thinner, so it might cut into your skin if you are squirming too much (which you definitely will), but isn’t that what you are after? Isn’t that the gist—pleasure mixed with pain?

Jake is being unexpectedly patient, giving you all the time you need to take it in as he resumes his previous position in the chair, admiring your predicament from afar.

“I want that one.” You blurt out finally, pointing at his black strap.

The look on Jake’s face made you suspect that he has known what you’d choose all along.

“Nice choice.” Jake comments, stepping forward to remove the strap from the guitar. You know it’s most likely in your head, but the strap looks different the second that it was detached from the instrument; now wrapped around Jake’s palm, it looks more powerful, it looks like it is determined to serve its intended purpose well for tonight.

“Now go upstairs.”

This time, the command is brusque.

Oh, so the studio is not the final destination. You feel like being on a scavenger’s hunt, following all the clues and getting more snd more excited and impatient by the second. You can’t tell if you are disappointed or relieved that you are not doing…well, whatever Jake intends to do with you…in his studio.

You hands are already touching the door when you heard him again:

“While you are up there, princess, do yourself a favour and strip down to your bra and panties.”

You gasp, but chose not to turn around.

“Yes,” you murmur just loudly enough for him to hear you, “Sir.”

Upstair in your shared bedroom, you do not know how to position your body. You are naked except for your underwear, but the room still seems too hot. You tried laying in bed in a sultry pose—too pretentious, for fuck’s sake, you’ re not shooting porn. You sat down but you kept hugging your knees to yourself—you don’t want Jake to mistake that as reluctance. You are just a bit jittery. God knows how long you’ve been fantasizing this. You tried sitting on the ottoman, but the leather kept sticking to your bum, and it wouldn’t take long before you start sweating and leaving a shame-filled imprint on the seat. You’ve always wanted this, and it’s Jake, there’s nothing to be nervous about, just do what feels best.

Alright, alright.

Following the voice in your heart, you find yourself dropping down to your knees, kneeling on the plush beige rug by the bed. You have your back against the bedroom door. You know it would be impossible for you not to look at Jake’s reaction the moment he see you in this pose, but you are also not sure if you are ready to take that reaction. To you, for now, kneeling feels the most right. For you and Jake, the dom/sub thing in bed is never explicit. Sure, he enjoys you calling him Daddy from time to time and you definitely have got him all whiny and teary for more than once, but this would be the first time that you will be trying restraints. You guess you have always had this fantasy—there’s just something about Jake and his guitar that makes your knees buckle. You are secretly thankful for your drunk slip-up, because you are not sure if you will have the courage to stare into his eyes and say those words sober, even though you know that Jake would never judge you.

The sound of the door opening interrupts your thought. The room is so quiet that you can hear a pin drop, and you are holding your breath. Therefore, even without looking, you are positive that Jake hitches his breath when he sees you. You regret a little for facing away from him. Now you want to see his expression.

“Don’t move.” As if reading your mind, Jake orders. You straighten your back. Jake approaches until he is standing right behind you.

“What a good girl.”

Something touches you. You quickly realize Jake is using the bended strap to trace random patterns on your back. You feel the looped end of the strap at your cervical spine before it circles around your scapula, from where it travels down along your spine all the way to your hipbone, dipping a little into the elastic band of your panties. Jake watches the involuntary contraction of your muscles as they react to the touch, feeling satisfied as he sees the fine hairs on the back of your neck slightly perk up.

You just breathed a sigh of relief when you feel the smooth leather again, this time reaching in front and tracing your clavicle. It stops at the little indentation between the bones, right beneath your throat and inches upwards to your chin, tilt it upward, then finding leverage on the left side of your jaw, Using it to turn your head back.

You run straightforward into Jake’s eyes, which are now the colour of melted chocolate. The dark, mesmerizing, 80% cocoa type.

Your pouty lips and puppy eyes are silently begging him for a kiss. Jake indulges, catching your bottom lip between his teeth slightly as his pulls away.

“Already tasting so sweet, angel.”

Aside from the praise, the tenderness in his tone is unvarnished. This is the voice he uses whenever he checks up on you. This is a sign that you are about to have the talk—the sweet conversation with a fraction of awkwardness before you two try out anything new that gives consent and sets up rules and boundaries.

“I…I really want this.” You pre-empt.

“That’s good to hear,” Jake chuckles. Now he has came around, sitting face to face with you. What looks like a wash bag laying beside his knees. What? He has gone and got a bag for this? You wonder what the hell he has got in there.

“I know it’s been a minute, but do you still remember our safe word?”

“Yes. It’s ‘soundcheck’.” You answer, peeling your eyes away from the bag. The safe word was something you two has settled early on in your relationship. Neither of you has been in a position that requires the use of it, but the simple fact that such a word exists and you are comfortable using it when the situations calls for is reassurance for both sides.

“Good. Use it if you need to. Since we are trying something new today, I suggest we add on to it a bit more,” Jake holds your gaze steadily as you nod, “we are going with colours. Green means all good and continue; yellow means pause, say it if you feel like it’s too much, we will take a break, check in, work things out, and you decide if you want to keep going; red is the big ‘no-no’, say it and everything, I mean everything, stops immediately, no question asked. Copy?”

“Yes, green to go, yellow to pause, and red to stop.” You repeat it back, knowing Jake always requires a clear response at this point. This is starting to sound like those naughty romance novels, although you have a secret feeling that what you’re about to experience is going to be so much better.

“Clever girl,” Jake unzips the bag and takes out a pair of scissors, showing them to you, “these are safety shears. I feel like they’re necessary if I am tying you up today. They are medical grade and they cut through everything. Whatever the reason you need out of the restraints, they get you the quick release. ”

He places the scissors in your hands. You hold on to it, finding its curved blade and matte handle consoling. “Now listen up, if it comes to that,” Jake speaks slowly, his index finger tapping your naked skin with each accentuated word, “I will cut the strap. I don’t care how long I’ve had it or how much it costs. They are nothing compared to your safety. Do you hear me, love?”

“Yes. Yes, I understand.” You heart melts at how serious he is taking this. You knew he must’ve done his research. The colour system and all. “Thank you, Jake.”

“No need to thank me for keeping you safe, doll,” Jake squeezes your hand gently, “now, are we ready?”

Part 2 out now

Yeah! you made it! Thank you SO MUCH for reading :))

any comments and feedbacks are greatly welcomed and deeply appreciated. I've never done a taglist before....does anyone want to be tagged for part 2?

my other works: Permission to Fall | Mariner's Complex | Ticked (all my boxes) | Love is a four-legged word | The Lucky Ones | Coming back to me | Warm Honey | He Would

[imbecominggayer]

How To Name Your Characters

I am so sorry for the impromptu break! I just wanted to distance myself from social media for a bit but I realized that I don't want to ignore you! Again, my apologies :`3

From @melda0m3 we have: "how to name and why is it so hard? Especially for fantasy"

For our formatting: I am going to be explaining why names are so hard to come up with and then I am going to be giving my methodology combined with some other basic advice!

Why Is Naming So Hard?

Naming is complicated when it comes to characters since names are extremely important. Afterall, a character's title is one of the most repeated words within a story (ignoring obvious ones like "you" and "the")

A character's name has to be simulataneously ordinary enough that it doesn't just look like a random keyboard smash aka "crg xmnj" but also unique to the point where you haven't just written the name "james smith" for the billionth time.

This is especially hard for Fantasy since it lacks the history that tends to inspire most names. Most last names are often associated with occupation or physical characteristics since not everyone arriving into a different country had the same naming system.

It's also just hard to write a fantasy name that doesn't sound like it belongs in Tolkein's novels.

My Methods!

Most of my worlds don't exist in an entirely seperate fantasy land. It's often a lot of Urban Fantasy and, in general, more realism.

Because of this, I can often just steal a name from the real world. Then it comes down to deciding on nationality and heritage.

A character sometimes comes pre-packaged with a certain ethnicity in mind such as with Nariman Nahornyj whose ukrainian and kazakh heritage was due to his past being inspired by the Holodomor. Somtimes, I have an interest in a specific naming convention or I just felt like filling in some diversity that was desperately needed in my stories. For example: Nonkosi Tyali, my first Xhosa character!

When it comes to highly fantastical worlds, I tend to go onto fantasy name generators. Although, if I have a specific image in mind I sometimes just make my own "off the cuff" name. For example: Pronoia which is based off the word "Paranoia"

Then I make a decision based off of how the name sounds.

Is it religious sounding?

Is it playful or more serious?

What is the type of person that comes to mind when this name is said!?! There are cases where a manipulative character has a name that is the complete opposite of their vibe and cases where a name is more reflective of the person naming this character in-world.

If it's a chosen name, then this name will definitely give off a certain impression if the character wants to be perceived in a specific light!

[justapoet]

these roads are changing me (but they all lead back to you)

"Disneyland?" she asked, surprising her own self at the absolute disbelief in her voice. "Disneyland Paris," he emphasized. "With me. It's your princess day, my lady." Annabeth blinked. "Disneyland?" she asked, surprising her own self at the absolute disbelief in her voice. "Disneyland Paris," he emphasized. "With me. It's your princess day, my lady." Annabeth blinked. What a lovable, lovable human.

read it on Ao3

chapter 1: to those who ask

chapter 2: to whose who wait

chapter 3: to those who gaze

chapter 4: to those who left

chapter 5: to those who went so far away

chapter 6: to those who remain

chapter 7: to those who never saw me

chapter 8: to those who said they would stay

to those left behind

The first time Annabeth ran away from home, she was seven years old.

She didn't remember the reason as clearly as she remembered Helen's unkind words about something she did or didn't do — because she never knew what they were in her father's house — and she escaped the place by jumping through the window of the woman's office. The night was cold and less than welcoming to a child, especially one with so much fear on her face and tears in her eyes, but it wasn't worse than another dinner on a table they wouldn't set with a plate for her, with food she would have to cook for herself.

It was kinder when she met Luke, but even he advised her that living in the streets wouldn't be better than having a roof upon her head. Especially when winter was already ruthless, and the season had barely begun. Luke, Grover and Thalia took her to camp, where she spent the night and the following day, and only then they managed to convince her that the risks of being a missing person weren't worth the peace she had just found there, with them.

So, she went back anyway, and wished she hadn't when no one even noticed she had been gone.

The second time she ran away, it was because she had regretted leaving the camp instead of signing up to stay the whole year. She was nine, and she was absolutely sure that it would take her father at least a month and a half to realize she didn't come back home — but in her childish fantasy, and the wanting to just see if things would magically change, she went back to their house, and ran away back to camp within the first twenty-eight days.

Chiron wasn't one to bend the rules, but he did let her add her name to the year-rounders list, and asked her to not comment on anything. If she didn't mention it, the other campers wouldn't even question, and it would be better than explaining why she had come back or the reason why Chiron let her stay so easily.

The third time happened when she was thirteen, and she didn't think it would happen at all. But her father and stepmother had decided to make an impromptu trip to God-knows-where — she hoped it was the depths of hell — and forgot to remember that she was spending the day out with Grover and Percy. So, when she came back to an empty house, without a note and without a message and without anything at all, she already knew what had happened.

She was left behind, and it was the first time the sadness turned into full-blown anger.

She took everything she remembered ever bringing to the house, and took one of her father's suitcases to fit it all in, and then decided she would ask anyone to have her, at least for a while. She didn't want to bother anyone with having to house a pre-teenager, especially when she did have a perfectly good house to stay in regardless of its other inhabitants, but the hate she felt was something she needed to deal with away from Helen's crystal things and her father's old, historical stuff.

She found herself back on camp, and Chiron didn't ask, that time. Deep down, she knew he wondered why she still went back instead of staying there all year long, and she also knew that he only didn't make the offer out loud because he knew the answer. She wanted things to change, she wanted a chance for them to be better, and her logic didn't quite reach that part of her heart yet.

The last one, she was fourteen, and they were all in the most magical place on Earth, or so they sold it as. It had been a surprise when Helen and Frederick told her to pack her things and join them, but she understood that it had come from Matt and Bobby, who asked her, innocently, which car seat she wanted. Her father and step-mother seemed a bit taken aback, apparently remembering that there was someone else in the house, and Annabeth simply said she didn't mind which one she'd take.

She travelled by the window to the airport, and tried to sink to the seat whenever Helen stuttered before mentioning her name in the middle of the conversations. She was also by the window in the airplane, beside a stranger and her father on the aisle seat.

Annabeth didn't really care about princesses and princes and all, but there was something about being somewhere so colourful and with so much coming straight out of 2D movies that made her skin itch in excitement and her head run overdrive with the want to explore everything. She was young, after all, and there was still a world she didn’t know, and so much she could explore.

Her younger brothers were just as excited, and she tried not to think too hard about it when Helen and Frederick never questioned where they wanted to go, but made Annabeth wonder why she needed so desperately to meet Belle and her yellow dress. She tried not to think too hard about how they had their lunch at the Pirates of the Caribbean's themed restaurant when everyone knew she didn't like eating fish. She completely ignored how they didn't mind stopping when her feet started hurting and still it was fundamental they got to the line to meet Gaston before stopping.

She tried not to think too hard about how the boys got a dozen gifts and characters and action figures and she couldn't get the tiara that shone so pretty over the mannequin's head on the store Helen bought a necklace.

It's a useless thing to have, Annabeth, her stepmother had told her.

You should be smarter. Do you really want something that will be good for nothing, dear?, her father had questioned when she had asked him, instead.

They weren't looking when she wandered far in the airport, or when she started sprinting the hell away from where they were busy trying to fit everything in the cart. They didn't realize she wasn't there, and neither was her luggage, as a kind lady helped her put it all in the trunk of her taxi and she gave the only other address she knew by heart.

Sally Jackson took her in, and let her stay in the spare room for as long as she needed. The writer never asked questions, never raised an eyebrow, never raised her voice. She never made her feel any less than welcome, any less than wanted, any less than loved.

Annabeth only didn't come back to their house when they were both on camp, and her father didn't even bat an eye when she lied about staying at camp the whole year round.

When Percy asked if she wanted to start running with him when Annabeth was sixteen, just to kill time and do more than just lie around and freak out over school and families, she didn't even think twice before accepting.

Because it was something she was good at, apparently; running.

She ran.

She ran.

She runs.

✉

"To whom I left behind.

I'm still not sure what I should have said, or if I should say anything at all. I don't know if you'd be willing to listen, or even if you should. I'm not sure I can see you again without it being too awkward or forced. I think that's weird enough.

I still have your number, but I've deleted the whole conversation. There wasn't much. It pains me, still, that there wasn't much to say. There never was. Just my attempts to be good, to talk to you, to share a bit of who I became without your help. I don't know if you remember or care, but that's okay. Honestly, I thought it would hurt. Maybe it makes me insensitive to say that I didn't feel anything, because everyone says that deleting text conversations hurts. Maybe they're too sensitive.

I don't know why I still keep your number. I don't know if I expect anything to happen, because if sincerity is what I've been working on, I can't visualize a situation in which we'll speak again. Honestly, I wonder what it will be like if we bump into each other in the street eventually. Maybe I should stop thinking about it and change my route. Maybe I should keep walking. Maybe I should hide my face, just as I've been hiding my truths. It's more likely you wouldn't see me.

Maybe you took me the wrong way, but you understood when I explained my whys and wherefores. I know I said I hoped we'd meet again at some point when everything would be a little less suffocating, but I don't know if, now that I've learnt to breathe deeply, I can go back to that same glass dome that gave me a beautiful view, but took away a lot of my oxygen. I don't know if I can; I know I don't want to. I don't know about you.

Maybe I never did.

You have my gratitude, and I hope you know that. I still have you in memory boxes in my old room, and I want you to stay there. Because I've redesigned some things, messed up others and furnished new rooms — and I've slowly been emptying yours. You have my gratitude just as you had my most sincere love, my most honest friendship; and you had all my oxygen in yourself, and I just can't breathe for any other set of lungs.

And, yes. That may sound selfish, I know it may sound ungrateful; forgive me for that, at least this time. This time, which is the only time I won't be the one giving in. I don't know how to deal with things like this, the sincere ones — but I keep trying, and I'm getting better. Ed Sheeran once wrote "and after all I've done, I think I love you better now", and I'm happy to finally be able to sing that line truthfully: I love you better now, because I love you in the past.

And since we've always been about sincerity, maybe I understand now.

Being selfish with you was the most selfless decision I could have made.

Lately,

Minerva."

✉

When Percy took the blaring earphones off her ears, Annabeth could hear the chaos all around them.

It didn't take her nine seconds to understand where they were, for they had gotten to France a few days before and Percy had shoved her inside of a train from Lille that morning without saying a word and incapable of keeping his leg still as she observed the views and the skies from her seat across from him. He looked a lot like a child about to get their favorite toy for their birthday, and it was a look that she knew how to recognize.

On the way to their planned destination, Percy had told her to close her eyes as if she could guess the place for the roads they were taking and wasn't a tourist in a country she had never been to before. Still, she obeyed, and he put on large earphones over her ears — apparently, listening would be too much of a giveaway, but Percy seemed so sure about it that she didn't have the heart to argue.

Now, standing there, she knew exactly why the sound would have been a giveaway.

The sight before her eyes was nothing short of magical, as it was intended to be — a whimsical landscape of towering castles and colourful attractions, all set against a backdrop of lush greenery and vibrant flowers. Everywhere she looked, there were people bustling about, their faces alight with joy and wonder as they eagerly explored the fairy-tale town around them. Her eyes darted all over the place, trying to map everything she saw, and she tilted her head to the side.

Children darted past them, their eyes wide with excitement as they tugged at their parents' hands, eager to experience all the thrills and delights that awaited them, that the whole place promised. Groups of friends and families wandered the streets, their voices mingling with the cheerful cries of street performers and the whirring of carousel rides. Happy tunes played in the speakers around them, and there wasn't a single thing that seemed to be wrong in their surroundings.

"Disneyland?" she asked, surprising her own self at the absolute disbelief in her voice. The smile on her face was something she couldn't quite avoid, and she turned to face him with wide eyes. Percy was smiling, and seemed quite unsure — he knew why she lived with them for a while, and he was waiting to see the full reaction she would have once she absorbed the world around them.

"Disneyland Paris," he emphasized. "With me. The same magical kingdom, but another, and with, if you allow me, mademoiselle — your prince," he bowed with a flourish, and Annabeth didn't know what to say. Her stomach seemed to mirror Percy's movements inside her body, and her breath caught in her throat. "It's your princess day, my lady. I am but your wallet, this day. A rich company that will bend to your will and graces," he said, the pageantry making it all the funnier.

Annabeth blinked. It took her a minute to come to terms and understand everything he'd just dropped on her, and everything the colours and sounds around them said.

"It's your father's money," she said, a bit desperate about the offer. A good offer, indeed, but an insane one anyway. "Won't he think bad of it?" Annabeth wondered, her brows furrowing with worry. That was the very last thing she needed, to have Percy's dad thinking lowly of her.

And, sure; they had been using his money in about ten countries. But a whole day spending it on overpriced Disney things at Disney Paris might perhaps just be the thing that makes him regret his choices and take back the otherworldly offer to live another life while they were away from theirs.

Percy smiled, a bit crazy. Mischievous, at least.

"Not only he knows, but he also suggested it as soon as we got to Paris," Percy explained, laughing. "The perks of a rich man's credit card in one's power, you see. And the perks of him being as widely insane about those he loves, just like his son," and Annabeth did try not to think much of that sentence.

Instead, she chose for the classic ironic comment.

"Oh, well. The apple never falls far from the tree, does it?" she rolled her eyes, laughing lightly as she tried to disguise the absolute whirlwind of feelings happening inside her chest.

"I'm sure Isaac Newton is the one to answer such a question, my lady," Percy joked, winking quickly and so ridiculously that Annabeth couldn't keep her laughter in. What a pathetic joke. What a lovely, lovely man in front of her.

What a lovable, lovable human.

"You're ridiculous," she said back, despite her laughter. Percy's eyes lit up as if her reaction was what he'd planned to get the whole time.

"You love me," he said, and Annabeth wondered if he ever asked himself just how right, and to what extent, he was correct. "Shall we, Your Highness, explore this magic kingdom before our eyes?"

He offered his hand again.

There wasn't a single reality in which she wouldn't take it.

"We shall, my good lord," she bowed her head, and Percy laughed. He laced her arm in his, and couldn't keep the serious façade for longer than two minutes into their walk — he then turned into the lovely, almost childish person she loved to witness, and thanked God she had the honor and chance to know. He pointed everywhere, and laughed alone, and told her the most random stories he could remember about himself, his mother, Estelle or his cousins.

Annabeth didn't think that what made her feel most like a princess in her life was to walk around in the heat, sweating, and with more trinkets in paper bags and inside her backpack and an absolutely manic grin on her face. Her feet were already hurting, and she would often take Percy by the hand to the nearest store so she could stand with her back to the air-conditioning, but Annabeth couldn't care less about capitalistic strategies and marketing plans as her heart felt so, so lightweight in her chest.

They didn't have a plan, as they had decided, from the moment they stepped out of the Jackson-Blofis' apartment, that they would go wherever their minds and Mr. Stormer's very exclusive, very unlimited card could take them. She'd felt bad in the beginning, not wanting to give Percy's father the wrong impression about who she was, but, right then, she'd grown very terribly accustomed to letting Percy buy her anything he thought she might've liked the tiniest bit.

They were in Disneyland — Paris, Percy made sure to highlight —, and she would do herself a favor and allow the very mature adult her very restrained child had grown into to feel (and act, of course) like the prettiest, the dreamiest, the very richest of princesses.

Which, compared to Percy, was a tough thing to do.

His restless behaviour seemed to tenfold as they walked down the streets and followed the screams and laughter to random attractions. With a — very expensive — VIP card of some sort, they never spent a long time waiting in lines, and never stopped searching for the wildest rides they could ever manage to find. For someone so terrified of planes, Percy was the one to convince Annabeth to the most ridiculously tall attractions.

And after screaming their lungs out and losing their breaths on every rollercoaster they could find, the both of them had found it in them that there wasn't a single problem in also enjoying the kids' attractions that could also fit adults. The spinning cups, the very not scary house of horrors that made them jump regardless, the long lines to meet the characters and take pictures with them.

She was sure her cheeks would hurt for days after her muscles worked the extra hours. And she was more than sure that she couldn’t care less.

And, then, when they gave into the power of having his father's credit card in hand, they decided to stroll along the main street, filled with stores and laughter and very pretty, very magical showcases and shopfronts. Everything was extremely glittery and very worked in the 'magical' and 'utopic' aspect of things, and she couldn't like any more than she already did. It felt like walking inside the movies she watched repeatedly as a child, always trying to draw the characters and imagine how the castles and houses would be in real life.

Some of those drafts were hanging on the walls of her office, the lines sure and the dimensions erratic, but something she was proud of drawing when she didn’t even know how to spell “architect” correctly.

And, then, as she was saying something about the historical and mythological atrocity that Hercules was — focus on the entertainment, Annabeth! The romance! — her eyes wandered to a store that made her words die halfway through her lips.

She stopped walking, and Percy faltered a step when he noticed, their arms still intertwined.

read the rest on Ao3

[sjmgirlie]

G*yn is a better fit for Azriel.

GIRL WHERE. For real. Serious question.

HOW??

Because she learned how to use a sword to protect herself?

The singing is literally not a reason. Nor is the shadows as it’s been debunked countless times.

So what exactly is it?

Them looking at each other and looking away?? Like??

The man just renounced his religion and questioned everything for another woman and you think a priestess is who he’s going to end up with??

There is literally no conversation that they have had that, first of all, shows she’s even interested. Second, that shows any affection other than Azriel looking at her with quite encouragement after showing her how to properly cut the ribbon.

Where is the build up? You mean to say some sort of romance is going to literally have to begin and end in one book? When does that ever happen? Wouldn’t you think the author would at least make it clear in the males pov that he has some sort of MENTAL feelings towards her? Like he thinks about how great she is or beautiful etc at minimum? This is fantasy, a spark (especially in this bc) doesn’t really look like a good thing.

We constantly see, even in something like Fourth Wing, instant attraction. Even if it’s enemies to lovers. Or friends to lovers. Any trope really. Feyre instantly said Rhys was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Cassian could not look away from Nesta as a human. Funny enough, Az didn’t look away from Elain either. But anyways.

There is never “oh, it’ll build in the same book it’ll become end game” because there would not be enough time.

Did Azriel allude to any feelings whatsoever, any attraction (not saying Gwyn isn’t attractive) towards her? No. “The impromptu lesson was a good distraction”.

Does Az like Gwyn? Sure. Why wouldn’t he want to make her happy and feel good imagining a women he saw in her lowest moment be happy? It’s like doing something nice instantly means they will be together.

Neither Gwyn or Azriel have shown any resemblance of feelings toward each other.

And no, spark doesn’t mean mating bond. Because the BC is before chapter 59 so why would Azriel be more aloof than usual? Why would he not be biting at the cages to get Gwyn?

There is absolutely nothing indicating romantic feelings between Gwyn and Azriel. Not even one thing.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Since the Neighborhood are adventurers, I'd like to imagine they travel by sea a fair amount of times too! A nice boat trip while occasionally breaking out into a sea shanty, eh? (And for gits and shiggles, to keep up with the whole.. Eddie in water joke, I imagine the poor guy is clumsy enough to go overboard. He may not be unconscious during it, but it wouldn't make it any less funny with the group desperately trying to pull him back aboard-)

OH OH OH allow to ramble at length about this!!! what an idea!!! i fucking love boats & the ocean & being on the water so this ask is checking all my boxes rn

first i imagine that the length of their trips varies wildly, along with the quality due to the glorious variation in weather & bodies of water. and i'm choosing to believe this universe uses tall ships instead of like... fantasy steam ships. because i fucking love tall ships. the sails, the rigging, the elegance... an absolute bitch to maintain and maneuver <3

i imagine that depending on the ship, captain, and size of the crew, the Neighborhood may be required to help out to earn their keep. especially since they're a crew of nine eight, and some ships are woefully understaffed!

I'd imagine that Poppy sometimes takes the cook's job if the crew is currently lacking one (or if the cook wants a fucking break, jeebus it's a demanding job. there's a reason ship cooks in moves/tv are always stern & serious). Barnaby can probably charm his way into doing nothing but provide music/entertainment (much to Sally's aggravation). everyone else are plain deckhands

of course i imagine that that doesn't always happen! plenty of ships are probably content to just take their coin and tranport them. some of them (Eddie, Poppy) may still wheedle their way into helping out though. they strike me as characters that can't Not help

who i imagine loves their little water journeys: Barnaby, Wally, Sally, Wormie

neutral: Frank, Julie

hates it: Poppy, Howdy, Eddie

allow me to provide reasoning!!

Barnaby's impeccable balance probably means that he's stable as a rock even in choppy waters, and i'm reasoning that he doesn't get seasick either. his vestibular system is as solid as his sea legs! he probably finds the whole experience relaxing as anything. He gets to just recline on the bowsprit's base or wherever he isn't in the way & smoke/play his accordion/nap.

Wally just has such a love of life and new things, so why wouldn't he love being on the water? it's different! it's new every time! there are ample things to learn about and do! Home probably keeps his systems stable so that he doesn't have to deal with seasickness. though it probably takes him a little bit to find his sea legs... catch him stumbling around like a lil newborn lamb. sometimes he is facedown on the deck <3 i imagine he'd enjoy going aloft!

Sally would probably love the inherent romanticism and adventure of it all. Who knows what dangers and glory they may face! I bet she writes up a storm during this time - plenty of story material! food for the imagination! what does Anne say... Scope for the imagination, i believe! i bet she also loves having a captive audience. Literally. they're stuck on this ship with her <3

so many lines for Wormie to climb... so many little places to crawl into... new people to trick into giving her treats... down time where the Neighborhood is relaxing in one place. abundant time for affection!

Frank probably doesn't have strong feelings about it. It's a boring ship with no bugs or things to do. Except when he manages to rope crew members into having a lil impromptu fight club. Or when the Neighborhood is put to work - i wonder if he'd find the maintenance soothing or pleasant... or if he'd relish in the hard work of pulling lines

Julie is likely in a similar boat (ha) as Frank. once the initial "wow! whoah!" wears off, it can get boring! and games are limited - there's only so much you can do on a ship (depending on the size of the ship of course), and there might be strict rules to keep passengers out of the crew's way and to lower risk. She probably entertains herself by "bothering" her friends and the crew & cloudgazing.

Poppy... do i need to explain? wooden ship on the ocean, which i understand can be terrifying. who knows what lurks below the waters? if the weather will change on a dime? if one of the flammable things on board catches fire? if the ship hits something? etc. I imagine it's impossible to get her to go above decks. They have to literally push her statue-frozen body onto the ship when they first board

Howdy! honestly i just think it'd be really fucking funny if he gets Violently seasick! like, curled into a ball in his bunk & involuntarily making agonized noises. he sounds like a ghost w/ all the pained moaning. his sea legs suck unless he stances all four at the right distance to anchor himself in place. he's a weak, sickly, fragile little thing, take mercy on him... he doesn't even have the strength left to swindle or sell...

Eddie. now we get to the point of anon's ask - his sea legs would be nonexistent. he's staggering and stumbling all over the place. the ship just barely tilts and he's smacking into a mast or careening across the deck. and of course, hitting the guardrails at precisely the right speed/angle to allow him to tumble overboard. i bet this happens enough that every time the Neighborhood is so much as on a dock, there is at least one person either holding his arm or acting as a barrier between him and the water. as soon as they get on any ship, he's immediately sent below decks. any attempt he makes to come up is instantly blocked.

there's a lot of both comedic and angst potential there. small ship, calm waters? comedic. some neighbors are playing cards, there's on off-screen splash & Frank immediately sighs and gets up all "god damn it, Eddie-". lmao im imagining him floating there and rapid-fire blabbering in fear 'cause there's a shark (it's not a shark. it's a dolphin. everyone on board is so unimpressed.) he's sobbing in fear as they pull him in <3

but angst? imagine there's a storm. imagine it's an all-hands-on-deck situation, every available hand is needed, and Eddie is strong as fuck - he'd be a monster at pulling lines. probably wouldn't even need to sweat them. but a violently rocking ship, slick decks, maybe even waves splashing over the deck... oof i can so easily imagine Eddie slipping & sliding right over the side. maybe while the others watch. maybe they try to grab him, but they're too late. and in such a horrible storm, there's not much they can do - it's dark, the water is incredibly turbulent, the ship can't turn around easily, there's torrential rain. a high stress situation! i'm imagining Frank grabbing a lifebuoy, firmly fastening it to a pin, and then throwing himself overboard after Eddie. something to think about! (i'm imagining that after the storm clears up enough, everyone rushes to the side to check. Eddie & Frank are trailing after the boat, lashed to the buoy and exhausted. maybe a little banged up, but overall fine!)

and then yeah.... oh the shanties Barnaby could lead... the whole ship sings! and then them all in their bunks (or in their hammocks!) in the [insert term for living quarters here, it can vary] when its sleepytime. y'all would not believe the shenanigans that can occur in the fo'c'sle (or the main hold, basically wherever the ship's sleeping quarters are), especially before actual sleep occurs. peak silly time.

there's a lot of potential here, thank you anon!

like now i'm thinking - what about sea monsters? or jobs that Require them to go on the water, as in the job takes place on a ship? ocean battles! ocean searches!

[bluebayousblog]

RUMOR HAS IT (pt. 10)

(Drew Starkey one-shot)

This is not a full on story but if you want more l'll be happy to add on upon request

Plot: in which drew and isobel address a false rumor in the most abstract of ways

Setting: isobel & drew and their families attend the company business cocktail

Disclaimer: Isobel is an OC, 18+

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

PART NINE

“You should’ve seen the look on her face when she saw it was me in storage room and not you.”

Drew was doing his best to act disinterested as his younger brother Chandler rambled on about Isobel. He didn’t even have to initiate the topic of conversation, as soon as he slipped into his truck Chandler was detailing every part of the interaction he had with her earlier in the day.

He wasn’t expecting to be driving the two of them to the cocktail tonight, but internally he didn’t mind his brother’s company if it entailed Drew listening silently while he talked about the girl racing through his mind. It felt like she was running through his veins, coating the tip of his tongue, and embedding herself into his brain. For the past two weeks his mind and body had been consumed by her, and after leaving that room he swore he could see a glimpse of her each time he closed his eyes to blink.

This wasn’t the first time Drew had liked a girl, he’d experienced the first fleeting moments of a crush when all of his thoughts consisted of them, but those were physical relationships. Situations where he wasn’t looking past a hookup and women he hadn’t cared about.

Hearing that Isobel was looking forward to seeing him at some point before their impromptu meeting in her bedroom warmed his heart in way he’d only felt with her. In the same way that he felt hearing her tell him that she missed would have. He feigned for that warmth from Isobel, it was something he wanted to chase to the ends of the earth—like a drug addict trying to chase that first high from the most potent drug.

“You have my girl under a spell-“

“Your girl?” Those were the first words Drew had spoken since he put his car in drive. Now they were exiting the vehicle in the parking lot of the C&S building.

Chandler’s grin was wide as they rounded the front of the truck to step onto the sidewalk that led to the entrance of the event. He knew he shouldn’t be reacting to to an eighteen year old’s words that held absolutely no weight, he was also aware that he should probably shut the conversation down because they were literally standing a few feet outside the family business—but here he was anticipating his brother’s next words so he could crush whatever fantasy he had playing in his head.

“Yes, Drew, just because you’ve somehow convinced her to want you doesn’t erase the fact that I’ve wanted her for two years.” Chandler looked smug as he spoke making Drew’s eyes roll in annoyance at how juvenile his logic was.

He rested his arm on the hood of his truck and swallowed down the irritation in his throat, “I didn’t convince Isobel to do anything.” The look on Chandler’s face was incredulous as if hearing the words out loud made it even more unbelievable.

He still hadn’t explicitly admitted to being involved with Isobel, Chandler just assumed and they now went on as if it was an understood thing. He didn’t owe any explanation to anyone, and especially not to him. What he and Isobel had came naturally, an unexpected thing that was almost ten years in the making and knocked his world sideways.

She was a beautiful woman in ways he hadn’t found beguiling in someone he was attracted to until he saw those qualities in Isobel. Her outer beauty was captivating any man could see that, but it was what she showed him on the inside no matter how stubborn she was that made his heart pound in admiration. Isobel was sweet to people who didn’t deserve her respect, resilient in moments where most would lose control, and willing with her heart when it came to him—a man who took years to notice her.

She got her heart broken the first time she braved herself to give it to a man that took her for granted, but on that random afternoon in December she was fearless in giving a piece of herself to Drew.

“So you’re telling me after all this time she just willingly gave you of all people a chance?”

Drew smiled at the thought of it, in simple terms that had been exactly what happened between them and he wouldn’t ever take that for granted. He couldn’t shake the smile as he began to walk down the sidewalk, giving him a shrug before mumbling, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, buddy.”

Chandler jogged behind him, the sound of his leather dress shoes hitting the pavement as he caught up with him within a few steps and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. One notable attribute about men in their family was their height, and somehow his younger brother had a few inches on him. It was nothing any one loosely observing would notice, but a fact two brothers realized when he eventually surpassed him last year.

“Well, at least tell me who made the first move.” He grabbed Drew’s arm so he would stop his trek into the front doors, “Just put me out of misery so I don’t have to wonder.”

His mind reeled at his question, immediately going back to that first intimate moment with her. When his eyes drunk her in as she lounged comfortably on the sofa with her face bare of any makeup in her most natural state, and that switch went off that made him feel like he had to have her. That made him want to touch and graze every inch of her with his hands, and kiss her until the feeling of her sweet lips was imprinted into his own.

His desires felt so dire in that moment when he gave into them and stole that kiss from her mouth. Looking back he realized everything felt purely physical in that moment, it was spontaneous as they both clung to the high of a first hookup, but as he reflected he just appreciated that she could trust him enough to let him in.

Drew just kept his gaze neutral as he stared back at his brother who looked desperate for an answer that wasn’t coming, but he did offer him a look that made instant relief wash over Chandler’s face. A simple raise of his eyebrows and cock of his head was enough to satiate his curiosity, “Of course! That’s all I needed to know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Chandler?” Drew questioned. He was now the one stopping the other from entering the cocktail, and once again anticipating his next words.

A chuckle rumbled from Chandler’s mouth obviously finding this situation amusing more than devastating to his ego, “It means I didn’t see it at first, but after figuring this all out ever since you’ve gotten back the look on your face looks like someone who accidentally struck gold.”

Isobel’s inappropriate actions in the last hour forced her to ruin the impending outfit reveal she had in store for her mother. Lora was the only person in the household who cared enough to own a steamer, and unfortunately she had insisted to be the one to get the wrinkles out of the dress.

The dramatic gasp she let out when she saw the dress hanging on her wardrobe door wasn’t as entertaining as it would have been if she saw it on her body when she made her way down the stairwell. Isobel had always hated being the center of attention, but she couldn’t deny that she loved the moments her mother looked at her as if she was the center of her world.

Someone looking at you that way made a feeling of pressure wash over anyone to continue to be the person who deserved to be perceived that way. With a mother that type of love was unconditional, she knew Lora would gaze at her that way for the rest of her days—but with a man that wasn’t guaranteed. So when she looked at Drew whenever his blue eyes fell on her in admiration or simply just to look at her and she saw that familiar twinkle it unnerved her.

She’d been stupid enough to put someone on a pedestal like that once in her life, she knew that she was capable of feeling for someone that intensely. Her last relationship had even taught her someone could mimic that stare that made her feel whole and wanted, but she wasn’t scared of Drew deceiving her, it was that she could do something that didn’t live up to this idea of her he displayed so clearly in his eyes.

She finished doing her makeup and unrolling her hair until a mass of silky curls framed her face while her mother steamed her dress to perfection, and when she finally stepped into the event clad in the white dress that made Lora so happy with a pair of four-inch heels tapping the glossy floors each step, she felt amazing.

Her father, more formally known as Richard Cooper, approached them just as the nice attendant checked her coat, “My, my, my, my don’t my girls look beautiful tonight.”

He smoothly kissed their hands before gently grasping and lifting them up to twirl her and her mother around. Lora was wearing an elegant and dazzling, black gown that gracefully flowed down her body and showed off her bronzed shoulders. Richard always looked at Isobel with great esteem from when she was an impressionable little to girl to now as a well-rounded young adult. That look had always made her feel special and seen, it was different than how she felt with her mother. The difference wasn’t major, but it was something she took note of as she got older. She’d never met anyone else like her father and there would never be another man that could come close.

She loved the feeling of being around family, the only word to describe that feeling that would encapsulate it would be that it felt like home. It was something she could only hope to find in a lover. She knew it was out there somewhere, but she also knew that it was possible to find that feeling in the wrong places.

She stood aside when he turned to give his full attention to his wife, wrapping his big, burly arms around her as they took each other in. Isobel admired her parents for about a minute before her eyes began to wander around the crowded ballroom looking for one man in particular.

“Isobel you look stunning this evening.” The voice sounded like Drew’s but this one was deeper and well seasoned with age. She twisted around on her feet to face Charles Starkey, her father’s business partner and Drew’s father. A smile she could never seem to fight when it came to him broke onto her lips.

She said she’d never met another man that could compare to all that her father was, but Charles came pretty close, “Thank you, Chuck, that means a lot coming from the fashion police.”

When she was in high school Charles would be at the house on occasion working with her dad and whenever Isobel would go out with friends he would be sitting with her father downstairs chiming in as he taunted her about her choice of dress. Richard would never tell Isobel what she could and couldn’t wear, but always made sure to share his opinion. It became an ongoing joke between the three and even at the age of twenty-two they still acted as if they needed to give her outfits their stamp of approval.

“Hey you know I always have your best interest,” his words trailed as his attention seemed to veer off onto something behind her, when his eyes settled in one general direction he spoke again, “Remember when I used to tell you no boy would ever be good enough for you? Don’t you ever forget it.”

Charles was still looking past her until Richard called him over and he sauntered off without another word. For such a short interaction it left her feeling slightly perturbed, and when she turned to look behind her there was Drew. His face contorted in deep thought with his eyes trained on his father and Chandler standing beside him running his mouth.

His glare was cold, she felt it in the first second his gaze slid to meet her brown eyes then in a blink they warmed. The grey suit on his body did wonders for her imagination especially since he’d been clad in it when he was pressed against her. Isobel has seen Drew in a suit more times than she could remember, but now this was the best he’d ever looked—he looked like a man. His muscles bulged in his sleeves, and his slacks hugged his thighs in the most delicious way that made her want to run her hands up the expanse of them.

Just looking at him brought all there intimate moments to the forefront of her mind, making her dress feel tight on her skin.

Drew felt paralyzed as if his feet were glued to the polished floors. His father’s glare always had the ability to pin him in place from a young age, it was the sharp edge that was always there reminding Drew he was also in the know—that he could sense something was different. And even with his eyes now on the girl who made him feel invincible like he could prove he was good enough, he still fell static.

She watched him for awhile before strutting over in those heels she loved to wear, they made her legs look like they could go on forever. He quickly assessed her, noting the wrinkles he’d caused in the fabric of her dress were no longer corrupting the flow of the material—but the memory stained the dress with the little sounds she made, how she perfectly she fit against his body, and the things she always divulged whenever he touched her.

You just make me want to be bad.

Isobel’s words while they were in that compromising position went straight to his dick. He’d never wanted another woman as much as her, his body fed off her every movement and word, anticipating the moment he could get closer to her—physically and mentally.

Then the unintended implications of her statement settled as it replayed in his head. She was the good girl that they both knew he shouldn’t be touching, the guy who could break her heart again cause that’s what he did with other girls. Drew liked the forbidden aspect of the relationship, he also didn’t mind keeping it a secret between the two, but hearing her verbalize her want for him in that light unsettled him.

Because despite the secrecy, what he had with Isobel was pure and good—that’s what he wanted to remember the start of Isobel and Drew as.

“Chandler go get Isobel a drink.” Drew ordered when Isobel finally stopped in front of them with a smile, though a look of confusion consumed her features when he spoke.

Chandler’s enamored eyes moved away from Isobel’s dazzling appearance, “Dude, she’s not drinking-“

“Get her a water.” He cut his brother off already knowing the excuse he was about to give, squeezing his shoulder tightly, he’d done this as long as he could remember when he wanted Chandler to do something, and it worked for the most part.

He exhaled dramatically before rolling his eyes and walking off, grumbling profanities under his breathe. “Drew I’m not thirsty.” Isobel giggled, she’d always found their brotherly back and forth to be amusing.

“I know I’m just prepping you in case you decide to indulge.” He smiled as he got lost in her beauty, but he really just wanted a moment alone. Her nose scrunched at him poking fun at her low drinking tolerance before she let a smile form on her lips and rolled those beautiful dark eyes.

“Stop teasing me, Drew.” She chided with attitude though her cheeks were slightly pink, he loved when Isobel got shy even when they were growing up. Embarrassing and teasing her until that shy smile and blush bloomed on her face was his guilty pleasure and now it just captivated him more.

That reaction was intimate and vulnerable and he longed to see her in the ways she tried to hide from the world.

Drew made Isobel feel warm, she didn’t distinguish the feeling at first because it was overshadowed by racing hormones, but thinking back on all their moments together that consistent feeling of warmth always remained. In such little time she’d become in tune with his moods and body language—so much so that the slightest shift caught her attention—so when his eyes dimmed a fraction her body buzzed with concern.

“What were you and my dad talking about over there?” He sounded tense as if asking the question was a physical struggle.

And in his eyes, that he vividly expressed himself in despite how much he revealed when he talked, the vibrant blue muted to a duller shade. She felt strange about the brief conversation with Charles in the moment, but it hadn’t made her overthink until she saw the look on Drew’s face. “Nothing out of the usual just being the same old over protective, Chuck—Why?”

She wanted to reach out and just touch him, to place her hand on his arm to distract him from whatever was bothering him—but she couldn’t—she’d insisted on that. Drew and his father had a bumpy relationship when he got older, she’d always viewed their little spats as rudimentary, but in this moment it seemed to be so much more.

“It’s nothing, just wondering why he always has to look like an asshole.” Drew mumbled.

Usually she would scold him for calling his father out of name, but it felt justified—especially after this mood he’d just fallen into. It was little things like this she didn’t realize would change, the internal aspects of herself—it was scary to think about the change inside of her that was happening without her knowledge.

“Isobel, I know you don’t like sparkling, so I went and got you a glass out of the kitchen.” Chandler pushed a cup of water that was sloshing around in a clear glass in her direction, his sudden appearance making the both of them jump, “Also Lora wants you to come over and meet someone.”

Drew watched in silence as Isobel’s eyes visibly lit up in appreciation, and he was instantly jealous he wasn’t the one to do that for her, “You’re such a kiss ass, Chandler.” He insulted as she walked away after giving his little brother a hug that left him swooning.

Part of him envied the way Chandler got to parade his fondness for Isobel so openly and how it was viewed in such an innocent light.

That damn dress could very well be the death of him, but in truth anything she wore could send his eyes boggling, it was her beautiful body that made every single thing she wore sin. Even seeing her in an apron had him on edge just a night ago.

The group of people she approached consisted of Lora, Catherine, and another woman with a younger man who looked to be her son from the similarities he could observe from across the room.

“That’s definitely a set up.” Chandler said smugly while also staring over in her direction as she shook the unknown woman’s hand. Drew’s words caught in his throat the next second when the man who looked about the same age as them pulled Isobel into a hug. Isobel stiffly obliged as he watched one of her arms wrap hesitantly around his torso, but his hands were anything but modest taking the opportunity to place both hands on her waist. “What do you mean?” He asked without looking away but to his relief the hug was short, with Isobel being the first to pull away.

“Come on don’t be delusional, Brother.” Chandler sighed and clasped his hand on his shoulder as if he was consoling him.

But he needed to be delusional in this moment because if he entertained the idea of anyone thinking they could have Isobel in anyway he would march over there and ruin the entire evening. It had always been hard for Drew to accept the idea of her with another man, before it may have been him being protective but the feeling was so familiar he just may have been being unknowingly possessive over her.

Now he wanted every part of her to be his even if it was just merely her attention, he wanted her mom to know that she didn’t have to set her up because she already belonged to him—he just wanted to be a fucking consideration in their heads.

His nails pierced into his palms as his left hand tightened into fists while his other squeezed the base of the glass tumbler resting in it at the sight of the guy leading Isobel over to a vacant table. Mystery man’s movements were labored and slowed like something was impairing him from moving coherently.

They talked for a while and Drew watched, staring bullet holes into the side of the man’s head so intensely he was surprised he couldn’t feel his presence. Isobel obviously did as her eyes locked on his glare like a latch, she gave him an eyebrow raise and soft smile, but it did nothing to alleviate his nerves. All he could manage to do was stare back and purse his lips, harshly clenching his jaw in discontent.

Her courter must have noticed she was no longer paying attention and his wavering eyes tried to follow her line of sight but never landed on him—then Drew’s entire body stiffened, watching him round the table and block off her entire body from him. Anxiety swarmed in his gut at not being able to see her, he was now squeezing his cup so tightly it could break into a thousand tiny shards from the pressure until there was one second Drew couldn’t see her and the next he saw her step back as she forcibly yanked her arm away from his grip.

Within his next intake of a breathe he was storming over to her, “Drew, wait!”

He heard his brother voice, but it was useless Drew was going to get to her no matter what chaos ensued. He had tunnel envision, but before he could close in on the two a hand grabbed his shoulders and held him back. He turned to see his father standing beside him, and in a blur Richard rushing over in long strides to shove the man away from his daughter with just one arm movement.

Isobel immediately attached herself herself to her father as he wrapped a protective arm around her, Drew’s body jerked to go to her at the look of distress on her face but his father’s hold restricted him. He looked over to Charles again but this glance halted any further struggling. His face held an indifferent look, but in there somewhere in those blue eyes he’d passed down to him there was pride and understanding.

And for the first time in years, in his father’s embrace, under his heavy gaze, Drew exhaled.

Table of Contents:

CHAPTER ELEVEN

[nickeverdeen]

Hi! I didn't see anything saying you weren't taking match ups, so I was wondering if you would make me a harry potter match up!

I'm a demifem, they/her, I'm a lesbian, intp. I'm very emotional, thinking about becoming a therapist. I don't cry a lot, but I get teary eyed from time to time. I talk to myself alot. like, ALOT.

music is a big part of my life, I like Alice Pheobe Lou, Clairo, Girl in Red, and Dreamer Isioma. I love oldies, (Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Lesley Gore) listen to most music, depending on my mood.

I wear Gremlincore[cottagecore but grunge, worms, mushrooms, bones], dark academia, chaotic academia, or outfits inspired by the 1920s-1970s. I have brown fluffy hair, layered pixie thing with bangs. I'm plus size, and 5'3, but wear old doc martens and boots.

I love nature, and make art. I do leather and wood pyrography, beadwork, and watercolor the most. I love moomin (fave: smufkin), Harry potter, studio ghibli(howls moving castle). I spend most of my money at estate sales and local resale stores.

I'm not super comfortable with touch, except for my partner. my romantic love languages are touch, words of affection, and time. my favorite plant is mossy weeping willows. I also love reading fantasy, mystery, and mythology(Celtic, Asian, Gaelic)

Your Harry Potter match is…

Luna Lovegood

Luna would love taking you on quiet walks through the Forbidden Forest or the Hogwarts grounds, pointing out magical creatures and plants

You both share a deep connection to the natural world, and she appreciates your knowledge of different plants, especially your love for mossy weeping willows

Luna would be fascinated by your leather and wood pyrography and beadwork

Luna would adore your Gremlincore and dark academia style, often borrowing elements from your wardrobe or gifting you odd trinkets she finds, thinking they’d suit your aesthetic perfectly

She might even introduce you to some of her eccentric accessories

Despite her usual dreamy demeanor, Luna has a way of understanding and supporting your emotions

When you're feeling down or teary-eyed, she offers a comforting presence, knowing just when to speak and when to let the silence heal

Luna enjoys your diverse music taste, especially when you introduce her to oldies like Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong

Sometimes, you both sit by the fireplace in the Ravenclaw common room, listening to music together, with Luna occasionally humming along

Estate sales and resale stores are your shared paradise

Luna has an eye for unusual and unique items, and she loves how you can transform old finds into something beautiful through your art

Luna would join you in reading fantasy, mystery, and mythology books

She’s especially intrigued by mythology, often drawing parallels between ancient myths and magical creatures

You both spend hours lost in books, sharing theories and insights

Luna understands your discomfort with touch around others but loves how you seek out her embrace

Whether it's holding hands, resting your head on her shoulder, or gentle caresses, Luna cherishes these moments of connection with you

"Howl’s Moving Castle" would be a favorite film for both of you

Luna loves the whimsical nature of the Studio Ghibli world, and you bond over the beauty and depth of the films

She often compares you to Howl, seeing a kindred spirit in your creativity and depth

Luna encourages you to pursue your goal of becoming a therapist, often reminding you of your natural empathy and ability to understand others

You and Luna often talk late into the night, discussing your day, your dreams, or just random thoughts

Luna loves planning impromptu picnics for the two of you, often in secluded spots like near a hidden grove of willow trees or a quiet corner of the Hogwarts grounds

She packs quirky snacks and brings along some of her odd trinkets to show you

Luna is fiercely protective of you in her own gentle way

She doesn’t let anyone dismiss your emotions or belittle your thoughts

While she might seem aloof, she’s quick to step in when someone tries to hurt you

Luna frequently whispers sweet nothings or words of affection when you're together, especially when you're in your shared bubble of comfort

Luna would love to help you care for a small collection of magical plants, perhaps even finding some magical moss for you to add to your favorite plant collection

Luna loves watching you do pyrography, often fascinated by the intricate designs you create

Christmas with Luna is always magical

She’s as enthusiastic about the holiday as you are, often crafting homemade decorations and filling the air with a sense of wonder and joy

You two create your own little world during the holiday season, complete with traditions that are uniquely yours

Luna absolutely loves your fondness for Moomin, especially Snufkin

Luna loves your adventurous spirit and is always eager to join you in exploring new places

Whether it's wandering through the woods or discovering hidden corners of Hogwarts, every journey with you feels like a magical adventure

You and Luna find comfort in shared silences, often sitting together without the need for words

Whether you’re both engrossed in a book or simply enjoying each other’s presence, the silence between you is never awkward but filled with unspoken understanding

Your artistic talents inspire Luna in her own way, and she often weaves stories or creates little charms based on the designs you make

You both feed off each other’s creativity, making your bond even stronger and more magical

[andrewwtca]

when are we reborn? a messy Final Fantasy VII Rebirth essay

FINAL FANTASY VII REBIRTH SPOILERS AHEAD

I just finished Rebirth yesterday. It took me 72 hours. There were some things that I didn’t love—but I loved the majority of it, and god were the things I loved amazing. This is genuinely one of the greatest video games I’ve ever played and one of the most immersive stories I’ve ever witnessed. This is what video games can be. I’ve seen some people call it a must-play and I have to agree. It’s just such an experience.

And, in my typical fashion, my brain already started to literary analyze. The game presents so much in nearly every aspect a theorizer or analyzer would want, leading me to wonder what its forefront means. So behold a very messy impromptu essay about the meaning of Rebirth.

what’s in a name?

Let’s start with Remake. What does its title serve to do? It informs about what the story will give us from three angles: first, a meta angle. It’s letting us know that this is, obviously, a remake of FF7. Secondly, it provides a narrative angle. It’s letting us know that everything we hold true about the world of FF7 will be remade. We learn this through the inclusion of the Whispers, who provide a literal narrative reason for why the story is different this time around. Destiny and fate are now active forces in the narrative. And finally, it provides insight into the characters. It tells us that what we are going to see is the same characters but in a completely new light. This is especially true with Cloud, who we see in the original (hence dubbed ‘OG’ and ‘the OG’) act stoic and standoffish until hours and hours in the game. In Remake, we see the ‘true’ Cloud shine through very early on, through his kindness and headaches.

And Remake is also just a badass name for the series. The Remake trilogy. That’s just good.

What is the meaning of Rebirth then? From a meta angle, we can see that it’s giving birth to a completely new world, one we never got to experience in the OG. With its tens of quests and hours upon hours of side content, we are witnesses to a rebirth of what FF7 is and can be. From a narrative angle, rebirth refers to the establishment of new timelines. The world is reborn time and time again, branches of the original timeline that are usually doomed to end in disaster. (Hence, Sephiroth Reborn.) And finally, when considering the characters? That’s where the word rebirth truly shines.

role call

FF7 is praised for having such a strong cast of characters. While some people may fairly argue how this holds up over the compilation, the OG has a diverse, fun, and just alive cast of characters. From a vengeful man learning how to let go of his anger to fight for justice and his daughter to a teenage ninja wanting to liberate her country, we get such a colorful range of stories that it’s no wonder FF7 attracts such a wide range of fans.

And it’s not just as individuals: as a team, the characters are a delight. They are the essence of found family with a connection to one another that highlights the true theme of the game: that the true way to combat capitalism, threats to the planet, and evil as a whole is through love. It’s hard for me to even pinpoint a single relationship that highlights this the most because they’re all so important to the narrative of each other’s character growth.

We have Cloud who inspires the cast and the cast helps learn him to accept and love himself. We have Aerith who teaches the cast about the world and the cast gives her friendship that she never felt in her life. We have Tifa who teaches the cast about willpower and the cast teaches her self-confidence. We have Barret who teaches the cast about the will to never give up and the cast gives him the steps to giving up his pursuit of revenge and fighting for the ones he loves. We have Nanaki who teaches the cast about their authentic selves and the cast lets him be his. We have Yuffie who teaches the cast about the importance of community and the cast gives her a community that unconditionally cares for her. We have Cid who teaches the cast about finding new dreams and the cast gives him a way to achieve those dreams. We have Vincent who teaches the cast about responsibility and the cast teaches him about self-forgiveness. We have Cait Sith. This is the most bare-bone summary of what they bring each other emotionally, not even touching on individual relationships or their place in combat.

But when talking about this story from a meta perspective, what actually ties these characters together? In the OG, it’s a bit unclear. They all have some reason for fighting Sephiroth and they all have some reason for wanting to save the planet. They have some introduction that gets them on this wild train ride, but what was the reason for putting this cast together? What lets them build this relationship?

Remake and, in particular, Rebirth makes it simple: loss.

giving and taking

With all that Rebirth gives us, we have lost so much. In going from Midgar to the rest of the world, we’ve lost the familiar steel sky, we lose the familiar streets, and we’re thrust into the unknown journey. All our characters lose their normality: Cloud is no longer a slum merc, Barret is no longer with Marlene, Tifa is no longer a bartender, Aerith is no longer a flower seller, and Nanaki is no longer an experiment. (Note for that last one: loss is not always a negative experience.)

In this unknown journey, we are constantly exposed to these two extremes of gaining and losing. Following the Bandits' journey, they lose their bandit identity, gaining one of a corporate entity before forgoing that one and returning to their roots, but in a new light. Following Kyrie’s journey, she constantly tries to gain a new life as a merc but due to her laziness, loses it before reuniting with her grandmother, the Angel of the Slums, and re-establishing her life in a new light. It might seem like they are gaining, losing, and then returning to their original state, but that original state is gone. Just like how Sector 7 may one day exist again, the plate is gone, those people are gone, and things cannot go back to how they were.

Zack’s entire episode is about this loss of normality. His normal before Nibelheim was Shinra. His normal after Nibelheim was the labs. His normal after the labs was that struggle to survive and take care of Cloud. And finally, when he makes it to Midgar? The world is ending. He’s gained a second chance and he’s about to lose everything for good this time, when he’s already lost so much of his identity. With Aerith unconscious, he has lost any sense of direction and doesn’t know where to go or what to do. He just wanted to start where he left off, but where he left off no longer exists. He has no choice but to forge forward.

All the different timelines show him gaining something: in the timeline where he goes after Cloud’s cure, he gains apathy toward the end of the world. In the timeline where he goes after Biggs, he gains a will to keep going, to reclaim his life. In the timeline where he does nothing, he gains access to an entirely new world; that ending doesn’t quite hit the mark, but it follows the pattern. With all that Zack has lost, at the very end, he gains something, for better and for worse. He has forged forward, through loss gaining something new.

The very game starts with that showcase of loss: Cloud’s retelling of the Nibelheim Incident. Despite his version not being accurate, this tragedy is the epicenter of Cloud’s character and goes on a tidal wave of losing and gaining. It starts with something lost: Nibelheim burning. And then, something gained: Cloud’s status as an experience. Lost: Cloud no longer knows who he is in those experiments. Gained: Zack saves him, and his status is now free. Lost: Zack dies. Gained: Claiming Zack’s memories, Cloud Strife, First Class Soldier is created.

Or, in other words: Cloud is reborn. Again and again, Cloud is reborn. Once as an experiment, again as a free, comatose man, and once again as a SOLDIER (see: a mentally ill, conscious man). Cloud ‘dies’ and is ‘reborn,’ and he is constantly redefining himself, whether by choice (such as in Advent Children) or against his will (such as pretty much every other moment in his life.)

This theme of loss leading to rebirth is shown masterfully in the beautiful Trial of the Ancients sequence. We have Nanaki who loses his freedom, even loses his name, becoming Red XIII. We have Tifa who loses her home, loses her father, and loses everything she’s ever known. We have Yuffie who loses Sonon, leading to an extreme mental breakdown. We have Barret who loses his wife, loses his best friend, and loses his home indirectly due to his actions. And we have Aerith, who loses her mother and loses the only life she’s known.

Not shown in the trials, we know what the others have lost: Cid (whose backstory in OG was his losing the ability to make his dream of going to space come true) who loses so much freedom due to Shinra and loses Elmyra. Vincent who loses Lucrecia and loses his place in life. Cait Sith (see: Reeve) who loses the lives of thousands.

These characters do not know the extent of each other’s losses—they are not even aware of each other’s losses. But they are connected through it. They have all lost so much; and yet, they are reborn.

Nanaki becomes Red XIII who becomes a new, loved Nanaki. Tifa becomes a bartender who becomes a warrior for the planet. Yuffie becomes a part of a new team who becomes her true glowing self. Barret becomes a father who becomes the leader of an AVALANCHE branch. Aerith becomes a new daughter who becomes a florist. Cid becomes a pilot who becomes the team’s pilot. Vincent becomes a non-literal vampire who becomes a leading force against Sephiroth. Cait Sith literally died and was literally reborn.

They are reborn from their memories and through their love. Their loss carries them forward, oftentimes hindering them from connecting with others. And yet, it is that hindrance that connects them. It is the struggle that connects them. What they lose in immediate friendship, they gain in lifelong comradery. For example, Cloud and Barret couldn’t see on the same planet, let alone eye-to-eye when they first met, and they, throughout Remake, became each other’s ride or dies.

Even we, the players, are reborn in the story. We experience the loss of Aerith once again in a new light, in a new tragic twist, and we have gained so much by the reimagining of her character and here we are again, losing.

With every step we take, we are leaving the one behind us. They are footprints that we have made, footprints we cannot erase, but we have left them behind us. And we continue to forge forward a new path. We cannot be born again, for we are already alive. Yet we can reinvent ourselves with the knowledge we have.

who we are

So, who gets to be reborn? All of us.

Every gain is a loss and every loss is a gain. There’s loss, gain, and grief everywhere. Grief is love lingering, and there is love everywhere. Grief is loss and grief is gain. These characters have lost so much, have had so much grief piled onto them that it should surely destroy them, and yet they gain: they become new versions of themselves, for better and for worse.

That is the meaning of Rebirth and that is the message of Rebirth: love, live, lose, and then do it all again. That is what ties us together in life. Love and loss are two sides of the same coin like life and death. There cannot be one without the other. And if you let loss overtake you, you stop living; much like Sephiroth. He let the loss of his normality define him. He lost everything and was reborn one last time as a monster.

We lose every single day. We lose keys and we lose arguments and we lose our minds. And we gain every single day. We gain friends and we gain insight and we gain new ways forward. And so, we are reborn every single day. Every step we take, every word we say, we are redefining who we are, who we want to be, and who we can be. Just like how all of Cloud’s new hobbies (dancing, crossdressing, photography, cards, chocobo racing) in Rebirth give him a new path forward, so too do all our choices. Our fates are up to us, just as it is up to them. We are the ultimate harbingers of our destiny.

So when are we reborn? Every single second we are alive. So make the most of life, and above all, love and lose.

I hope this ‘essay’ was readable. I hope you gained something and hopefully didn’t lose your mind. Thank you for reading!