#feel free to take the idea and write it down

[captain-huggy-bear]

Morning Sickness

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of sex in the past, pregnancy, etc.

Summary: Quinn is getting increasingly worried about you as you're sick every morning and every evening, you're adamant that you're fine. Turns out you're right in a way.

Notes: Thanks to the person who sent this idea in :)

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

It starts around a month after your honeymoon. Every single morning Quinn wakes to the sound of you throwing up and every single night he holds your hair back as you're sick over the toilet.

You pass it off as a bad stomach bug or anxiety, something different every time but Quinn doesn't believe you nor does he like what's happening. He's had many health scares with you; the chest infection that led to you being hospitalised after you nearly passed out at work being a prime example. As a result, he knows better than to assume that when you say you're fine, you're actually fine. Instead he sits with a heavy buzz of anxiety in his chest, a fear that something is seriously wrong but not knowing what and not knowing how best to convince you to get a check up and see the doctor about it. You’re stubborn to a fault. 

It's another one of those evenings where he's happily curled around in bed, blankets tucked in around both of you. You're in his arms, back to his chest, legs twisted together so that any movement jars the other, but you're so used to it at this point that sleeping apart is more difficult and less restful than navigating the tangled mass of limbs that the two of you become each night.

When you try to slip out of his arms he's awake like a shot, blinking through bleary eyes while you push his arms off you so that you can get up. Quinn lets you go, an instant release but he's quick to follow, footsteps padding on the carpet after you towards the bright light of the bathroom. Never once considering rolling over and going back to sleep.

"You okay, baby?" You're leaning over the sink, taking deep breaths, cheeks puffing out as you try your very best to not be sick again, nausea roiling through you. You’re so fed up of being sick, it’s become a routine that’s led to you being careful about what foods you eat in the morning and evening, learning what is the worst to throw up and what’s the least offensive thing to throw up.

All you can do is shake your head frantically before you're rushing to the toilet, knees hitting the floor with a loud thud as you lean over the toilet bowl to be sick. Quinn winces at the sound of your knees impacting tile and he's beside you in an instant, hands reaching for your hair to pull it back and out of your face so you don't have to worry about throwing up in your own hair.

"Oh, baby...just let it out..." A warm, free hand landing on your back, rubbing soothing circles as he feels the way your body jerks with each bout of sickness, your muscles contracting and relaxing each time. 

You’re crying, he can hear it, the way you whimper and whine because this is the worst and you’re fed up with being so violently sick…It only increases his worry because this has been going on for too long and it just doesn’t seem to be getting any better. 

He stays beside you, holding your hair and rubbing your back until you’re no longer vomiting. When you stop, cheek resting against the toilet seat in exhaustion he’s up and reaching for a glass to fill with water for you.

“Here, baby, have some water…” You take a mouthful only to spit it out in the toilet in an attempt to get the taste of vomit from your mouth, before downing the whole glass. It doesn’t really help much.

“I hate this…” You groan out, feeling silly because it’s not even like you feel ill most of the time, you just keep getting these random bouts of sickness in the mornings and evenings. Quinn shouldn’t be as worried as you know he is…it’s probably all in your head, maybe you’ve created a Pavolvian response to the morning and night time where your body expects to be sick, so you are?

“I know, baby…” Quinn runs a hand over your hair, pushing a few strands out of your face and behind your ear, he’s gentle about it, long fingers gingerly caressing your skin like he’s worried you’ll break, “You need to visit a doctor, baby.”

“It’s probably nothing, Quinn…I’ve just eaten something or have some sort of bug or something…” You don’t want to go to the doctors, you’re certain this will blow over soon, that it’s nothing serious and you hate the idea of taking more time off for it even as your husband looks at you like you might be the most stubborn human being on earth. 

“For weeks?”

“Quinn…” You sigh out his name because you don’t want to argue, because you’re tired. All you want is to go back to bed, curl up in his arms and get what little sleep you can before you have to go to work in the morning.

He must see how tired you are because whatever fight he had seems to leave his body, shoulders slumping, head nodding to himself like he’s made a decision in his mind to put this down for the moment even if he wants to keep going, repeat himself until you give in.

“Okay…okay, let’s get you to bed at least…” He gives up arguing because you’re so tired and have to be up at 6am for work. It’s bad enough you're not feeling well, let alone that you have to still teach like this, adding exhaustion to the mix is just a bad idea. He’ll keep pushing until you go to the doctors, but right now? Right now he can see you're tired and sleep is probably better for you than arguing at 1am. 

Quinn helps you to your feet, your hands resting in his much larger ones while he pulls you up. He keeps both hands on your hips the whole time as the two of you waddle your way back to bed, there’s part of him that worries you might fall or faint on the way back to bed, hands firmly gripping you just in case. 

He curls around you once you're both back under the covers, almost protective like he’s trying to shield you from some unseen threat and you nestle back into him, resting your head on the arm underneath you. 

The early morning throw up session had you completely wiped hours later, it really shouldn’t have been a surprise that you felt dizzy as the day went on. Even more so because food was just not enticing you and you had skipped lunch when your sandwich made you feel queasy just looking at it. Each lesson felt harder and harder to teach and your last lesson of the day had your head reeling. It really shouldn’t have come as a surprise with how dizzy you felt, how lightheaded you were, that you fainted completely in front of your students. Thankfully, you had felt it coming on, having lowered yourself to the ground mere seconds before it happened.

To give them their dues, your students who could have used that as an opportunity to cause a mess, do whatever they wanted and generally cause chaos, actually tried to help. They were so concerned for you that they got another member of staff to come help, David, your favourite trouble making hockey fan, put his rolled up Canucks hoodie underneath your head and Stacy checked you were still breathing. The fainting spell didn’t last long, within a minute or so you were back to consciousness and trying to sit up, staff and students trying to force you to lay back down. 

It’s Laura, the English teacher next door, who grabs your phone and calls your emergency contact, Quinn…even as you protest and tell her not to bother him, that you’re fine. All your protests go ignored by the forty year old, who had become something of a mentor and parental figure during your time at the school.

“Hi Quinn, sorry, it’s Laura from Y/N’s school?” You can’t quite tell what Quinn says on the other line, but you’re sure it’s along the lines of ‘what’s wrong?’ in a panicked tone because no one ever used your phone. You hate worrying him, he has so much on his shoulders already, so much weight there from the team, the season, his brothers…

“She’s fainted, do you think you could come get her? It’s the end of the school day anyway but I don’t think she should be driving home…thanks, Quinn.” 

You groan at her, tempted to tell her off for calling him against your wishes but you know she means well…you also know there’s absolutely no chance you’re getting away with avoiding the doctors now. In fact you wouldn’t be surprised if he drove you straight to the doctor's office after coming to get you…still, maybe you should see a doctor, what with throwing up all the time…and now fainting? 

Laura won’t even let you get up from your spot on the floor, packing your things away for you, getting your students to chill for the last 10 minutes of the day and waiting until Quinn arrives. You know she’s worried you’ll faint again, but it feels ridiculous, sitting on a cold, dirty classroom floor waiting for your husband to come get you.

“Hey, baby…” The way he stands in the doorway to your classroom when he finally arrives makes you want to cry. It’s like he’s scared you’re going to faint again, a sense of hesitancy and caution in his body language that you hate because Quinn is never like that around you. 

“Please don’t…don’t be scared of me, right now…” You feel like crying, wetness starting to fill your eyes and your voice coming out choked. You’re not even sure why you’re so emotional about him looking like that when Quinn’s always worried about you, it’s not a new development. He cares so he worries. 

“Hey, hey, I’m not scared of you…I’m worried, baby.” He’s crossing the space between you as quickly as possible, crouching down next to you with care, hands reaching for your face gently to rub his fingers across your cheeks to try and calm you down.

“I’m sorry…I don’t mean to be a bother…” Your eyes are so watery that Quinn’s face is a blurry mess, but even then you wouldn’t be able to mistake the serious set of his brow, the way his jaw clenches, how he always takes your concerns and worries seriously.

“Sweet girl, hey…you’re not a bother. You’re never a chore, okay? But I'm going to need you to accept that we need to go to the doctor's now, okay? I’ve already phoned them, they can see us in forty minutes.” You can’t really deny him, he’s been so patient with you, worried, but not pushing you to go to the doctors too much and you know he’s right…something’s not normal right now and you need to get checked out.

“Okay…” The smile he gives you is radiant, relief filled and bright like your answer is enough to make his day. It makes it worth it.

“Atta girl, right, let’s get you up off this floor, okay?” 

You nod at him, reaching for his outstretched hands and letting him grip yours tightly, your wedding rings gleaming and new under the fluorescence of the classroom lights. As Quinn stands he pulls you with him, helping you to your feet and holding you steady when you get a bit of a headrush from the sudden upright position.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, i’m good,” He doesn’t quite look like he believes you, “I promise, i’ll let you know if i’m not.”

He’s got an eye on you the entire way to his car, always watching in case you suddenly faint or trip or take a dive to the ground. You don’t, your dizzy spell has passed and now you just feel emotional and embarrassed about the whole thing. 

As is routine by now Quinn opens the car door for you and buckles your seatbelt, making sure it rests comfortably against you and isn’t digging into you at all. He goes a step further than normal though, reaching into the backseat to grab a blanket he keeps there for when you get cold, laying it over your lap and tucking it under your thighs like he’s worried you’ll get cold on the drive to the doctors. 

Quinn leans forward into the car, pressing a kiss to your forehead gently causing you to close your eyes, letting out a happy sigh. He lingers slightly, hand smoothing down some of your fly away hairs before he shuts the passenger side door and gets into the driver's seat. 

There’s a heavy silence that settles over the two of you while Quinn starts the drive to the doctor’s office. It’s a silence that screams that Quinn has things he wants to say, words he’s holding inside him right now and you wait patiently for him to break. 

It doesn’t take long, a few minutes pass before he’s watching you from the corner of his eye, “You need to start trusting me to handle knowing when something is wrong…” He sighs out at you, and you try not to cut him off, biting on your lip to force yourself to listen until he’s said what he needs to say. “I know you’re scared of being a burden and putting more stress on me, but, baby…I’m your husband. I need to know. I want to know. My job is to support you. I can’t do that if you’re not letting me in…” He reaches a hand across to squeeze your leg, an attempt to reassure you that he’s not mad, but that he wants you to trust him more and you get it…you do. You’ve been so reluctant to put any more stress on him, but here’s Quinn demanding that you do, telling you he wants to know when things aren’t quite right.

“I just…you have all this pressure on you and I don’t want to add to that.”

“Baby, the only stress you’re giving me is when you don’t let me help you…I need you to promise me you’re going to start relying on me more, please?” He can’t take it anymore. The way you try to hide how you’re doing, try to take all that onto yourself so that he doesn't get any of the pressure. You’re the only pressure he wants, fuck hockey, fuck the season, but he needs to know what’s wrong with you so he can fix it, so he can help you.

You reach for his hand on your leg, twisting your fingers in his and holding his hand tight, watching him glance at you out of the corner of his eye, focusing on the road for the most part. 

“I promise.” 

Quinn’s shoulders drop in relief, his need to support and protect you, to look after you already feeling better now that you’ve promised you’ll actually communicate with him properly. He loves you, but your fear of being a burden is his least favourite thing about you. He hates that people have made you feel like you have to minimise yourself, your problems. Hates that you’ve been trained to be so hyper independent and self reliant. 

“Have you taken a pregnancy test?”

You blink at the doctor like she’s insane because the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind that that was a possibility, that maybe you were pregnant.

“Uh, no…”

“Have you been using protection? Is it possible you’re pregnant?” You try to think back to your last period, late, try to think back to the last time Quinn and yourself had unprotected sex…your honeymoon. So over the moon, so giddy the two of you hadn’t really thought about it, forgoing the usual precautions because you were married now so it didn’t seem like such a big deal. 

You look at Quinn, the two of you sharing a look that says you’re both thinking back to your honeymoon, the two weeks of being absolutely feral for each other that you really didn’t think much about the consequences…well, you did, in a sense. Quinn had had a great time considering what you’d look like pregnant with his child, dirty talk filled with comments about getting you pregnant, but it had all been fantasies, silly in the moment dirty talk, neither of you had really considered (rather stupidly perhaps) that it might become a reality. You hadn’t thought…normally it wasn’t that easy for people and you’d always had concerns about fertility in your family in the past so why would it be that easy for you? 

“It’s…it’s possible.”

“Okay, I want you to go take this test and come back when you’re done. I think you might just be experiencing some really bad first trimester morning sickness.” You take the test offered to you, the little pee cup and pipette too, glad that she wasn’t expecting you to pee directly onto the stick…

“Do you want me to wait outside the door?” Quinn asks as you hesitantly get up, not really wanting to go alone, as silly as it was because all you were about to do was pee into a little cup and put some drops onto a pregnancy test, it wasn’t like you were going to do anything crazy. But, you’d never had to take a pregnancy test before, you’d never had to deal with the reality that you might be pregnant and even if it's with your literal husband it’s still kind of scary...

“Yes, please…” He’s reaching for your hand without any hesitation, guiding you out of the examination room and towards the toilets. 

You hesitate before entering, scared to find out the answer, unsure which you want to be true; that you’re pregnant or that there’s something else causing you to be sick and faint. You want kids, both of you have discussed it time and time again, but you always thought it would be planned, that the two of you would be actively trying when you got pregnant. 

“It’ll be okay, y’know? No matter what. If you’re not pregnant we’ll figure out what’s wrong and if you are? That’s a good thing, we wanted kids, baby.” Quinn can see you’re scared, the way you grip the test tighter, how you seem to stop breathing as you stare at the bathroom door. He’s trying to not get his hopes up, to temper some of the excitement he can feel because he really…fuck, he really hopes you’re pregnant, he’s so ready to be a dad, and it would be an added bonus to know you weren’t seriously ill, just dealing with the first trimester. 

“Yeah, just…wasn’t expecting it to potentially be this soon.”

“I know, baby, but it’ll be okay and mom’ll be over the moon.” You smile at the mention of Ellen, how excited she’ll be…heck Jack and Luke would be ecstatic to be uncles, suddenly things didn’t seem quite so scary when you considered the people around you, how supportive they would be.

“Yeah, she’ll probably scream down the phone…” If you’re pregnant goes unsaid but it’s there, the reality that maybe you’re both starting to get your hopes up for something that isn’t going to happen. 

“Okay…I can do this.”

“You’ve got this, baby…it’ll be okay,” He smiles at you one last time before you disappear into the bathroom.

Your hands shake the entire time you’re in there, completing the test and putting it on the side to wait. You pacing a hole into the floor, back and forth, back and forth as the time ticks down on your phone. In that time you start to get excited, nervous, but excited. The initial shock of potentially being pregnant disappearing in favour of thoughts about what it would be like to finally have your first child with Quinn…how he’d teach them to skate, how Luke and Jack would play with them at the lake house in the summer, how Ellen and Jim would be devoted grandparents, how you’d read them books every night and make your own Christmas traditions… Your nerves now centred on that possibility that you weren’t pregnant, that your hopes might be crushed.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look when the time was up, reaching for the door handle to Quinn pacing outside the door. His head shoots up the moment you open it.

“So?” Quinn looks so expectant, lips bitten and red from all his worrying, waiting for an answer. 

“I…I can’t look, can you check it for me?”

“Uh, yeah, course, baby.” You can tell he’s nervous too, but he steps inside the bathroom, locking it behind the two of you for privacy. You point to where the little, but no less life altering, test rests by the sink. 

You watch him walk over, watch the tension in his shoulders, how he looks at the little test, seems to read the marks, and then again, and again like he’s struggling to process it. You know the answer the moment his shoulders relax, the moment he turns to you with tears in his eyes and a wide smile, so wide across his face. He’s practically grinning, vibrant in the way he is after a won game or how he was at your wedding. The sort of vibrant that changes Quinn, his usually understated calmness wiped out in favour of pure unfiltered joy. 

“We’re…we’re having a baby…” Saying it feels unreal at first, that those two little lines can mean so much, that right now, in your tummy is your baby. The perfect mix of the two of you slowly growing into someone amazing, someone he’s so excited to meet. 

“Yeah?” You can feel your own excitement starting, hearing it is making it real, so fucking real. 

“Yeah, baby!” You’re crying, he’s crying, it’s a mess when you come together in a hug, his arms wrapping tightly around you and lifting you off the floor to spin you around. You’re both crying into each other when his mouth slants over yours for a kiss, one of his hands cupping the back of your head, the other resting gently over your throat.

It’s a kiss that feels monumental, deep and filled with love, so much love that the taste of the salt from your tears does nothing to deter either of you as you cling to each other. The scratch of Quinn’s beard, the silky smoothness of his hair in your fingers, the way you cling to each other, you’ve not felt that happy since your wedding day, since you both finally said I do. It feels like the world has shifted on its axis in the most spectacular of ways and all that worry, all that fear is gone, just like that. 

He’s so fucking relieved, that’s part of it. God, is he excited that you’re pregnant, that he’s going to be a dad, but part of the excitement is relief, that you’re okay, that you’re not seriously ill. You’re just pregnant, just dealing with morning sickness and all the changes associated with growing a baby. 

When you pull apart neither of you go very far, foreheads pressed together, noses nuzzling against each other. His hands still cradle you close to him, his breath warm against your lips.

“We’re going to be parents…you’re going to be a mom…” There’s something about him saying it that makes it feel more real because it feels almost out of body of an experience, to find out you're pregnant when you had no plans to be. 

“Yeah…you’re going to be a dad…”

“Fuck, I love you…” Quinn kisses you again, soft but lingering as a hand comes down to rest against your belly, no sign yet of the bundle of cells that’s growing into a baby, “and I love this little bean too,”

“I love you too, you’re going to be so great, they’re going to love you.”

“They’re going to love us.”

[universefcb]

↬❥ Big boy

Pau Cubarsí x Fem!Reader

sy: When he gets freaked out by the huge height difference between you.

a/n: I don't like writing dirty things, but writing about this Pau Cubarsí made me crazy! I'm in love with it. And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.

Made for this request.

warnings: Pau Cubarsí is a naughty guy, he's a fiery boyfriend, a boyfriend crazy about the reader.

You took a sip of juice through a straw and watched your boyfriend play ball with some unknown kids on the beach. You smiled as you watched him lift two kittens in his arms, one on each side. You were drawn to the thick veins that appeared on his arm and you bit your lip. Your boyfriend was a big boy.

He continued to play and you watched. Few fans stopped to ask for photos, the beach was practically deserted and you thanked him mentally. You saw your boyfriend approaching after finishing the game with the children. Those who were now with their respective parents.

“You’re so thoughtful. We’re still too young to have a baby,” he joked, lying down next to her on the lounger.

“I was just looking at how handsome my boyfriend is.” Her hands held his biceps, pressing her chest against his. Only to seal her lips on his in a quick kiss.

“I feel embarrassed like this,” he chuckled softly, trailing kisses from her cheek to her neck.

His kisses on your neck were wet, and he sucked on your skin, and you already knew that a huge mark would be born.

“Pau…” you gasped, closing your eyes and squeezing his arms in your hand. “We’re in public..!

He chuckled against your neck, pulling away. Your eyes met and you reveled in the sight of that bright green staring back at you.

“I’m just going to take a dip and then we can leave.” He said, and got up, running towards the sea, throwing himself in.

You laughed, picking up your magazine and flipping through it again. You hadn't gone into the sea because of a small injury on your leg, so you chose to sit there. After a few minutes he came back.

You handed him the towel, and he dried his hair and torso afterwards. He helped you carry your things to put in the car. The sunset was beautiful, and Bife decided to take a picture of this wonderful landscape.

“I stayed still.” Cubarsí asked, taking his cell phone out of his pocket and taking pictures from different angles. “Hot..”

You smiled embarrassedly. Pau always praised you with these comments, or teased you with silly hands at inappropriate times. The boy only had an innocent face, but in reality he was a huge rascal.

You got into the car, and he drove calmly. You would never get used to the idea that Pau was now driving and had his own car.

As soon as he parked in front of your house, he looked at you with big eyes, like a begging puppy.

“Sleep at my house, it’s been a while since I’ve had you in my arms” your voice came out tearful and you laughed, circling his face with your hands, to get closer and brush the tip of his nose with yours.

“You have a game tomorrow morning, and if I sleep over at your house it will only be a nuisance.” He sighed, knowing it was true. “You need to play well so I can tell everyone what a hard-working and great player my boy is!

He smiled, bringing his face closer to hers. Lightly biting her lower lip. He held her hand, but seconds later he looked at her.

“What’s wrong?” you looked at your joined hands, and then laughed, already knowing why he was reacting. “You’re huge!

You saw him smile sideways “Not in that sense, idiot” you nudged him with your free hand, feeling shy due to the boy’s impure thoughts.

“You’re so tiny! My baby, my little baby.” He opened his hands, placing his palm over hers. “Wow!

His hands were much bigger than yours, the boy was very tall, at six feet and eighty-five. And you were almost a foot shorter than him. But it was no reason to complain, it was a reason to be proud just knowing that you have a huge boyfriend, who can carry you in his arms when you are sick or hold you like a baby when you are needy, you feel like the luckiest person in the world.

“You’re a huge boy!” You laughed, looking at him. He came closer again, starting to place kisses on your mouth, which were all returned. His huge hands were around you, holding you tightly. “Pau…”

You tried to speak, but he kissed you as if you were going to run away, and you really were.

“No..!” He mumbled, trailing kisses down her neck. “I miss you, I miss having you in my bed, or finding your clothes in my room. Please, just sleep tonight, I promise to play well tomorrow!”

You laughed at the boy's insistence. You sighed, caressing his puffy cheek.

“Okay, I'll just tell my parents and get some clothes.” She was going to get out of the car, but Pau stopped her.

“Wear one of my blouses”

“If I wear one of your shirts, we won’t sleep at night,” she blew kisses before getting out of the car, leaving Cubarsí completely speechless – or maybe with something else –

Your like is important and helps me a lot. Don't be a ghost reader!

[lov3darlings]

saw that you wanted requests…. wb a little more fluffy take on figure skater reader x lando? maybe reader teaches him how to skate 😼 idk if this completely fits w the dynamic that you write them w tho, so if you don’t like this idea, feel free to ignore !

hav a great day :)

darlings thoughts

cw: fluff, fluff and lil sexual tension ig. obvi that 6 year age gap. also dw it does fit with the dynamic. they're the type of couple that ppl look and say 'omg he's really spoiled her.'

"i won't laugh," you promised kissing his cheek. you were trying to convince lando to go skating with you and somehow you ended up on his lap trying to bribe him with kisses.

while lando loved all of you, specially the figure skater you and your endless competitive drive. he was worried that he'd embarrass himself infront of you.

but he cannot possibly say no to you, even if he tried. besides, he's shown you all parts of him, even the parts of him that came with racing. it was only fair that he went skating with you.

"fine," he gives in. his face breaking into a smile when he sees your face light up. "but you can't laugh," he warns threading his fingers through your hairs. "i won't."

and that's how he ended up at think you train at an ungodly hour.

your laugh boomed through the empty rink, drowning out the symphony of your master and magarita program. "you said you wouldn't laugh," lando says. you skate effortlessly towards him.

"my bad," she extends out her palms for him to hold. "don't worry i got thi—" he almost slipped making you laugh harder. "come on," you grab his hands.

"you're so tensed, loosen up love," you say. "yeah, but what if i fall?" he glares at the frozen body of water beneath his skates. "you won't. i got you," you try to reassure him. "yeah like how you said you won't laugh," he scoffs at you. "well, not like that."

lando finally loosens up, standing more straight and holding onto you firmer. "see it's so much easier," you say as you skate backwards. but the older man is too busy admiring you.

he looks at you with awe as you crane your neck backwards to make sure you both won't run into the boards. the way the untucked hairs fall over your face. he moves his hand to tuck it behind your ears.

"wow," he mumbles under his breathe. "huh?" you look him. his loving gaze making you flustered. "focus on skating lando," you say. "how can i when i have this absolutely stunning angel teaching me," he cups your face.

everything blurs around you two. the symphony already died down for him even though the notes of the piano became intense. for him, it was just you and him. even forgetting he was on ice with sharp skates stapped to his feet.

"i love you," he leans down to kiss your forehead. "i love you too," you whisper adding a subtle dramatic flare to it that he missed. taking his hands in yours but slowly, retrieving your hands as you skate away.

lando stands in the middle of the rink, alone with no aid. he watched you skate away cheekily as the realization dawned upon him. he stood there with no aid. "sweetheart," he whined. "yeah?" you teased.

lando pouted, but his instincts was to follow you. taking wobbly strides to chase after you. you giggled at him but those giggles were cut short when you saw him fall.

"oh my god are you okay?" you kneel next to him. lando wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you onto him. "haha gotcha," he chuckled. "fuck off that's not fair," you rolled your eyes at him, laying down next to him on the ice.

"it's called throwing a dummy to overtake," he smirks. "but don't you think my acting was emmy worth? you were totally scared," he added. "i wasn’t," you argue.

"sure darling, whatever helps you sleep at night," he brings you closer to him. "now come on teach me how do i do that signature spin of your," he says. "yeah no, you'll risk an injury. you're not flexible enough. plus jon is gonna eat my head off if you get injured."

"makes sesne. but you, my love are very very flexible," his hands play with the hem of your sports bra. his attention finally lands on the master and magarita loop that was playing.

"you know i really love this program and the dress. we should get you more replicas of it. it's so pretty to tear it off of you," he whispers. "shut up," you hit his chest, blushing.

[themultifanshipper]

omg I love Nico Rosberg please do!!

here's a little idea that's been running trough my head maybe it inspires you.

it's 2016, the worst of the worst of brocedes and nico goes out drinking and runs into Lewis's ex (reader) (maybe she's a journalist idk) one thing leads to another and they have nasty nasty sex in Nico's room, which just so happens to share a wall with Lewis's.

absolutely no pressure to write this tho

Sure Lewis had won the race, but you weren't expecting to see Nico drinking alone in a random bar. 

You had an idea that would definitely lift his spirits. 

Warnings: smut, masturbation, cum, filming (hear me out), rancid vibes, basically 2016 brocedes being petty, reader is a journalist and lewis' ex, I'm a lil' mean to lewlew but he deserves it

“Oh, Hello” he said relatively cheerfully when you popped up next to him at the bar. 

Nico had always liked you. You were a breath of fresh air whenever you'd show up at races. 

You worked part-time for Sky Sports and it was always a pleasure being interviewed by you. 

You'd been Lewis' girlfriend for years though, so you were firmly off limits to everyone in the paddock.  

Nico never did figure out why you and Lewis broke up. It's not like Lewis would talk to him about it, so he was left to speculate. 

“How have things… been?” he tried, earning a laugh from you. 

Of course you could tell he was fishing for information. 

“I'm not here to talk about Lewis, Nico”  

You leaned on the bar, pushing your chest against the polished wood, and Nico couldn't help glancing down quickly. 

“Actually, that's not strictly true” you corrected with a smile. “I wanted to see if there was anything I could do after your crushing defeat today” you emphasised the word, to see if he would react. 

He raised an eyebrow at you, smug smirk playing at his lips. 

“Are you trying to provoke me, my dear?” 

“Maybe…” you bit your lip, trying to conceal your glee. 

The truth was you and Lewis hadn't been on the best of terms after your rather public breakup. He'd become an egotistical monster, and you were only trying to weigh him down, or so he said. 

But even while you were together, you'd always found Nico intriguing. You couldn't deny the attraction you felt towards him, and now that you were free to do whatever the fuck you wanted, well… now seemed like a good opportunity. 

“Keep it up, maybe you'll manage to get a reaction out of me” he purred, setting his glass down and turning his barstool towards you. 

You wrapped your fingers around his glass, and his eyes followed the movement of your thumb tracing up the side, drawing patterns in the condensation. 

“I'm not trying to do anything…” you glanced at him and noted how enraptured he was in the sight of your delicate fingers barely reaching all the way around the small-ish glass. “I'm just confused how a driver of your caliber just let Lewis pass you like that” 

His gaze snapped back to you “I did not let him pass, my car was…” 

He trailed off when he noticed your expression, throwing his head back in exasperation with a chuckle. 

“Okay, I see what you are doing. It's not going to work on me” 

“Really?” you pouted “You sure I can't get you even a little bit riled up?” 

He huffed out a laugh. “The things you could do to rile me up are illegal in public places” 

Your breath hitched at his tone, there was an underlying challenge in there somewhere. 

“In that case… I have a proposition for you” 

His pupils expanded as soon as you put your hand on his thigh to lean in seductively. 

“We could put our combined talent for pettiness to good use…” 

Your lips barely brushed his ear as you spoke, but he could already feel his pants tightening at your close proximity. 

“What are you suggesting?” his voice was tight with desire. 

“Your room is next to Lewis'… I think we could easily find a way to rile him up” 

Nico's eyes widened, that was the best idea he'd ever heard. 

You leaned back against the bar and took his glass, bringing it to your lips to take a sip. 

“Jesus!” you spluttered “That's straight tequila, Nico!” you gazed at him in awe. 

He laughed, sliding a hand around your waist to pull you in closer.  

“I think we're going to have a lot of fun together” he mumbled. 

You let him drag you closer, standing in between his legs as his greedy hands felt you up. 

“And Lewis is going to regret ever breaking up with you”  ...

◇

Lewis could hear most of what was going on in Nico's room. 

He had a girl over, how adorable. Whatever he needed to make himself feel better about losing, he supposed. Lewis was planning on winning every race if it meant destroying Nico. 

He actually took some kind of twisted pleasure in listening to his pathetic attempt to get back at him. As if it made them even. You got this trophy, but at least I’m getting my dick wet.  

Lewis laughed derisively at the thought. No woman was going to make up for the big shiny trophy he was going to get at the end of the season. 

His attitude quickly changed however, when he suddenly heard the woman's voice louder and clearer than before. 

“Nico!” 

It sounded much too familiar. 

It couldn't be… 

He dropped his phone onto the bed he was lying on and turned around to face the wall. 

“Fuck- aaah… oh my god, Nico!”  

His jaw dropped. He'd recognise those moans anywhere. 

“Nico, please!” 

He put his hand against the wall, as if he'd be able to feel you against the cool plaster. 

“Please! Please, oh my god, please!” 

He refused to acknowledge the twitch in his pants. His blood was boiling with thinly veiled jealousy. 

But the final offense came in the form of Nico's voice. 

“Hear that, asshole?!” he was yelling at him through the wall. “She's begging for me now!” 

You whined as Nico sped up his hips, hitting deep inside you while you imagined Lewis on the other side, fuming at what he was hearing. 

♤

Nico had you facing the wall, your hands clutching the headboard for dear life while he pounded into you from behind. 

You’d really been missing out, it turned out. 

One of his hands was on your hip, arching your back obscenely for him, and the other one was next to your head, flat on the wall to hold his weight. 

You cheek was pressed against the wall, ensuring your voice would be as audible as possible through it. 

“Say my name, darling” he groaned, you cunt was like a vice around him and he was barely holding on to his sanity by this point. 

“Nico!” you cried, you were rapidly approaching your high. 

“Louder, baby. I want him to hear you” 

He slithered a hand around your body and started tapping out a soft rhythm against your clit, the barely-there stimulation making your legs tremble. 

“Fuck- aaah! Oh my god, Nico!” 

“I said louder. You're not coming until I know he's heard you” 

“Nico, please!” 

He chuckled meanly at your writhing figure, the pressure just wasn't quite enough to get you over the edge you were gasping for. 

“Please! Please, oh my god! Please!” 

Nico groaned, you were begging so prettily and politely for him, he could hardly refuse. 

“Hear that, asshole?!” he yelled “She's begging for me now!” 

He increased the pressure on your clit, rubbing wet circles over it that made your eyes roll back into your skull and let out the most pitiful wail as you came all over his cock and fingers. 

You slumped against the headboard, no longer able to hold yourself up, and slid down until your face hit the pillows with your ass up in the air, and you groaned while you rode out the waves of your high, through which Nico was still fucking you. 

He quickly grabbed his phone.  

He knew just how to put the final nail in Lewis' proverbial coffin. 

He turned the camera on, just managing to catch the moment when he came inside you, cunt stretched beautifully around his cock, then pulled out to let his cum dribble out of you and down your thighs. 

They hadn't blocked each other’s numbers. That would be petty... 

♧

So he sent Lewis the short video and threw his phone to the side. 

He gently turned you over, thumbing at the obscene mixture clinging to your folds, and spreading it around. 

He was transfixed, and you let out a small giggle at his expression. 

He raised an eyebrow cockily, bringing his cum covered fingers up to your mouth. 

Much to his delight, you sucked them eagerly, moaning at the taste as your tongue traced every knuckle, every crevice until he was clean. 

His gaze was dark as he watched you work, and once his hand was clean he wrapped it around your neck and squeezed possessively. 

Your confused wide eyes made him chuckle, along with the way your thighs twitched. 

“I had a feeling you would be into that” 

He leaned over you and crashed his lips to yours in a searing kiss, the faint taste of your mixed juices driving him wild with need. 

“Give me a minute, I'm definitely not done with you” 

Lewis didn't care about his pride anymore, the sounds you were making on the other side of the wall were sending him insane. 

♡

He shoved his shorts down and wrapped a hand around himself. The relief was instant. 

He could almost picture you, bent over and begging. He'd witnessed it enough times. 

All that was missing was- 

The buzz of his phone caught his attention from where it was laying next to his knee. 

A text from Nico. 

“Enjoy the crumb” 

And attached was a video of Nico pounding into you once, twice, and then… 

Lewis gasped and the hand around his cock sped up at the sight of your beautiful tight hole dripping with his rival's cum. 

He didn't realise he was coming until it was too late and his pillow was soiled and covered in his spend. 

“Fuck's sake!” he cursed, throwing his phone across the room in anger. 

He ended up seeing a lot more of you after that.  

But you were now Nico's fucking girlfriend, and his ex-best frien would constantly send him dirty grins, reminding him of that damn video. 

And every single night, without fail, he'd pull the video up and get off to it. 

He'd hesitated a couple of times to send it to the papers. But no matter how bitter he was, he couldn't bring himself to do it. 

It was almost as if he took pleasure in knowing that only him and Nico had it. Like a shared dirty secret. 

Nico was going to regret everything anyway. He may have won you, but Lewis was going to win the whole damn championship. 

[withlovemark]

“keep quiet”

[requested 1, 2]

warnings: smut! fingering, quiet sex(?)

-> important note: the xo kitty characters have all been aged up to legal age! i refuse to write smut about minors, even if they are fictional.

-

“shhh baby, keep quiet,” minho! swallows your moans, lips entangled in yours, “you don’t want them to hear you, do you?,” he teases — the group was just outside his bedroom door studying for the upcoming exams.

minho, bored of the lessons, wanted to have some fun, “we’re gonna take a nap, i’m too tired for this shit,” he complains, dragging you in his bedroom before you could protest.

now you’re under him, his fingers going in and out of your pussy as you try to control the noises you were making. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing it in the way that has you biting your lips, toes curling, “mmm-ahh,” you moan breathily, trying to be as quiet as you can.

“shhh,” he reminds you, his fingers quickening its pace on your cunt, curling it exactly the way that hits the spot.

“gonna come,” you whisper, orgasm making you shake, eyes rolling back, shaky breath coming from your lips as you try to stabilize your breathing.

minho admires you’re fucked out state, zipping down his pants and freeing his hard pink cock, he pumps himself a couple of times, keeping his groans quiet, “you think you can keep being a good girl and be quiet for this one,” he says teasingly, slapping his cock against your pussy, making you twitch. you nod furiously, just wanting to feel him inside you.

he slides in between your folds, collecting your juices, then lining up with your core, he slowly enters you. you squeeze his shoulder at the intrusion, and minho had to bury his head in yours to muffle his groans.

once he was fully situated, you pull him towards you, lips coming in contact again as he slowly rocked in and out of you, breathing heavily against each other's lips.

lifting one of your legs up to your shoulder, he quickens the pace hitting you in a way that got you rolling your eyes back, your second orgasm coming to fruition, “ahhh-,” you cry, his free hand immediately covering your mouth, muffling your sounds, hot breath hitting his palm.

your fingers make their way to his back, holding on for support, nails scratching, eliciting a groan from him. the feeling of your nails making him hiss in pain, “oh fuck, love,” he groans, no longer caring about the ears outside.

“say my name,” he orders, removing his hands off your lips.

the creaking of the bed getting louder and louder, heavy breathing gradually rising, being quiet long forgotten as whines of his names exited your lips, like a mantra, “fuck! minho, minho, minho-,” you whine, encouraging him to go faster.

his hand rubs harsh circles on your clit, halting your whines as you moan loudly, orgasm taking over you, pussy clenching tightly around his cock, pushing minho to his own release.

“oh my god-,” he grunts just as his release came over him, quickly pulling out of your pussy, his cum messily pouring out of him.

—

meanwhile on the other side of the door, the group looks awkwardly around the room, the squeaking of the bed and your shared moans hitting their ears.

“uhm, maybe we should move to our dorm?” kitty suggested.

“yeah, good idea,” q exclaims as everyone rushed to pack their staff, hurriedly leaving the boys’ dorm.

[adieutristana]

AHH UR WRITING EATS UP EVERY TIME🙏🔥🔥

anyways, low-key inspired by your Jinx-ring fix and got an idea. Reader makes jewlery for fun and her, Jinx and Isha all have some kind of matching jewelry w/ a little hex-jem in it

-thank youuu (take ur time n take care of yourself honey💜)

of course! thank you for the request <3

thank you for the kind words! also this request kind of reminded me of those dora and disney princess kid rings that used to be everywhere in the 2000s? i loved those please tell me i'm not crazy and you guys know what i'm talking about.

summary; reader makes matching rings for herself, jinx, and isha.

characters included; jinx, isha (platonic/familial)

tags/warnings; fluff, domestic, welder/jeweler!reader, mother/mother/daughter dynamic, i can't rly think of anything else

men dni.

"stay still."

you murmur, holding a thin strip of paper around jinx's right ring finger. you wrap it around once, using one of jinx's blue markers to mark just a millimeter below where the paper should end. just for safety, you think. jinx's gaze is fixed on you, before you straighten up and write 'J' on the remainder of the white strip.

“got me all measured now?”

“mhm. thanks, babe.” you smile, squeezing one of your girlfriend’s shoulders.

you'd told her what you were up to. you were an apprentice under one of the undercity's only jewelers, welding jewelry by hand and making custom orders for loyal patrons. wedding bands, engagement rings, promise rings, pendants, chains, charm bracelets- you'd done it all.

since taking in isha, once just a scared little girl in the lanes who insisted on hanging off jinx's pant leg, your life had changed for the better. you'd already been pretty satisfied with the state of things. you had a stable job, you loved your craft, you had a beautiful and loving girlfriend by your side. all of this combined was more than enough to keep you happy, but at the most unexpected of times, this girl had come into your life.

she was afraid, having seen firsthand the rigidity of zaun and just how violent things could become; especially in the climate of recent days. but she was also sweet, and both you and jinx could tell that she just needed someone to love her. communicate with her, play with her, make her feel important. rather, two someones.

yet after taking her in, she’d grown so much. always such a playful kid, so curious about the world around her and so fascinated by both you and jinx. you’d had endless adventures together, filled with laughter and anticipation. a kid-friendly version of jinx’s usual mayhem. though you’d also share quiet mornings together, when isha wants to help you make breakfast or wants you to read from one of the children’s books jinx had stolen for her.

and now, you wanted to do something for the three of you. a marker of your status as a family, and something you know both jinx and isha would love. with jinx’s possessive nature, matching jewelry was an immediate ‘yes,’ and isha would be delighted to receive something so personalized. and to be able to match with her moms? that’s the cherry on top!

though, both you and jinx had agreed to keep it a surprise for the girl. the look on her face when she received her gift would be worth having to keep a secret (as difficult as that was for jinx).

“your turn, ish!”

you call out, a sound which is soon followed by the pitter-patter of little feet. isha looks up at you with wide, curious eyes, before you crouch down to her level and reach your hand out for one of hers.

“give me your hand.”

you hum, your tone instantly becoming softer in the presence of isha. she holds up both hands, looking at you as if to ask ‘which one?’ a smile tugs at your lips, and you let out a light chuckle.

“either one. just give me a hand.”

isha then puts down her right hand, giving you free access to her left. you gently take the girl's hand in yours and spread her fingers out, slotting another thin slip of paper in. she tilts her head curiously, but allows you to wrap the paper around her finger and mark it- this time with a yellow 'I.' upon releasing her hand, you look up at the girl before you to be greeted by furrowed brows. a low laugh escapes you.

"it's a surprise, kid. you'll know soon enough, okay?"

isha frowns, looking over to jinx for some kind of backup or clue as to what you're finding, though she just shrugs in her chair.

"sorry, isha. this one-" she points her index finger at you. "made me promise not to tell."

the girl lets out a low yet adorable groan, keeping her little arms crossed over her chest. you could almost give in upon seeing her bottom lip poking out lightly, her leaning on one leg, and those yellow eyes narrowed; but you had a surprise to keep. isha would know soon enough, and she'd love it.

✧.*

it was challenging to find time between clients, but within about three weeks, you'd finally managed to complete the set of rings.

the rings you'd made yourself and your girlfriend weren't difficult. but you'd never made a ring for a child before, and making a piece of jewelry fit for isha's fingers proved to be one of the most daunting tasks during your time as a jeweler. engraving it had proved to be even more difficult. but you'd managed, and you were damn proud of the final results.

your girlfriend and isha sit in front of you, looking at you with expectant eyes. you'd just told them that you had a surprise for them both, and guided them to sit on jinx's torn leather couch. jinx knows exactly what you're planning, trying (and failing) to look unassuming in front of isha.

"close your eyes and hold your hands out," you say with a smile, giving both girls knowing glances while they do what you've asked. isha's hands out in front of her while her wide eyes slip shut, jinx wearing a slight smirk. you step back and take a deep breath in, before reaching into your back right pocket to retrieve the rings. two matching silver bands, the metal clinking together quietly as you try to separate them in your hand.

you place the rings in their outstretched hands, before reaching into your left pocket to take your own out and slip it onto your finger.

"now... open."

both of their eyes slip open, and isha instantly gasps at the sight before her. jinx's eyes widen, immediately wearing a toothy grin. she turns the ring in her hand, looking at how the shiny silver catches in the light.

"look at that."

she gasps, turning the ring in her hand. jinx's ring holds a blue hex crystal, glowing even in the dim lighting of jinx's hideout. on one side of the crystal, a cursive engraving of the letter J, and a simplistic outline of a monkey on the other side. isha's own is similar, holding another hex crystal. an 'I' is engraved into her ring, a bunny on the other side to match it.

and your own, the same silver band and hex crystal adorning it. though this one is engraved with your initial, and the outline of a cat.

"you like it?" you ask, holding up your right hand for jinx to see. her smile returns, and isha is nodding frantically. it's adorable to see- her wide smile and the way her hair bounced up and down while nodding. she's so enthusiastic.

"it looks great, toots." she muses, "but i still think i could've done better. i have scrap metal and a blowtorch."

you lightly roll your eyes at jinx's quip, but turn to gauge isha's reaction. she's already put her ring on where she remembers you measuring her, marveling at the sight. she's switching between gasping whenever she notices a new detail, and smiling wide at the fact that you made this for her. the fact that they're all matching and personalized isn't lost on isha, and you can tell it makes it that much more special for the girl.

a far cry from the scared child jinx had brought home a few months prior, and this is exactly what makes your job worth it. not the acclaim, not the positive critics' reviews, not even the money (though that was always welcomed). the fact that you've made an impact on this kid by using your craft makes you only want to push more, strive to be greater. give her both something to remind her of your love, and a positive role model to look to.

she's finally able to close her mouth, giving a close-lipped smile and bring her hand to her chin to sign 'thank you.'

"you're welcome," you breathe out, before sitting yourself between jinx and isha on the couch. you reach an arm out for both of them to pull them into your sides. "those weren't easy to make, you know."

"so you've told me."

jinx replies, and you shake your head in mock resignation. isha, though, is pressing closer to you, one arm haphazardly wrapped around you while she continues to 'ooh' and 'aah' at her new jewelry.

"these feel so personal, you know." jinx murmurs, suddenly a bit more earnest. she's looking at her own ring herself, her gaze flitting between the glimmering hex crystal and you. "i mean, they are. they were made for us. but i don't know. it's... nice."

isha makes a 'hm' noise in agreement, jinx taking a deep breath.

"i like that it's just us. we're the only people in the world who have these rings, and we get to show them off. i think that's a pretty damn good selling point."

you hum, gently brushing your lips along the crook of jinx's neck before letting your head rest on jinx's shoulder. isha situates herself to lay across both yours and jinx's laps, her little hands folded over her stomach.

"it's like we're some kind of exclusive club."

jinx chuckles, coming to card her fingers through fluffy brown hair.

"or a family."

the girl pauses, her shoulders tensing for only a moment. a family. she'd never necessarily thought of it like that, having let go of the idea of ever having a family again long ago. but it's the perfect descriptor of your group without a doubt, and it feels like the right word to put to the moment you're having right now. her shoulders relax, a gentle smile gracing her features. isha reaches to squeeze one of jinx's hands in a show of silent support.

"...yeah. a family."

[nightscythe]

dark sides of the primarchs' relationships

some of these are very dark (esp lorgar, angron, ferrus I guess) but I wanted to represent some of the less enjoyable themes in their relationships. some are kind of obvious, but I wanted to expand a little. again, it's how I write them, so you may not necessarily agree!!

18+ below the cut pls, it's sfw but some themes of death, obsession, etc, mostly pre-heresy

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

the lion: struggles to interpret his feelings and often mistakes them as needs - namely, sexual need, but really any physical need. the heavy feeling in his heart because he hasn't seen you for weeks? must be because he had become used to your presence and his body must adapt to being without you. the burning in his chest when someone else dares to speak to you with a more suggestive tone? well, its not jealousy, it is his body telling him he needs you. overtime this would start to go, he would learn to interpret feelings in a more emotional way, but realistically he would need to care enough to want to try in the first place. he would always struggle though, turning every single one of his feelings about love into his duty. you're his responsibility, everyone else is a threat.

fulgrim: whilst it is obvious that his desire for perfection may have an impact on you, it has an equal burden on him. he always doubts himself, always taking a pessimistic view of both himself as a lover and to relationships as a whole. and your reassurance may never be enough, even if you do mean it and he seeks it out. he will always make each gift, each speech, each act of love bigger to meet his own desire to be better. and really? it can become more exhausting than anything. especially if he is always trying to prove himself and it sometimes starts to feel artificial. there would be a breaking point though where he finally realises to you, he is perfect, and there is nothing else he needs to do. but there is always that little, teeny doubt.

perty: trust issues will get to him more than anything. he'd need someone who has so much patience that it wears you down, but ultimately it would be worth it. the worst part is that he wouldn't often share how he feels, he keeps it to himself and sits brewing thoughts in his own head that you may just be like everyone else and not truly care. he'd keep it from you, never uttering a word, silently letting it all fester until it gets too much. and breaking down that wall he builds from his own thoughts would take a lot of time, a lot of effort, and a lot of letting him work things out on his own. that's probably the biggest issue - he has a lot of time, something you may not as easily afford.

the khan: his idea of love is different. in a good way, maybe, but different to others. love for him is choice, and he will not restrict you to it. if you want to leave him, then go. if you want to spend a day without him, then do so. he'd really need someone who can deal with his laid back approach (or more so, his promotion of freedom above all other things) to love. that can be tough. his free spirit may just be too free to some people, and that's just what life is like. don't expect reassurance or speeches of his feelings, they are not happening. he's quick to make his decisions, his conclusions, and he's quick to temper. in the right conditions, this can make a storm. if anything ever goes bad.. good luck.

leman: it flips with him, very sudden, very easily. one day he's so enamoured, so utterly floored by everything you do that he's got massive heart eyes and following you around like a puppy. other times he's in his own world, following his own free spirit, that it can make you feel neglected. all of this just ends up causing more and more anxiety, unknowingly to him, and obviously to you. its all unintentional of course, he loves you so deeply. and his love itself? it's raw. he's so set on being stoic and strong but he is fragile too. he fears the worst, his emotions are never waste. everything he feels he shows directly to you. that can be overwhelming; all of this is overwhelming. especially when you could wake up one day and he's gone to do something without any warning, not evening thinking that you notice.

dorn: he's cold. he's so cold that it burns. or... is that the raging fire inside just reaching through the cracks? words mean nothing to him, and it can be difficult to truly know where you stand. he would never say he loves you, he would make you feel like he didn't ever need you, but should you ever leave? he'd tear the imperium down brick by brick until he had you back with him. it's unknowing to him. a duty. an unspoken loyalty. he doesn't believe in anything being temporary, so you're with him for life now. even if he never says it. and its the fact it's just actions, ones which may not mean anything to you, that makes it so hard. the door he gifted you with a heavy duty lock may be strange to you, but you did tell him you were worried about someone breaking in...

curze: does not feel he can be loved. he thinks he deserves it, but he never thinks anyone would dare. he thinks any affection shown to his is out of selfish fear and the second an opportunity presents itself, that love and affection would be gone. so he worries. he worries you are just like everyone else. makes assumptions, accusations, tells you that he thinks you're lying. probably because in the past he felt he should be loved and forced it out of people. he never once stops to think that maybe you lay beside him, you hold his hand, you take care of him, because you want to. it doesn't make sense to him, not without proof, or time, or anything to support your case. he'd get it eventually, he'd stop spending nights awake convinced you'll leave him when you sleep peacefully beside him with no intention of going.

sanguinius: his foresight is a burden, knowing what will happen to him means his guards are up. he would always be devoted, and he would carry the burden of fate to know he had shown you love in a way that mattered. but the sleepless nights would come, knowing the heartbreak would follow. especially at first, he'd try so hard, he'd want to protect others, you, from the fallout of fate. he'd never wanted you to see him in a way as more than a guardian, protector even, but it was inevitable. especially being who he is. and he would keep it to himself, and it would eat him up inside. he'd want to give you an easier way out, a ending where his death was the lesser of two evils, but he could never bring himself to leave. not before fate forced his hand.

ferrus: he has to make you better. you though fulgrim was obsessed with perfection? imagine that, but reversed, and intensified by a thousand. ferrus can make you better. he can make you stronger, he can make you everything you ever wanted. and over time, as he improves you, makes you need to know that he's impressed with you, it changes you. he's unrelenting. and it's not that he doesn't love you. oh, he loves you so so much. but there's a part of him that thinks his encouragement, his desire for your perfection, it helps you. together you can be the perfect couple, but not because of beauty or looks. then it feels like you're a project to him, little more than a toy for him to work on each and every day. and he'd let you go. he'd give you the choice, be free of him, but you'd hesitate. could you ever really be without him again?

angron: he only knows war. pain. death. love is so... small to him. he doesn't understand how to be gentle, how to replicate the love some of his brothers will. but he doesn't want to hurt you, either. and it shows. he will not hurt you, he will not make you feel pain, but he would die for you. and would you die for him? well. if you wouldn't, he would make you. love for him is a reflection of the strongest emotions he feels. the words he associates with it are different. violence. he'd kill anyone who stood between you. desperation. it's a feeling he can't describe as anything other than need. consuming. it grinds on him, wears him down, until he treats it the exact same way as everything else he feels. you're his, and you will become a part of him, whether you want to or not.

rob: it should be easy to him, but its not, and that makes him feel worse. he's not stupid, he can process love and emotion. yet... why does it feel so hard? he always feels like he is doing something wrong, always expression too little in case he reveals too much, whilst always trying to make up for something he fumbled already. its a vicious cycle. the reality of the situation is he's torn in every direction, he's needed by so many people, that he doesn't have time for love. yet he would fight to the very end of time to show it to you. and it exhausts him to no end. he'd just need a little patience, he'd very much enjoy if instead of something require brain or body power, he could just rest with you in his arms, enjoy the peace, but when that's every single evening, it could become a little hard

morty: he carries around a lot of anger and it's not always easy to hide. like a bitter old woman who sneers at kids for stepping on her lawn, but deep down she has a heart bigger than anyone - she just doesn't like it when he things are messed up. probably a bad analogy. the smallest things annoy him and he's got a quick temper. he constantly has to remind himself to check his own feelings, assess if he's reacting appropriately, then actually respond. so sometimes, it can feel artificial, like it's a brave face he puts on, and eventually you'll just want to know the real him. and you can, but it may not be as easily heard or understood. with time he would get better, he'd balance his emotions with your help, but until then it may never feel 100% real.

magnus: the poor guy, he just doesn't think (how obvious, I know). his actions are well intended but the way he comes across is a mixed bag. you're proud of something you've done or learned and in the spirit of sharing your achievement he does it in one try... or he tells you a more advance version of a spell with the intention of helping you but... it just comes across as him belittling you. like you were never good enough for him, that he is so so much better than you and his standard is so far above you. in reality, he's just happy, he's sharing those things because he thinks it will help you. he's worried that he's not good enough for you. he feels like he has to prove himself, to show you just everything he's capable of, elevate the two of you, together. aww :(

horus: he knows about his charisma. like a beacon that sits on his head and forces everyone to like him. and that makes him question the reality of everyone around him. are you nice to him because he's Horus, or because you want to be nice to him? are you kissing him because he's Horus, or because you want to kiss him? it's a guessing game that he is losing. he truly believes that those closest to him do not care, and overtime he has developed trust issues beyond saving. he'd never show it though, but inside everything can feel like a lie. he'd have a way to work it out though - he's not stupid - but his way is long and extended, tests and games which may not be appreciated, and it may feel like you need to prove to him why you care about him. was your love not enough? it was. but he just needed to know it wasn't manufactured by that damn beacon.

lorgar: love... its something different for him. it's not love. it's reverence. you become everything to him, his faith, his truth, his gospel. you become divine to him in every way, perfection incarnate, holy as the gods around him. and for that reason, it is all written in fate for him. you are meant to be with him, you are meant to stand by his side. he would build temples in your name, he would burn planets to the ground if it meant you were happy. he would destroy worlds to bring you what you wanted. but, if you are unhappy with that? if you do not accept his love and devotion? that's heresy. that's denying the truth. and escaping him, it can only come through death. his one is quite dark, i'm very sorry about that. unless you like it, then happy to help.

vulkan: he wouldn't have many faults, aside from obvious primarch things, but I think he's full of worry. not insecurity, but concern, always worried about you, always thinking he may hurt you, worried that the feats he puts himself through may have an unnecessary effect on you. he knows that he puts himself in danger but he can't stop himself, he know your concern that maybe just one time, he won't come back - but he will still test the limits anyway. he'd never show you every part of him, afraid it may just be too much for you, and though he's never hiding anything sinister, he'd always be hiding something. and you know it. and he'd smile, assuring you its nothing. it's literally just something like he's never tried kissing you in a certain way in case he hurts you. or he was wounded fatally again but he's okay. probably better if he just tells you... but secrets in the name of happiness, I guess.

corax: sometimes he goes, for days. for weeks, months even. some may even question whether you've just made it up in your own head. it's not that he doesn't care, or he doesn't love you, but... he got lost in his own head. what he needed to do. and it doesn't help that when you are together, he's cold, he's reserved, and its like you've never even met before sometimes. he can handle all of this, he's secure in his feelings and is loyal to you beyond anyone else, but can you? it's not that he would abandon you, or betray you, but when you've waited for him to come him for months and there's still no sign of him, your thoughts may start to go somewhere less pleasant. you can ask him to stop, but it's never permanent, even when he's fully opened to you emotionally - he'd unintentionally fill you with doubt.

alpharius: oh its a bit of a mindfuck. one loves you, one doesn't. one whispers sweetly in your ear, one just whispers. one touches your shoulder and catches the tips of his fingers on the curve of your neck, the other one just touches your shoulder. it's little things. barely noticeable at first. something the everyday person would have just shrugged off. but after time, you do notice. that's not Alpharius. and it makes you mad. to think he sent someone else in his place? he had to, and you'd never understand, but he hates it as much as you. do you know how badly he wants it to be him that is with you each day? how insulting it is to know that he was sharing you? it drives him to the brink of insanity. it's truly the worst feeling in the world. but there's nothing you can do about it, and you'll have to live with knowing that maybe the man next to you isn't the alpharius you love.

˗ˏˋ 𓅰 ˎˊ˗

[the-bi-space-ace]

Refusal

Fandom: The Bad Batch

Word Count: 1,695

Summary: Echo refused to scream. He's been here for hours, days maybe, but time didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was that the batch was coming. They would always come.

--

Sooooo I had this idea about the batch swooping in when Echo has been held captive and I couldn't get it out of my head so here ya go, a section of a fic I may very well one day write about how far the batch will go to protect one of their own.

Warnings: blood, restraints, injury, violence.

Echo refused to scream. 

That’s how he ended up here.

The man who had him chained to the floor, knees forced under him, neck aching heavy with the weight of the restraint. His wrist had long since bled and scabbed and bled again, scomp held down at a bent angel, broken and spinning without his control. He reeled back, metal over his knuckles that he planned to strike at Echo once again, trying to force him into submission. 

Echo refused to scream. 

What drowned out his ears instead was alarms blazing overhead. Red lights blinked furiously. With a sneer his captor spit down at him. 

“Are those your pets?”

Echo spit the blood off of his lips. It splattered on the floor. “They aren’t pets.” He spit it out with as much vitriol as his raw throat would allow. The man above him swiveled, listening to the unmistakable sound of droids taking blaster fire, hitting the ground in a heap of wire and metal. Echo forced his head up, bloodshot eyes burning. “We’re a package deal, you see. A team. A squad. I save them. They save me. It’s kind of our thing.” Indistinct yelling rose from the nearby hallways. They were close, they were coming. Echo smiled through teeth he swore were chipped and lips so cracked it stung. “So, no, they aren’t pets, as you so kindly keep referring to them. But they are mine.” The door to the room he was being held in shook as something heavy was thrown against it. His captor flinched away from it while Echo’s body relaxed. Another slam against it and it bent. 

Wrecker. 

Something wedged its way between the doors, metal groaned as it slid apart, enough to get a hand inside. That hand was joined by another and the door was pried, inch by agonizing inch, apart. Eventually someone got impatient, cursing loudly, and big brawler hands gripped each edge. Metal bent backwards, rattling in complaint. 

“And they hate you for what you’ve done.” It bit from between Echo’s lips just as the door was pried open, metal screaming while Wrecker yelled. Even with the helmet on Echo sensed the fire, the way he plunged forward. His captor threw a punch but Wrecker caught it, bending his wrist back so thoroughly Echo swore something snapped. 

All the energy in his body drained, plummeting to the floor. He would’ve hit it if it hadn’t been for Tech’s - he knew it was Tech - hands gripping his chin and pulling him up, scanning to assess his injuries. Crosshair had moved to crouch directly next to him, handing off a med kit to Tech that was flung open quicker than his mind could keep up with.

Around him things blurred. They were there. Everything was fine now. He let his head fall forward again, caught this time on the warm toughness of armor plating. Someone’s shoulder was pressed against his forehead. Hands searched around his bound wrist for a release, gently but appraising, directness in the pressure. 

Tech. 

There was a deliberate squeeze to his arm then the hand moved to grab the chain holding him to the ground, lifting it to alleviate some pressure on his neck. Echo couldn’t help it, he sighed in relief, sinking further into the feeling of armor. Armor. Clone. Protection. Safe safe safe safe. He could feel Tech shuffle around to the back of him now, giving up on the wrist restraint to try and free his legs. Something clanked against metal behind him but he couldn’t turn to watch what was happening. Tech was muttering something under his breath, something acute, exact, but meant to comfort. 

Well, it comforted Echo at least. 

He focused instead on the hand now sweeping over his naked back. The firepuncher laid on the ground in front of him, abandoned on the floor in a way Echo had never witnessed before. Instead both hands were occupied, trying to both hold him up and together at the same time. Echo didn’t need that. He was fine. It took more than this to break him after everything he went through. 

“I’m fine.” Echo swore he said it outloud, the hand at his back even stuttered in its path, but he was ignored. Instead the body - Crosshair’s - shuffled closer to him, covering him in a protective bubble while they worked to free him. Something behind him lit, a laser-torch flame, and the sound of cutting metal pierced his ears. Echo squeezed his eyes shut, remembering that noise, hating that noise, but he didn’t struggle. No, it was Tech, and this was Crosshair and they’d never hurt him. Never never never never. 

A sickening crack broke through the flame and Echo, exhausted, tried to lift his head. He couldn’t get far, instead turning so his sweaty forehead pressed into the space between helmet and shoulder, getting eyes on what was happening in the rest of the room. 

“What makes you think you can take one of my own from me?” Hunter bit out. He was in the face of that man while Wrecker held his arms. His nose was bleeding now. Had Hunter hit him? Echo couldn’t remember now. Was that the sound? Hunter’s hand gripped his face, pulling him up to look into the visor of the helmet.  

“Hunter-” Echo began but he was cut off when Hunter’s fist hit him again. No, stop! Echo’s mind reeled, screamed, spiraled. He couldn’t move, not until Tech got the binds off, but Hunter had to stop. This would ruin everything. He tried to squirm but Crosshair’s grip held him tight, tight while lasers cut into the binds at his ankles. Hunter gripped the front of his shirt between shaking fingers, angry and ready to pull apart the floorboards if he had to. Rip through walls, burn the facility-

“You picked the wrong clones to fuck with-” 

“Stop!” Echo’s voice croaked between them and Hunter’s pulled back fist waited, paused in its path. This was his chance. He felt the binds on his ankles snap, Tech freeing him with a flick of a wrist. “Enough.” His voice was like a bomb, piercing in its finality.

From there he could hear Hunter’s unhappy sigh. “I am the sergeant here-”

“And I’m your second.” Echo coughed, blood splattering down the front of Crosshair’s chest plate. “Listen to me.” For what it was worth Hunter did let him go. Even Wrecker loosened his grip, allowing him to kneel on the ground instead of hanging suspended in the air. 

Hunter turned, flinging his arm out. “Echo, look what he did to you!” What a sight he must be. How long had it been? Hours? Days? He wasn’t sure anymore. Wasn’t sure he knew how to get up and walk out of here. 

“He knows where they are.” It was like the world stopped, each of them pausing. Even Tech stopped cutting away at the bind on his neck, pausing briefly before continuing. “That’s why I let him feel like he won for so long. We need what’s in his head.” Disgruntled was as nice a way as Echo could put how Hunter behaved after that, waving his hand so Wrecker stepped back from the man now panting on the ground. 

Instead Hunter approached the three of them on the ground. His hand searched around Echo’s headpiece, partially in comfort but mainly to find if it had been tampered with, swiping to check for bloodied fingers. Nothing had been inserted, couldn’t have been, but Hunter checked regardless. Knew it made Echo’s heart beat calmer to know. 

“Why’re you calling them off now? Feeling remorse already?” The voice he’d grown to know was smaller now, more fearful. When he had Echo tied down he had a boisterous roar of a voice, taunting and cruel. Now he was nothing but fear.

“I’m not doing it for you.” Echo said as the restraint around his neck popped off. A groan cut through his throat as Tech removed it, laying it on the ground next to the firepuncher. “You have more to answer for than this.” Now that they’d gotten into a good rhythm Tech was able to remove the wrist and scomp restraint without much difficulty. Maneuvering him around so Tech could get to it without lasering skin was difficult but he managed to do it without burns. 

Hunter watched carefully as Echo was able to straighten, back aching with the new motion. “Wrecker, help Echo.” Hunter instructed before practically stomping off to grip his captor by the back of his hair, ripping his head upwards to look Hunter in the helmet. “We’re taking you to the Republic. Maybe the Jedi will know what to do now.” He let his head fall back down again but Tech was already snapping stun cuffs on him and lifting him from the ground, keeping a close eye on his movements while Hunter pulled him along by the cuffs. 

“They will. They’ll know.” Echo assured, although he wasn’t sure what he was assuring them of. Wrecker had already gotten his arms under Echo’s body, lifting him so he could curl against Wrecker’s chest. Warmth. Safety. Wrecker. “General Kenobi, General Windu. They’ll know what to do.” The beep alerted him to another scan. 

This time Tech tsked. “We have to get him to a medical facility.” 

Echo’s bleary eyes watched them move around him, Wrecker holding him close, body shaking. Was he okay? Had something happened? They had to be okay. 

Crosshair had collected his firepuncher already, now standing facing that man. That horrible, terrible man. His shoulder shook, seething anger pulsing through him, heat radiating from his body wound so tight he could snap. He stepped close enough that barely a centimeter was between them.

“If Echo dies there will be nothing standing between you and me. Understood?” Crosshair’s threat lay low in his chest. A promise. A vow that if he saw Echo’s blood on that man’s hands then it was over. Nothing would save him. Not even the long arm of the Republic. Echo vowed to stay alive just to keep it from happening. 

Crosshair’s word was as good as an oath. 

[lumdays]

please notice me, prince!! ♡

au by @alli-ily << i've been meaning to join this au for a little while now hehehe

*click for better quality LMAO,,, sorry i have no idea why it's so fucked up but i did transcript the important stuff down here if you want

sir? dame? siyun (aka azul's worst nightmare)

"though they are very capable, they're quite unpopular with nobles as they tend to disobey even direct orders if they figure that there is a more efficient way to do things. they're also a little too honest for high society's taste."

siyun hails from far away lands, practically another world (hehe nod to them being a yuu). it is known that they have two younger siblings and that their parents are both well but it seems that they are no longer in contact.

...ashengrotto despises them (they give him SO many headaches, FREE HIM 🙏🙏)

some more stuff utc,, ARGHHH I BRAINROT OVER AUS LIKE THIS SO FAST💔💔💔 it's the evil manhwa lover in me

ALRIGHT SOOO.... the reason why i keep mentioning azul is because In My Head (please correct me if i'm wrong/you don't want me making up stuff HELPPP i didn't know what to go off aside that there's a bunch of kingdoms and nobles), he was accused/is suspected of embezzlement and siyun was dispatched to monitor him.

...they might as well be the bane of his existence honestly. embezzlement is likely the one crime he has yet to commit but with a highly competent knight keeping a close eye on him, it's gotten a lot harder for him to do anything that is remotely not outstanding-member-of-society material, which pisses him off to no end (...that's kinda just his own assumptions though LMAO, siyun does NOT care that much about the matters of some rich merchant,, unless someone gets hurt that is).

ANYWAYS. this made me think i should probably write down how they feel about lady ariya and prince shin

starting with lady ariya

siyun truly admires her resolve to clear her family's name. but they also can't help but feel something akin pity for her, the path she chose for herself will be long and arduous, especially alone—very few manage to walk out, head held high and pride intact. still, she seems like a promising young lady and siyun is a hopeful person, "i will assist you should you ever call for me."

prince shin (@liyuviq)

humble beginnings, big responsibilities. it's a bit presumptuous, but siyun sort of relates to the illegitimate prince. perhaps not fully—they never experienced Suddenly Being A Royal and sincerely hoped they never would, even in another universe. however, they can relate to the whiplash, the struggle to cram into a few months—no, weeks—everything the other nobles learned over the years, the stares, the whispers... they remember how it all felt, and when they look at their highness shin, they can only hope that they will rise through it all. "then again, i do know i am not your highness. perhaps you don't feel even a fraction of the dread that filled me back then—i would be very glad if so."

i hope i'm not overstepping 👉👈,, aghh also open for interactions for anyone interested hdhdhhdshd, i haven't checked the tag yet HELP

as for the hypothetical target of their affection,,, i fear it may be butler jade 💀💀........... I'M A SUCKER FOR BUTLER X KNIGHT ARCHETYPE 💔💔💔ALSO I BRAINROT OVER YUNDE 2MUCH💔AH AND quick lore rundown

i imagine their knighthood still stands in another empire—or kingdom,,, sorry my knowledge of the world building here is a little vague HDUAJHF. anyway the point is that they are skilled enough for the royal family themselves to take them under their heavy golden wing—until the ashengrotto accusations and they're given bits and pieces of their freedom back.

I'M REALLY SORRY MOOTS THIS IS JUST ME YAPPING ON AND ON..... but like this au's really sick‼️‼️‼️ tags - @heyhellohihowareyou @elenauaurs @distant-velleity @twistedwonderlandshenanigans @skriblee-ksk @sickle-stick @puowei @jadelover69 @tixdixl @nemisisnemi @angelwishess @theleechyskrunkly @chillygourami @bunniehunn @cheerleaderman UUUH DID I FORGET ANYONE.....

[bibookdemon]

(MDNI WITH THIS POST!!!)

Thinking of cumplane

Please feel free to message me about cumplane AAAA

Need more cumplane mooties

Also if you're afraid to message first, feel free to comment and I'll message you first uwu

A thought for a fic below the cut:

Thinking of a fic where SQH and SY haven't met yet

Wherein SQH is a horny little beast and one of the things he absolutely loves is being degraded. So after he posts a chapter, he turns off his computer, grabs his phone, and disappears to the couch (that folds down into a bed) and waits for a bit, maybe scrolls through his socials or watches some meme videos

And before too long, he hears the telltale ding of a comment, and he knows it's SY because he's turned off notifications for any of the other comments, and besides, SY almost ALWAYS comments first.

And so he opens the comment and he slowly slips his hand in his pants and rubs over himself

And he's so *so wet* even when he's only a couple sentences in because he knows just how much SY 'hates' PIDW (why does he continue reading it???) and despises the author because it's so 'disgustingly written' and that's really fuckin hot

His most-detailed comment writer, his biggest hater (fan) telling him all about his shortcomings. (He honestly rewrote the entirety of PIDW + gave it an actual ending + updates it occasionally when SY comments to add in smth he said - simply to gift to SY. He just hasn't worked up the courage to message him and tell him all about it. Cause he has a big fat crush. He really kinda sorta super wants to ask SY out.)

Anywho, he imagines he's straddling one of SY's thighs - he doesn't know what he looks like but he imagines some nerdy but strangely alluring and somewhat strict-looking guy - and rutting against it as SY types out a comment on his latest chapter

He imagines SY stopping his typing every so often to direct his words and attention to SQH, just telling him how pathetic he is, how his writing is sub-par, how he must be such a nasty-minded person to write such extensive smut scenarios, how SY doesn't even help him get off, just makes him move back and forth until he finally finds his release.

And probably scolds him for making such a mess, but SQH can't help it, he really can't when someone is speaking to him the way SY is speaking to him-

And it's during his post-orgasmic haze that he exits the comment and decides to message SY (I reckon there's a DM feature and while SY has his DMs set to limited, they're open to authors and friends messaging him)

And he gives SY a time and address for a local cheap coffee shop. Not really fancy, but the only place he can afford at the moment. And he just says smth like: 'Meet up with me here, we can work out our differences.' His brain is too muddled to dwell on the fact that he has no idea where SY is from and that his message is honestly so vague and weird that SY is probably horrified.

He falls asleep pretty quickly, and when he wakes up, he sees the message he sent, regrets it, but then rushes to get ready cause HE GAVE A TIME FOR THE NEXT FUCKING DAY?! He rushes to get the alt version novel printed and grabs his best clothes, then he's out.

He probably takes the train, and he's glancing at his phone anxiously every so often, and he's late, but then he's there, shoving the door open to the shop-

He spots SY in the corner, just sipping on a coffee, typing furiously on his laptop, looking like he hasn't slept in a long while his eyebags are so big. Also his glasses are taped in the middle. (I personally think that SY is such a shut-in that he takes forever to go out and get new glasses despite being perfectly financially stable...)

And he sits down in front of him, and he plops his stack of papers on the table. He doesn't say anything, he's honestly really nervous now and kinda guilty about the fact that he's been getting off to this guy's comments but...wow. SY is actually fucking gorgeous. Well, to him. He has a few acne scars, but his face is otherwise clear, and there's the tiniest bit of chub left in his cheeks, yet his cheekbones are still pronounced. His eyebrows are perfect, his hair is short and silky and frames his hair perfectly. And holy shit he really wishes he could get a look at the body beneath the clothes. Because if the rest of him is like his face...he's totally SQH's type.

But he doesn't say anything. And then SQH goes to open his mouth and say smth and SY stops typing and looks up at him and slowly closes his laptop. He looks strict with the look he has on his face currently: Intense, sharp, tired, but focused.

And then he sighs and it all kinda melts away and he actually looks really awkward/anxious as he looks at the table, and SQH can see him fiddling with his hands. And he just mutters: "Look bro, those comments weren't actually meant to be that mean, and I came because I wanted to say sorry, and I'm sure there are reasons for it...idk bro you seem chill? It's your story, and you're human, and it has nothing to do with my thoughts and opinions and-"

And SQH just slaps the stack of papers and slides them over toward SY. "Dude. I know PIDW is crap. I have to pay the bills." And he's not trying to be mean or anything about it, he couldn't care less what SY thinks (but also he's internally screaming BITCH IF YOU DONT KEEP ROASTING MY STORY IM GONNA FUCKING DIE-) he's just pretty straightforward. (I think when he's nervous he goes quiet, and he'll ramble when he's comfy around someone.)

And SY is just like "???" And he flips through some of the papers and his eyes go wide and there's just this SPARKLE in them (SQH thinks it's the cutest thing he's ever seen and he wants to kiss those beautiful eyes) and he's like "Bro, is this what I think it is?!" And SQH nods and SY just wiggles in his seat with this stupidly huge grin and starts reading through it, and every few seconds he points out smth he likes, or smth he didn't see coming, or etc etc. And they literally sit at that table and make conversation about this alt PIDW and SQH is happy and SY is happy. And then SQH realizes it's been a hot minute and he probably should get home and etc etc

But SY looks absolutely upset about this because he NEEDS to rant about this alt version because he's so fucking in love with it and even messaging SQH his every thought isn't enough

So SQH invites him over (totally a great idea. Did he ever clean up the wet stain on his couch from...?) And SY is immediately like NO I CANT IMPOSE + he doesn't want the vibe to change and mess up SQH's writing, so he invites him to the hotel he's staying at and SQH is so relieved and immediately says YES

And they pack their stuff up and go outside and he starts walking in the direction of the train station when he hears a beep beep, and there's this luxurious-ass car that SY is getting into. And he tries (and fails) to hide his surprise because is SY rich?!

Upon arriving at the hotel, yeah, yeah he's rich. They're at the fanciest place in town, and they go almost to the very top. It's a large suite. And then SY apologizes for not getting a larger room, it was just really short notice, and SQH is just 'dobdoavd9svs9acs9svs9vxozv' malfunctioning.

Anyway, after he gets over it, they start talking about alt PIDW. Hours and hours and hours pass like that. It's a long novel, so suddenly it's 2 or 3 in the morning, and they're not even halfway through (SY is a really fast reader holy shit) and SQH realizes it's time for him to go home. So he goes to get up (when did they end up in the bed together, side by side?) And SY grabs his wrist because he doesn't want him to go yet he NEEDS to binge alt PIDW and suddenly SQH is tumbling down, right onto him.

Their noses are just barely brushing, their eyes are locked onto each other, and maybe it's just SQH but are they both red and breathing a bit harder?

And then SY just asks: "Do you like boys?"

And SQH can only nod once, slowly, and then they're kissing, lips smashing together, and SQH is decent at kissing, and SY is...not but oh well, and they're tugging at each other, and they're breathless, and when they break away from the kiss they're both panting and tousled.

SQH: Please tell me that wasn't just me (even when SY very obviously was a happy participant, he's still worried cause holy fuck is he really...?!?!?!?)

SY: Y-yeah. If you wanna? Or is it weird that like- I never imagined you'd be this...hot, Airplane-Bro. (And he's blushing and can't look SQH in the eyes) I kinda always imagined you to be like...idek.

SQH: Well...I'm not whatever you imagined? I guess? ... I don't think it's weird? I mean, you weren't exactly wrong when you typed your comments (he shudders at the thought) about the fact I'm just a...horny little bastard.

SY: Sorry. Heh. About that. But um. I guess it's a good thing you *are*? Right?

SQH: Right. So you're cool with this?

SY: Yeah, yeah. Definitely. Please. Oh! Uh, I just realized, um, names. I'm Shen Yuan.

SQH: I'm Shang Qinghua.

And then they're pausing awkwardly, briefly, before they're kissing again, and then the clothes are pulled off, then they're figuring out what feels great to the other, and they're just setting up a decent rhythm.

They eventually finish alt PIDW together. And SQH, once again brave in his post-orgasmic haze, asks to date SY. And then he also admits he wants SY to keep commenting with as much ferocity as usual. He explains why and SY just goes bright red, but he's so down.

SY does have to return home soon, but he makes arrangements for SQH to move in not long after (a couple months at MOST, which were spent traveling back and forth by SY) - "Look bro, I absolutely need any updates to the alt, any insights, any brainstorming, to be said aloud IMMEDIATELY" - "You just want the great sex and cuddles" (SQH has become very teasing very quickly, and very confident in his sexuality, tho SY is still rather shy about it) - and SY goes bright red as usual XD

If you've read this far, PLEASE MESSAGE ME OH MY GOD. I NEED TO RANT ABOUT CUMPLANE MORE. And also if I do write fics for them I'll send you snippets. :3

And yeah. *thumbs up*

Have I fed you well, gremlins???

One last note: T4T cumplane my beloved

(SQH is on T and has had a breast reduction, SY is on T and has had top surgery but no bottom surgery, which he's still deciding if he wants or not.)

(ALSO - they do get to degrading eventually but SY is very nervous about it at first aha)

[brain4stew]

Y’know what, let me try and make a headcanon, or something out of this myself. Note to self though, that I cannot write for sh-

…. ANYWAY!

Headcanon/something under the cut! ;

• So, let’s start off by saying that, for you to be Eunoia’s bodyguard, we’ll say there’s a special skin for Guest 1337. “Yourself” skin, to be precise. (Like John Doe’s skin.)

• You and Mafioso do not know each other that well, but you both tolerate each other, due to you both working under Eunoia.

• Whenever there is an Elliot with Eunoia skin on your team, they will be highlighted for about 10-15 seconds, at the start of the round, so you can go to them, and protect them.

• (I highly suggest you immediately go find a medkit first however, as apparently… Some of your teammates are greedy for the medkits… Get one for Eunoia.)

• Let’s say that you have gotten a medkit for Eunoia, and you’re about to go back to find her, and give her the medkit. But, all of a sudden, you are being chased, by none other than… Mafioso.

• Of course, you block, punch, charge and do whatever you can, to stall the time for the others, and Eunoia. Eventually, Mafioso goes away from you, presumably to go for another survivor.

• Now’s your chance to run and find Eunoia. You’re at 57%, but you’ll be fine. Eunoia can heal you, you hope…

• Mafioso killed her… You, of course, being devastated and angry at him, you heal yourself up with the medkit you were gonna give to Eunoia.

• When you do finish healing up however, you are the last one remaining of your team, which… Of course you get reasonably annoyed, frustrated and angry about.

• You walk around and try and avoid Mafioso as much as you can, and the potential “pizza delivery”, (other members working under both Eunoia, and him).

• But, of course, he finds you. What do you do? You stall the time, yet again, and try to survive. You do get cornered time from time, but, nothing a little block and punch can handle, right?

• So wrong. He somehow manages to grab your hand, before turning you around, and pulling your arm behind your back.

• This is an unfortunate situation for you, as you know he’s most likely stronger than you. However, you wait for an opportunity to be able to break free, and escape.

• But that doesn’t happen, what does happen however, is that, he, sits down, pulling your arm behind with him. Practically setting you on his lap, as his other arm snakes around your stomach to hold you in place.

• …Seems like you’re stuck, aren’t you, little bodyguard? You wonder, why hasn’t he killed you, when he killed Eunoia. Upon remembering Eunoia dead however, you twist and turn yourself around, and practically pounce and pin Mafioso down.

• He, of course, is in shock. He didn’t expect it, nor did he think you had enough strength to do that. But, he isn’t complaining about the sudden turn of events. He strangely… Likes it. Seeing Eunoia’s bodyguard, the one he tolerated due to their boss’s decision, having HIM pinned down under them…

• But, that’s basically all that happens, for the timer runs out, and you’re both sent back to your lobbies. You, in the survivor lobby, he in the killer lobby.

• You of course, IMMEDIATELY go to find Eunoia, to help her wounds after being sent to the lobby. Who are you to ignore your boss’s wounds, and not tend to them?

• Mafioso however, he does feel guilty about killing Eunoia. But, he can’t seem to get the image of him, under you, out of his head.

• Perhaps he’ll go friendly next time it’s his turn to be killer again… He strangely misses you. And Eunoia, even though, he killed her… Yeah, he’ll go friendly next time it’s his turn again…

((NEVER. LET ME WRITE AGAIN. I DONT THINK IM MEANT FOR THIS 😞😞…))

((But anyway, hope you all like it? 😭 Uhm, any tips for writing would be appreciated, as I want to get ALL of my ideas out of my head. I think I can take requests too, however, I’ll prioritize my current list that I have written before today.))

[thatscarletflycatcher]

Lord David Cecil's famous appraisal of Elizabeth Gaskell, selected quotes for the purposes of a drinking game

(we suggest a non-alcoholic one, for the purposes of avoiding a visit to the ER. All fragments taken from Early Victorian Novelists (1934). Take a shot every time:

the words "feminine", "unintellectual", "minor", "simple", "sheltered", "mild" and synonyms.

He compares her unfavorably to another Victorian writer.

He gives the most backhanded praise possible.)

Feel free to share your favorite Lord Cecil mean comment in the notes!

"Charlotte Brontë’s admirers do not think of her as Mrs. Nichols; George Eliot’s admirers would wonder whom one meant if one referred to her as Mrs. Cross. But Elizabeth Cleghorn Stevenson is known to the world as Mrs. Gaskell. This is just as it should be. There is a great difference between her and her famous rivals: and this difference is fitly symbolized in the different form of name under which she elected to write. The outstanding fact about Mrs. Gaskell is her femininity."

"we have only to look at a portrait of Mrs. Gaskell, soft-eyed, beneath her charming veil, to see that she was a dove. In an age whose ideal of woman emphasized the feminine qualities at the expense of all others, she was all a woman was expected to be; gentle, domestic, tactful, unintellectual, prone to tears, easily shocked. So far from chafing at the limits imposed on her activities, she accepted them with serene satisfaction. She married young and had seven children: he performed with decorous enthusiasm the duties expected of a Unitarian minister’s wife; she looked up to man as her sex’s rightful and benevolent master. Nor were her interests incongruous with her character and position. It is true that she was religious and philanthropic. But her religion was a simple undenominational piety, innocent alike of mysticism and dogmatic definition; while her philanthropy was a district visitor’s philanthropy—an affair of practical individual sympathy, concerned to make the rich more charitable and the poor more comfortable. And when she had finished with her prayers and her personal tour of the parish, she was perfectly content to sit down and gossip to a neighbour about marriages and clothes and servants and children. As Trollope was the typical Victorian man, so Mrs. Gaskell was the typical Victorian woman."

"Her rambling, unequal, enthralling novels, full of providential chances and comic character-parts and true love rewarded in the last chapter, are typical Victorian novels. Only with a single difference. Her novels are Victorian novels, for the first time transposed into the feminine key. They are David Copperfield and Barchester Towers, written by a minister’s wife in her drawing-room."

"Now it is not to be denied that this did in some measure detract from her stature as a novelist. For one thing, it meant that her work was wholly lacking in the virile qualities. Her genius is so purely feminine that it excludes from her achievement not only specifically masculine themes, but all the more masculine qualities of thought and feeling. She was very clever; but with a feminine cleverness, instinctive, rule-of-thumb; showing itself in illuminations of the particular, not in general intellectual structure. The conscious reason plays little part in her creative processes. She could not build a story around a central idea, like Meredith, or argue from her particular observation to discover a general conception of the laws governing human conduct, like Thackeray. Nor could she describe intellectual characters."

"Her emotional capacity is no less feminine than her intellectual. She is not a powerful writer. She could no more express the crude, the harsh or the violent than she could speak in a bass voice. "

"Even such repressed intensities as might reasonably be supposed to come within her view, even such violent emotions as ladies in vicarages did feel, are beyond Mrs. Gaskell’s imaginative range."

"Mrs. Gaskell’s femininity imposed a more serious limit on her achievement. It made her a minor artist."

"Mrs. Gaskell has the merits, as well as the defects of her limitations. Her particular kind of femininity endowed her imagination with certain virtues that those of her contemporaries are without. ‘Taste, for instance; the Victorian lady was brought up before all things to be careful not to offend against the canons of good taste. And so apt and dutiful a pupil as Mrs. Gaskell profited to the full by this instruction. She was sometimes weak and often uninspired; she did not now how to be awkward, obtrusive or over-florid."

"She never, as Dickens does, makes nauseating an effect of simple pathos by dressing it up in all the airs and graces of an elaborate rhetoric. And though like Trollope she is sometimes dull, unlike him she is never commonplace."

"This feminine eye for detail is closely associated with a feminine subtlety. It is an innocent, even an unconscious subtlety. Mrs. Gaskell was far too unintellectual to analyse her impressions. She just sat down and described what she saw. But this, within the limited area of her vision, was a great deal."

"But though Mrs. Gaskell was subtle, she was not sophisticated. Here we come to her fourth asset her freshness of outlook. Cloistered like a young girl in her convent of peaceful domesticity, she ever lost the young girl’s eager-eyed response to the world. Mrs. Gaskell had not a chance to grow blasé. Her mental palate, fed always, as it were, on the fruit and frothing milk of her nursery days, kept a nursery simplicity and gusto. And in consequence her whole picture of life is touched with a peculiar dewy freshness, shimmers with a vivifying, softening spring light. It does not matter that she had nothing very new to say. As a matter of fact her most elaborate descriptions are concerned with hackneyed subjects, summer gardens, picturesque village streets. And her sentiment is as unoriginal as her objects of admiration: regret for childish happiness, pity for lonely old age. Nor does she exhibit these hoary perennials of literature from a new angle: as we have remarked, she saw and felt very much as any person of her period saw and felt; and she expresses herself without any startling individuality of phrase or image. But the unsophisticated, whole-hearted way in which she responds to her inspiration enables her successfully to dare the danger of the obvious."

"Her subtlety, as we have seen, is not an intellectual subtlety; it does not strike deep, it is incapable f the massive and intricate development of that of Henry James. And her very fastidiousness deprives her freshness of that smack of the animal earth which makes bracing the freshness of Fielding... So has Mrs. Gaskell’s imagination—it breathes a charm at once exquisite and natural, homely and delicate; the charm of an untaught voice, that is always perfectly true and pure, of a child’s unconscious grace of movement."

"the life of the poor among themselves, the teeming, squalid, vivid life of the democracy that surges through the pages of Dickens, she does not understand at all."

"Mrs. Gaskell cannot draw a full-length portrait of a man... Huge, clumsy, hairy creatures, incapable of understanding those aspects of life which most interested her, but awe-inspiring from their superior wisdom and strength, even when they did come into the drawing-room they baffled and flustered her."

"Mrs. Gaskell brings only a small group of figures to set beside the myriad smiling, frowning faces alled up by the wand of Trollope or Dickens. But these few are unforgettable. They can be divided into two groups: the two kinds of women whose life is not directly concerned with men. The first are her young girls. She is not always successful, even with these. When she leaves her own ground for that of George Eliot and tries to describe an “ unusual ”’ girl of serious interests and independent character, like Margaret Hale, the result is only a monument of maidenly priggishness. her convincing heroines— Phillis Holman, Molly Gibson—are typical Victorian heroines—a little more retiring and bookish than Agnes or Laura or Grace Crawley, but essentially the same type; gentle, unintellectual, domesticated."

"Would not we sacrifice twenty Mollys for a single Cynthia? Mrs. Gaskell never asks herself such questions. The Victorian standards in which she had been educated told her that Molly was indisputably better than Cynthia. And she was no more capable of questioning these standards than she was of flying. The very idea, indeed, that she had stirred such questionings in her readers would have filled her with horrified dismay."

"Mrs. Jamieson, Mrs. Gibson, are figures in Jane Austen’s manner; sisters of Mrs. Bennet and Lady Bertram. Of course, they are not drawn with anything like the same edge and force."

"For the most part her satire is acute but not caustic, penetrating but not cruel. She could no more have made fun, as Jane Austen did, of old Mrs. Musgrove’s “‘ large fat sighings ” over her dead son, than she could have blasphemed in church."

"Mrs. Gaskell’s pathos is as good as her humour. Like everything else about her it is a little weak."

"we never feel, as we do only too often with Dickens, that she is exploiting our tears for her own glory and without sufficient artistic justification. Her emotion is, as it were, disinfected of sickly sentimentality, by the candid sincerity with which it is expressed."

"mild, feminine Victorian as she was, Mrs. Gaskell had none of Hardy’s insight into the harsher aspects of nature"

"For Mrs. Gaskell, in her minor way, is a poet. Naturally, she is a minor poet."

"Mrs. Gaskell’s technical powers are as typical of her school and personality as the rest of her achievement. Her form, indeed, is less obviously faulty than that of her contemporaries; her tidy feminine mind would have been ashamed to let her inspiration appear before the world in so careless and ill-fitting a dress as that which often shrouded those of Dickens or Charlotte Brontë… She never seems to have realised that a slight inspiration like hers should be embodied in a slight structure; that you cannot paint a life-size portrait in water-colours."

"Mrs. Gaskell’s style is better than her form; indeed, it is one of her chief glories. It is not, of course, a great style; it lacks the spare athletic vigour of the best plain stylists, and the magnificence of the best elaborate ones. Moreover, her want of intellectual grasp makes it at times both loose and wordy."

"Like Dickens’ and Charlotte Bronté’s, Mrs. Gaskell’s work is as faulty as it is inspired: and for the same reason. Like them she commits the novelist’s most fatal fault, she writes outside her range. For she too was the instinctive, uncritical child of an instinctive, uncritical age, ignorant alike of the laws governing her art and of her particular capacities and limitations. When her imagination was fired, she had no idea that she ought to find a form appropriate to it. She just fitted it as best she could into the form commonly used by the novelists of her day. "

"her dramatic episodes—the murder in Mary Barton, the riot in North and South, the press-gang scenes of Sylvia’s Lovers—are utterly unlike such episodes in real life. They are melodrama; and bad melodrama at that. Mrs. Gaskell had none of that sense of dramatic atmosphere which enabled Dickens to shed a limelight excitement over his stagiest scenes, none of that dynamic itality which made him able to inject a pulsing heart-throb into his most fustian flights of eloquence. Her dramatic eloquence is as stilted and second-hand as that of an electioneering pamphlet; her murders and riots are as glassily, rigidly unreal as a waxwork tableau at Madame Tussaud’s."

"She therefore wrote both Mary Barton and North and South in order to expose these evils and suggest a remedy. It would have been impossible for her if she had tried, to have found a subject less suited to her talents. It was neither domestic nor pastoral. It gave scope neither to the humorous, the pathetic nor the charming. Further, it entailed an understanding of economics and history wholly outside the range of her Victorian feminine intellect. And the only emotions it could involve were masculine and violent ones. Mrs. Gaskell makes a creditable effort to overcome her natural deficiencies; she fills her pages with scenes of strife and sociological argument, with pitiless employers and ragged starving cotton-spinners—but all in vain. Her employers and spinners are wooden mouthpieces, not flesh-and-blood individuals; her arguments are anthologies of platitude; her riot and strike scenes are her usual feeble melodrama."

"A great part of her work is artistically worthless; unlit by that flame of creative imagination which alone could make it living literature to-day."

[demigodsanswer]

A little tattoo au smut for your Sunday. Basically, I meant to write the percabeth first date per someone's request, but I ended up just jumping right into their night together. I just really wanted Annabeth to sit on his face idk.

~

Annabeth sipped the last of her wine and found her courage as Percy signed the check. 

“I had a great time tonight,” she told him, racing across the table for his hand. 

“Me too,” he said, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. 

“Should we get out of here?” She suggested, trying to remember how she used to flirt. 

Percy smiled and looked away from her, a bit pink in the cheeks. Annabeth held her ground and waited. 

“I’d invite you to my place,” he started, “but truth be told, I’m staying with my parents at the moment, while I look for my own apartment.” 

Annabeth smiled. “Well, that’s alright,” she promised, “Sophia is with Luke tonight. As long as you don’t judge how dirty my place is --” 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Percy assured her. 

~

Annabeth poured them each a glass of wine when they got upstairs. They made it though about four sips each before they were on each other. Annabeth couldn’t remember who kissed first, and it really didn’t matter. All she knew now was that Percy’s hand was under her shirt as her hands unbuttoned his. 

“I should tell you, I haven't had sex since Sophia was conceived,” Annabeth said. 

“Don’t worry, they haven’t changed it much,” Percy promised. Annabeth laughed and kissed him again. “Honestly, I haven’t been with anyone in two years, between the research and job market …” 

That was actually quite comforting. 

“The bedroom is that way,” Annabeth said, pointing to the small hallway. 

Percy pulled her off the couch and started to lead her there. Annabeth would have to thank Thalia for her forward thinking with the condoms that morning. Turns out, they were going to see some use. 

~

For going two years without sex, Percy certainly didn’t seem out of practice. His fingers, tongue, and cock knew all kinds of ways to please her. It was a miracle really. She’d always enjoyed sex for the intimacy of it, the comfort of another person there, the feeling of them reaching places in her so few ever had. But with Percy … Well, it turned out sex could also feel really, really good too. 

The sheets under them were damp from her pair of messy orgasms, one as he fingered her during foreplay, and one while he was inside her.

Inside her. He’d felt so nice, hot and hard, moving at such a perfect pace for her. She’d started on top, riding him until she came, and then he’d flipped them over. He’d started at a pace she’d describe as “making love” before really taking her hard, whispering all kinds of filthy things, and showering her with compliments. He’d cum inside her (well, in the condom, really), and the pulse of it was comforting and familiar. 

Afterwards, they just laid there, breathing and sweaty, ignoring the dampness on the sheets and the smell of sex in the air. Annabeth rested in the crook between his arm and his side, her head on his shoulder as traced some of her tattoos with his finger. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he told her. 

“You’re pretty handsome yourself,” she said back.

“I’m serious. That first moment I saw you last week, I mean, I was done for,” he told her. It didn’t sound like a line. Anyway, what would be the point of a line now anyway? He already had her in bed. 

“Oh really?” She asked, nudging him on. 

“I knew I had to ask you out from the first second I saw you,” Percy said. “At the very least, I needed to find all your tattoos.” 

She leaned back a little bit. “Feel free to have a look around,” she said, laying on her back, her body outstretched so he could look her over. 

Percy kissed his way slowly down her arm, then across her chest, stopping periodically to ask if there was a story behind a specific tattoo. Sometimes there was: a favorite moment from a book, a symbol she held dear. Sometimes, she just liked the idea. 

She had a few tattoos on her hips that had been stretched out and cut into during pregnancy. Percy ran a delicate finger over the scar tissue that ran across her bikini line. 

“C-Section?” He asked her, his green eyes curious and sympathetic. 

Annabeth nodded. “She didn’t want to come out,” she told him. “I was in labor for … oh, fifty-five hours I think? In the hospital for forty-something.” 

“Jesus,” he sighed, “you’re a hero.” 

Annabeth laughed and ran her fingers through his already messed-up hair. Percy seemed to lean into her touch, and she was confident that if humans could purr, he would have. 

“I sat at home with Luke watching Lord of the Rings extended editions, just waiting for the contractions to get closer together. By the time Return of the King was over, it was probably still too early to go to the hospital, but I didn’t want to watch the Hobbit movies, so I demanded we leave,” Annabeth said with a laugh. “Then it was forty hours of Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives.” 

“I mean, a classic,” Percy agreed. 

“Grade A TV, for sure. Anyway, she was supposed to go this way,” she held out her hands straight, resting them in between her thighs to mimic the birth canal, “but she went like this,” she turned her hands slightly to the right. “Her little head was just bumping up against my uterus and they couldn’t get her to move. She was trying to come out neck first. If it was even a hundred years ago, we both probably would have died. After a while, she was in distress, and within minutes I was being cut open.” 

Percy kissed the top of her hand, before crawling back up to kiss her face. 

“I’m sorry. I’m glad she made it here okay,” he said. 

Annabeth smiled. “Yeah, me too.” 

They kissed again, lazy and tender. He stayed on top of her, but his weight off of her, so all she felt of him was what warmth radiated off his body. She let her hands explore him a bit more. 

She had discovered another tattoo on his side. She’d panicked at the sight of a woman’s name, but she’d simply laughed and explained: “My mother.” 

“Oh,” she breathed out, relieved. His single mom. Who he was living with. And then she wondered if she was simply fulfilling some naughty role-play for him. Don’t be an asshole, she chided herself. 

Now her hands roamed past the tattoo to the fat of his waist and hips, and then to his ass. She’d caught him flexing plenty, and knew some of it was taut muscle when he felt like showing it off. But she preferred him squishy. 

“Can you roll over?” He asked between kisses. 

She pulled back as much as she could with her head still on the pillow. 

“Oh?” She asked, eyes wide, smile intrigued. 

He laughed a little. “Sorry, I just meant. I want to see your other tattoos. I assume you’ve got more on the other side?” 

“Oh, right,” she said with a laugh, “sure.” 

She rolled over and let him inspect her. There was a rose on her shoulder. That had been one of her first tattoos, when she was more into color. It was pink with a long stem. She’d only been nineteen when she got it. People said it looked like the rose from Beauty and the Beast, and they were right, but that hadn’t been intentional at the time. 

When she was confident enough in Frank’s work as he graduated from Thalia’s apprentice, she lent him her mostly-blank back to do a traditional serpent tattoo. It was actually cool as hell. But it didn’t have any real meaning, besides Frank getting to actually do it. It had healed pretty well too, although he had since touched it up for her twice. 

The only other thing of note was the smiley face on her right ass cheek. Percy’s attention caught that one right away. He poked it. 

“You’ve got a happy butt,” he said. She could hear the smile in his voice. 

“That was my first tattoo,” she lamented. 

“Why a smiley butt?” He asked. 

“I lost a bet,” she told him, before burying her face in her pillow. “I was so sure I wasn’t going to lose.” 

“Dare I ask what it was over?” He asked. 

“That I could lose my anal virginity by the end of Freshman year,” she said, embarrassed more than she maybe ever had been in her life.

There was a brief pause, before: “Wait, not a single man at Harvard wanted to do you in the ass?” He sounded shocked, angry, and outraged for her. 

“Right?!” She said, rolling over a bit. She’d tried to lie to her roommate about it, claiming that it had happened, but the holes (ha) in her story started to emerge too quickly. Eventually, she had to confess. “I think I intimidated all of them,” Annabeth said. 

“Probably,” Percy agreed. “Thankfully, I’m not intimidated,” he said, kissing her smiley face. 

Annabeth hummed, curious. “Oh?” She asked, innocent. “I don’t usually let men do me in the ass on the first date,” she told him. 

He kissed her other cheek. “No, but it would have saved you about fifty-five hours of labor if you did,” he teased. 

Annabeth gasped with faux-indignation, rolling over and pushing him onto his back to straddle him. They were close to the other edge now. She’d almost rolled them off completely. 

Percy was just laughing though as she held him to the mattress, her hands pinning his shoulders. 

“You’re impertinent,” she said. 

He just kept smiling. “Oh, I sure am,” he promised.   

~

She didn’t let him fuck her in the ass, at least not yet. She hadn’t done that in ten years, and she wanted to actually impress him tonight. Because if Percy Jackson never called her again, she’d have Thalia hunt her cousin down for her. Annabeth was absolutely determined to have a second, third, and fourth date with him at least. 

Percy wasn’t ready for another round. He looked a bit sheepish when she touched his still-soft cock, as if it was abnormal for him to not be hard again ten minutes after orgasm. Annabeth just kissed him gently, as if to assure him it was okay. 

Percy’s hands gripped her thighs and tried to coax her up towards his face. 

“Are you sure?” Annabeth asked, hovering over him. 

“So sure,” Percy said, trying to pull her down. She still hovered a bit, close enough that he could lick her clit. But after a few teasing flicks of his tongue, Percy pulled on her a bit harder. “Sit down,” he said, his tone commanding and confident. It thrilled her from her chest down into her lower belly and compelled her to listen. She sat down then, careful not to put all of her weight on his neck. Birth had left her with a bit of a Pixar-mom body, not the slender, narrow hips and thighs she’d been used to in her early twenties. But Percy didn’t seem to mind. He seemed to worship her thighs and the cunt between them. 

Annabeth hadn’t sat on someone's face in years. Truth be told, she hadn’t had sex with someone since Luke. She’d had a few dates, but the men she’d gone out with hadn’t interested her, and the one woman had been asexual. (Annabeth had introduced her to Thalia, and they went out for three years, so it worked out for someone). Luke hadn’t been into eating her out. He never seemed particularly that sexually interested in her at all. Even now, his rare kiss was more of a desperate search for love and family than sexual gratification. It was almost funny that the two of them had conceived. 

But Percy … 

“Oh, god,” Annabeth moaned, pressing her hand against the wall to steady herself. Percy knew what he was doing. He’d discovered what she liked during the foreplay -- a gentle pattern of circles until the pressure built, then a little suck, and then a little more. 

Percy fingers gripped the fat of her ass tight as she rode his tongue. The pressure was building low in her pelvis. She’d already cum twice tonight. A third time sounded lovely. So nice. So needed. Percy sucked on her clit a little more, and Annabeth rolled her hips against him. 

“More,” she pleaded. Percy curiously sucked on her clit again. “Yeah, yeah,” she confirmed. Percy did what he was told, and Annabeth closed her eyes to focus purely on the feeling. “Oh,” she yelped, closer, closer -- 

Annabeth gripped Percy’s hair as her thighs clenched around his head as she came. She didn’t expect to squirt again; she usually needed something inside her, not just on her clit, but oh, his tongue had been so perfect on her, her body didn’t give her any choice or any warning. Maybe it did, and she was simply too satisfied to notice. Her orgasm soaked her thighs, the pillow under her, and Percy.  

Oh fuck -- 

“Jesus,” she said, climbing off of him quickly, “I’ve waterboarded you.” Percy was just laughing as he wiped at his face. Annabeth’s own face felt scalding hot; she was sure she’d gone red from her forehead to her chest. “I’ll get you a --” 

Percy just grabbed her hand and tugged her down towards him. He pulled her into a kiss, deep, filthy, his tongue slipping into her mouth still tasting like her. Annabeth braced herself on the ruined pillow as he let her taste herself on him. 

“How are people not lining up around the block to date you?” Percy asked her, before pulling her in again, this time just pecking her lips. “You’re fucking magnificent.” 

Annabeth just moaned a little, not exactly sure what to say. So, she chose to just watch Percy move his hand from her face to his cock, hard again, pink tip straining up towards the ceiling. He stroked himself slowly. 

Annabeth pressed kisses into his neck, before sucking gently on a sensitive spot she’d found. 

“Do you want me to do something about that?” She asked, nodding back towards his cock. 

Percy nodded. “If you’re up for a little more …” 

Annabeth tied her hair back. “I am,” she promised. 

(When he warned her he was about to cum, she pulled back and let him finish on her face. It was only fair).

[wisesoultarot]

Full Moon in Leo Messages for you: What do you need to hear this full moon?

Enjoy 20% off of all readings (VALENTINE SALE). (Use Code VALENTINE) at the checkout to avail this offer. Offer valid till 14 FEB. Hurry! LIMITED offer!!

🌕IMAGE 1:

Are you caught up in the relentless whirlwind of work, constantly pushing forward without taking a moment to pause and reflect on your achievements? In the hustle and bustle of daily responsibilities, do you often find it challenging to lift your own spirits and recognize the hard work you've put in? If you struggle to carve out time for yourself, feeling guilty for taking a break or unwinding, this full moon serves as a gentle reminder to slow down and honor your own journey. It encourages you to take a step back, breathe deeply, and celebrate the milestones you've reached, no matter how small they may seem. This celestial event is an opportunity to reconnect with yourself, acknowledge your efforts, and give yourself the credit you deserve. Embrace this moment to recharge, reflect, and rejuvenate, allowing the light of the full moon to illuminate your path and inspire you to continue moving forward with renewed energy and purpose.

🌕IMAGE 2:

Do you find yourself brimming with incredible ideas, ambitious goals, or visionary concepts, yet often hold back due to worries about how others might react? If you frequently find yourself postponing the pursuit of your dreams because you're unsure of the outcome or fearful of judgment, this full moon presents a unique opportunity for you to step into your power and embrace your true potential.

The universe is not just a passive observer; it is actively encouraging you to reveal your vision to the world. This celestial event is a reminder that your creativity is not only valid but also necessary. The energy of the full moon is a catalyst for inspiration, admiration, and motivation, urging you to break free from the shackles of self-doubt and hesitation.

Now is the time to share your unique ideas and creative expressions with others. Whether it's through art, writing, entrepreneurship, or any other form of self-expression, the world is ready to receive what you have to offer. As you take this bold step, you may be pleasantly surprised by the enthusiastic responses from those around you. People are often more receptive and supportive than we anticipate, and your willingness to share your vision can ignite a spark in others, creating a ripple effect of inspiration.

So, let go of your fears and embrace this moment. Trust in your abilities and the value of your contributions. The universe is cheering you on, and by stepping into the light, you not only honor your own journey but also inspire others to pursue their dreams. This full moon is your invitation to shine brightly and watch as the world responds with open arms and excitement!

🌕IMAGE 3:

Do you truly value yourself? This question is fundamental to understanding your self-worth and how you navigate the complexities of life. When moments of boredom, fatigue, sadness, or a lack of motivation strike—those inevitable dips in our emotional landscape—how do you respond? Do you take a moment to uplift your spirit, to remind yourself of your strengths and the beauty within you? Or do you allow your inner critic to take the reins, drowning out your self-esteem with waves of negativity and self-doubt?

Consider how you treat yourself during these challenging times. Are you taking the time to care for your appearance and health, recognizing that these aspects are vital to your overall well-being? Or do you find yourself neglecting them, perhaps as a reflection of how you feel about yourself? This full moon serves as a powerful reminder and an invitation to shift your self-perception. It encourages you to embrace self-appreciation, to acknowledge your worth, and to actively seek out ways to motivate yourself to pursue your passions and interests.

Celebrate your uniqueness—there is no one else quite like you in this world. Take the time to indulge in delightful meals that nourish your body and soul, treat yourself to a relaxing spa day where you can unwind and rejuvenate, or enjoy a soothing massage that helps release tension and promotes relaxation. These acts of self-care are not just luxuries; they are essential practices that nurture your well-being and reinforce the idea that you are deserving of love and care.

Prioritize self-care in your daily routine. It’s not merely about pampering yourself; it’s about recognizing that you are worthy of attention and kindness. By nurturing your well-being, you create a solid foundation from which to face life’s challenges with resilience and grace. Embrace this opportunity to reflect on your self-worth, to cultivate a deeper appreciation for who you are, and to take actionable steps toward a more fulfilling and joyful existence. Remember, you are your own greatest advocate—treat yourself with the love and respect you deserve.

[ladyannemarie5]

So... Remember my old post of WarLord!Geralt searching for the bard and discovering that Jaskier is Radovid's consort in Redania?

You can see it here

Well, I couldn't stop thinking about that and here's just part of what I've come up with so far. 

Caution: Lots and lots of text. Almost 2k words.

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Geralt's first formal order as Warlord of the North is to search the continent for the bard Jaskier.

Five years have passed since Geralt last saw Jaskier. Five years since the mountain disaster and the day Geralt made the bard believe that the greatest blessing of his life would be to get rid of him.

Since then, Geralt has found his surprise child, resolved his issues with Yennefer and formed a new empire under his and the other witchers' command. And there hasn't been a single moment when he hasn't regretted pushing his bard away. 

That is why, as soon as political things settle down and his mainly non-human subjects begin to form real households, the new warlord sends all available people to search for the man who made him White Wolf.

He knows from Yen, that Jaskier became the Sandpiper, so he has the witchers approach the smuggling network to help the refugees get to his new realm and also to gather as much information as they can about the poet's whereabouts. 

They hear rumors and whispers about the famous bard Jaskier singing in taverns and famous courts, but every time they reach the last place where he was seen, it turns out that the bard has already departed. It also seems that 20 years at the side of a witcher have made him very good at running away from them without a trace. 

Geralt grows more desperate by the day. He wants to apologize to Jaskier, he wants to tell him how sorry he is and how much he wants him to come back to him, because he is finally ready to stop running away from his feelings. He needs Jaskier by his side, either as his lover or simply as his friend. He just needs to know that the poet is safe and sound.

That's why his heartbeat stops for a moment when new information arrives from the bard. It turns out that Nilfgaard beat him to it and captured Jaskier months ago. 

Geralt moves all his people to search for the place where the bard is being held prisoner until they finally find the small fort where their sources say he is. Geralt himself leads the attack.

Everyone is really confused when they break through the entrances and discover that there is no one alive there. There are only remnants that there was once a small army operating in the place but they fled some time ago. 

Unfortunately, there are also remnants of torture in one of the fort's dungeons. Geralt feels an immense urge to vomit as he enters the place and the smell of Jaskier's blood reaches his nostrils. His eyes sting with tears of anger and sadness when he finds a piece of blue silk in one of the corners. His anger and grief increase when they find a funeral pyre on the outskirts of the site. Jaskier is gone forever.

Shortly thereafter, the University of Oxenfurt issues a statement mourning the death of its greatest teacher and legend, the bard Jaskier. Apparently, a Redanian convoy was on a reconnaissance mission when they found a fort with remnants of Nilfgaard troops. Upon entering they discovered that the soldiers had already left but had left the body of a man in one of the dungeons. One of the men, apparently a fan of the bard, recognized his belongings and alerted his superiors to the man's identity. Jaskier's body was burned by the Redanians due to the advanced state of decomposition. All that remained was a broken elven lute that was given to the university as proof of the poet's death.  

Geralt demands that the lute be given to him. Eskel and Lambert are required to hold it when the dean refuses to give the instrument to the witcher on the grounds that Jaskier himself had left them to them in his will. The document firmly states that all of the bard's possessions were to pass to the university to dispose of as they see fit. 

Geralt cries for the first time in years when he finds out. Officially, he has nothing left of his bard. 

The Sandpiper network continues to operate as usual, at least for a while since the discovery of the fort, until something incredible happens: Redania enacts a new law saying that all elves, dwarves and other non-humans would no longer be persecuted, and could even choose to be legal citizens of Redania. 

Years pass since then. Ciri, Yen, Triss and his brother witchers remain by his side and life on the continent continues almost unchanged as the White Wolf finishes consolidating himself as a monarch of a strong and prosperous territory. The hope that Jaskier will one day appear alive and singing about the Warlord every day fades. They hadn't seen the body and when Yen wanted to use a tracking spell with the lute just to make sure, it led to nothing.

And then politics suffers another attack: King Vizimir of Redania is murdered. Yen says that rumors point to his own brother, Prince Radovid, being the one who murdered him, as he was crowned that very night at the side of his lover, a random nobleman named Julian. Geralt does not doubt it. Humans are cruel and ambitious.

The obligatory mourning passes slowly, one day all the kingdoms (except Nilfgaard) are summoned to celebrate the new king and his consort. To the surprise of everyone in Kaer Morhen, the White Wolf and his entourage are invited to the celebrations. Yen and Triss say that it would be rude not to go, as Redania fully recognizes their kingdom unlike other territories, so it would be beneficial for Geralt to attend and seal ties with a kingdom as powerful as Redania. 

Geralt wants nothing more than to stay in Kaer Morhen and continue to evade the outside world. Jaskier is no longer in it so there is nothing interesting out there. But he knows it's inevitable that he will attend the Redania celebrations, and Yen is right, it's a great opportunity. So he and his entourage leave for the kingdom. 

They are greeted in a grand manner, just like any other monarch and his entourage. Redania has shown that he wants to form ties with Kaer Morhen, so Geralt decides that he will do his best to make it all go well. It seems that King Radovid himself and his consort will welcome them once they have settled in properly. 

Geralt feels all the air leave his lungs, his head feels heavy and in turmoil, and he thinks he will burn Redania to the ground for such an offense. Next to King Radovid, stands a man with blue eyes and brown hair. A man resembling Jaskier stands right there, his arm resting on the king's arm. 

He introduces himself as Julian Alfred Pankratz, formerly Viscount of Lettenhove, now royal consort to King Radovid.

Yen cannot help but advance to him with a murderous look. He magically probes him and in an icy voice lets them all know that he really is Jaskier, the bard dead years ago. Julian replies that it's really good to see everyone once again. 

The welcome feast begins. Geralt can't take his eyes off Jaskier. The king and his consort act like any normal couple, both conversing with each other, together and very intimate. Geralt feels his stomach churn. 

At some point in the night, Julian manages to sneak into Geralt's room. He silently asks the Witcher to verify that no one is listening and that there are no traces of magic around. Geralt confirms that they are alone. 

Geralt has many questions, but he can't say any. Not with the man he thought was dead in front of him. But he finally gets something out of his mouth, asking for explanations. 

Julian tells the witcher that after the mountain he traveled for a while by himself, but seeing the injustices to the elves and other non-humans made him want to do something. With his contacts in the RSS he became the Sandpiper. He would go back and forth from Oxenfurt to other places on the continent to recruit new people into the network. During his stays in Oxenfurt and thanks to Philippa and Dijkstra, he met Prince Radovid. 

Geralt's heart breaks when he hears from the bard how lonely and desperate he felt until Radovid came into his life.

"By the time I realized it, I was lost and hopelessly in love with Radovid," he tells Geralt. 

The warlord can't help but mention that the bard fell in love with a king-killer. Julian jumps to his consort's defense and tells Geralt everything. 

Philippa and Dijkstra want to take Redania to war against Nilfgaard, they assassinated Queen Hedwig to make Vizimir give in to their advice, however, the king didn't. The two councilors then went to harass Jaskier, threatening his job as the Sandpiper to tell them the location of Geralt and Ciri, so they could use it as political leverage against Nilfgaard. Of course the bard refused. 

So Jaskier was kidnapped and tortured by Nilfgaard to find out the location of Geralt and Ciri. Radovid, madly in love and worried about Jaskier, set out to look for him everywhere, until he was finally found dying in the fort. Philippa and her magic saved him. 

Radovid, concerned for the bard's safety, proposed to him to fake his death in order to drive away all those who were looking for him, including the man who despised him on a mountain. Jaskier accepted on the condition that he stop pursuing the elves. 

As the announcement of Jaskier's death shook the entire continent, he and the prince planned to leave the castle and travel together, away from the intrigues of the court. Vizimir, happy for his brother, immediately agreed to let them both leave as long as they accepted his help and communicated constantly. The night of their departure, Vizimir was assassinated. 

Geralt is shaken when Jaskier tells him that Philippa and Dijkstra killed Vizimir so they could manipulate Radovid and take Redania to war. The new king is stalling as long as possible, but there is no denying the influence of both advisors on the king's decisions. Geralt snarls when he learns that the sorceress and spymaster are threatening the former bard's life to make Radovid do as they command. 

Jaskier knows that Geralt hates him, that he is not complying with the one thing he has asked of him, but he needs him to get Dijkstra and Philippa out of the picture so he can save Redania and his lover from going to war. And so he lets the witcher know. 

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And well, that's it. At least until now. 

I want to clarify that anyone who wants to write this has my absolute permission to do so, just tell me so I can read it because I definitely don't think I'll write it myself. If you want to comment on something, another idea, another point, an insult, change something to this. etc., you are welcome to do so. I don't usually reply much but I really do read everything posted on Tumblr. 

Thanks if you read all this verbal vomit and apologies once again for the huge amount of words.

[loveologystudies]

isat warrior cats au where siffrin was a clan cat but then their clan got wiped out skyclan style or smthing. idk