#he simply CANNOT be a fucking stiff!!!!!!! ]

[ripgray-moved]

If you wanna know who my main inspo is for how i write paimon:

[konigsblog]

König with a Chubby!Reader.

CW: READER IS DESCRIBED AS CHUBBY. PERV!KÖNIG.

MDNI 18+ — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. 🔞

To say that König is touchy is a huge understatement. He simply cannot resist you. You're like a drug to König, addictive and hypnotising, with him constantly craving more of it. The effect you have on König leaves him in a dreamlike and heavenly state, with his boner aching and throbbing at the sight of you in front of him, bare and naked and stripped of all your clothing.

You look delectable like this, so vulnerable with your skin exposed to him, with any insecurities you have now on display for König to worship and praise. He could just devour you, slide his painfully stiff dick into you and ram his cockhead into your gummy inside on repeating, mesmerised by the squelching, slick noises that grow louder with each deep, hard thrust.

König doesn't like that you're made to feel insecure. Of course, König adores seeing you in his t-shirt, it leaves him feeling overprotective, as if he owns you, with his musk and cologne sticking to your freshly washed skin and following you around all day. But, he can't control his urges at the sight of you in tight clothing, with tiny and tight shorts rolling up your thighs whenever you walk, your thighs rubbing together, and a see-through tank top sticking your soft body.

You can drive König mad in a plethora of different ways, but sitting on his lap in lingerie, or even completely nude, while teasing his swollen and bulbous boner by rubbing it back and forth is his absolute favourite. He'll have you on your back within milliseconds, already forcing your plush thighs apart and pulling his drooling dick from his tight boxers, practically slobbering all over your through desperation.

He'll fuck your pussy for hours in different positions. He'll admire your stomach, with his large and calloused hands rubbing up your waist, before grasping your rear with a firm grip, his fingertips digging into your soft and bare skin. He'll flip you around, his hands on your love handles and waist while he loses himself in your tight cunt, balls smacking against your ass, and König's eyes rolled back as he apologises profusely for his horniness and lack of control in German.

[theres-a-body-here]

Recieving a love letter

Part two

You decided that the best time to give it to them (pause) is during a trial

Characters: Oni, Trapper, Deathslinger, Mastermind, Cannibal, Ghostface Warnings: Internalized Homophobia, Death, some spice Male!reader

The Oni - Kazan Yamaoka

Impossible... You're both men

Kazan cannot accept this

This simply wasn't acceptable during his era

He immediately smashes your head in with his Kanabo on instinct

Gay panic defense

The evil has been dealt with, Kazan lets out a deep exhale

But...his eyes wander to the letter, still within your cold, stiff grasp

Advantages come from all angles... Don't they?

Kazan takes the letter, convincing himself he'll use whatever information he finds inside against you

It smells like you... Not that he checked

(He did)

A red wax seal holds the letter closed

Kazan looks closer

You had carved his family crest into the wax

Something foreign invades his body, something other than rage

It's nervousness

He opens the letter, making sure to keep the seal intact

For no reason in particular

(He's pocketing that mofo)

Instantly, he's impressed by your penmanship

So organized, clean, and sharp

But its contents are even more eye catching

The love letter is short and sweet

But what follows is even sweeter

A haiku

Kazan feels his heart skip a beat

He checks it once, then again, and one more for good measure

Yep, no mistakes

The loud pop of a gen echoes through the trialground, snapping him out of his trance

Kazan whips his head all around, looking for witnesses

Finding none, he pockets the letter

He stares at your lifeless body, feeling something else flutter in his chest

Guilt

The Trapper - Evan MacMillan

Evan stares at you as you hold your letter out for him to take

After a long, uncomfortable silence, he takes it

He brings it to his face, inspecting it through the holes of his mask

Evan has absolutely no idea what to do here

He looks back at you

"Do you...want me to fuck you?"

Romantic gestures are new territories for Evan, so he honestly thinks this is just your way of asking for dick

Whichever the case, he has a job to do

He puts you down without hesitation and hooks you up, leaving without a second glance

He's still holding the letter

Part of him wants to rip it up, and the other is curious to know what you wrote

He sloppily tears the letter open, reading it hastily as he walks to the next gen

Evan stops when he reads a bit more

You weren't asking for a ball slapping, eye watering, toe curling, deep dick fuck...

You were asking for his heart

You wanted all of him, hooks and all

Okay now he feels a bit bad

Evan reads some more

You actually drew a portrait of him within the letter, saying you learnt of his knack for art from Philip

Now he feels even worse

He lets the others save you without hiccup

In fact, he basically leaves for alone for the rest of the trial

He stops chasing and hurting the others occasionally to stare at you from afar, observing that focused look on your face as you work on gens or heal a teammate

Evan feels butterflies and he no longer has the strength to swat at them

It doesn't matter if he kills all your friends or if they opened the gates and left; Eventually, you're alone with him

He holds your letter out, watching as confusion sets on your face

"I'm dirty and sloppy... I'll ruin it"

He sounds vulnerable, waiting for you to respond

You curl your hand over his, folding the letter into his palm

"I want you to keep it," you say softly, as of talking to an apprehensive deer

He doesn't know what to say

Whatever he was going to respond with gets stuck in his throat as you lean in to kiss the cheek of his mask

He watches as you leave through the exit gate, glancing down at the letter in his hand

The Deathslinger - Caleb Quinn

Obviously you're joking... Right?

Cuz there's no way you'd be attracted to someone like him— Old, beat-up, and grumpy

You'd have to push him some more if you want him to accept the letter

Convince him you're being genuine

Eventually, he gives in and takes the letter from you

He glances around nervously, like he's expecting the other survivors to jump out and laugh at him for falling for the joke

He opens the letter, stunned when he sees there's actually things written inside

A blush creeps into his face as he reads, only deepening when he reads more

After he's done, Caleb can't even meet your gaze

After a few moments of silence, he speaks

"I can.....uhhh....keep this... right?"

Talk about awk as hell

Even after the trial, he lies awake thinking about it

Caleb rereads the letter over and over

You're gonna have to be the one to seek him out outside of trials since he's way too embarrassed now

"Yer serious 'bout this, ain'tcha?"

He decides to let his guard down just a bit to let you in

Be prepared to give him lots of reassurance

"Yer sure ya ain't mistaken?"

Caleb isn't one for words, so instead of writing you a letter, he makes you trinkets out of scrap metal

If you kiss him as thanks, he'll actually die on the spot

So please don't... unless you're evil as hell

The Mastermind - Albert Wesker

Wesker makes you kneel as you give him the letter

After snatching it out of your hands, he scans it meticulously

"I see you've made eleven spelling mistakes"

He enjoys the way you tense up instantly, like a puppy waiting to be put on punishment

"How adorable"

He ALLOWS you to watch him put the letter in his inner coat pocket

He would never admit it, but this certainly boosted his ego to new heights

Albert lifts you off the ground and tosses you over his shoulder

He carries you to the basement

"Stay here while I deal with your companions"

He leaves to kill the rest of your friends

After every hook, he pats his chest to make sure the letter is still there

He'll deny he ever did that if you ask him though

Once he returns, Wesker will bombard you with questions, expecting an answer within 5 seconds or less

What took you so long? What do you like most about him? Would you choose him over your friends? How can you satisfy him?

He loves how easily you crumble under his interrogation, blushing and stammering like a fool

Once he's had his fill, he picks you up again

He carries you to hatch

Before he lets you go, he grips your chin and makes you look at him

"I suppose I ought to leave you with something"

Wesker reaches into his coat and pulls out a pair of sunglasses

"I hope you can explain this to your allies," he chuckles

Before you can protest, he puts them on you and drops you into the hole

The Cannibal - Bubba Sawyer

Freezes in place and gasps when he sees you hold out your letter

He lets out a happy squeal before dropping his hammer and chainsaw to the ground

Bubba takes the letter from you gently, treating it like glass

He immediately plops onto the ground

He tears open the envelope carefully and take out the letter

He's completely forgotten about the trial

He reads the letter, shaking with excitement

It's sappy, sweet, and everything he's ever wanted

Even when the sounds of popping generators ring through the trial grounds, Bubba doesn't take his eyes off the letter for a second

He occasionally stops reading to either make a sound of happiness or cover his face out of embarrassment

Once he's finished, Bubba will stand up and pull you into a bone-crushing hug, lifting you up a bit and swaying you around like a ragdoll

You're definitely leaving this trial unharmed

He grabs your hand tightly, marching over to the hatch or exit gates and lets you leave with a goofy wave

The Entity doesn't even punish him for it since his joy was so great it made up for the lack of bad emotions from the survivors

He immediately works on writing a letter for you after the trial is over

The next time you see him, expect another bear hug followed by a letter being shoved in your face

It's messy, sticky, and covered in glitter

Crudely drawn hearts cover the inside as the letters are shaky and almost intelligible

But you can tell Bubba put his whole heart into it

The Ghostface - Danny Johnson

Instantly smug as hell

"Oh, what's that? That for me?"

He takes it from you and immediately tears it open, tossing the envelope behind him nonchalantly

His mask moves as he visibly reads through the letter, occasionally chuckling and shaking his head

Danny finds this scenario so fucking funny— A survivor having a crush on a killer

After he's done, he looks up at you

"Do you have daddy issues or something?'

He laughs loudly when he sees a hurt expression flash across your face, walking over to wrap an arm around your shoulders

"I'm just messing with ya, cutie"

Danny marches over with his head high to one of the hooked survivors, waving the letter in their face

You stand to the side awkwardly, unable to meet your friend's bewildered look

"Your homeboy is down bad for me. Whaddya think about that?"

The survivor grits their teeth struggling to keep the Entity's claw from puncturing their chest

"I think....Gah!...they.... have daddy issues...fuck!"

"THATS WHAT I SAID!"

You're never living this down

He goes around the map showing off your love letter to the others

After he finishes gloating, Danny hooks you

What? He's the Entity's favorite! He can't his reputation be tarnished

Outside of the trial, he follows you around like a shadow

He deadass interrupts your conversations with the others to tell you he wants attention, and you'd better deliver

Your love letter was basically an invitation for him to claim you as his own, whether you regret it or not

You're his now

Like a housecat that swats at others who get too close to their owner

"That kiss factory better be open, pookie"

He says shit like this in front of any survivor or killer

[medullamindset]

STEB HEADCANONS :>

Uhhhm YEAH a few headcanons ive collected since act 3 came out in november 😸 enjoy Stebnation, or dont idk

This is very short and boring but its easier to write him in an actual scenario so TRUST IN ME MY UPCOMING STUFF WILL BE BETTER 😿

Content warnings: Established relationship w Reader, miiiild mention of knifeplay but its easily looked past. My opinion on his race.

NSFW marked this pink!

• He cannot be any older than 30. I'd bet hes like 23-27. Idk how old u have to be to be a field medic/enforcer??

• Hes around 6'4.. Tall guy. ♥︎‿♥︎

• His frill thingies seem to lie flat to his face with "down" emotions, such as shame/guilt and sadness. But they point straight out with more intense emotions, like suspense, anger, exitement, worry. I love the way they flutter sometimes, as a subtle reaction. Like when they saw the Zaunites walking over the bridge to aid in the war, his frills were like "oh, wow.."

But also how they shot straight out with suspense when Ambessa wanted Caitlyn to b commander and everyone was banging their chests and stuff.

• I'd like to imagine his frills flutter a few times in a row when he orgasms, like the shockwaves of pleasure, but also post-orgasm. Maybe they go hand in hand with his nervous system kinda?

• His tip is the same color as his eyelids. His nails seem to be beige too.

• He CAN talk he just chooses not to if he feels he doesnt need to. Short sentences if he has to, small nods and shakes of his head, LOOKS. his face is VERY expressive, but thats more of a fact than a hc. body language is a key communication of his.

• Hes def always been the quiet type, ever since he was six he hasn't been big on speaking.

But sometimes you cheat the system.. Having your back turned to him when you ask him a question just so you can hear his voice, even just to get a little "mhm" from him <3

• On the rare occasion that he does speak his voice is kinda hoarse and gravelly from lack of use UGHHHH *squirts everywhere*

• hes a bit of a "bland" person, hes not boring.. Just a very simple man. He reads practically anything, carries your bags when you're out shopping, he literally just goes wherever you wanna go. He hangs over your shoulders when you do ur makeup, cooks breakfast most mornings, cleans when he feels its needed cuz he doesn't like messes, he'll have music on in the background tho and it's usually one of your vinyls that's playing, makes him feel closer to you <3

Simple things man. deeply emotional and caring too. Hes so kind and eager to help ugh MY SHAYLAA.

• hes a bit socially awkward, he doesnt have social anxiety, hes just kinda stiff and quiet around people.

• what the fuck does he do all day, really?

• I feel like he'd like dancing with his lover but he thinks hes bad at it so hes a bit awkward <333 put his hands around ur waist for him tho and he'd turn into even more speechless mush, everytime.

• Has a gummy smile thats really evident when he laughs so he tries not too, might let a grin slip in private tho c: and close mouthed chuckling/snickers.

• Loves being carressed, hold his face in your hands and trace his cheekbones with ur thumbs? FOLDS. Running your fingers up and down the fins at the back of his head when his face is in your neck? PUTTY.

• Speaking of fins, they continue down to to his lower back, shorter at the bottom but longest between his shoulderblades. He also has darker spots(scales?) Like the other fishfolk in Arcane on his outer arms and thighs. See this post of mine for a ref :)

• he drinks alot of water, like ALOT. his throat get dry easily cuz hes.. Yk, fish.. Atleast half-fish. He'll remind his partner to do the same, no matter your race cuz its good for u, he'll nudge u with a glass in hand and a small tug at his lips, or simply just leave it beside u as a silent reminder.

• Loves holding hands. like, he just LOVES it. He'll act nonchalant abt it but on the inside his heart is just blossoming 💗

Like imagine you're at a café or a bar or a diner WHATEVER and ur just sitting infront of him yapping abt ur day or smth ur planning while holding his hand over the table, and he'll just be buzzing with love, rubbing your soft skin with his thumb, feeling lucky his blush doesnt show (⁎˃ᴗ˂⁎)

• ABSOLUTELY ADORES kisses. He just finds them so sweet and intimate (cuz they are. But i mean like, he doesn't ever NOT think about it after kissing you, hes always locked on target y'know, he only sees you. He only feels you when kissing your lips, he'll kiss u like its the end of the world.. even if hes just getting up to go to the bathroom or something.)

• he just loves you so much, please kiss him, everywhere. Theres not a single spot of him you could kiss that wouldn't make him shiver (the good way).

• Steb is not much for hardcore kinks in bed. He doesnt "fuck", he makes love. In his eyes there truly isnt any purer form of intimacy than sharing something like that, giving away a piece of yourself to this person, your souls spiritually intertwined and yadiyadayada (it's true tho)

• He will go harder if you ask him to, hes not afraid to make you scream with pleasure. Also, bite him and hes a goner. Omg if hes like treating u so nicely in the sack you gotta bite down on something to contain yourself, pls let it be his shoulder, please leave pretty imprints of you canines all over his neck and chest. And hickeys too HNNGHH

Makes him groan so deliciously. Hips snapping into yours just a liiiittle more harshly than intended.

He'll bite you back carnally if you'll let him, Steb gets so lost in it sometimes..

• Hes open to experimentation tho, like if theres something you reallyreallyreally wanna try he'll be like 'euuughgghggggrhggh okay yk what fine', as long as he doesn't have to hurt you, not too much anyway. The idea of inflicting pain-pain on the person he loves makes him queasy.

• But if hes really fucking horny at some point, watching you take the front seat and play around w his gills, scratch at his chest, put a hand around his neck or.. Idk drag a knife gently across his skin while topping he'll literally whine, digging his dull nails into your sides, holding on for dear life.

• He loves being called petnames. Serious and silly ones. His favorites have gotta be Love, Darling, Baby and pretty boy.. All the sappy stuff. One time you called him 'Gorgeous' and his frills shot straight out for a solid three seconds.. If he already didn't speak, he'd be speechless then. CUZ HES A GORGEOUS MAN.

Or that one time you called him 'fishface' and he just slumped in defeat when he heard you giggle, knowing that one was gonna stick around.

You'll enter the kitchen where hes making something to eat and just go "Hey, Fishface! So--!" Continuing to yap and he just rolls his eyes with a lopsided, lovesick grin u cant see from behind him. From anybody else it'd piss him off, but it's you, So he lets it slide.

• he has the warmest and weirdly softest fuckin hands ever. They're never clammy or sticky, just nice and toasty, perfect.

• is the type to grab your hands in the winter and rub them if theyre cold, trying to transfer his warmth over, even if hes also freezing. breathing hotly onto them.

• speaking of winter he probably HATES IT. He gets SO cold SO easy, hes shaking in his boots fr. A frozen fishstick fr. Like jesus. But the palms of his hands stay warm for some reason..

adding to that hes def a sweater fiend.. He LOVES knitted sweaters and hoodies and TURTLENECKS. HE'D LOOK SO GOOD IN A TURTLENECK. TELL ME IM WRONG. LIKE A BIG, FAT, KNITTED ONE THAT GOES UP TO HIS JAW. Even better if you knit/crocheted them for him <33

• I headcanon that his dad is a human and his mom is a fish person cuz he has hair and rounded teeth which other fishfolk we see don't. We don't see any other fishfolk from piltover tho.. So maybe hes just slapped on a wig, peel-off eyebrows and filed his teeth down (which is INSANELY painful btw) to look "socially acceptable". I HEAVILY doubt that, when i rascism like that ever shown in Arcane, Piltover specifically? 🤔 Im not even gonna get into that whole Vastaya thing cuz i dont know enough.. I heard they can decide how many animal features they show as they please and that they're like deeply connected to magic and live really long.. But that isn't mentioned or even nodded to in Arcane so im just gonna pretend that doesnt exist lol sorry

• but ya he adopted alot of his moms fishy features but also human-ish hair and teeth from his dad.

•speaking of his parents, i do feel like Steb was raised kinda strictly? Idk i just feel like his parents would be very uptight and that stuck with him all the way into adulthood, he stands super upright and is well proper while on the job because thats just what hes been taught.

hes alot more relaxed at home tho, where he knows he doesn't have to be or look presentable for anyone, especially not you. he knows you'll love him even while standing by the fridge in pj's, with a fist full of grated cheese ready to be devoured at circa 2 AM.

• He was raised in a small village on the outskirts, right beside the ocean. Hence he still adores it and loves to go swimming with you, reminds him of his childhood yk c:

• He kinda gives only child vibes to me? Idk the thought of him with an older sibling is kinda cute tho,, i imagine they'd be like complete opposites. They hardly see eachother,, I don't feel like his family lives in Piltover. He had a "Mom, Dad.. I'm 18 now..! I'm moving to the big city. And there is nothing you can do to stop me." Moment, exept in a less verbal way maybe, moving to the city of progress and begining medical and tactical training, to help people. On both sides.

• Hes really good at origami, sometimes when hes at work and droning at his desk with nothing better to do he'll just grab a random paper and fold a little swan together. You've found multiple critters like that scattered around the house, some with faces drawn on, just two inky dots and a derpy smile like this : )

Once he made one of your favorite animal and left it on your nightstand before heading to work, you picked it up and examined it, smile growing even wider when you found the hidden lovenote that was written on it <3

It's now glued neatly into your shared scrapbook/journal along with many more, surrounded by dried flowers and red hearts <33

Uhhhhhhhhhhhrghhhhhhhhhh yeah ❗️🚮 i just debated wether or not this is even worth posting for like twenty minutes.

Pls dont bash me for my opinions now *gulp*

Also heres a lil reminder that im taking requests 💗💗 i love writing i just never have good or original ideas :'o(

[moonstruckme]

omg omg omg i can see it now, reader in the hospital hooked up to an ekg and emt!maurauders after dropping someone off sees her in the room and they go in to check on her and her pulse just skyrockets and sirius is like "oh are you still in shock?" and rem is like "...i don't think so" and then they all get so flustered and reader gets flustered and fluffffffff

Thanks for requesting!

part 1 | part 2

cw: hospital, head injury, broken ribs

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 979 words

Some of the whiplash you’d been warned about is setting in now. It’s been a few hours since the trio of unreasonably attractive paramedics had dropped you off at the hospital, and you’re stiff and sore all over. Even your knees have developed dark bruises, apparently from hitting the dashboard when you’d stopped suddenly. You don’t remember getting them. 

The other doctors and nurses who’d been assigned to your care have been nice and of course highly competent, but no one has been as kind or warm as the men who’d picked you up at the scene. Ridiculous as it is, you almost miss them. There’s nothing comforting about this place, and if you can’t have the familiarity of a loved one with you, you’d happily settle for the strangers’ compassion. 

The parade of hospital workers and concerned loved ones going past your room is endless, but you look up from your phone when someone stops abruptly in the doorway. 

Sirius lets out a quiet oof when he crashes into James from behind, Rem simply sidestepping the both of them before coming to a stop in front of your room. 

“Hey.” James grins at you. “It’s you, from the car crash.” 

“Hi.” You return his smile bashfully, and Rem gives James an exasperated look. 

“I’m sure she’d rather not be referred to as the girl from the car crash, James.” 

“Right.” James' smile goes somewhat sheepish. “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” you reassure him. “Thanks for…uh, everything. Earlier.” 

“You’re very welcome,” Sirius drawls, recovering from his collision and sauntering into the room. He gives you a not-so-subtle look over. “Just doing our job, dollface.” 

The monitor connected to your finger starts beeping more rapidly, and the suave confidence saps from his expression. 

“Shit, are you still in shock?” 

It starts going faster. You’re pretty sure your face is getting red too. How much trouble would you be in if you just disconnected the thing? 

“I don’t…” Rem’s eyes narrow, a second before his eyebrows raise an inch. “I don’t think so.” 

Your gulp has to be audible. 

“Oh,” Sirius says, his brow unfurrowing. He looks at you, and a smile curves his lips. “Oh.” 

“Okay, the both of you fuck off.” James comes to your defense, striding over as if to forcibly remove Sirius from your beside. “Look what you’re doing to the poor girl! Remus, you didn’t have to give her away like that.” 

“Better than her still being in shock,” Rem—or Remus, apparently—points out. 

“It’s fine, darling,” James goes on with forced breeziness. He’s looking at you with such sweetness you’d almost believe his nonchalance if not for the quick way he blabbers on. “Honestly, it’s an unfair advantage for us that you’re the only one with a heart monitor on. Though I suppose I’m lucky I don’t have one on too, or we’d be making a pretty terrible symphony in here right now.” 

It takes you a second to catch his meaning, but by the time you do he’s blushing nearly as badly as you. 

He’s tossed himself under the bus just so you wouldn’t be down there by yourself. 

You don’t know what to say to that, but a quiet thanks slips past your lips unchecked, and for reasons you cannot figure James’ smile softens in response. 

“Anytime, love. So, what’re you still doing here?” He changes the subject hastily. “They keeping you for observation or something?” 

“No, I’m just waiting for my ride to get off work,” you explain. “What are you doing here?”

Sirius grins, leaning against the wall near your bed. “We work here, babe.” 

“No, I—I know that,” you laugh. It hurts your chest, and all three boys’ expressions tense with sympathy when something in your face must reveal it. “I meant, don’t you usually work in the ambulance?”

“We just dropped off another patient,” he says, so preparedly that you suspect he knew what you were really asking the first time. “Older guy, complaining of a stomach ache.” He winks. “No competition for you, sweetness.” 

Christ. You’d thought they were bad when they’d picked you up, but it’s worse when you can actually process what they’re saying and doing. 

“Is he okay?” you ask, ignoring Sirius’ last comment. 

James gives you another one of his soft smiles. “Yeah, he’s alright. We see him like three times a week, he’s always fretting about something. But how are you, sweetheart? They treating you alright in here?”

You shrug. “I’m fine. I have some broken ribs and a concussion, like you said earlier, but I’m just glad it wasn’t worse. And of course everyone has been very nice.” 

“Glad to hear it.” Remus’ voice seems soft compared to the other two, though he more matches your volume. He perches next to you on the bed, eyebrows scrunching just a little as he looks at the stitches on your forehead. “Mmm, that’s probably going to scar.” 

“I don’t mind,” you say honestly, a second before remembering his own scars. They tug a bit as his eyebrows flick upward again, and then his lips pull into a boyish, lopsided grin. 

The monitor goes off again, and you cover your face with your hands as Sirius cackles. 

“Sorry, lovely.” Remus’ voice sounds somewhat amused too as his hand lands on your shoulder, squeezing delicately. “We’ll get out of your hair so you can rest.” 

“Thank you,” you say into your hands, removing them only once his weight lifts from the bed. 

Sirius won’t stop laughing, not looking abashed even when Remus grabs him by the collar of his shirt and drags him along on his trajectory out of the room. 

“Get well,” James says, walking backwards to follow them and giving you a smile that seems to contain, impossibly, equal parts mirth and earnestness. “I’d say I hope to see you around here again, but best not, huh?”

[scarlettriot]

Alright. I simply cannot get the idea of getting hot and heavy in the back of some limo with Ei and a little sprinkle of sneaking around too. I don’t know where this came from or anything so here. I’m leaving it. And that’s all.

It’s sorta smutty so no minors or ageless. They’re aged up, in case that wasn’t self explanatory. Reader gets a little jealous. Other than that it’s basically just fluff with fucking.

I did not proof this what so ever. Sorry. I’m tired. I don’t even have a rough word count for you but it’s pretty short.

The two of you leaving together after some big award show after he finally breaks into the top 10. Only you’re most certainly not the woman his agencies PR team has been setting him up on dates with. The super model who’s been all over him, the face of his active wear line, the woman they want to see him with.

He’s been putting on a good show for them. Even dipped her in front of all the camera the red carpet was lined with and kissed her as a hundred flashes went off.

But, gods, she’s just not you. The cute little waitstaff always serving drinks at these events. The black skirt they make you wear hugs your curves so tightly and he can see every dip of your plush hips and he remembers what it was like the first time he got to feel you.

He was stiff in his perfectly tailored pants before the hors d’oeuvres came around. 

The first chance he got, he’d slipped away. Thankfully, his accomplishments were already recognized. He’d done his part, stood up, waved, went on stage, he didn’t give a damn about anything or anyone else. He just needed to find you again.

“I— oh fuck— I’m gonna have to get back before someone realizes I’m— I’m— right there, right there, yes please—!” It was too hard to think when his fingers were buried deep within your cunt.

He had you propped up on the back of his limo. Making you cum with your skirt all bunched up. “Don’t think you gotta go anywhere yet, pretty,” he chuckles and licks off his fingers.

“I do though, I do,” you tried forming a sentence, “I could get fired,”

He pulled your legs around him and carried you around to the door to slip inside with you. “Told you I’d get you a job at my agency, then you wouldn’t have to worry about this job.”

You sucked on his neck as he undid his belt, “don’t know how your girlfriend would feel about me working with you daily… having this happen far more often?” Because you’re not stupid, you knew if you took him up on that offer you’d be on his dick every chance the two of you had.

“She’s not my girlfriend and you know it.” He made that abundantly clear the first time he made a move on you months ago and you questioned him.

He’d just barely slipped his cock free before you were sinking down on it with a groan that would reply in his head for a lifetime. “I don’t think she knows that.”

He chuckles and it makes you clench around him. “You’re real cute when you’re jealous,” hands grip hard on your hips and he pushes you down as he grits out, “and if she does know it, that’s—not— my— problem—” rocking his hips to watch your eyes roll back.

“You’ve said it yourself though, she’s what your PR team wants. I’m nothing like her.”

He huffed before his arms wound under your legs so he could hold you up and fuck up into you as he damn well pleased. “Also told you that I don’t care what they want. You say the word and it’ll be you on my arm at these events, not her.”

You laughed before he made it into a blissed out moan.

“What? Don’t believe me?”

The windows were fogging up, anyone walking by would damn well know what was happening here. And he didn’t care at all. He’d bullied himself into you over and over again, tearing at your little outfit, unable to help himself.

Of course, you didn’t seem to mind with the way you were babbling now, tits bouncing with your head tossed back, pleasure coursing through you. “What’s the matter, pretty? Can’t do anything more than moan for me now? Should I stop and letcha think?”

His pace slowed and you cried out, “noooo!”

“Then answer me, baby, you believe me, don’t you?” Gods, for a man railing you within an inch of your life, his tone was soft and sickeningly sweet. “Promise if ya let me I’ll do this to you all night long.” Not that these quickies weren’t fun but just once he wants to see you splayed out in his bed. “I’ll make you cum over and over, as much as you want.”

He took your chin and made sure you were looking at him as he added. “I want you. For more than just a fast fuck at a party. Lemme take care of you, in every possibly way there is.”

With his cock filling you up so completely, and his eyes carrying so much hope, how could you ever deny him?

[anantaru]

BONUS KINK — BODY WORSHIP

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

a/n. the last bonus kink is about them worshipping you just the way you deserve <3 and thank you for supporting this year's kinktober, enjoy <3

𖧡 — including — diluc, zhongli, childe, alhaitham

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, all about how much they love your body and putting your pleasure first, very passionate & rough, oral (fem! receiving), fingering

𖧡 — DILUC

the closer diluc got to his mansion, the more he realized that he had missed you this entire day— and he desires you with every inch of his being, in a special way that wasn't temporary but made him believe that love wasn't a hoax after all, and that he wasn't hard to love either, because you made him feel again.

the idea of losing you could truly ruin him.

and sometimes he catches himself become embarrassingly jealous of the glinting sun rays being eminent in the sky, for they can kiss you whenever he cannot.

a primal rush of pleasure shivers through him when he first places both hands on top of your hips, waiting for a moment and dwelling on your warm frame diffusing the stiffness of abused muscles located around his shoulders and chest as he absorbs the vibrations of your tranquil mewls into his aching body.

"i missed you, diluc," you say, "so much," before teasing his shaft with your walls and constricting ever so wonderfully, remembering the shape of his length as you wince at the additional pressure his cock sent straight into your core, clenching your muscles rhythmically that the rest of his body would shiver whilst pressed against your own, your facial expression continuously satisfied with the treatment he always gave you.

diluc clears his throat and attempts to hide the scarlet redness manifesting on his bristling cheeks, "i missed you," he whispers and emphasizes the last word with an octave higher, "been thinking about you all day," before lapping wet streaks over the areas on your neck that he knew were the most sensitive, it was the combination of one bite and a possessive huff on the wet flesh that made you whimper softly on the next thrust— not to forget that your body was simply divine to the red haired, each curve and bend reacting when he pumps you full of his cock, letting it glide smoothy in and out of your warm hole as you moan out his name, your face ecstatic with release.

you knew you wouldn't last very long, and as you continued to be fucked with diluc's precise thrusts consisting of long, slow movements, you felt a tightening in the pit of your stomach, your throbbing cunt hot and tight sealed around his shaft as it took every ounce of restraint for diluc to not just cum and release his seed to pulse in hot rivulets on your inflamed walls.

it's almost too much to bear— but alas, that was what diluc craved, and even if he didn't say anything too directly or would admit it to you, he's been secretly hard and painfully throbbing for the majority of his day that consisted of nothing but work on top of work, his pulsing erection unbearably hard and rubbing against the rough confines of his pants as he day dreamed about his current reality.

alas, he was able to feel this now, feel you now— turning it evident that he wanted to please you more than anything else, even if just for a split second.

𖧡 — ZHONGLI

lowermost the brilliant stars ablaze within the moonlight sky and a chilling draft welcoming your frames, zhongli made love to you in an unforgettable matter— and the man has found himself wholly entranced by the fullness of your beauty.

you look up at him in a daze, and your eyes were the first out of many things that drew him into complete obsession, your sultry, lowered gaze in particular— the type that appeared to be seductive without trying as he grabs your knees and hoists them over his shoulders, the new position allowing him to lean forward enough to place a passionate kiss to your dampened forehead before pushing himself deeper. 

an icy chill shoots like a cold lightning down his spine when you  exhale tremulously once he was fully inside, a proud smirk represented on his darling lips as he found himself pleased by your reactions.

the atmosphere manifests in a sensual tone, tenser, and your heart beat was pounding so fast and loud that it almost entirely dulled out the penetrative sound of your hips bucking against each other in quick, sloppy slaps. your mouth panting and eyes squeezed shut with every new meet of his cock rolling inside of your walls, your arousal sticking to his shaft and marking him sinfully— it's like those sweet traces and his hips bouncing in a steady pace ignited something inside you, your figure melting from heat when zhongli touches the very depths of you.

zhongli groaned inwardly, and by his very nature, seeing you mewl and sob, with your hips swirling up and down his cock to handle more of him, such submission was almost too erotic, and his body responds in a feral perception, his length mapping through every rill and spongy spot that his low eyes and long lashes look down on you with twisting lust, your thighs shifting against each other as his hips rock back and forth against the softness and the feeling of just how good you felt. 

𖧡 — CHILDE

"you drive me insane," for a moment, childe let his gaze follow over the soft, glimmering skin on your sensitivity, his eyes lingering on the way your cunt was practically awaiting to be claimed by him— your face contorting in pleasure when he lastly, presses a soft kiss to the pulse point on your clit, licking inside and dipping his head lower.

suckling gently, you writhe and mewl under him, your back arching up a little for an extra amount of contact from his tongue as one large hand skims over the expanse of your chest, palming over your breasts while the other prods at your hole as childe coats his chin and cheeks with a generous amount of your arousal.

"you're perfect," he mutters into your flesh, every nerve in your body quivering when he put you into the deepest sensations of euphoria— a trance of which you do not wish to be freed from, and neither does childe want to stop pleasuring you, on top of being allowed to taste your beauty on his tongue, losing all his strength as he fell head first again, just like he always did whenever he admired what was his.

he lightly traces around the tight opening, fluttering his eyes up to your face before sliding one finger inside, immediately feeling you tense down, then moan out angelically when he scissors you lightly, his tongue leisurely lapping out the very surface of your glistening folds while he keeps a steady pump on your hole, continuing his careful ministrations and pressing his digit deeper, always more, and maintaining the pleasurable torture until you would whimper at him, only the slightest bit desperate, at least that's what you believed it looked like.

you clench your jaw to brace yourself, whimpering softly at each press of his fingers hitting your sweet spots almost a little too good, the next pleasured mewl escaping your aching throat when childe seals his lips on top of your clit before trapping the tingling skin in between his mouth, sucking gently.

"ajax.." you hiss softly, "need to feel you," as he repeatedly enters you with his slender digit, the stimulation overflowing your lower area as an intense burning sensation settles on your wet sex, deliciously limiting your noises so that you're hiccuping in shattered words and phrases.

𖧡 — ALHAITHAM

"you are deliberately provoking me," there wasn't a realistic possibility for you to keep something hidden from alhaitham, and he observes you thoughtful and stoic, a devious glimmer creasing around his eyes when he pins your wrists above your head, watching your clouded expression contort in pleasure as if you wanted this to happen.

he holds you down effortlessly, and while in any other case, alhaitham wouldn't let you play him like a violin, he cannot help himself but think about how lucky he truly was— or, how utterly enchanting your figure looked even while squeezed underneath his larger one.

to know that you had this power over him was dangerous, to know that he needs you like air to breathe was lecherous, or to know that the pleasure you placed on him concealed his vision with no doubts in his mind.

momentarily, he resists the flourishing desire to pay you back with skilled teasing and a robbed orgasm when he softly soothes one palm over the curve of your trembling body and stifling a groan in his throat when he slides his tip into you, the chaste downward flutter of his long, pretty eyelashes contrasting the strong set of his jaw clenching the second he tastes the hotness of your sex engulfing him.

you take him like he was begging you to, his biceps flexing enticingly as he braces himself up for what's to come when he crowds you with his inches in slow, tantalizing movements, the hot edges of your mewls burning violently through alhaitham's lust as he moans deeply, pushing into you with a hard buck of his hips reaching your softest spots.

you shudder, a harsh bolt of heat shooting through your tensed muscles as you clench your thighs around his hips, your hands wiggling underneath his palm that were keeping them pinned as you arch your back off the mattress, unable to take control of the passion infused jolts yearning for his searing touch as his rigid cock sinks hard enough to sting with a mild pain into you that evidently enough made you unravel into a trembling, dazed mess of a person.

"fuck, ahh," the pitch of your needy moans and whines manifest into crushed tunes with each convulsing thrust into your heat twisting you apart, shuddering and spattering all aver his length as you coat him with your arousal, the liquid rush of intense thrusts hitting you from nowhere as alhaitham throws his head back in ecstasy, releasing your hands from his grasp to fuck you deeper, so you're on the brink of splitting in half from the sheer intensity.

your hands find the softness of his hair as you merely wince at him, absorbed in your own pleasure and reveling on those sweet and personal caresses that felt like his skin was fusing with your own.

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[argisthebulwark]

I Confess I'm A Mess

summary: After an especially nasty argument, you decide to sleep somewhere other than beside him. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. feat: Farkas, Brynjolf, Vilkas, Mercer, Cicero, Erik the Slayer, Miraak warnings: language masterlist

Farkas curls up on the couch beside you, kissing away the furrow in your brow. He mumbles apologies into you skin when he clutches you to his chest. Despite the lingering anger you can't help but cuddle closer into the inviting warmth of his skin. "Sorry for bein' an ass." He murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Can't sleep without you."

Brynjolf paces around the house, anxiety building until he can't take another moment. He stalks over to the Cistern, hating the sight of you curled up on that old cot. Even in sleep you look annoyed - face scrunched up and pillow clutched to your chest. Trying not to wake the others he clambers into an empty bed, each breath coming a bit easier once you're close.

Vilkas grumbles, scooping you to his chest. He refuses to let you sleep in some shitty recruit bunk - he knows how badly they hurt your back. You grind your teeth, knowing full well that as soon as you speak the argument will start again. "We can keep fighting in the morning." He promises, voice stiff when he places you carefully back into bed. "I promise."

Mercer refuses to chase after you. He tells himself that he is content staring out the window and recounting the argument, taking note of all your errors. His inability to sleep only feeds the mounting annoyance. Stomping out to the main hall, he grumbles angrily at the sight of you curled into a cushy chair. Mercer throws a blanket over you before settling onto the couch, endlessly agitated that he cannot sleep without the sound of you snoring.

Cicero absolutely panics. He's catastrophizing - thinking over every word you'd said to him convinced he's fucked everything up. He's pushed you too far this time. You're going to leave him. Clambering into your bed, chilly fingers grab yours and Cicero presses nervous kisses to your wrist. He's relieved when you don't shake him off, a sleepy kiss pressed to his head. "Don't leave poor Cicero." He pleads into your skin, basking in your scent. "Perfect, lovely Listener. Your Keeper will do better."

Erik gives you space but is unwilling to go too far. He's unfamiliar with the Rift and you'd run into a fair amount of bears on your trek, leaving you in a flimsy tent is wrong regardless of his anger. His bedroll is placed a few steps away - still agitated over the argument but remaining close in case you need him. He stares up at the stars, stomach churning as he slips into an uneasy slumber. He wakes with relief as you slide into his bedroll, all anger forgotten when your head rests on his chest.

Miraak leaves the bedchambers to you, finding solace in his library. He allows the hours to pass while the confusing mess of feelings in his chest continues to fester. Surely you will come to him. You will seek him out and demand an apology as you always do. When night slips into morning, Miraak finds himself glaring at the door. Raising his hand to knock before entering his own chambers feels silly but simply entering could rekindle the argument. He's shocked when you wrench open the door. Your eyes are wide when you notice him, clearly still upset. Miraak wants to make some snarky comment but you look too cute wrapped up in his robes.

[luboy7rt]

Kick (COD Ghosts): Random Headcanons 

(Note: We don't get enough Kick content, so here's food. I ramble my bad. Just trying to get re-motivated for more headcanon stuff!)

- Kick would randomly just plops down near his comrades. Everyone can just be doing their own tasks and he's just coming by to invade everyone's personal space, but never for too long before he agites himself and just leaves.  

(Here's how I think the other Ghosts would react to this)

This could happen to Keegan who would look like a deer in headlights, like he's silently looking around for help. Help this man, he cannot. Keegan ends up just silently pushing Kick off to leave, leaving Kick groaning and being grumbley until he finds his next target or he would silently just sit there, stiff and unmoving, he is now a statue. Won't even breathe. (0.5/10 on Kick Rates)

This could happen to Ajax, a quick ‘what's up’ or ‘hey’ Is exchanged before Kick just lets his body go limp, his shoulders digging into Ajax's lap who ‘unfortunately’ claims he got used to it. Ajax's is pretty chill about it though, he couldn't care less. But if he's watching a show and Kick tries to eat his snacks? Nope, Kick’s getting kicked out. (8/10 on Kick Rates) 

This could happen to Hesh who is more inclined to just let it happen, I feel like Hesh is somehow the most uncaring about it. He's dealt with Logan all his life, and he has a dog who couldn't give a damn about personal space. Hesh just lifts his phone so he could keep doing What he was doing but Kick could do whatever he wanted as long as he respectable Hesh's personal space. (11/10 on Kick Rates)

This can happen to Logan who is alarmed the first time this happens, stiff as a board. Uncomfortable, unfortunately takes time for Logan to relax (-0.2/10 on Kick Rates)

Elias. Kick tried to lay over the man once but Elias left too quickly to get a good rating (Sad/10 on Kick Rates) Come back. Kick bets he's a damn good at cuddling/comfort too, he's holding out on him like that?

This could happen to Neptune, who's surprisingly chill with it as long as Kick didn't interrupt him on purpose or talk/breathe too loudly. It's comfortable and warm (100/10 on Kick Rates) 

((Pardon these next two, we don't get a lot on Torch and Grim so OCC))

Torch is unique. Sits weird, cuddles weird, Kick likes weird so (10/10 on Kick Rates)

Grim is funky, cold but ends up being the second best at cuddling after Neptune (Might need more experimentation/10 on Kick Rates) 

Riley? Fucking amazing cuddle buddy when hes up to it. Not so amazing when the dog farts, stinks like hell. (100/10 on Kick Rates. -1000 for the time Riley definitely let one rip on purpose just to get Kick to leave him alone) 

- He's very intelligent and also he very much likes to mess with people. Likes tapping into Keegan’s devices just for shits and giggles. (No proof of this, but Keegan just knows. Kick just knows how to cover his tracks) Randomly gives ‘hints’ when he's in someone's devices when he's not supposed to be. This habit stops after Keegan did some cursed shit to simply get him to stop. Yet no one ever got Kick in trouble for this habit before, they just assume it's Kick’s way of trying to check up on them. Lol, No. He does it for his own curiosity but he’ll let them believe what they want. 

- Kick likes to vibe when driving, making it his teammates problem to either ignore him or join in. He doesn't care as he's dancing while driving, ignore his playlist title, he's too busy singing under his breath to care about the done looks on his comrades faces.

- Neptune and Kick team ups are a vibe Kick lives for, he lives for slowly trying to convince Neptune to do something unhinged. He knows it takes a lot of planning, so Kick slowly tries to encourage Neptune to pull an insane stunt that will end up helping the team but also Kick gets the amusement he wants.

- He says cursed shit often, usually the others turn a blind eye to it. But sometimes some of the guys can't, hearing their little sighs of defeat make Kick's get a larger ego, it's pure bliss for him.

-  Kick finds it utterly hilarious when he sees Keegan's blank stare, just looking into his soul. He finds it to be the most funniest shit, especially when they're meant to be doing something serious. He lives for when Keegan hears some stupid shit and slowly turns to face Kick, slowly blinking (frog blink even better in Kick's eyes). Kick has to always bite his tongue just to not full blown cackle when he's not supposed to.

- Makes shitty PowerPoints instead of actually decent debrief reports, like yes. We did this :). No, we failed that :(. With a shitty gif misplaced on the right side of the slide. Elias lets it pass and ends up rewriting the damn report for Kick because he just can't deal with this anymore. It's shitty on purpose but if he knows Elias has a bad day? He writes the best damn report he has ever done and hands it in like a proud dog who finally caught Its own tail.

- I feel like he builds/fixes up PCs, Computers or Other technology just for fun. Especially old shitty tech? He would love it, definitely has a collection of just old technology he has fixed over the years.

- Feel like he doesn't believe in spirits or ghosts, but makes it a point to announce to his dead comrades he's going to do something stupid or he would click his tongue and flip off an object if it just reminded him of one of his comrades. 

(Ex: After Torch's death. One of Kick's candles sway too much and catches something on fire? Kick would blame Torch. It's all his fault, it could never be Kick's fault for placing that item too close to the flame.) 

(Hah just got the idea of  Kick ghost hunting for his teammates and then definitely messing with him, ‘Did you just fucking call me Honey Booboo Bear?’ Cue Kick staring at the camera behind him with such a straight face like it was the most horrid thing he has ever heard.) 

Ajax would be the ghost calling him Honey Booboo Bear just to fuck with him because he knows (knew) Kick. Unfortunately.

Kick, Keegan and Neptune ghost hunter Au/freetime? Feel like that would be funny.)

(I got more ideas for this, I can go on about it but I'll keep it short, Neptune nonchalant camera man who just points out things bluntly, funny but mostly unheard guy behind the camera but when he speaks up you know it's good, Keegan skeptic who's just here to say he doesn't believe in it and to scare Kick. Kick firm believer who wants to get real evidence or flirt with a ghost.), (Even funnier if they bring Hesh, Logan and Riley along, because Logan is side eyeing while Hesh would slightly be panicking because why is Riley staring at a damn wall for 15 minutes? Even better if Elias comes along to ensure his boys are safe and just drags his kids out when Kick tries to encourage them to do stupid shit. Elias doesn't fuck with that shit.

(I find myself utterly hilarious. Felt like I should say that. Sorry if its a bit short, thank you. Dw if you don't agree with some of these headcanons, they are just for fun!)

[mara-xx217]

Baldur's Gate 3 Companion Sleeping Positions/Habits

Every time I long reset in the game, I think about this and I've come up with some pretty good headcanons for them all, I think

Astarion

The man is dead, darling.

He is totally silent, still, doesn't even breathe while he's sleeping.

Is he even sleeping...?

Astarion sleeps stiff as a board, his arms flat at his side and his ankles touching one another.

He dead ass looks like a corpse on display.

It scared Karlach so bad during her first night at camp that she all but picked Astarion up and shook him violently, screaming his name in his face as she cried about him 'not breathing' and 'dead, dead, he's bloody dead'!!!

Astarion was not pleased the first night Karlach was in camp and was less impressed the massive tiefling had him a foot off the ground, laughing with relief that 'he's not dead after all, just playing at it'!

He was not playing but he won't say he enjoys the attention at least a little bit as well

Gale

The type to sleep with an eye mask.

Has a routine that he follows, to ensure that he gets all his rest.

Uses pleasant perfumes and oils on his pillows and blankets. (Much to Astarion and Lae'zel's chagrin)

Has a nice, soft robe he sleeps in, along with slippers.

Starts sleeping on his back but always flips onto his stomach and wakes up like that.

Shadowheart

Hands down the most 'normal' sleeper of the entire camp.

No overtly loud snoring, no sleepwalking, no sleep talking, nothing.

She does sleep with a dagger under her pillow and her hand curled around the grip, but has yet to 'accidentally' stab anyone that wakes her up as of yet.

Sleeps either on her side or her back.

Lae'zel

Sleeps in an extremely tight fetal position.

Likes she's reverting back to egg.

Her knees are to her chin, which looks uncomfortable, but she sleeps soundly so... Good for her?

Also sleeps with a dagger under her pillow, like Shadowheart. Only Lae'zel will actually just hold it out in the open, like a threat full of promises.

Karlach and Wyll would throw a blanket over her, thinking she's curled up from being chilled, only to have her throw it off rather violently, totally in her sleep, of course.

As silent as a mouse, but will hiss, snarl and growl occasionally, especially if sounds are present while she's asleep.

Wyll

Sleeps flat on his back like a weirdo.

Usually crosses his arms over his chest too.

Sleeping with horns after he's turned into a devil was an... interesting learning curve. (Read: totally fucking annoying)

Switching from sleeping onto his back to his stomach was extremely uncomfortable.

Ends up sleeping sitting upright for a while, as he simply cannot get comfortable to save his life.

Brings a box over to his bed role so he can lean against it while resting.

Karlach

She's everywhere.

No, she doesn't sleepwalk thank Gods but she moves so much that she damn near does.

Karlach acts out her dreams and talks in her sleep, but stops just shy of speaking complete sentences and walking about punching random trees (or people-).

Clive, her trusty bear, has been at her side for as long she could remember, and it remains true even now.

Belly, side, back, side, belly-

The blanket has caught on fire not because of her unnatural heat, but because she has yeeted it into the fire in her sleep.

Halsin

99.99% of the time, he is in his bear form, the rest he's in his 'natural', elven state.

SNORES

Growls and grumbles both as a bear and as an elf.

Otherwise, he's pretty 'normal'.

Snuggle bug supreme

Jaheira

Another 'normie' when it comes to sleeping.

She's an extremely light sleeper, mostly out of necessity.

Hears movement, cracks an eye open, assesses possible threats then goes back to sleep.

Usually sits up/leans against something when resting, which is the strangest thing that she does.

Is it actually comfortable? Who knows! Jaheria won't tell and just says to 'leave an old woman alone'.

Minsc

Good Gods, it's like this man and Halsin are trying to out snore one another at night.

And it's like he and Karlach are trying to have a conversation with one another while sleeping as well...

At least he's not a sleepwalker.

Minsc will grab any poor passerby and wrestle them into a bear hug while sleeping, so everyone has learned to stay clear of him after Astarion was the poor bastard to learn this first hand.

Yes, he was trying to snoop through Minsc's things so he pretty much had this coming.

Boo is always on his person as well, of course, and somehow manages to remain safe from any accidental crushings.

Minthara

Another that's as still as a statue while she sleeps.

Somehow, she looks just as serious asleep as she does when she's awake...

It's sort of cute

Another incredibly light sleeper, and yet another that sleeps with a dagger under her pillow.

What's the strangest about her is that she sleeps little at all, almost always awake when other's get up in the middle of the night to take a leak or fool around.

The last to fall asleep and the first one to wake up, even beating Lae'zel to the early worm.

@prettycutebunny, @infinitewhore, @kennbb, @cherrysodalite, @space-arsonist, @pink-soft-shadow, @sinlessdesire, @hoemine, @memoryofheather @horny-3

[blackbeautyray]

Double P

pt 2

Warnings: NSFW 18+, dirty talk, fingering, eating pussy & ass (her receiving), spanking, giving head (him receiving)

Words: 1400+

Part 1 Part 3

“So in your previous experience, was there any conflict? Is there anything I should keep in mind?” I figured since Malik was more experienced than I and seemed open, I asked to ensure I saw all angles of this proposition. Tasha’s focus was just on the double dose of dick she would feel. She even let me know they texted a little bit back and forth with her requesting a pic of his stiff dick. I didn’t care to see the picture, but she simply said, “He has my approval.”

As long as he passed the ‘Tasha Test’, then I’m good. 

“I suggest you tell me what your limits are before we have this session. At the last 3sum I had, everybody interacted with each other.”

“By interacted, you mean-“ I quizzed for clarity.

“I mean that I got head from both parties, my girl and the dude we invited to our bed. If I had to label myself, I would say I am bi.”

Although this was not something I expected, it was not enough for me to back out, “I see.”

“So that we’re clear, tonight is about your girl. I will maintain my focus on her and if you’ll allow me, guarantee that she enjoys herself.”

“That’s all I want.”

“Cool. Are you opposed to us kissing? Me eating her… or anything sensual.. or intimate if you will.”

“I’m not opposed. She and I spoke about it. Her only limit is that you cannot nut inside of her.”

“How do you feel about any BDSM work?”

“She’s used to ass smacking, choking and degradation. I’m comfortable with the first two but I’d prefer no humiliation on your part.”

“That’s fair. This isn’t that type of situation. Does she have any nicknames? She like to be called something during sex?”

“She likes being called baby girl, mama, pretty girl and love.”

“Do you mind if I call her any of these names?”

“Naw, I’m sure it will heighten her experience. She has a praise kink bad.” 

“Aight, I can work with that. Is there anything you need from me?”

“Just make her night memorable. Don’t interact with her outside of that night unless she reaches out to you for a follow up.”

“No problem, see you then.”

-

Our “we fuckin tonight” playlist shuffled in the background as I poured 3 glasses of Rosé and handed Tasha hers. She accepted it and sat on the edge of the bed. Crossing one long, shiny, too-soft leg over the other, she watched Malik and I stand allowing the Rosé to ease some of the tension in our bodies. Maybe I should speak for myself.

He seems fine.

I wouldn’t name my emotion anxiety, but it was definitely the feeling of bracing myself for the unknown.

Malik and I agreed that I would sit and watch for the first few minutes so Tasha could get used to his touch. Seated in one of the white sofa chairs facing the bed, I sampled another taste from my glass as I watched them share a kiss. Malik placed Tasha’s flute on the nite stand before instructing her: “Lay back beautiful, let me look at you.”

She stretched out sideways on the bed not to obstruct my view. “So fucking beautiful, how did I get so lucky to be in your presence?”

A very giggly Tasha smiles from ear to ear, “I’m glad you recognize that this is a privilege.”

Malik wasted no time removing his shirt and white undershirt leaving a cuban link choker and a hard earned physique for Tasha to lust after.

Bending her legs, spreading wide, she displayed her appreciation by rubbing her pink almond shaped nails overtop her lace covered pussy.

With low, hooded eyes, she summoned Malik to come close. A good follower of instruction, he took Tasha’s left leg and planted kisses from ankle to thigh crease.

She fixed her heavenly gaze on me mouthing, “I love you.” 

“I love you too baby.” Sincerity in my eyes, I watched hers roll to the back of her head as Malik began munching on that fat pussy while gripping her thighs. 

“Ah, fuck.” Whimpering from anticipation, Tasha leaned up to look down at this visitor sampling a fresh plate of sweet a la pussy. 

They shared glances between his focus on her lips that now peaked through the fabric. 

“Fuck! Girl, you taste too good. Can I take this off of you love?”

Tasha motioned to pull the slender straps from her shoulders halting at the fresh breeze on her now bare skin. Malik ripped the crotch of her body suit in one gesture not allowing another second to keep him from having his fill. It was show time and he was the main event, invited for a one night only performance. Legs wrapped around his fresh cut, Tasha cried with every pass of his pointed tongue on her swollen nub. 

My glass of Rosé was empty and my dick was full of blood. I never would’ve imagined the pleasure I’d feel from watching another man eat my girl like a cupcake. With a pass from a familiar feel, I stroked my dick releasing him from my zipper and briefs. Mama could make me cum from her cries alone and tonight was no different, even if I am not the one currently pulling those melodies from her body. 

“Goddamn baby. Eat me… eat me.” Tears streamed from her eyes causing a feral reaction from me. Mama reached her hand in my direction and I ambled over, kneeling near her head, checking in, “Tell me how you feel so far ma.”

“I.. I-“ she made incoherent noises as her first orgasm of the night washed over her. She and I both watched Malik peer back at us as he rapidly pistoned his fingers in and out of her loud, gushy canal. 

We coached her in tandem:

Malik: “That’s right mama.”

Me: “What a good girl letting go like that.”

Malik: “Fuck, you still goin pretty girl? I’ve never tasted anything this good.”

Me: “You gon get this nigga hooked Tash. You see his face baby, it’s covered.”

Malik: “I would drown in this pussy a thousand times.”

Me: “I would die with this nigga if I could taste it on my lips before my heart stopped.”

Tasha lost her senses for a second. Briefly shaking from the loss of fluid and the welcome of praise. She came to from the light fan of my breath, our eyes meeting, my obsidian to her chestnut. She puckered her lips and I obliged. Tongues fighting for dominance, she whispered in between the twists of our tongues, “I need to feel you. Please…”

“Do you think you’re ready for us both?” She nodded, her eyes filled with delirium and desperation, brows knitted together.

I know that look.

Mama is on another level of horny and needs to be stuffed immediately.

I kicked off my shoes pulling my shirt over my head eyeing the new bottle of Glide on the nightstand closest to Malik. 

“Sit up pretty girl. Let me take this off of you.” Tash raised her arms as I pulled the body suit over her thick, disheveled tresses. She looked the most beautiful when she was needy. 

“Mama can you give daddy some throat before we give you want you want?”

“Yes, daddy. Where do you want it?.” 

I backed into my original spot on the sofa chair.

Tasha went to work pulling me further and further into a slump. Seated on the very edge with her nonexistent gag reflex bringing me to the brink, Malik stood to the side lashing smack after smack to that ample ass. 

I caressed her face to confuse her senses. “What a good fucking girl. You giving me this good neck while he punishes that fat ass.”

“Bro, she dripping,” Malik smirks. After the 5th smack, he rubbed over his work. My baby's mascara is running down her face, lips swollen. 

“I’m almost there-“ Tasha abruptly sat up from Malik pulling each cheek apart and burying his face. 

Grabbing my love by the throat, I remind her that her job is not done. 

She snapped back to me, gobbling up this dick with the same ferocity from before. I dug my heels into the carpet allowing the energy to build beneath my abs. 

“Oh, shit girl. Ugh, yes, swipe my balls with that wet tongue.”

“Daddy’s almost there mama. You take me so well baby. I know that throat has to be sore. I know it. I’m about to… I’m.” Tasha took receipt of everything I offered. Sucking me dry, she kept those doe eyes on me relishing in her current control of the situation. It would be the only control over anything she had tonight.

Feeling empty, my body proved otherwise. My dick was still hefty, too ready to feel her snug pussy swallow me. 

Part 3

[wannaeatramyeon]

Goo Kim x Reader: Partner 'privileges'

G/N reader. This is so so stupid. Crack.

Goo Kim is really a strange kinda guy.

Although. You only need to take one look at him and it simply becomes obvious.

The designer suits and expensive haircuts do nothing to hide the aura of pure chaos.

Really, your partner privileges are just one step away from malicious and even then, it usually straddles the line between loving and unhinged.

Sigh. Who can you blame apart from yourself. After all, you did choose him.

.

.

Upon seeing another couple lovingly feed each other mouthfuls from their respective plate, your boyfriend had the bright idea to copy them.

Which is all well and good until he piled his spoon high and tried to ram it down your throat.

"Fuck off!" you manage, as he squishes your cheeks with one hand and tries to open your mouth with what can only be described as a spoonful of slop with the other.

.

.

And his sulks are legendary. For the silliest things too.

But screw him. You will take your gaming victories, and you will gloat as you completely thrash him on video games even as he begs you to take it easy on him.

When you win, as you always do, you make the shape of an 'L' with your hand and your face takes on a devious expression that is entirely Goo Kim.

What is that they say about couples that spend time together eventually become more alike?

Heh.

Are those tears of sadness in Goo's eyes or tears of rage? Whatever. Cry more.

.

.

"What are you doing?" you sit up slightly to observe your boyfriend tucking you in.

"Just making sure you're comfortable, cupcake!"

Ok. What the fuck, this is suspicious as hell.

One second you're chilling in the bedroom with Goo humming elsewhere and now. He's here with a laser focus.

This cannot be good.

The suspicion grows as he plucks your phone out of your hand then wraps you tight.

Pinning both arms to your side, literally rolling you like a stiff cadaver. Until your view is upside down then righted then upside down then- Until you're in multiple blanketed layers and-

"Burrito time!" he cackles before flopping on you. A complete deadweight that knocks the air out of your lungs.

"Oof! GOO!"

That asshole just guffaws louder into your chest, hair tickling your chin.

You try and wriggle your way out, bucking him off, but find yourself completely trapped.

Ughhhh.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. Your eyes take on a dangerous glint and-

You bite down hard on that bastard's head.

Right on the crown. Blonde locks between your teeth and yanking.

Goo Kim shrieks and now it's your turn to cackle.

[andorerso]

Rebelcaptain Fluffbruary: Day 28

for the prompt "Shelter" interpreted quite loosely because I just wanted to write the specific scenario in my head

The underground bunker is a shelter, Jyn reminds herself — not a prison. It’s not Lah’mu, waiting for someone to come save her, the memory of Mama falling in the grass still fresh on her mind. She’s twenty-two and she’s a soldier, not a frightened little girl scared of the dark. There are lights here, there’s Cassian here…

Even if Cassian continues to ignore her under the guise of cleaning his blaster. He can’t hide his frustration as easily as he can avoid looking at her. It’s in the stiffness of his movements, the tightness of his jaw, the tension in his posture. It’s in the way he handles his pistol, rougher than usual. The permanent frown etched onto his lips is different than the one he normally wears; it’s not just his resting face, it’s real. Though he won’t say it, the disapproval is radiating off him in waves.

Well, fuck him too. If he thinks she’s going to apologize for anything, he’s got another thing coming.

Good, that’s good, Jyn tells herself, focusing on the burning embers of her anger, rather than the icy fingers of her past. Something to distract her. That fire has kept her marching for two decades and will keep her going for longer if she has anything to say about it.

Throwing one last spiteful glare in Cassian’s direction, she turns towards the hatch above and listens for any sign of life outside, but she can only make out the steady pitter-patter of the rain.

It’s been… what? Three hours now? Those troopers must have given up looking for them.

“I think they’re gone,” Jyn says without withdrawing her gaze from the hatch.

“We should wait a few more hours to make sure,” comes Cassian’s response, smooth and even. You wouldn’t notice how tightly he’s grasping at his self-control with both hands unless you knew what to listen for. “It’s dark outside anyway. We might as well spend the night and leave as soon as dawn breaks.”

There’s one rickety old bed propped against the wall with a single pillow and sheets with suspicious dark patches that look like dried blood, but it isn’t the state of their accommodation that bothers her about the idea. It isn’t even the fact of being underground and in half-light.

She simply cannot take another second in his presence like this.

Jyn’s silence stretches on, but she doesn’t have to voice her displeasure for Cassian to know it. She can practically hear him raising his eyebrows at her in a challenge. “You have somewhere else to be?”

“Anywhere not here,” Jyn says through gritted teeth. It’s a quiet thing, not meant for him in particular, but she knows he heard it anyway.

He doesn’t respond. In the background, she can hear him continue tinkering with his blaster (it’s fucking clean, for star’s sake!), and something in her just snaps.

Shouldering her backpack, she climbs up the ladder and opens the hatch.

“Jyn!” Cassian calls after her in alarm, but she’s not listening. She can make it back to the ship just fine on her own. He can come if he wants; if not, she’ll just wait for him there in the morning.

The rain has picked up from a light drizzle to a heavy downpour, and she’s soaked before she even fully makes it out of the bunker. But she’s not that easily deterred. Jyn straightens, squinting against the heavy sheet of rainfall into the darkness of the night around them. There are no headlights tearing through the trees, looking for them, no chatter between troopers as they trek through the woods, no squishy footsteps in the mud.

They have long abandoned their hunt, Jyn’s sure, and if they haven’t, they surely would now. Visibility is low in these conditions, rendering a search party virtually pointless.

Cassian, carrying his own larger backpack, emerges from the hatch hidden on the dirt floor.

“Where are you going?!” he calls out to her, trying to out-yell the storm raging around them. Thunder grumbles overhead, and a flash of lightning illuminates the forest for a fleeting second.

Shivering, Jyn begins to walk towards the direction of their ship. “They’re gone, Cassian.”

“It’s pouring!” He follows after her, though not before covering the entrance of the bunker with leaves and dirt.

“So what?!” she yells back as he hurries to catch up, but she’s aware she’s being slightly unreasonable. The stupid storm just had to pick up, didn’t it? Well, too bad, she’s not turning back now. “Let’s just get back to the ship and go.”

“This is ridiculous.” Cassian, finally close enough to touch, grabs her elbow to bring her to a halt, and it’s a testament to her respect for him, even still, that all she does is yank her arm out of his grip and glare at him with the fiery rays of the sun instead of breaking his nose.

“No, you're ridiculous!” Great comeback, Jyn. Now you’ve really told him.

He positions himself directly in front of her in an attempt to keep her from advancing and pushes his sodden hair out of his face.

“Jyn, you’re gonna get pneumonia. Let’s go back to the shelter.” His words are stronger than a suggestion, but not quite a command. Still, something in her burns with righteous fury.

“I don’t have to follow your orders,” she snaps, and his eyes darken with the echo of their previous argument. The real heart of the problem.

“I’m not just your friend, Jyn. If we’re on a mission, I’m your superior officer. I can’t work with you if you can’t follow my orders.”

Of course, they are no longer talking about going back to the bunker.

“I can’t work with you if you’re going to tell me to leave you behind!” she snarls, fury spilling over and scorching the earth under them.

His orders — Jyn wants to spit at the word —had been clear. He was cornered and trapped, and she was to return to the ship, bring back the information they came for, and let Intelligence know that he’d been killed in action. That was what he’d asked of her.

Jyn didn’t hesitate a second to disobey him and would do so again in a heartbeat. Let the mission be for nothing, let the rebellion throw her out or put her in a jail cell, whatever. None of it was worth more than Cassian’s life.

Of course, he’d been less than pleased with her decision, especially when a blaster bolt grazed her arm during their escape. He’d patched her up after they holed up in the safety of the bunker, made sure she was okay and not dying, and didn’t say much to her since. Jyn, stilled riled up from the audacity of his orders, was just fine with that.

But this confrontation was inevitable.

“And you’re right, we’re not just friends. You… you’re…” She trails off, swallowing down the vulnerability that threatens to choke her, and tries to find a word appropriate enough to convey what he is to her. “You’re family. And that trumps superior officer — even on a mission. Sir,” she adds after a slight pause, venom in her voice, before sidestepping him to continue her trek.

“Jyn,” he calls after her.

“What, we’re on a first-name basis now?” she shoots back without turning to look. He starts to follow her again.

“That’s not —” He appears in front of her, halting her in her tracks. Again. “When we’re out there, that’s different.”

“It’s not for me. I can’t be like that.” She looks him in the eye, takes a deep breath, tries to temper her anger. “Look. We clearly won’t see eye to eye on this so let’s just go —” She tries to bypass him again, but he moves to stand in her way, and even that small thread of civility snaps in her. “What?!”

“Can’t you at least lie and tell me you’ll follow orders next time?” he asks, irritation coloring his voice.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to live if you die!” she bursts out, then wonders a second later if she said too much. Caring about him, not wanting to see him dead, that’s normal. Platonic.

Expressing a lack of desire to go on if he was killed… not so much.

A long silence follows her words. The storm hasn’t let up, battering them mercilessly with large raindrops, the sound of her own breathing too loud in her ear. Her hair sticks to her cheeks, cold seeping into her bones as they stand there, frozen in time and place, while the world spins on around them.

Cassian looks shaken. She sees, more than hears, a small quivering breath rattling out of him, his eyes suddenly large and shining with a quiet sort of hope she wasn’t prepared for. But she can read it clearly. It’s as if his walls had been knocked down with a single blow, leaving his soft parts exposed and vulnerable. Begging for a cruel blade in his gut. It’s an ugly thought, but she thinks, unbidden, I could crush him. It’d be easy.

Instead, she takes a step forward, reaches out a hand tentatively, and it’s the only invitation Cassian needs. He grabs her waist and hauls her to him, crushing his lips against her own. Jyn isn’t even surprised. She clutches his cheek and drags him ever closer, a year’s worth of pent-up desire, frustration, and pining spilling into that kiss. Rain pours down on them, but she feels nothing of the cold, nothing of the wind, nor of the wet clothes sticking to her skin. Cassian’s fingers tangling in her hair currently take up all of her brain capacity.

Finally, he pulls away and breathes against her mouth, “Thank you. For saving me.”

His eyes are still closed, but Jyn quirks a brow at him. The warmth of his lips is too fresh on her mind to stay mad at him. “You’re giving me mixed messages.”

“It was the wrong thing to do for the mission,” he starts, and Jyn almost growls in warning, don’t fucking ruin the moment, but he hurries to continue. “But it’s not always about the mission. I would have done the same for you. I’m just not used to... I’m not used to people giving a shit about what happens to me.”

I’m not used to people sticking around when things go bad.

Yeah. She and Cassian are kindred spirits — the same picture but painted in different colors.

“It’s what family does,” Jyn tells him, echoing her words from earlier because they hadn’t been untrue. Whatever he is to her, above all — he’s family. A family of her own choice.

“Draven won’t let us work together if I tell him what happened,” he points out, but his face is still doing that thing where he smiles with his eyes, if not his lips.

Jyn shrugs, entirely unapologetic. “So don’t.”

Cassian kisses her again, but he breaks away a lot sooner when she can’t suppress a shiver against his lips. Damn weather. How long have they been standing outside in the rain? Cassian’s warmth is exhilarating, but she fears they really will get pneumonia.

“We should go back to the shelter,” he tells her gently, and this time, she has no objections.

[tightsweatyclothes]

"You don't want the iced tea at all?" He takes a slurping sip of iced tea, waving it in her gag, letting her stare at the droplets of condensation.

"Mmmmf, hmmmmmph!!" (Fuck off, and let me out!) She glares at him, sucks in precious air as she tries to keep up with his pace, but the suit is so heavy and constricting on her slim figure she can barely walk at half her normal speed. The collar below the suit constricts her breathing, not letting her have a moment's relief from the choking discomfort. How many times does she wake up in a night, straining against the suit, trying to bring her mitted hands to her collar, trying to make the annoying tightness go away? Her full bladder presses at her, prods at her mind. In another life she was a street brawler, leader of an all-female gang known for their fighting prowess, but now her every move is hampered, stopped up, sluggish in the confines of the heavy suit, totally helpless against the city slicker who now holds her captive and toys with her, knowing she cannot fight back in the least.

Soon, she is out of the allowed range from the sensor in his pocket, and the suit goes into action, tightening at her collar and wrists and ankles until she is screaming in agony into the gag, still trying to keep up with his pace. He stops in his tracks to let her catch up, but she has barely gotten back into range before he walks off again, setting off the punishments once more. She fights against the suit, wanting no more than to rush him, to punch that smarmy grin off his face, to pummel him to bits for his taunting, but the suit is so stiff and tight and heavy she can barely raise her arms, flex her arms or legs without great effort, much less hit him, or even get within striking distance. Finally, he stops long enough for her to catch up, still panting and moaning in gagged agony. Letting her watch, her relieves himself onto the grass, takes another long sip of tea, letting out sighs of pleasure while she watches, dreaming of relieving herself for more than a few seconds each day, dreaming of even a single drop of the sweet and ice-cold tea, growling in frustration as he tantalizes her.

He watches, amused, as she tries with all her might to get at him, laughs as he simply steps out of the way of every single one of her slow and ineffectual blows, makes a mockery of her attempts to get at the sensor which remains firmly in his pocket. He fishes the keys to her suit out of the other pocket, dangles them right between her paws, snatches them out of reach as she close to them, watching her snarl in fury as he pulls them out of her grasp, just that little bit faster than her mitts can get at them. Again and again, and even though she knows he is toying with her, she cannot help but try to grasp at even the smallest hope of release, at even the faintest glimmer of freedom, knowing full well he will simply snatch it away each time.

[tyunclouds]

Classical trained (college) musician here to roast the ever loving fuck out of SEVENTEEN defiling classical instruments. Let's begin.

JIHOON THE SOLOIST:

It is extremely obvious to everyone (hopefully) that he's not actually playing. His right hand never changes notes, his wrist is completely collapsed, and his hand is angled in a very directionally odd, extremely stiff position. Looking at this, he seems to have no idea where his 1st through 4th fingers should lie. His bow is slightly above the finger board, aka where you PLUCK using your FINGERS, which is not where it should be to get the sound you're listening to, and his bow grip is not the worst I've seen, but his pinky is straight and not on the bow, meaning he will likely be stiff and have no control. I can't see if his hand was too high or low on the bow from this specific screenshot, but I'm too lazy to check further for risk of having another stroke. Anyways, what I do remember is most of the notes are on the higher two strings, A and E, and he is continuously changing strings all the way down to G, the lowest string, while we hear high notes in the recording. Overall, this is a complete hot mess. Elementary schoolers can hold and fake playing a violin better than this. 2/10.

Here's Hilary Hahn as an example of how violin soloists should look while playing. Notice the difference in how she holds the bow, where the bow is hitting the strings, and her left wrist not resting on the violin itself (aka not collapsed), but rather is in a place that would allow her to actually play notes and shift up and down the string significantly better.

MAESTRO ENSEMBLE:

When playing in an ensemble, instruments are not randomly assorted like this, they're supposed to be layered by how much they can project (aka how loud they are), which is why the strings are usually in front, as they're much quieter than the VERY LOUD PERCUSSIONIST, as well as grouped with the same instruments. SO WHY IS WONWOO IN THE FRONT?! WHY IS JEONGHAN SO FAR REMOVED FROM THE OTHER TWO VIOLINISTS?! Jeonghan should be in the front, where his playing can be heard, Mingyu somewhere in the middle, and Wonwoo should be in the back next to Jun, the other percussionist (yes, cymbals by themselves are also percussion, as are triangles and xylophones). As I'm not super familiar with clarinet or drums, I cannot rip into Mingyu and Wonwoo the same way I can Jeonghan, so I will simply target him for giving me an ulcer. His bow grip is literally a fist, his bow is completely crooked, his right wrist is collapsed and his fingers are too close together. I'm also 90% sure he doesn't have a chin rest. Come to think of it, I don't think Woozi had one before either and that's just terrible posture. (Once again, you can look at Hilary Hahn, above, for comparisons.)

Seungkwan just hurts my entire soul here and I forced my friend to pause on it from sheer disbelief. Violins are only ever played on your left shoulder with a right handed bias, whether you yourself are right handed or not. Seungkwan's violin is on his right shoulder making him look straight out of a piss poor stock image. He's playing on the wrong side of the bridge, which will only ever sound screechy because you're not supposed to play there ever, his first finger has been separated from the rest of his hand, making playing notes other than open strings impossible, and his bow grip is the worst of the violinists so far. Hoshi and Minghao have their fingers on multiple strings at once, which would sound terrible when you're not trained to play chords, their hands look very stiff which would be terrible for vibrato, and their bows are on the finger board, which, again, are where they shouldn't be. I can't see Minghao's bow grip, but Hoshi's bow grip is, I think, the worst bow grip of all the string players I can see. He's holding it how first graders attempt to fist a pencil when writing their name.

Now here, we get back into the organization of the ensemble members. But first, I would like to point out that I've asked all of my classically trained roommates (3) what Dino is playing and none of us can figure it out. What we can figure out, however, is that Vernon is playing a flute and, as one of my roommates was a flutist, can confirm he is playing it backwards and rather than the more common incorrect posture of holding the flute too high, which typically gets corrected when actually playing, he is angling it towards the ground. They have no idea how one would even begin to play it the way he's holding it and got so passionate they demonstrated it to me on a pen.

So on their organization, as I touched on earlier, instruments are mainly sorted by their projection (general volume) and grouped by shared instrument. They're assigned "first" and "second" typically based on their proficency in their instrument, with "first" often being the "soloist" if the piece requires it. I've included a helpful chart to demonstrate how this would possibly work out in an actual ensemble based on their instruments (minus Dino as I cannot tell what he is playing).

Key: WZ (Woozi) -> presented as main violinist / soloist, JH (Jeonghan) -> he held the violin the right way, SK (Seungkwan) -> he held the violin the wrong way, VN (Vernon) -> flute and clarinet can most likely be interchanged, but I based this on how my university orchestra is set up, MG (Mingyu), HS (Hoshi) -> this is an assumption, but because his bow grip is so terrible, I wanted to hope Minghao had a better bow grip than him, MH (Minghao), JN (Jun) -> Cymbals are usually not placed in the center as they're generally not the main percussion instrument, JS (Joshua) -> his drum is less bulky, therefore placing him in the middle is more likely than having a bulky drum in the middle, WW (Wonwoo) -> he has a bulky drum, therefore him being on the side is more likely for the percussion section, DK (Dokyeom) -> the conductor should be a lot closer than he is in their ensemble, but far enough away that all players can see the conductor to be able to properly keep time as well as watch for any artistic expressions being encouraged.

Additionally, I don't think I need to point this out, but Dokyeom's posture and conducting are just not right. He's also extremely far from the ensemble and should not be that far away as he needs to be able to cue entrances, influence dynamics and musicality, etc. It is very hard to target a section from that far away.

Overall, I'd give this ensemble a 1/10. I gave them a point to be nice, but it honestly deserves a 0/10.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk and listen to their new comeback: Maestro.

[fall0utmind]

chapter 16 :)

Hi guys,

one more chapter after this one - I am so chuffed with this coming to an end ha

hope you enjoy - let me know

ao3 here

Chapter 16- (The) Come back (to me)

Marc doesn’t know how it happens, one moment he’s out of the shower, ready to settle down for the evening, glowing in the aftermath of another win and trying to ignore any thoughts of Valentino. The bitter sting from their confrontation earlier is still burning. He doesn’t know what to make of it- his head is still spinning, his heart smarting. Marc tries to take stock of the facts: he loves Valentino and wants to make up, but doesn’t want it to be a product of guilt rather than affection. He doesn’t want friendship alone. It hurts that only pity could bring about their reconciliation. He doesn’t want Valentino to see him so weak, lest he realise Marc isn’t the one he wants.

The next he knows; he is being dragged into the rapidly cooling night air by one of Valentino’s minions. Fucking typical. He cannot seem to escape the older man, no matter where he turns.

He stumbles next to Pecco, questioning why the fuck he has been taken from the warmth of his motorhome and whether he is about to be murdered.

(Unlikely, but never impossible)

To his surprise, Pecco pulls him to what looks like Valentino’s motorhome, which is a bad idea. Marc tries to pull away, but Pecco keeps his grip tight on Marc’s arm and a second later is shoving him through the door. Marc turns to glare at the younger man; this all feels very unnecessary (and stupid). A quick scan of the room tells him that (thankfully) Valentino isn’t present. Even the boys wouldn’t be that stupid, he thinks anyway.

Marc keeps his head down once he’s scouted the room, trying to blend into his surroundings. Pecco keeps pushing him forward. He doesn’t think this is a good teammate-bonding exercise.

On the sofas, a few of the boys are lounging, scrolling through their phones or talking between themselves. To Marc’s surprise, it’s Mig who greets him first with a quick ‘ciao’ and a friendly smile. The others continue in kind. None of them seem confused by his presence which suggests that this was planned. Marc struggles to wrap his head around why they’ve committed to this; he assumes that Pecco is simply the designated kidnapper for the evening.

Luca is up by the sink. He twists around at the sound of chatter, smiling softly but bemusedly when he sees Marc.

“Sorry,” Luca offers, “It wasn’t my idea, but the others think some forced bonding might make it easier for Vale”

Luca laughs incredulously at the idea. Bez immediately scrambles to his feet and launches into a defence.

“It’s a brilliant idea; Valentino has to realise at some point that he’s being stupid-”

“Said the one who only realised two weeks ago” Cele mutters. Bez shoots him a glare and turns back to Marc with wary eyes.

“Yeah, sorry about that” Bez begrudgingly murmurs, avoiding eye contact.

Marc stares, and there’s another awful pregnant pause as the room looks on. Marc assumes this is a pretty defining moment for their relationship.

He sighs.

“It’s fine. It’s too much effort to hold grudges. You hate me because of what Valentino has said, he’s your hero. I don’t blame you.”

Pecco claps a hand on the back of his neck. Marc tries not to flinch. Since Dovi and Dani left the paddock a few years ago, Marc’s been pretty isolated. He isn’t used to the casual touching that comes naturally to these boys. He doesn’t know whether to pull away or lean in. 

Bez stands and pulls Marc into a slightly stiff half hug (Marc’s sure that they will get there), before he slumps back onto the sofa, practically on top of Cele, causing the younger to squawk and fall into a fit of giggles.

Like that, the tension is broken.

 Luca rolls his eyes and turns back to the kitchenette, as Pecco leans up against the counter next to him. Marc stands awkwardly for a second but perches on the sofa’s edge when Franky pats the space. He feels out of place, too jagged for the smooth comfort of the motorhome. The boys are so comfortable in each other’s presence whereas Marc feels like an intruder. He is content to listen quietly whilst the others talk.

Underneath his skin, discomfort prickles. He isn’t meant to be here, he is scared that if he opens his mouth, they will all flinch, push him away, and realise what they have done. Or he will say the wrong thing, and be accused of evil, or something. He is too stiff, his spine upright as he perches on the sofa. Luca keeps looking over at him, Franky too. The latter is typing frantically, at one point stopping to squint between Marc and his phone. Marc pointedly doesn’t look back.

He misses Pecco and Franky’s shared glance over his head, too busy watching Bez and Cele interact. Marc thinks they are the youngest of the main academy group; they certainly act more childish together, like the younger brothers of the group. An odd mix of boyish humour and pining glances is shared between them. It's somewhat sweet.

He wonders whether they’re dating.

A hand lands on his shoulder and he jerks, immediately freezing and hoping it isn’t too obvious. He stays still, not daring to glance at where Franky’s hand rests. He tries to act normal; it’s just someone (one of Valentino’s students) touching him (someone other than Alex) as if that’s something that ever happens at races (it doesn’t, it hasn’t in years).

Marc relaxes slightly as the conversation continues around him, no one drawing attention to the way Franky’s fingers curl over his shoulder, hovering slightly as if he’s afraid to fully commit to touching. The stiffness in Marc’s body ebbs as he sinks into the touch, allowing Franky’s grip to become a grounding presence. He tries incredibly hard not to overthink.

(He fails)

Marc is so stuck in his thoughts that he barely notices Luca and Pecco moving, only registering when Luca tucks himself into the final space on the sofa, between Marc and the arm. Pecco trails after him, sitting on the floor in front of them and launching into a discussion with the others. It places Marc firmly between Franky and Luca, with Pecco shifting to lean back against Luca’s legs. On the adjacent sofa, Bez is still practically in Cele’s lap, joking around with Mig as if used to it.

There is a poke to his leg whilst he is distracted, followed swiftly by another. His attention is drawn to Pecco, whose finger is raised as if mid-attempt three. Marc raises an eyebrow.

“What do you think? Rain or no rain?” Pecco asks.

Marc hums under his breath, considering. He is glad Pecco has brought him into easy conversation territory. It has been glorious all day but there are talks of it turning overnight, as it had yesterday. It is uncertain but not off the radar completely. Spain tends to be hot, even in September, but it isn’t rare to have rain showers. He says as much.

He wonders why Pecco asked so out of the blue since the younger man simply nods in assent and moves the conversation on.

Franky shifts, draping his arm across Marc’s shoulders now. Marc unconsciously relaxes into the touch, leaning into Franky ever so slightly. It is odd, how quickly he is adapting to this behaviour. His shoulders drop and he falls back against the sofa.

Marc doesn’t notice Franky’s pleased smile, nor how his phone vibrates in his hand. If Marc were less tired and more engaged, he might piece together that his brother has a hand in this.

Alex knows him better than anyone else and knows that Marc will let his guard down when he feels comfortable. The boys have done a frighteningly good job of acting normal despite the forced proximity. Their joking and complete lack of interest in what Marc’s doing makes it easier for his mask to slip, just a little bit.

If Marc was thinking clearly, he would realise that the impromptu physical contact is Alex’s doing too. Marc isn’t very tactile in the paddock but always reaches for Alex when they’re close. Alex likes to tease him about being “touch starved”, and Marc always pouts until he relents.

It explains why Marc can’t help but melt into touches though, like with Dovi last weekend, or Franky now. He hates that Alex is right; so long as he has time to adapt, he loves physical touch, it’s his love language or something.

Of course, Franky and Luca have been nominated as instigators due to their general neutrality towards Marc. And with the help of Alex’s expertise, it’s proving fairly effective, with Marc feeling more and more settled as time passes, slipping into a state of sleepiness.

*

Marc tries his hardest to keep up with the rapidly moving discussion (currently- the best wet races of all time). He contributes as much as he can without overdoing it and makes a conscious effort not to be too much.

It's tiring, especially on a race weekend. The exhaustion is threatening to overcome him, he can tell by the way his eyes are drooping and his muscles relax.

Marc yawns into his hand. Luca laughs.

“Tired?” He asks.

Marc shrugs, “Long day,” he says, blinking sleepily at Luca. It's slightly embarrassing the way he has shifted into the taller man's warmth. He doesn’t really know when it happened. Someone still has their arm across his shoulders (Franky). It should feel weird (it doesn’t).

“Long month”, Marc corrects himself with a wry grin, his words slurring.

Luca is the only member of the group he has been friendly with before; the person he probably feels safest with. He can feel his eyes shutting of their own accord and tries to shake himself awake.

The others are chatting between themselves, no one is paying attention to Marc. Luca smiles softly at him, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He falls silent after that, in a state of half-awareness, still leaning into Luca’s space. Time feels slow and syrupy as he sinks into the warmth.

 He will be embarrassed after, but now, he doesn’t care. He hasn’t had companionship on the grid for so long, apart from Dovi, and then he too left.

The conversation continues around him, but Marc doesn’t notice. The sound is muffled, the only notion he has is the soothing rumble of Luca talking and the occasional shift of Franky’s arm.

If he tries hard enough, he can pick out the words. He doesn’t. Marc lets his breathing even out and a blanket of calm settles over him. Content.

*

Pecco is trying to think of another time he has seen Marc so vulnerable. Only when he and Bez had stormed into his motorhome in Misano. Before then, it would have been 2015 - after that Marc’s walls had been built, tall and unscalable.

Valentino was the one who triggered it. They can see so clearly as they deconstruct brick by brick. So, the sight of Marc, potentially asleep, sprawled on top of Luca, Valentino’s little brother. Well, it’s giving Pecco whiplash. It’s sort of sweet, the way Marc curls into Luca’s body heat (Pecco would be jealous, if not for Marc’s clear preference for Valentino). It’s also incredibly at odds with the image of Marc which has been painted in his head for years. He doesn’t think a ruthless and cruel man would practically cuddle up to his rival’s little brother.

Franky interrupts his staring with a pointed nudge. Before Pecco can respond, they’re interrupted by the front door banging open.

Marc stirs.

They all stare at him.

Valentino storms in.

Luca sighs.

“Who does he think he is?” Valentino seethes.

“Vale-” Luca tries to interrupt with little success.

“Honestly, he drives me crazy, I can’t believe Marc even likes him. It's so freaking stupid.”

Marc grumbles unhappily at the noise, trying to push himself further into Luca and the sofa cushions. Luca pets his head. It makes a funny image, Pecco thinks, a bit like a cat.

Valentino is pacing now, completely unaware of the looks he’s receiving. 

“He goes and talks to the freaking media and goes on and on about Marc and how talented he is. He sounds like Casey. Then-”

He turns to the group- arms thrown into the air for dramatic effect

“-Then he corners me and tells me to be careful. Can you believe it?? I have to be careful. Tells me not to hurt him. Like he has any right. Fucking Dovi” Valentino protests

Luca scoffs. Valentino stops mid-rant, his eyes falling on Marc and Luca. The former of whom he has only just noticed. His eyes widen in shock as he abruptly cuts off, his arms falling to his sides. His expression would be funny, if not for the circumstances.

Time stops.

The whole room holds their breath, waiting for a reaction. It doesn’t come, Vale looks at Luca curiously but appears to register no threat and instead smiles softly at Marc sleeping.

The peace lasts approximately 5 seconds.

“Can you please shut up” Marc grumbles, shoving his face into Luca’s sweatshirt.

Then his eyes fly open and he shoots upwards.

“Fuck” he scrambles off Luca and the sofa, eyes darting around the room.

His hair is fluffy and askew, his body tense, a second away from taking off.

Pecco and Franky groan in sync. The smile has fallen off Vale's face. Marc’s eyes are wide, huge.

He trips over himself in a haste to get to the door. No one says anything.

“I’m just- um- I’m going to go” Marc stutters, pointing at the door.

He glances at Luca, flicking his eyes to Franky and Pecco.

“Thanks for the um- yeah, thanks,” he says, his voice strangled.

He bolts before anyone can reply.

Franky is the first to move, standing up and whacking Valentino up the backside of the head.

“What was that for?” Valentino whines, reaching a hand up to rub his head.

“You know what. Get your shit together already” Franky says

The group breaks into sniggers and the tension melts immediately.

Valentino stares longingly at the door.

*

On Sunday the atmosphere is electric. It ricochets around the paddock.

Marc is still reeling from last night as he treks towards the garages. Panic, ambition, and adrenaline humming under his skin.

 He doesn’t quite know why he reacted so strongly but he was (and still is) mortified. He had tentatively made up with Valentino, told him he needed time, and then fallen asleep on his brother in his motorhome. It doesn’t help that Valentino had charged in ranting about him, or maybe Dovi. Marc isn’t sure. He has to admit, sprinting out of the motorhome wasn’t his finest moment, but what can a man do? He was shocked and scared. He reacted on instinct.

It definitely had nothing to do with the look in Valentino’s eyes. 

Anyway, it probably didn’t matter now. After that performance, Vale doubtless thinks he’s pathetic. The man Valentino used to know was untarnished by this fear and pain. He had not been through all of the shit, the injuries, the medication. Surely Valentino doesn’t want him now. The realisation hurts.

Marc pushes it to the back of his mind; he can’t think about it too much right now. He has a race to win after all.

The air by the track is filled with red smoke, it snakes through the sky with the breeze, settling like a blanket of fire across the circuit. The stands are painted red, with people waving his banners and sporting his merch in a show of solidarity and love that has Marc grinning ear to ear.

Marc feels the support of the crowd like a pair of arms wrapping around him, it almost makes his knees buckle. He waves at every fan he passes and dutifully stops to sign and pose for photos. People continue to shout support at him as he goes, encouraging him to win, thanking him for the interview, and telling him that they love him. He takes every word to heart and pockets the emotions somewhere deep inside him.

He takes that energy, the feeling, into the race, so when he’s lining up on the grid, it’s thrumming inside of him. It courses through his veins with every cheer of the crowd, pumped through his heart, to his tense muscles.

He flips his visor down and prepares to raise hell.

This feels monumental, a fuck you to his doubters and haters. It feels like a plea to Vale and to the world to let him have the good after so much bad.

He throws himself into the race. Leaves everything behind on the track. He watches as the gap between himself and the battle for second grows and grows, as he leaves the others in the dust.

Not once does he falter.

Marc doesn’t make a single mistake.

This weekend he could be 20 again, alive and untainted. Riding purely on the self-assurance only someone so young could possess.

He has skill now, on top of the talent. Years of hard work and dedication. 

He is the Ant of Cevera. The thunder which cracks through the air like a whip. He is an 8-time world champion and he will not go down without a fight.

So, he doesn’t.

Marc keeps extending his lead, pushing the bike to the limit even though he can taste victory. It will never be enough unless he has left everything he has on the race track.

By the time he enters the last lap, he’s built up a 5-second lead. With no one breathing down his neck, he allows himself to enjoy it, to hear the rumble of the crowd over the whine of the engine. He lets himself tumble off the edge into delirium.

Crossing the finish line feels biblical like the heavens have opened just for him, shining a light onto his victory. It is monumental; he feels like the world’s balance has been restored. He is back, and he has risen above every challenge thrown at him. 

Marc raises his fists to the sky, standing on his bike as the first tear rolls down his cheek. He grins.

Pecco is the first to reach him, holding a hand out as they ride side by side and patting Marc on the shoulder. The others follow, old and new friends on the grid slow to ride at his pace and offer congratulations. Alex pulls his bike near and reaches for Marc’s hand. Even through their helmets, Marc can see Alex’s megawatt smile.

Although it is Marc’s second win in as many weeks, it feels colossal – proof that he can overcome anything, proof that it wasn’t a fluke. The others can tell.

Once he reaches his dedicated fan stand, he pulls his bike to a stop. He falls to his knees in front of them, praising them for everything they have done for him. Their unwavering faith through it all. Through Valentino’s hate campaign, his injury, and now this. He owes them a lot. So, he celebrates with them, for them, and for this win.

When he eventually rescues his bike, he returns to the other people he owes this win to – his family.

They are there when he pulls his bike to a stop, as they always have been for his whole life, through thick and thin. He is fully crying now.

Marc reaches for his mum first, letting her pull him into an embrace as his team slap him on the back. Alex and his dad are next, each hugging him for as long as he needs.

They can read his emotions too well.

Marc pulls his helmet off, shaking his hair out and squeezing his eyes shut. He is not embarrassed by the tear which rolls off his nose. His dad wipes it away.

When Marc opens his eyes again, he is confronted by a startling blue gaze.

Valentino is there, waiting in parc-ferme, probably for Pecco. Marc thinks he finished second. He doesn’t know.

But then Valentino is walking towards him, stopping at the edge of the sea of Gresini blue and staring at Marc. The tears won’t stop now, not after everything.

Marc stays still, frozen as Vale parts the crowd to reach Marc. When just a fence separates them, Marc has to clench his hands into fists to contain himself.

This feels significant, Valentino seeking him out, in front of all of these people. It feels like an admission, an apology.

God, Marc has wanted this forever. Futile in his hopes for Valentino to reach out, even years after. There has been an ache inside of him for years, the gaping hole of deceit from someone held in high esteem.

When he was 22, he desperately grappled with Valentino’s rejection in such a public sphere, followed by the hit of stomach-wrenching longing which settled for the long haul. He has repressed for years. Every time he reached out to Valentino, his hand was so cruelly pushed away. Even now, he is waiting for the blow to land. There is doubt creeping in at the edges, seeping through their hastily patched-up relationship. It will not be an easy fix. 

Marc is scared to meet his eyes, always so bright- intelligent, sharp.

The paddock seems to fall quiet.

Marc’s heart is pounding. He wonders if Valentino can hear it.

Valentino reaches forward, and echoes his dad’s movement from moments ago, brushing a stray tear off his cheek. Marc looks up, shocked.

A soft smile greets him, Valentino staring at him with something close to adoration. Marc gulps. It feels too good to be true – like a dream. Even after the promises Valentino has made, the trust has been broken for a long time.

Marc can only cling to hope and pray he isn’t making a mistake.

The softness in Valentino’s gaze tells him that he isn’t.

Before, Valentino used to glance at him with a sweet look, the kind you’d give a child. But then Marc had gotten good, really good, he had become a threat. The looks turned bitter, tinted with jealousy, with annoyance.

Eventually, hatred.

There is none of that now.

“Don’t cry, Bambino” Valentino whispers.

“Happy tears” Marc replies, his voice quiet and choked. Valentino hasn’t called him that in years.

Valentino tugs his arm, bringing his arm to wrap around Marc and pull him into a warm embrace. The crowd erupts, screaming and cheering. Marc has his eyes screwed up; his face tucked into Valentino’s neck. When he pulls back, Valentino looks alive, and so, so fond. Suddenly the world is in technicolour, and everything falls into place.

Valentino’s eyes are alight with joy. Marc tilts his head, searching for something more. That ache inside of him is dissipating.

Valentino, as always, knows. Understands.

“Later” Valentino whispers, Marc just nods.

They’re pulled out of their world by a firm hand clapped onto each of their shoulders. Marc turns to see Pecco grinning next to him, and Pedro in the arms of his team behind.

Pecco pulls Marc into an embrace and slaps his back, before turning toward Valentino, telling him that he’s a crazy idiot, and allowing the older man to pull him into a bone-crushing hug.

When Marc turns back to his family, his parents are frowning, his mother's eyes thoughtful. His heart clenches. He hates the idea of disappointing them.

It must show on his face, as before he can blink, he’s being pulled back into his mother’s arms and she presses a kiss into his hair.

The team cajole him into a photo, two fingers up for his two wins this season. They cheer and shout his name, their arms wrapped around his family and supportive hands on his shoulders where he is crouched in front of them. Marc feels so loved; he feels so happy. Two wins in two weeks after a three-year drought. Somehow, it feels better than if he had been winning all this time.

He is pulled away too soon and sent to the podium.

Marc beams and beams with happiness in front of his home crowd. His cheeks hurt. His heart is full. The crowd is screaming his name. As he climbs onto the top step, he meets Valentino's eyes.

 There is a shared understanding which passes through them.

Marc looks to the heavens and smiles.