#he’s come out of his shell and he is SO FRIENDLY

[haerenven]

Can you do something with Shanks being super flirty with a reader a little older than him and he thinks that he's got her in the bag, in love with him, because she smiles and looks happy when he's near; even blushing with glee when he brings her something. Then he like overhears her talking about him and it turns out she just thinks of him as really cute. Like she thinks of him as a puppy running to her excitedly, doing tricks to impress, or bringing things for her and thats the actual reason why she's always happy to see him and reacts that way.

        ㅤ٬ ⚠︎̸̸̸̸ ⠀⠀⠀ Red White ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀⸺⠀ .໑⠀⠀٫

Pairings. Red-haired shanks x fem!reader

summary. Oh say it Ditto

— (a/n): I wrote this based on the idea that Shanks is a rookie pirate in my imagination. I felt that he would be like a love-sick puppy when he was in his twenties.

⠀⠀ㅤㅤ٬ ⊹ ⠀『 ⠀ 私が作った ⠀』 ⠀⠀𝐈𝐈  ˓  ୭ ⠀⠀⠀

Shanks, young and brimming with charm, believes he has a certain effect on women. He’s not just confident—he’s reckless with it. His smile, boyish yet devil-may-care, is a weapon he wields shamelessly, and when it comes to her—his crewmate who’s a little older, a little sharper, a little more refined—oh, he’s convinced she’s falling, hard. She always seems happy when he’s around. That alone is proof, isn’t it?

He buys things just for her. Trinkets from islands they stop at, exotic fabrics, jewelry that glints like stolen sunlight. He presses them into her hands, watching with barely concealed satisfaction as her eyes brighten, as her lips part in a delighted smile, as—ah, there it is—a blush dusts her cheeks. He brings gifts with the confidence of a man who knows he’s winning, a rare fruit, a delicately carved comb, a perfectly smooth shell. She takes them gently, fingers brushing his in a way that must mean something. It has to.

He teases, endlessly. “You’re too beautiful to be a pirate. Someone’s going to steal you away if you’re not careful, you know?” And she laughs, always laughs, shaking her head, never once telling him to stop. He’s always near, leaning against the mast beside her, close enough that his shoulder barely brushes hers, sliding into the seat across from her with a grin, wine in hand, ready to be the only thing she pays attention to. And when he’s away? He rushes back like an eager dog, gifts in tow, stories on his lips, expecting her to melt like she always does.

One evening, he lingers near the galley, out of sight but within earshot. A few of the crew are there, and she’s with them. He doesn’t mean to listen. Not really. But then—

“Shanks is adorable.”

His grin widens instinctively. Ah, finally—

“Like a puppy.”

…Wait.

“You know when a dog runs up to you with a big, happy grin, tail wagging, practically vibrating with excitement? And they bring you things? He’s just like that.”

There’s laughter. Friendly, affectionate. Someone, probably Yasopp, asks, amused, “So you’re not interested?”

“Oh, no, no,” she says, laughing again. “He’s sweet. He’s nice. He makes me happy, but not in that way. It’s just… cute. Like when he comes back from an island with something shiny and holds it out like it’s the best thing in the world? How could I not smile at that?”

Silence. Or at least, his silence.

Shanks steps back, heart sinking to the pit of his stomach. A puppy? A dog? He was seducing her, wasn’t he? He had her on the edge, about to fall—right? But no. The truth is a slap, one that stings worse than any punch he’s ever taken. She wasn’t blushing because she was lovestruck. She wasn’t laughing because she was flustered. She wasn’t melting because he was irresistible. She just thought he was cute.

…Like a damn excited dog.

Denial, at first. “She’s messing with them,” he mutters to himself later that night, arms crossed as he leans against the ship’s railing, staring at the dark horizon. “She’s just embarrassed to admit she likes me.” But the more he thinks about it, the clearer it becomes—no, she really meant it. Sulking. Not obvious sulking—he has pride—but enough that Yasopp eventually nudges him and goes, “You look like you lost a bet. Or a bone.”

Testing the waters. The next time he brings her something, he watches closely. And sure enough—there it is. That same delighted smile. That soft chuckle. That affectionate, amused gaze.

Acceptance. He groans, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe I’ve been playing fetch this whole time.”

Does he stop? Hell no. He still brings her things. Still teases. Still leans in too close, still acts like a reckless flirt. But now, when she smiles at him like that, when she laughs and shakes her head like he’s an overgrown child—he swears under his breath and mutters, “I should’ve been more mysterious.”

Shanks struts across the deck with the same unwavering self-assurance he always has, his latest “offering” clutched in one hand—a delicate silver pendant he picked up from their latest raid. He’s already picturing the way she’ll blush, the way her lips will part in soft surprise, the way her fingers will brush his just a second too long when she takes it. He knows the effect he has.

“Couldn’t help but think of you when I saw this,” he drawls, holding it out with that signature smirk, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Figured something this beautiful should belong to someone just as breathtaking, yeah?” A perfectly crafted line. He’s gotten good at those.

She doesn’t giggle like the barmaids at port. She doesn’t blush furiously like a flustered girl swept off her feet. No, she does something far more dangerous.

She smiles. Slow, knowing, something deep and unreadable flickering behind her eyes. She doesn’t take the pendant right away—oh no, she lets him hold it there, savoring the moment, her gaze dragging up to his with a heat that’s nothing like infatuation. It’s something deeper, something effortless, something experienced. And then—gods, then—her fingers brush against his wrist, the touch featherlight, but enough to send an electric jolt through him.

“You’re such a sweet thing,” she murmurs, tilting her head just slightly, just enough for a few strands of her hair to slip over her shoulder. She takes the pendant with slow, deliberate ease, her fingertips skimming his palm as she does. Then—before he can even process the way she’s looking at him—she lifts her free hand and ruffles his hair, a touch too familiar, too teasing, like she’s indulging a particularly charming boy rather than entertaining a flirtation.

“I appreciate it, Shanks.” Her voice is honey-dipped, laced with something warm, something teasing, something that makes his stomach tighten. She turns the pendant over between her fingers, her lips curling in subtle amusement. “You always bring me such lovely things… such a thoughtful boy.”

Boy.

Shanks freezes. His brain stops working.

She’s still standing too close. Still looking at him like she’s in control of this little game, like she’s the one toying with him. The way her fingers had just slid through his hair, the way she called him sweet—Oh, this wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

He was supposed to be the smooth one. The one who had her flustered. But instead—instead—she’s looking at him like he’s the young one, like he’s some eager pup trying to impress.

The worst part? His face is burning.

He coughs, straightening, trying to summon his usual cocky grin—failing miserably. “Hah—well—uh—course! Someone’s gotta take care of ya, yeah?” He reaches up to run a hand through his hair, only to realize she already did that.

She hums in response, clearly entertained, before turning away with that same effortless grace. And just as he exhales—thinking she’s leaving, thinking he can salvage what little pride he has left—she pauses. Turns back, eyes lidded with something unreadable, something slow, something deliberate. The air around her shifts, heavy with an allure so natural, so effortless, that it knocks the breath straight from his lungs.

Then—gods help him—she leans in.

It’s nothing dramatic, nothing exaggerated, nothing overtly intimate, yet somehow it’s everything. The warmth of her breath skims his cheek first, sending every nerve in his body into alert. Then, soft as a whisper, the press of her lips. Slow. Unhurried. Lingered just long enough to make his pulse stutter. It isn’t just a kiss—it’s an execution, a well-placed strike, a calculated move by someone who knows exactly the power she holds.

And then—just as he thinks he might actually forget how to breathe—she leans back, tilts her head with a smirk that drips with the kind of confidence he only dreams of having, and lets her fingertips trail lightly along his jaw as she finally steps away.

“Such a good boy,” she purrs, amusement curling in her tone like smoke, before turning on her heel and sauntering away, hips swaying, utterly, devastatingly in control.

Shanks doesn’t move. Can’t move. He stands there, completely and utterly wrecked, his heart hammering so hard he’s sure the entire ship can hear it. His fingers twitch at his sides, his face hotter than the damn sun, and when he finally—finally—blinks himself back to reality, the only thing that leaves his lips is a barely comprehensible, “…What the hell just happened?”

From a few feet away, Yasopp—who had witnessed the whole thing—bursts out laughing so hard he nearly doubles over. “Oh man, you are so out of your league.”

Shanks groans, dragging a hand down his face, mind still reeling. This wasn’t over. It couldn’t be over. He’d just… he’d just have to step up his game.

Right?

Right.

He was not a damn puppy.

…Right?

[lover-of-mine]

https://www.tumblr.com/lover-of-mine/778676511238733824/how-do-you-think-the-show-will-handle-eddies

“I think people will be annoyed if he doesn't sob and screams about how he's known he's gay since he's 5 and he hates himself for it.”

The way you just shots fired and took out 99 percent of 911twt with this sentence alone 😂

because the way I can already hear them all throwing the biggest fit when it doesn’t happen like this and it’s just “so out of character that Eddie didn’t react this way” and “they really hate Eddie’s character by doing him such a disservice by not letting him have a proper coming out story like he deserved after all this time”

Oh babe, trust me, I was aiming. I am so fucking tired of the whiny repressed internalized homophobia drowning in toxic masculinity Eddie. That man was NEVER presented like that. The one time Eddie is being stereotypically "macho" is shown to us that it's out of character for him to behave like that. He's a great father who's desperately trying to make sure Chris knows he's allowed all of his feelings. He is good with words despite what fandom has decided for God knows what reason since he's been dropping one liners everyone keeps quoting forever. He's friendly and kind considering the fact that Buck was the only person on the 118 to not warm up to him immediately, the only person he didn't befriend on dispatch was Josh. He's not afraid to cry or show emotions in general. He's physically affectionate with pretty much everyone. The concept that he's deeply repressed and drowning in machismo is so ????? And absolutely not backed by canon at all. But people will absolutely throw a fit if he's not a whiny shell of the character he is because they assigned the "struggles with his sexuality" character cliche to him when Buck is right there saying he doesn't even know which pond to jump back into because he never looked at himself past being "Buck dating Tommy". Twitter Eddie is my greatest enemy.

[breckstonevailskier]

I agree. Fallout is clearly a show that is designed for people who actually pay attention while watching. As in, this isn't a "second screen" show you can have on in the background while you're busy doing chores or surfing the web on your phone.

Whenever I see people complain about them "screwing up the timeline" or whatnot regarding Shady Sands' destruction conflicting with the events of Fallout: New Vegas, for instance, I know those people weren't paying attention to notice that the timeline on Vault 4's blackboard doesn't say Shady Sands was destroyed in 2277. It just says that the events that led to Shady Sands' destruction started in 2277, which we know to be the year Rose MacLean arrived in Shady Sands as well as when the First Battle for Hoover Dam happened. And smart viewers would put together the same dots that Lucy is putting together: that whatever happened that led to the town's destruction started in the same year that Lucy's mother supposedly died (as set up by her earlier conversation with the Ghoul).

Similarly, whenever I’m given grief about how toxic Cooper and Lucy’s relationship is—literally no one is denying the way they met each other is messed up—they often forgo the fact that by the end of season 1 they are begrudging allies. That Lucy understands what he did to her wasn’t personal and decides to go with him mostly because she would die otherwise, but also because Cooper is her key to figuring things out. Ship wars aside, they’re on track to be at least friendly.

The biggest point to consider is that they're meant to be foils. Once we see all the pre-War flashbacks, it's clear that Lucy is meant to embody the sort of pre-War optimism and idealism that Cooper used to entail, and he loathes seeing this behavior reflected in the mirror because of what it cost him.

As for Lucy, it’s clear that by the end of the series Vault-Tec is in conflict with her closely held beliefs. And when she inevitably discovers what Cooper knows in season 2, it’s debatable whether or not she’ll ever want to live in the vault again.

Plus it's just a standard "feature" of the Fallout universe that those who set out from Vaults generally don't return to living in them. The Vault Dweller of the first game never returned to Vault 13 and instead became involved in establishing the NCR, while the Lone Wanderer in Fallout 3 was shunned upon returning to Vault 101.

And Lucy already clearly has had that moment of realization that she can't return to living in Vault 33 again, as she's found out that her entire reason for leaving the vault (to rescue her dad) was based on false pretenses. That's a big factor behind her tearing up as Hank tries to rationalize his actions and turn her to his side, and her expression of shell shock as the Ghoul is talking to her.

But when her and Maximus run in again, it won’t be so they can escape. Both of them will have their reasons for hating Vault-Tec by then and both of them will deal with it differently. Let’s remember how they handle morality. Both he and Lucy in season 1 saw things as black and white, often to their own detriments.

Now come season 2, it's a question of seeing Lucy try to maintain her values despite the rage she's clearly bottling up over losing everything, while Maximus tries to honor Moldaver's final request, behave like the idealized image of a knight he developed in his childhood, and potentially work through the flaw that is his impulsivity.

I got into a fight in the comments section on Pinterest where people are still saying that Cooper is married. This is what I’m talking about when I say media literacy is a lost art. Like unless something is spelled out for people by the character it concerns, it doesn’t exist… even though side characters were discussing Cooper Howard’s alimony as the reason for him ‘wasting time performing at kids parties’. No. Unless Cooper himself says “hello I’m a divorced dad” it’s not real.

Similarly, whenever I’m given grief about how toxic Cooper and Lucy’s relationship is—literally no one is denying the way they met each other is messed up—they often forgo the fact that by the end of season 1 they are begrudging allies. That Lucy understands what he did to her wasn’t personal and decides to go with him mostly because she would die otherwise, but also because Cooper is her key to figuring things out. Ship wars aside, they’re on track to be at least friendly.

And those who think the possibility of Maximus not being with Lucy is the end of his character are missing the point of both his and Lucy’s character arcs. Maximus has some shit to figure out. Mainly, which side is he on. He’s disillusioned with the Brotherhood by the end, but deserting would mean his death. At the same time, he’s also got the opportunity using his knighthood to “hurt the people who hurt [him]”.

“People” being Hank MacLean, Vault-Tec, and possibly others.

As for Lucy, it’s clear that by the end of the series Vault-Tec is in conflict with her closely held beliefs. And when she inevitably discovers what Cooper knows in season 2, it’s debatable whether or not she’ll ever want to live in the vault again. But when her and Maximus run in again, it won’t be so they can escape. Both of them will have their reasons for hating Vault-Tec by then and both of them will deal with it differently. Let’s remember how they handle morality. Both he and Lucy in season 1 saw things as black and white, often to their own detriments. Lucy learned when and how to break free from that (ethics teacher) but Max, by the end of the series, is veering towards violence as the answer and he’s seeing too many problems. The bear scene and the moment with the chicken fucker come to mind when I think about his future. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have lingered on those scenes.

Anyway.

No one comes out of this unscathed.

[track2hack]

30.12.2023

Safe to say Peanut is uhhhhhhhhhhh not a wild pony anymore? 🤷‍♀️

[kelpiemomma]

I find it great that a lot of the fandom looked at two out of time, out of place characters. Ingo and Protagonist, two characters with similar origins and have so much to relate to and thus fans agree that it is criminal and inexcusable that Gamefreak barely interact in Canon.

Everyone literally said "Screw Canon, These two are found family, train guy is dad/uncle/friend now

Love your PLA fics of that dynamic. I don't know if you're still open to prompts. You don't have to do this if you don't feel it but here's a prompt I got for you.

Explore Ingo's and Akari's relationship that develops post-game.

Many fics have them bond during the main plot but not much do post game events.

(You could touch events that occured preplot or during plot and explore how characters felt before they met)

Ohhhh interesting interesting interesting..... I think that's because most of us find it easiest to maneuver them around in-game events, and I don't think I've done too much post-gaming myself (easily distracted, started two other playthroughs)

I am definitely intrigued by this idea though. Do you mean they have their basic interaction in canon, but the further relationship develops post game? And what are we counting as post game- calming all the nobles & fighting palkia and dialga, but pre-volo? Or is Volo still part of the main playthrough?

Because I can see (rolling in the dad direction, as I do, in various directions) Ingo being distantly friendly with the protagonist (let's say Akari, as is my usual :,D sorry) He provides training at the dojo with Zisu, sees Akari there mostly, but doesn't much interact with her otherwise. I truly can't imagine him seeing her kicked out of jubilife and not doing anything- moral-wise, at least, I feel like he would say or do something. Even if he felt it wasn't his place as someone not of Jubilife, I think that he (and most of us, I would hope) would protest kicking a kid out of a safe area. It's possible he either wasn't there (returned to the Highlands for a time) or saw it happening, but didn't see Akari's face and assumed she was just going out for another mission. By the time he does hear about it, or understand what happened, and goes looking Akari has already been picked up by Volo. Ingo asks Irida if she knows where Akari can be found and Irida promises she's somewhere safe but can't say more. So until she returns, all Ingo can do is be satisfied that Akari is safe. He no longer trusts Jubilife residents as he did, especially Kamado, and spends less time there. When Akari returns having tamed the two gods, Ingo decides that maybe it's a little fucked up that this kid has done all this on her own. She's still just like 15 at most, right?

He attempts to strike up conversations at the dojo without being creepy, because some part of him is well aware how it might seem if someone of his age shows too much interest in a teenager (the very thought turns his stomach in disgust. He feels regretful that he couldn't help earlier.) but thankfully Akari likes to talk about the Pokedex, and Ingo is a walking Pokedex as well in a way. There's no one able to battle quite like him, which actually helps Akari with her research. She starts searching him out more because he never requires anything or expects anything of her, and they can talk about pokemon or item crafting or food easily. In fact, she starts going to him when she finds strange pokemon in space-time rifts because Ingo almost always finds them familiar and has something to say about them. Sometimes they'll run into each other in the highlands and Ingo will take her somewhere cool, or just take her to a neat little meadow and tell her to chill out because she's spiraling in anxiety over the work she still has to do. They end up bonding over little things and helping each other, with Ingo gradually becoming the first person Akari goes to when she has news because his enthusiasm is always genuine and a little extra but it's nice.

They bond further after Akari battles Volo and comes down from the summit looking absolutely wrecked and in tears. She's been betrayed and had what she thought was a dear, close friendship destroyed. Ingo doesn't pry as much as he wants to- he's upset that she's upset, and he wants to know what happened because this time they're friendly. He cares for her as family and wants to hurt whoever hurt her. But Akari comes first, and so he takes her to his home and lets her wallow in her misery until she can tell him what happened. He asks if she wants him to track Volo down and take care of him, but Akari denies it and says he doesn't need to act like her dad when he isn't. Which kind of makes Ingo stop and think bc... Well. He doesn't have kids. Has never had much interest in having kids. But he likes Akari, and he thinks that she could use a father figure, and he wouldnt mind filling those shoes... So he accepts her request, but he tells her then and there that he doesn't mind acting as her father (figure) because he does genuinely care for her and her well being. Which isn't something Akari was expecting and she kind of stammers... Declines... Takes off. And it hurts but Ingo lets her go. It's her decision to accept or not, and he won't force her one way or another. He appreciates their friendship too much.

Akari avoids him for a couple weeks, which sucks but Ingo stands by his decision to not push. He continues his work in the Highlands, continues training at the dojo, until one day he finds himself standing in front of the photo parlor. He's gotten a picture of himself before, but he was alone and it didn't feel right. It felt like something was missing. Someone should've been by his side, at his back. He's lost in thought until he feels the wristband of his coat get tugged on and looks to see Akari standing beside him, shifty. She apologizes for running off and avoiding him, explains that she had to think, and he accepts her apology. Says he understands, because it was something he'd gradually come to realize and that he shouldn't have sprung it on her. And Akari is clearly Not Of This Time because she gets quiet and then asks him, really fast and kind of quiet, that he meant like being her DAD and not her DADDY right, because she REALLY didn't see him like that and- and Ingo immediately says NO ABSOLUTELY NOT. Just... Dad. Acting as a caretaker. Keeping her safe. Being a place of refuge. Platonic father feelings ONLY. And Akari looks relieved, and Ingo is also relieved because he definitely doesn't see her that way and is glad she now understands that. He shudders at the thought, and she laughs at him, and Ingo pretends to glare at her and scold her but she settles in a little closer.

She looks at the building with all the photos and paintings and asks what he was up to. He explains that he was wondering if he should try getting another picture done, that he'd had one taken before but had needed to throw it away because looking at it made him feel uncomfortable. Akari asks if he thinks it has something to do with the man in white and ingo... nods, because now that she mentioned it, yes. Because the man in white is not here, and Ingo is alone. Apparently he says that out loud, and Akari's face flushes as she takes his hand and drags him inside. Because Ingo's not alone anymore, she says, because they're family. So until the man in white is back, she's going to be where he was. And they take the picture, and it's not exactly perfect... She doesn't fit like he thinks she should, and the pose is weird and not quite correct, but as he looks at the photo she handed him before going to grab some of her gear to take up to the Highlands - there's something she needs to check on, she said, and since Ingo has decided she's his responsibility obviously her DAD needs to go with her! - he feels... Better. Not fixed, but still... Complete. He's not alone. He has family now.

He tucks the photo into his coat for safe keeping, and when Akari returns to his side (she said she'd see him as her father, would she call him dad? Should he call her his daughter? They'll need to talk about it.) he smiles, and she smiles back, and for now everything will be okay. He is not part of an incomplete set anymore.

[ohimsummer]

GIRL, I NEED A TASTE ft. PUPPYBOY! SATORU

— minors dni, needy + lovesick + puppyboy! satoru x fem! reader, tít sucking, subby! satoru, humping (dryhumping??), breeding + creampie mentions

⭑ ࣪ ˖ sum’z notes.ᐟ i went a little overboard writing this <//3 strongest ‘puppy-dog eyes’ user everyone

wc 1.4k

you give puppyboy! satoru an inch, and he will take several miles.

he’s ready to pounce on you 24/7: when you wake up, when you return home, when you’re fresh out of the shower, when you come back from a 5 minute bathroom break during movie night. it’s insane the way, if it were up to him, your pussy would never know peace.

in satoru’s “defense”, he can’t help wanting to stuff you full of himself all the time. he loves you, he’s in love with you and, in his eyes, what better way to show it than the overwhelming amounts of euphoria he could put you both through? satoru loves to give, give, give to you; his heart, his attention, his affections, and his cum at the end of it all.

you suppose his reasoning is understandable, more so from satoru’s point of view, but fucking every minute of every day isn’t sustainable—it’s only fair you tell him ‘no’ sometimes. and that’s when satoru brings out the theatrics: whining, crying, whimpering and complaining about how he’s “sooo harddd” and he’ll “be super quick”. fluttering snowy white lashes to beg with those woeful, blue, puppy-dog eyes, glistening with tears that he seems to be able to summon on a dime.

satoru flashes you the cutest pout as he presses himself up against you, grinding his bulge against your ass as he nuzzles and nips at your cheek. slow, impatient sways of a fluffy tail, the perk of those twitching, adorable ears whenever you cast him even a glance. satoru whispers a hopeful “pretty pretty please…just once?” as he licks at the shell of your ear, raising goosebumps from your neck to spine.

it doesn’t matter, really. he can do it all for as long as his heart desires, because in the end…

…it’ll get satoru exactly what he wants every time.

the movie you put on isn’t nearly as immersive as you’d hoped. and even if it was, satoru keeps pulling your attention away with every nip and lick to your thighs.

“toru.”, you deadpan, and he instantly weaponizes those wide, doe-like eyes of his. paired with a slight wag of his tail, a friendly gesture which he aims to placate with, and satoru has easily dodged your annoyance once more.

you brush off his bad habit with a sigh before your attention returns to the screen in front of you. and then, not even five minutes later, the sharp poke of his fangs sinks back into the fat of your thigh. it’s always steady and deliberate; satoru wants to see just how much you’ll allow before jabbing an irritated finger to his forehead in disdain. meanwhile, once he’s satisfied with the depth of his teeth, he sucks harshly at the skin, glancing between you and the newfound hickey now blooming. then he goes in again, quicker but that’s only because he’s expecting a sure-fire dose of your wrath this time.

“satoru—“

“look!” he interrupts, tail wagging eagerly. “bit ya in the shape of a heart, because i love you.” technically not a lie, but not the full truth, either.

and you’re so distracted with looking at satoru’s little sign of affection, which is indeed adorably heart-shaped, you forget altogether your reasoning for addressing him in the first place: to chide him again on biting you so hard—which is all part of his plan.

it takes no time before satoru has squeezed way more out of you than you meant to give. when you stopped warning him about the biting, he readjusted to “cuddle” you. his head is on your chest like always, hands on your hips, but they quickly dip underneath the hem of your shirt to knead at your waist. and then they’re slithering up further, grazing at your underboob before finally squeezing one of your breasts.

“satoru.” he cowers under the angry heat of your stare. “if i have to tell you one more time…”

his tongue darts out to lap at your exposed neck, causing you to wriggle at the needy gesture. “ ‘m sorry, they’re like my little stress balls. can I touch, please?”

and you shouldn’t have relented and said yes. of course you shouldn’t have, you knew that. if you agree to this, he knows now that you’ll agree to pretty much anything. but satoru stares at you with those dreamy eyes, gleaming with stars to whisk you away to a bad decision. it takes a single, pleading blink as he gives you a small squeeze, and you have fallen victim to his spell once again.

your shirt is pushed up hastily to expose your tits, leaving them subject to satoru’s merciless greed. he pinches, pulls, and tugs with both hands and mouth, sinking fangs into every inch of your breasts since he cannot stand to not see signs of himself on them. because he thinks you’re pretty, duh, but he thinks you’re prettier when your body is spotted up with the marks he loves to leave.

not long after, he’s shed you of your pants, tossed somewhere over the edge of the bed. what started off as a slow grind has turned to satoru’s bare cock humping your thigh, searing and sticky as he leaks a mess of precum all over your skin. just the sensation of it sends an aching rhythm of throbs to your core, your painfully empty hole sporadically fluttering around nothing.

in your mind—buried beneath thoughts of this dreadful movie and the excruciating desire to have satoru’s cock battering your insides—are the very last remnants of willpower you cling to. you can visualize clearly the smug look sure to grace his face if you whine a single plea about satoru fucking you. after all, you’re the one who was all ‘no sex right now, ‘toru’. if you can’t keep your word for even one night, you might be just as sex-crazed as he is.

there is a nonstop background noise of his tail thumping and sweeping against the bed. satoru’s wags haven’t let up since you gave your first yes, and only grow stronger with each new whimpered plea you yield to. they pick up with the pace of his thrusts, a beat to harmonize with the sinful song of his desperate whimpers right before gojo reaches another high—he lets loose a muffled cry into your chest, still pathetically humping your leg like a lovesick mutt as he gushes yet another pool of cum to coat your thighs and panties. after that, his wags ease up to a slow, easygoing thud, now overpowered by the raspy heaves of air he sucks into his lungs.

and it’s the same song and dance every time. satoru takes a few minutes to catch his breath, and then he’s ready for another round. from the corner of your eye, you notice those teary blues have locked on to you. he tests the waters, gradually rutting against you again, mouthing at your breasts to see if you’ll tell him ‘that’s enough, ‘toru’. he is pleased when the words never come, and his actions only grow bolder the longer you let it go on; he licks at your jawline, down your neck before placing a few nips here and there. tweaks your sore nipples between his thumb and index, plunging his dick harder and faster along your thigh for another repeat of the last few hours.

with each daring action over the course of the night, satoru has dragged you a little closer towards the edge with him. first it was pushing your top up, next, it was taking off your shorts. then, it was a bold move of pawing at your clothed pussy, which almost turned into his hand in your panties if you hadn’t pinched his ear and told him no. though, he could just as easily get you to let him anyway if he asks in that very sweet voice of his, the one he always uses when he longs for something from you.

“can I take off your panties?”, satoru finally asks, tilting his head to stare you right in the face.

you won’t meet his eye, and he knows you won’t. because both of you know if you do, he will quickly shred that last bit of self-control at the tips of your fingers. a single bat of his lashes and you’ll be nodding your head, raising your hips so he can tear away your underwear. and then it will only be a matter of time before satoru’s pinning you down to stuff his cock in your walls as deep as you can take. it’s all he wants, all he craves. but as long as you avoid looking into his alluring eyes, you may hold off satoru and his contagious desires for just a little longer.

tagz: @blkkizzat @teddybeartoji @lxnarphase @hellkaiserinphoenix @cinnamoneve @satoruxsc @rosso-seta @sapphireandange @starlightanyaaa @manyno @sugu-love @leilalilox @sataraxia @apatauaia @luvvforliaa @purplegemadventures @v0ctin @kissesfrombelle @babytoshiii @biscuitsngravie @neptuneblue @staryukis ( HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN LOGANNNNNN😼😼‼️‼️💚🩵💛💚🩵💛💚🩵💛💚🩵)

[keferon]

how did ratchet and hot rod come to be close enough that rescuing drift together is something they would do? is he like his annoying (affectionate) nephew or something?

I think Roddy would be into all kinds of dangerous activities so he would hang out in fish hospital quite a lot as a result. And after some time befriend Ratchet~

I think it would be funny if he would also hang out with Drift separately. Not in any deep and meaningful way but Drift would let him hide on his boat from predators. And Hot Rod would give him some little friendly gifts like shells and fish because he has no idea what humans like but if they're catching fish it means they need it right?

[phemiec]

A Mouthwashing (and How Fish is Made) fansong, unfortunately from Jimmy’s POV mostly, sorry. 🐴 Music and lyrics by me, PhemieC

NOTE: this is my first fansong in five years, and sad to say but my voice has been decimated by illness in the last few years, so please don’t go into this expecting it to sound the same as my old stuff.

That being said, I have released an instrumental version, and I would LOVE to hear covers from other vocalists! Feel free to post and sell if you make a cover as well. <3

LYRICS UNDER CUT

[verse 1] Momma bird sleeping and her nest is empty Pretty and clean I feel the crease of envy Cutting a line right through the sky above me Healthy and green just like a good tree should be Momma bird leaving now her eggs are lonely Out from the underbrush I creep so slowly I’ll lay my own, her home is sound and safe, he’s Grey like a stone among her round blue babies She’ll never tell if she’s a few shells lighter Quick cracking clever comes my little fighter  Babes that feel safer they hatch so much slower Thrown down below then by my own fast grower Momma returns to feed her only child he Smells like a stranger and he cries so loudly Drinks of his fill while I look up on proudly Picking away at the discarded bounty 

[chorus] What hides inside has the skill to thrive Do you have the will to decide to survive? A parasite needs you alive To feed their growing appetite 

[verse 2] Thing crawling thirsty, shared flesh, a blessing Drink of my stagnancy, the taste refreshing Carry a part of me and keep on climbing  Top of the ladder’s just a place for dying Dread in your gullet, ignore it, buddy Lead in the bullet, it’s harmless, mostly Let me consume you, let you defend me Curling protector, my friendly fresh meat Im in control now and I like the feeling I’ll play the role of every wound you’re healing Follow the leader was always my thing Swallow your pills and lay still, unwrithing Master of puppets is my one objective Real apex predators can be selective Relay your message, it won’t stop the spread if I replace your tongue when I open your head up

[chorus] What hides inside has the skill to thrive Do you have the will to decide to survive? A parasite keeps you alive To feed their growing appetite 

[verse 3] My stress relief, she keeps asking questions I can’t believe she thinks I’ll learn her lesson Nothing outside of me will ever get in No mocking birdie with an unblinking grin Four beating hooves, I hate to hear them thunder Trample the metal tomb I’m buried under braying beast, neighing in the womb inside her Breaking its legs to glue you back together

[chorus] What hides inside has the skill to thrive Do you have the will to decide to survive? A parasite needs you alive To feed their growing appetite…

[kolsmikaelson]

jealousy looks good on you

cw ; smutty little jealous!coriolanus drabble, public piv sex, 18+

“what the hell was that, huh,” coryo’s hot breath is hitting the shell of your ear from behind. his thick length stretching you beyond what you thought possible. his pace is brutal, but it feels so, so good. “asked you a question. the hell was that back there with sejanus?” his lips, rough against your skin, press hot, desperate kisses to the juncture between your neck and your shoulder.

“nothing! coryo i swear it was nothing.” coriolanus had been getting more and more stressed as the reaping had come and gone and he had to begin preparing lucy gray. he didn’t want to be spending all his time with some girl from twelve, he wanted to be spending it with you, his lovely girlfriend. after a particularly rough night, coryo hadn’t slept much, the hunger in his stomach keeping him awake for a good portion of the night. he couldn’t wait to see you the next morning, only to see you all over sejanus. it was an innocent, friendly gesture. the two of you were talking while waiting on the platinum haired boy and sejanus cracked a joke at the wrong time, causing you to laugh while throwing your head back and smacking his upper arm lightly. coriolanus in his tired, hungry state didn’t take the sight of you two together all that well, dragging you away from a confused sejanus and to a secluded hallway, promptly flipping your skirt up and sliding your panties off of you and straight into his pocket. immediately pulling his cock out and stuffing you full.

“you sure about that,” he speeds his thrusts up, flicking his fingers over your clit. “‘cause it didn’t seem like nothing to me. you’re mine y’know” his thrusts are starting to get sloppier, a sign that he’s reaching his orgasm. “not stupid sejanus’. mine.” he all but growls in your ear. coriolanus brings his free hand up to cover your mouth to keep your moans from wandering ears while fucking into your wet heat harder.

“promise coryo, baby, ‘m yours. don’ want sejanus, only you.” you promise him, already so fucked out. his hips keep rutting against yours, pushing your back against the wall harder as your head falls into the crook of his neck.

“i believe you,” he pants in your ear, “cum, my darling, it’s okay.”

coriolanus fucks your pussy through both yours and his orgasm. “i’m not done with you,” he smirks, pressing a harsh kiss to your lips. “you’ve still got making up to do, darling.” and before you knew it, you were back in coryos room, a chair shoved under the door knob to keep it from opening, on your knees in front of him with his cock in your mouth.

[strwbabydoll]

The Feeling Came Late

Prologue

pairings: grumpy!college student!Harry x fem!sunshine!reader

summary: Harry hates Y/N, it seems like it's been like that forever. He's quick to insult and correct her even when she's right, he's just always been the only one to pick on her no matter what she does. She doesn't understand why it's like this between them or what she did to make him dislike her so much, but what if it's all just a lie?

overall warnings: slow burn, eventual smut, sexual tension, kind of enemies to lovers, angst, alcohol consumption and drug mentions, foul language, Harry is a major asshole in this tbh, heavy on the grumpy x sunshine in this.

chapter .5/? (wc: 1.5k)

001 | 01 | 02 | 03

masterlist

- - - - - -

Fond memories ignored, thrown away in a second as if they meant nothing to him. Like the years of laughter were all just a dream, but they’re not. They were real and it drove him crazy. Harry only stared at the wall, face red and tears streaming down his face angrily. He didn’t know what to do, he was lost. He was angry, angry at the world, at himself because that was his best friend and at her. 

He was just a boy, a kid when it happened. Happy in his “prime years” of high school, he was thriving academically and socially. He was on top of his class work and one of the top students in all of his classes, alongside his childhood friend. They stayed friendly whenever they competed against each other, giving their congratulations when the other won in anything. Harry enjoyed the thrill of trying to be the first one to turn in his assignment though, he enjoyed the friendly banter they shared afterwards and during. It became their normal, he looked forward to it. 

Then it happened, and he was left broken. A shell of the smart and extroverted boy he once was. He can remember every detail of that day, he had just come home from hanging out with his childhood best friend – they had just gotten done studying and finishing the last episode of the season of their favorite TV show – when his mom walked alongside with him. The ride back home from her house to his was silent, filled with a sense of sadness and Harry couldn’t understand why she wasn’t happy. His mom was happy when she dropped him off at school that morning. She sat him down in their living room and said that this was important, and told him. She kept apologizing and trying to reassure him that everything was being done, tried, efforts were being done. They were going to fix this, help him. 

Of course, Harry’s just a kid who’s already dealing with all the new emotions of puberty and teenage feelings, so he screamed at her. Yelled something along the lines of “No, you’re lying and I hate you” but that’s still up for debate, he doesn’t think of this day often. He’d stormed away from her crying figure, her apologies are no good to him, won’t make everything better. He cried, screamed and threw things. He destroyed his room, tearing down pictures and throwing trophies, his vision was blurred from all of the tears in his eyes. He hated himself, it wasn’t his fault though. Nothing he could’ve done would have changed what happened, he couldn’t have stopped it. He knows that deep down, but he has to put the blame on someone, and it only makes sense that it has to be him. 

When he calmed down some, he’d taken all of his pictures off the wall, he couldn’t look at all of the times he was happy. It only reminded him of the feeling in his chest, and he stashed them all away in a box to be kept in his closet. Out of sight, out of mind he hopes will be the cause, but he kept two pictures. He couldn’t bear to have them forgotten, even if they were going to be locked away still. They were special, the people in the picture were special. They’ll always be special, so he cried some more as he placed them in his nightstand drawer. He spent the majority of the night crying, the tears seemed never ending and he hated it. He ignored his mom calling him for dinner and his sister who knocked on his door to check on him. She only sighed and reminded him that she loves him and will be there for him if he needs anything before she left him alone and headed back to her own room. 

Over time, he changed. It wasn’t gradual though, it was very noticeable. He stopped trying to compete with her, stopped trying to be the first anything. He stopped raising his hand, stopped putting efforts into presentations and powerpoints, stopped caring. He started getting into weed, he refused to try any of the harder stuff – not like his friends would give him any, they still had somewhat good morals and he also tried drinking. (A good thing about having older friends is the easy access to these types of things.) He stopped wearing soft and colorful clothes and started wearing darker clothes, jeans with rips in them and short sleeved shirts tight enough to showcase his growing muscles. He worked out more, wasn’t the lanky little boy she used to know anymore, his language expanded, started using more curse words and his tone grew disinterested and mean.

 He knew she watched him from a distance with sad eyes, he knew she tried to help him. He listened from his doorway as his mom talked to her, saying any excuse she can think of to not worry the little girl. 

‘Harry’s just not feeling very good, dear.’ ‘Harry’s just tired, he’s had a long day.’ ‘You know teenage boys can be difficult dear, he’ll come around soon,’ and other excuses were told to his friend when she came to check on him. He couldn’t exactly make out what the girl was saying in response to his mom, she’s always been such a soft speaker, and it upsets him more. He just wants to be left alone and she cares so much for him that she just want to help in any way,  and he doesn’t want to be rude and tell her to fuck off so he has his mom deal with it. She’s the emotional support thinker, not him. 

After a couple of minutes he hears the door shut so he closes his bedroom door and sits back on his bed, the two pictures laid out on his bed as a reminder of the love for his two closest friends, but also as a reminder of the pain he feels and the tears shed over something that wasn't his fault, the blame he put on himself. He sighs sadly as he looks at them once more before he gathers them and sets them in his nightstand drawer. He tries not to look at those pictures too often, he hates how they make him feel. Any time he looks at his best friend’s photo, it fills him with overwhelming sadness, bitter and hurtful. It fills his chest and makes him feel like he’s drowning in sadness, there’s sometimes a hint of anger but that’s never at him. It’s always directed towards himself, not his friend. He could never be mad at him, he was the closest guy friend he’s had and will ever have, he won’t have another one. When he looks at hers, it used to be happiness, love and adoration but it’s turned into anger and  jealousy. Her name will always leave a bitter taste in his mouth, his lips will always turn into a frown at the fleetest thought of her. 

He hates her, hates how smart she is, how she’s always somehow better at everything than him even when he spent hours working on something. He loathes how she just always knows what to say. He hates how she never fell off or even wobbled off the hill she was on no matter what was going on in her life. He dislikes how much he wishes he could be like that. He abhors how much even though he wants nothing to do with her right now that he still longs to be those little kids playing together and studying and gossiping. He especially hates how deep down he hopes that she’ll wait for him or beg for him to let her in, how he actually wants her to fight for their friendship. He loathes how much he misses her.

Instead of acting on those terrible ideas in his head on rekindling their friendship, he focuses on his popularity. High school ends and during the summer he experiments with his look, becomes a ladies’ man and immerses himself in that. He enjoys sex, the feeling of it all. The intimacy of something shared between two people, the feverish kisses and the sounds of his partners enjoying themselves. It’s a very good distraction from the one person who doesn’t seem to leave his mind. His reputation as a ladies’ man and a very skilled person grows, he becomes popular not only with the ladies in school but also with the fellow jocks of the school. He dabbled a little bit in the sports aspect of his education, he also tried out for the soccer team at his school. He’s always loved the sport, even as a little boy, something about the running and kicking balls amused him. He was also a pretty fast learner which helped his case a lot, but he still passed. He dabbled in a lot of different sports, not wanting to tie himself down to just one thing which applied to multiple different areas in the boy’s life. He tried anything to rid himself of one of the two names that haunts him no matter what.

[323cutie]

your skin is against my body. | jyh

pairing ୨୧ yunho x afab reader

word count ୨୧ 650

genre ୨୧ smut asf!!!!!!

warnings ୨୧ sexual content, swearing <3 smut warnings below the cut

author's note ୨୧ i have had a bad week (it is wednesday morning). So yes i need yunho to comfort me. anyways i finished this last night but was too tired to post it LMFAO

18+ mdni!!

smut warnings ୨୧ fingering, dirty talk, a bit of banter i think, choking but its pretty light, mentions of like actual sex but we don't get there sawrry, teasing yunho, a little bit of begging, you guys know that live where yunho said he liked when ppl whined his name. Yeah

You’ve had a bad day.

You made it obvious to all of your coworkers, yelled at just about every other car on the way home, considered killing your roommate because they took your apartment’s reserved parking spot when it was your turn to have it, and were curt with the boba cafe worker you’re usually more than friendly with.

You’re not proud of yourself. But you are tired. And sick of dealing with it all. So when you get to Yunho’s and he almost immediately offers to cheer you up, you agree with zero hesitation.

It’s probably (definitely) how you ended up with his hand between your legs.

Maybe you should have seen it coming. You don’t really care, either way. Yunho’s fingers feel like heaven inside of you, pumping and curling and twisting in all the most delicious ways. You sigh when he curls them up, head lolling back and to the side, landing on his shoulder from where he lies down next to you.

“When you said you’d make me, hmm, feel better,” you start, letting him nudge your head to the other side with his nose. He presses open mouthed kisses to your neck and shoulder. “Wasn’t expecting – fuck – this.”

Yunho hums, lips tracing the shell of your ear. “Oh?” He says, speeding up the pace of his fingers. You moan and practically feel him grin. “I can stop, if that’s what you want.”

He starts to slow down to an almost stop and you grab at his wrist, trying to guide his hand back to the pace it was before. “Don’t you dare,” you say, glaring at him. He laughs, kisses your temple soothingly.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds, picking up his pace again. His other hand wraps loosely around your neck, just enough pressure to make you keen. “Gotta make my baby feel good, hm?”

You nod eagerly and Yunho laughs, fond, obeying to your silent pleas and gliding his thumb over your clit. You gasp, melt into his arms, spread your legs wider so he has all the room in the world to do whatever he wants to you. 

“Look so pretty when you’re spread open for me like this,” Yunho murmurs, adding more pressure to the way he circles your clit. “Had such a bad day, just need it fucked out of you, right? Just need to be taken care of?” 

You don't know what sounds come out of your mouth, but you’re almost certain they’re not words. Yunho curls his fingers up inside of you, hitting a spot only he can reach, and you feel your whole body react. Pliant in his hold, moldable however he sees fit. The hand around your neck squeezes a warning. “Use your words, pretty.”

Oh, right. You can’t even think. “Y-Yeah,” you say, voice strained, breathless. “Need you to fuck me.”

You hear him hum and look up at him, hoping your already fucked out eyes will add a little something extra to your plea. “Yunho,” you whine, canting your hips up to meet his fingers. “Please.”

You see his breath physically hitch, watch as something swirls in his eyes as he looks at you. His cheeks and nose are red and you want to run your fingers through his hair, want to peel every article of clothing off just so you can see all of him.

Maybe you’ll get to soon. Yunho presses forward and kisses you hard, tongue delving into your mouth and tasting your own. You moan onto his lips and he practically mirrors it, letting his own noises out. His fingers move faster, thumb circling tighter, and you squeal.

“I’ll fuck you so good you’ll only remember my name,” he murmurs lowly. He curls against that spot again and you feel like you’re falling apart. “But you’re gonna cum on my fingers first.”

[greenandsorrow]

the price for misbehaving (iii)

Alastor x gn!reader in heat

WARNINGS; explicit content, deer/doe!demon!reader with fem anatomy, needy!reader, soft-dom!Alastor, ovulation talk, horniness & hormones, breeding kink, primal instincts, mentions of deer mating season, cunningulus, penetrative sex, angst, comfort, fluff, wholesomeness, friends to lovers, smut with emotion, finding your forever mate, don't forget to use protection irl my loves

Dividers by; @saradika-graphics & @cafekitsune

Please do not repost or directly copy my work and don't use it on AI platforms either 🧡

Thank you so much for all the love and support!! And the patience. This is literally Part 1 but with the roles reversed. I hope you enjoy it and I promise that the finale won't take too long!

For additional rut smut, check this out!

~masterpost~

After your first kiss, life went back to normal -well, for a month or so.

Friendly bickering, long conversations about everything and nothing, his unnerving yet strangely comforting presence always in reach...

Despite that normalcy, you realized Alastor's rut shook your quiet and uneventful life in an irreversible way. His musth has done more than leave you breathless... It has awakened something primal in you, too.

The fever hit you slowly. In the beginning, it was an ache in your limbs, a strange warmth in your chest, a restlessness in your thoughts. You blamed the sudden activeness of your sexual life during his rut.

But by the time your heat fully bloomed, there was no mistaking it.

The first wave came in the middle of an idle day, leaving you gripping the counter of the hotel's kitchen -a surge of warmth low in your belly and cramps in your bust.

A strangled laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

"Oh, this is just perfect~" you muttered, rubbing at the base of your antlers, trying to get rid of the sudden itch.

It was no use.

The itch persisted.

That smug bastard would love to know he had dragged you into this.

When Alastor arrived later, on that same evening, his tailored suit as sharp as ever and his grin sharper, you were already a bundle of nerves and hormones. His energy filled the room like crackling fire and the scent of him sent heat and moisture pooling between your thighs.

You crossed your arms, determined to ignore your physical reactions.

"You look flushed" Alastor commented, cocking his head inquisitively, crimson eyes glinting with slight amusement.

"Gee, I wonder why" you shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Maybe it's because someone's rut threw me into heat."

Alastor blinked, the teasing grin faltering just slightly. Then it returned, wider than before.

"Oh, my dear deer, I had no idea I had such an effect on you!"

"Don't flatter yourself~" you snapped, though your body betrayed you, leaning in.

He stepped closer, his long fingers brushing against your jawline.

"You're in heat..." he murmured, his voice low and deliberate. "...and you came to me?"

"I didn't just 'come to you'" you grumbled. "You're always here."

"Hmm" he mused, his gaze flicking to your slightly grown antlers. "It still is deer mating season, isn't it? Fascinating how instinct takes over."

You were at his radio tower, sitting on the little sofa he had fit in there. It was supposed to be a chill night, with you reading while he did his own thing. Despite the 'chill' part, as the night progressed, the tension between you became unbearable. Your mating instincts were undeniable -the flicks of your little tail, the darkened hue of your eyes, the way your antlers gleamed under the dim light.

"You're ovulating" Alastor said at some point, his tone both matter of factly and dangerously hungry.

"Don't say it like that..." you protested, face burning.

"But it's true" he retorted, leaning down, his sharp teeth grazing the shell of your ear. "And you smell divine."

Indeed.

Something had changed.

The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was charged, humming with unspoken words. When he stood close to you again, you found yourself leaning into his space without even realizing it, drawn to the comforting, masculine warmth he offered.

And he let you.

Alastor Hartfelt -who once kept everyone at arm's length with his theatrical charm- has softened in ways you don't fully understand, nor anticipated. He lingers longer after your conversations and he smiles more -not the razor-sharp grin he uses for the world's eyes, but something more sincere, almost fond.

"Are you just going to stare, or are you planning on saying something?" you ask petulantly, trying to keep your voice light despite the strange heat creeping up your neck.

It's late in the afternoon.

"I find your company... pleasant" he simply answers, making your stomach flutter.

This is the closest thing to an admission you've ever gotten from him ...and it's enough, for now. See, you have been pestering him the whole day to tell Rosie about you and him, and when he stopped giving you attention, you had started crying in frustration.

It's true, your friendship has begun to shift into something more. It's not just the hormones that make you crave his touch... It's the way he treats you and it's also the way he makes you feel deep inside your condemned soul.

You remember the way he had looked at you during his rut -wildly, ravenously, yet with restraint, as if the mere idea of hurting you was repulsive to him. Even now, with your body betraying you, you know he'd never take more than you're willing to give.

The whole trust thing is what makes this so so maddening. It's intimate in ways neither of you is familiar with.

"Are you always this quiet during mating season?" he addresses you playfully, breaking the silence as you pace your small bedroom back and forth -trying to burn off the restless energy coursing through you.

"Only when someone else's rut has completely broken my biological clock" you shoot back, throwing him a glare over your shoulder.

His laugh is rich and warm, a sound that -to your dismay- sends shivers down your spine.

"You're welcome."

"Oh, you think you're so funny!" you exclaim, frustrated, but the corners of your lips betray you, twitching into a reluctant smile.

"Amusing enough to not kick me out, it seems."

This whole ordeal has to be one of the rare occasions where Alastor isn't trying to show off -when it comes to actions, because this man has an unstoppable flare when it comes to words.

And it starts out small, so small you almost don't notice it.

The radio demon isn't exactly a coddling or hovering guy, but after his rut, he begins stepping in. He pulls out your chair before you sit, hands you things before you can ask and walks you everywhere, even when you insist you don't need any company.

When your heat starts creeping in, it's not just his presence that comforts you -it is the way he seems to know, instinctively, what you need.

As the "heat wave" progresses, he becomes more and more protective -proactive as well.

Alastor is always watching, always listening. A step ahead of you at every turn. He hands you a glass of water before you realize how dry your throat is, pulls the curtains closed when the sunlight feels too harsh to your easily overstimulated system.

"Eat" he commands one evening, setting a plate in front of you without the usual fanfare.

His tone is brisk, but his eyes linger on yours, soft and unreadable.

"I'm not hungry" you whine softly, crossing your arms.

"You'll need your strength" he explains, unbothered by your defiance.

His insistence would've been annoying if it weren't so... sweet.

He doesn't push further, just stays nearby, humming an old tune as you reluctantly take a bite.

It only gets worse from here.

Every sound is amplified to the point of distraction and most smells make you dizzy and fussy.

Now, you are pacing around all the time.

Alastor stays silent during those restless times, watching you with a focus that would unnerve any other sinner. However, all it makes you feel is frustration.

"Stop staring! You're always doing that and I'm sick of it, Al!" you lash out, rubbing at your temples.

"You, stop fidgeting and moving" he retorts.

"Excuse me?! What- what do you want me to do? Sit still and burn alive?"

His grin softens, replaced by something calmer and more serious.

"You're not alone in this."

The words shouldn't mean as much as they do, but they hit something deep in you. Alastor -your oldest friend- is here, grounding you when your own body betrays you.

"You don't owe me anything, if that's why you've stuck around after... you know what." you say, pacing the room for what must be the fifth time this evening.

When you stumble, knees buckling from the ache between your thighs, he catches you before you hit the floor. His hands are firm yet cautious, holding you like you might shatter.

"Careful" he says softly, his crimson eyes meeting yours. "I've got you."

His antlers brush against yours as he guides you to your single bed, the accidental contact sending a shiver down your spine. His scent fills your senses -practically intoxicating you- and you start rubbing against him, unconsciously.

"Alastor? ...why are you being so nice to me?" you mutter, your voice muffled against his shoulder.

"Because I care" he replies simply -and for once, there is no teasing in his voice.

"You're hovering a little too much these days" you grumble weakly.

He doesn't flinch. "I'm making myself useful."

His calmness infuriates you, mostly because he's right. Everything he does is perfectly timed, perfectly measured -and it leaves you feeling raw and exposed. It's like he can see every vulnerable part of you, laid bare without your permission.

You're being driven insane by the constant heat and ache, the gnawing need that you are aware you can't satisfy on your own.

And Alastor's constant presence doesn't help your raging progesterone. (I'm sorry)

"I don't like you treating me like I'm about to fall apart~"

He tilts his head, antlers catching the soft light as he studies your frame in his arms. "You're not yourself right now. Someone has to keep an eye on you."

You huff, face hot, hands curling into fists. "I'm fine, Alastor. I'm not some delicate flower that needs-"

"You almost fell. Clearly, you're perfectly fine..." he says, his tone laced with dry amusement.

You huff at that.

You want to snap at him again, to push him away, to hit him even, but his scent is everywhere -woody and sweet, warm and grounding. It clouds your mind, the primal part of you drawn to him despite your pride.

"Let go" you say under your breath, the words lacking conviction.

"I don't think I will."

Alastor's grip is strong, but not uncomfortable, his thumbs brushing over your arms in a way that makes your breath hitch.

"Not when you're like this."

You swallow hard, caught between the familiar frustration and the embarrassing comfort his touch brings. The heat pooling low in your belly grows with every brush of his fingers and you hate how you want more.

"Like what?!" you eventually snap again, though your voice wavers.

"Overheating? Aching? On the verge of snapping at me for simply breathing in your direction?"

His tone is light and teasing, but there's an edge of knowing behind it and it makes you freeze. Makes you remember the state he was in only a few weeks ago.

Your silence betrays you and his grin widens, smug and victorious.

"That's what I thought."

You glare at him, still resisting his soothing touches. "I'm not some helpless little fawn, Alastor."

"No, you're not" he agrees, eyes gleaming.

"You're stubborn, snippy, and-" his gaze drifts over you and his voice drops. "...painfully uncomfortable."

The honesty in his tone catches you off guard and before you can argue AGAIN, he presses a steady hand on your shoulder, guiding you to lay down.

"Humor me. Just this once, y/n."

Reluctantly, you comply, but not without crossing your arms over your chest.

"Fine. But this doesn't mean I need you."

"Of course not" he says with a smile that borders on condescending.

You open your mouth to retort once more, but the words die in your throat when Alastor's palms land on your shoulders.

His warmth seeps through your shirt and when he starts to knead the tension there, a low moan escapes from you.

"Goodness" he teases, his thumbs working into a particularly tight knot. "Is this where all your attitude is hiding?"

"Shut up" you mutter, while unabashedly rolling so you're laying on your stomach, giving him better access.

His touch is phenomenal, long fingers tracing over the muscles of your neck and shoulders with a precision that makes you shiver all over.

It feels too good -too intimate- but you can't bring yourself to pull away.

"Your antlers must be killing you" he observes after a long moment of silence, his hands drifting up to brush the base of them.

The sensation sends a spark between your thighs and you have to swallow a grunt to appear composed.

"They're doing fine" you lie, but the way you perk your head up and toward his touch betrays you.

"Mantè" he murmurs, his voice low and amused.

"I'm not lying!" you whine and he shushes you with a cheeky look.

You sit up a little, petulantly.

When his touch moves to the space between your antlers, you let out a soft, involuntary gasp.

He stills, his sharp grin fading as his eyes meet yours.

"Ah" he says softly, his tone more curious than mocking. "Sensitive, aren't we?"

"Don't~" you warn, but it comes out weak and breathless.

"Don't what?"

His fingers start to move again -slowly and deliberately- and your body betrays you completely. A whimper escapes your lips this time and his smile turns wicked.

"Don't do this?"

You don't answer, biting your lip to stifle another sound, but he hears it anyway.

"You're tense everywhere" he taunts, his hands sliding down to your shoulders again. "Let me help."

Your heart pounds in your chest as his hands drift lower, skimming your sides, his touch intent but not quite crossing any lines. Yet.

"Alastor" you breathe, his name slipping past your lips without thinking.

"Yes, my dear?" he replies in a velvet-smooth voice, but there's a flicker of something darker in his gaze now. Something primal.

"Is this-"

You pause, swallowing hard.

"Is this a bad idea?"

His grin softens and now there's no teasing in his voice. "Not if you want it."

"Just- just rub my back a little more."

"As you wish, my dear~"

Soon, the tension reaches a breaking point.

You pull away from his hands abruptly.

Your antlers scrape the bed's headboard, a dull throb blooming at their base -and it's the last straw.

"Enough!" you half-shout and half-whine, voice cracking in despair. "I can't- I can't take this anymore!"

Alastor's eyes widen as he watches you start pacing around once more, but this time with your hands tagging at your hair.

"It's too much!" you continue, your voice rising with every word. "Everything hurts, everything burns! And I feel like I'm crawling out of my own skin! And you-"

You whirl to face him, your vision blurring at the edges. "You're not helping me at all! You're just- just there! Smiling and being smug and-"

Your words break off into a choked sob and before you can stop yourself, the tears come. You press your palms to your face, trying to stifle the sounds, but it's impossible.

The silence stretches, heavy.

Then, there's movement -soft and careful. Alastor approaches slowly, his usual energy toned down.

"Darling…" he speaks softly, his voice stripped of its previous amusement.

"Don't- Not again~" you start as well, your words muffled behind your trembling hands.

But when his arms come around you, warm and steady and so secure, you don't push him away.

He holds you without a word, his chin resting on your shoulder as you shake against him.

"I didn't realize" he explains, regretful. "I thought teasing would help distract you, not… make you cry."

You shake your head, your tears soaking into his shirt.

"It's not your fault" you manage, though the words feel hollow.

He pulls back just enough to meet your watery eyes, his hands cupping your face with surprising gentleness.

"Let's do it right, hm? No games. No teasing. Just… let me take care of you, just like you took care of me when I needed you most. How does that sound to my dearest deer?"

Something in his tone breaks through the overwhelming haze of lust you're currently experiencing.

You nod -a small, shaky movement.

"Good."

He guides you back onto the bed, his movements unhurried this time. As your back meets the mattress, he slips his arms under your knees, his long fingers trailing up your oversensitive thighs, making your breath hitch.

"Relax" he says, his voice soothing. "I only want to help."

You nod again, your body trembling as his hands slip beneath the waistband of your PJ shorts, pulling them down with care.

His crimson gaze flicks up to meet yours -checking- and when you don't stop him, he leans in.

The first touch of his tongue is toe curling -to say the least- and you gasp loudly, your hands fisting the fabric of his shirt. He hums against you, the sound vibrating through your core... and you can't help the whimper that escapes your lips.

"Just like that" he praises, his voice muffled against your wetness, and he gets to work -tongue moving in slow, measured strokes.

Your head falls back against one pillow, your breathing ragged as the tension in your body finally starts to unravel. Alastor's hands grip your thighs, holding you steady and open for him.

When you glance down, the sight of him -his sharp antlers gently scratching your abdomen and thighs, his bright eyes half-lidded and focused on your sex- sends a fresh wave of heat through you.

"Alastor" you moan, your voice trembling uncontrollably.

He pulls back just enough to smirk up at you, though it's softer than before. "Yes, my dear?"

"Don't you dare stop" you whisper and his smile fades into something more tender and loving.

"Never" he promises, diving back in.

When you finally fall apart, your body shaking with the force of it, he doesn't move away an inch. He stays with you, his touch grounding, his lips pressing soft kisses on the sensitive skin of your thighs and belly.

When you come down and while your body is still writhing, he rises, his hands now sliding under your arms to pull you up gently. He sits back, guiding you to straddle his lap.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice soft, his eyes searching yours.

You nod, your hands resting on his chest. "I… I need more" you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Something flickers in his gaze -desire, longing, maybe even excitement.

"I'm at your disposal."

He lifts you effortlessly, shifting you beneath him as he leans over, his body caging yours -without pressing down.

His antlers brush yours, the contact sending shivers through your whole body and it feels all tingly, and then his lips meet yours in a kiss that's surprisingly tender.

The moment he pushes into you, slow and careful, your breath catches. He stills, his forehead resting against yours.

A deep ache blooms where you've been craving him most. You can feel every ridge and every vein, the way his length stretches you, filling you completely. It's overwhelming in the best way.

"Are you alright?" he asks again, his voice barely audible.

"Yes" you breathe, wrapping your legs around his waist.

"Please, Al~"

"I had missed feeling you around me."

Neither of you expected this choice of words from him. If anything, it's what a couple...-

He doesn't wait for you to answer though.

Alastor begins to move, his pace measured, his hands cradling your hips as if you might break without the support. But there's an intensity in his gaze, a primal hunger that simmers just beneath the surface.

Missionary should never be underestimated. The eye contact, the emotional closeness, the way you can easily bring him down for a kiss, or run your fingers through his hair -that's starting to curl from all the sweat- make the experience so fulfilling to you frayed nerves.

Alastor keeps his body aligned with yours as he presses his forehead to your own. The heat radiating off his skin feels almost suffocating, but it also grounds you in the moment.

"Too much?" he whispers, his voice steady despite the faint tremor of his breath.

His antlers gently bump into yours once more and the sweet intimacy of the gesture makes your chest tighten.

"No" you manage, though the word is barely coherent. "It's perfect."

He groans softly at that, his hips shifting slightly so he can go even deeper.

"You're stunning" he murmurs mid thrust, his fingers tracing the contours of your face, before slipping lower, back on your hip. "Do you know that?"

You don't answer -can't answer. His thrusts are slow, the kind of pace that forces you to feel everything. It's maddening, the way he pulls out so slowly, only to push back in with measured precision, the friction setting your nerves alight.

Your body responds instinctively, your legs wrapping tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper. Each thrust sends a jolt of pleasure through you, the pressure building low in your belly.

"Alastor~"

"Y/n?"

His tone is still soft, but now edged with restraint, as though he's holding himself back.

"Faster" you plead, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Pretty please."

He hesitates, his crimson eyes searching yours, before his control slips. His hips snap forward -harder this time- and you cry out, your back arching off the mattress.

"That's it" he groans, his voice rougher now, the sharp tips of his antlers grazing yours with every thrust.

Your body trembles beneath him, more and more intensely, heat pooling tight in your core. The pleasure builds steadily, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge, until it becomes almost unbearable.

"Alastor, I-"

Your words falter, your breath hitching as the tension in your belly coils even tighter, ready to snap -for the second time tonight.

His hand slides down, his thumb finding your swollen clit. The touch is feather-light at first, but when you whimper and whine, he applies more pressure, circling it in time with his thrusts.

"Come for me" he coaxes.

"Let go. I've got you, love."

The combination of his touch, his voice and what he just called you, the steady rhythm of his hips... It's all too much.

The tension snaps and your orgasm hits you hard, body convulsing as pleasure crashes over you time and time again. Your legs spasm around his waist, your head falling back as a cry tears from your lips. The sensation is sharp and all-consuming, your vision turns white.

"So good" he marvels while his hands remain on your hips, grounding you as you ride out the last waves of your climax. "You're breathtaking."

The aftershocks start to ripple through you. Despite your body feeling boneless, your chest is still heaving quite a lot.

Alastor doesn't stop moving, but his pace slows, his touches gentle and reverent.

When your vision returns, you see his gaze on you, filled with something soft and unspoken.

"Are you alright?" he asks again, his voice low, a hint of uncertainty breaking through his usual confidence.

You nod, a shaky smile appearing on your flushed face.

"More than alright" you whisper, your hands coming up to cup his face.

He smiles back at you, leaning down to press a deep kiss to your lips.

"I'm glad, because I need just a little more to~ You know..."

How he can fuck you all the way up to Heaven, but shy away when it comes to voicing the simplest of things will always be beyond you. Still, you're too satisfied and sated to bring it up and tease him right now.

You're actually so sated you barely register his orgasm.

When Alastor finally slows, his movements become languid, savoring the last few moments of connection.

He presses a kiss against your temple as he pulls out, carefully.

A deep warmth lingers in your core, a mix of his seed and your own juices slipping out, leaving you feeling full and entirely undone.

"Sleepy?"

"You have no idea."

Your lover's gaze gets fixed on where you're leaking onto the bed sheets and he doesn't try to hide his possessive and proud expression.

You let out a little noise as the slickness spreads, shifting uncomfortably.

"Sticky" you mutter, your voice still weak from the intensity of your release.

He chuckles, going back to amused, before leaning down to press another kiss to your lips.

"I'll take care of it."

True to his word, he disappears briefly and returns with a warm, damp towel. He cleans you gently, murmuring soothing words each time you shiver from the sensation.

When he's finished, he wraps you in a soft blanket he finds on a nearby chair and gathers you into his arms -his antlers brushing yours in the tender gesture you both seem to love.

"You're safe" he whispers, cradling you close against his chest. "Alastor got you."

Your body melts into him and you let exhaustion overtake you, sighing contentedly.

"I hate you sometimes" you mumble sleepily, though the affection in your tone conveys the true meaning of your words.

He chuckles, his chest vibrating against you. "And yet, here you are, letting me hold you. How peculiar."

"Shut up" you grumble, burying your face in his chest.

The first thing you notice when you wake is the warmth.

Alastor is still wrapped around you, his long limbs tangled with yours, his breath heavy and steady against the crown of your head. The weight of his arm draped over your waist is comforting, his fingers twitching in utter relaxation.

But there's something else here -the ache, insistent, stirring as you shift against him and even more as you breathe in his natural scent. You bite your lip, trying to ignore it, but the moment you press your thighs together, a soft whimper escapes you.

Alastor stirs immediately, his crimson eyes fluttering open.

"Hmm? What's the matter, my dear?"

His voice is thick with sleep, but his focus sharpens as he takes in your flushed cheeks and the restless way you're shifting.

"Nothing" you reply dismissively, though the way your body arches slightly against his betrays you.

He raises an eyebrow, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips.

"You're not very convincing" he coos, his hand sliding down to rest on your hip. "Do you need something?"

You squirm under his gaze, your face heating up in both embarrassment and arousal.

"I woke up like this, okay?" you say defensively, frustrated tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

His teasing demeanor shifts instantly, replaced by a tenderness that makes your chest ache.

"Oh, my poor thing"

He brushes a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb.

Before you can protest, his hand slides lower, his fingers finding your bundle of nerves with practiced ease -that he gained from your times together.

He moves slowly, coaxing soft gasps and whimpers from you.

"You're such a sensitive thing when you're in heat" he murmurs, his voice laced with awe.

"So perfect."

His touch is gentle but insistent, building you up until you're trembling. When you finally climax, it's softer than the night before but no less intense, leaving you breathless and boneless in his arms.

Alastor holds you close as you recover, his lips pressing soft kisses along your forehead and temple.

"Better?" he asks, his voice earnest and soothing.

You nod, burying your face against his neck. "Much better."

He chuckles, running his fingers through your hair. "I'll have to be more mindful of how easily I can wear you out."

You smack his chest lightly, earning another laugh, before settling back into the comfortable silence. As the morning light filters through the room, you let yourself relax, feeling safe and cherished in his arms.

"Thank you" you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He tilts your chin up, his red eyes meeting yours.

"Always" he replies softly, his antlers brushing yours in that gesture, hour gesture, yours and his -and it makes your heart ache.

In this moment, you realize there is no going back.

This isn't just fleeting indulgence -it's the beginning of something far deeper, something that feels as primal and undeniable as the instincts that brought you together.

You're his and he's yours. Forever.

To be continued.

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[comesatimecomesashadow]

Hey hey! Could i request a shadow x college student who took him in and try’s to encourage him to be more outgoing/friendly with the others? I keep thinking about how cute it would be to sorta babysit the whole bunch for Maddie and Tom, and Shadow get roped into the friendship. He deserves the best support system☹️❤️!!

tonight, tonight *ೃ༄

pairing *ೃ༄ shadow the hedgehog x reader [can be read as platonic or romantic]

fic type *ೃ༄ one-shot, reverse-comfort

cw *ೃ༄ nothing !

summary *ೃ༄ you help shadow come out of his shell.

note *ೃ༄ sorry this took so long anon! i've been busy these past couple weeks.. | I had fun writing this especially after watching sonic 3, he deserves the world !!!

masterlist *ೃ༄

   Being a college student was no easy feat. Assignments and deadlines filled up your time and often left you feeling burnt out, but you always managed to pull through. If there was anything you’d learned from being at school for this long, it was that you couldn’t give up because you’d always make it in the end anyway. It was just the process of getting there that you hated. 

   Shadow was about the only one who could allow you to escape the stressful confines of your dorm. You had met him on one of your nightly walks to de-stress after the hectic events of the day. Hour-long lectures and energy drinks for breakfast weren’t exactly the most desirable position to be in. As you were planning out your week, calculating how much time each assignment needed and what instructions were given, you bumped into an unfamiliar creature : A Hedgehog. 

   It struck you as a peculiar happenstance, given that he was on college grounds. He didn’t seem like he was a student. Of course, you could have just ignored him and went on with your night, but something in you wouldn’t let you. Since that day, the two of you have been inseparable. You weren’t exactly startled by his existence given that before you met him, Tom and Maddie asked you to ‘babysit’ Sonic and the others while they went out. Though your schedule was a bit stressful because of your college work, you always accepted. 

   And now, since Shadow had become part of your life, he sometimes tagged along when you went over to the Wachowski residence. Sonic, Knuckles and Tails behaved fairly well for the most part (you were thankful for that), but there was always one thing that nagged at you : your black and red quilled hedgehog friend who always seemed to be off in his own world despite being in the same room as the others. 

   Shadow had told you about his past after about a year of staying with you, but that didn’t mean you wanted him to feel isolated when everyone else was having fun. You weren’t exactly the best at comfort, but you couldn’t just leave him like that. So you decided to address it before heading over there.

   Shadow was munching on a handful of coffee beans when you entered the kitchen. You were dressed casually and ready to go out. “Shadow,” you spoke as you turned on the stove to boil a bit of water for a cup of coffee. 

   “What is it?” His eyes drifted to you, he was sitting at the small kitchen table. Your apartment wasn’t big but it was something at least. Shadow was grateful. 

   “Do you want a cup of coffee?” You asked while you leaned on the counter, your arms crossed. You weren’t sure how to approach it, you couldn’t exactly just tell him to socialize. In your experience, that never worked on you so it definitely wouldn’t work on him. So how..? 

   “Yes, I’d appreciate that.” Shadow nodded and kept eating away at his coffee beans. You’d gotten used to his short answers but sometimes, they weren’t the best for serious conversations like these. 

   “Are you going to come with me to Maddie’s?” you inquired, your voice a little softer than usual. 

   Shadow nodded, “Yes, I will be accompanying you tonight. Someone has got to keep those dimwits in check.” You chuckled at his insults and a small smile tugged at your lips. The time wasn't right, it felt too abrupt to just bring it up out of nowhere. So you made a note to bring it up later, at the right moment. After a cup of coffee with your hedgehog companion, the two of you were off to the Wachowski household. 

   The afternoon was calm. It was accompanied with the soft caresses of the wind and the warm beams of sunlight. You knocked on the door and waited for an answer, continuing your conversation with Shadow until Maddie answered the door. 

   “You’re right on time, come on in!” Maddie greeted, opening the door to let the two of you in. You thanked her and greeted the ever-energetic hedgehog who whizzed up in front of you in a matter of seconds. 

   “We’ll be back around ten-thirty, alright?” Tom told you. You nodded, “Yep, I promise to keep everyone on their best behavior.” The couple smiled in acknowledgement and told Sonic and the others the usual ‘behave or you’re grounded’ spiel before disappearing into one of Sonic’s rings. 

   “You guys wanna have a movie marathon or board games?” you asked the four of them, Shadow was still at your side with his arms crossed. 

   “How about, Board games first n’ then a movie marathon?” Sonic suggested, his hands on his hips. 

   “That sounds great!” Tails chimed in, “Agreed.” added Knuckles. 

   Sonic went to go get the board games out of the cabinet while everyone else cleared the table, Shadow was quiet as always. “You’re joining right?” 

   “Do you want me to?” Shadow helped you carry some cups to the sink. 

   You nudged him, “I’m asking what you want.” 

   He pondered for a moment. “I am unfamiliar with the games.” He didn’t seem sad about it but a little ..lost? This did not deter you though. 

   “I’ll teach you, I promise it’ll be fun.” you beamed. 

   “.. Are you sure?” Shadow asked, avoiding eye contact. It was a thing he did when he was uncertain of something. But you only nodded and guided his gaze back to you. You knew he was unsure about how the others would react to his participation. 

   “I’m more than sure.” 

   After the table was cleared, there was a mountain of games at the side of the table; Sonic, Tails, Knuckles, Shadow and you sat at the surrounding edges of the table, seated on the couch. “Since Shadow’s joining this time,” You began as you reached for the deck of cards on the table. “I was thinking we could play uno first, how's that?” 

   “Shadow’s joining?” Sonic asked with a surprised look on his face, “This’ll be fun.” Shadow only huffed and crossed his arms. Shadow only acted as if the blue hedgehogs remarks meant nothing because on the inside, he was grateful that they weren’t opposed to having him in the game.

   “I look forward to winning against all of you,” said Knuckles while donning a determined expression.

   “That’s ambitious.” said Shadow, “Dream on!” chimed Tails. Everyone seemed pumped and the environment felt warm. You were glad to see Shadow stepping out of his comfort zone. You split the cards while you explained the rules of the game to Shadow as well as the purpose of the different cards. Shadow listened intently and admired your expertise at card-shuffling. 

   “Alright, everyone count if you’ve got seven cards.” you said as you looked through your cards. 

   “Are we betting anything?” Sonic asked playfully. 

   “No, we are not betting anything, this is a game not gambling.” You rolled your eyes, “Plus, I'm a broke college student — the most I can give is like ten bucks.” Sonic and the others laughed at your half-joke. You reached for the deck and turned a card over, a six and the color blue present on the card. 

   After a long round of rock, paper, scissors, it was decided that Tails would start first and it would go clockwise. The game, despite being a practice round, went on for quite a long time — Though that was to be expected, given that it was the five of you who were playing. Tails ended up winning and the night went on smoothly. 

   Shadow was quite competitive and he ended up winning the two rounds afterwards, much to Sonic’s dismay. You were happy to see this side of Shadow, he seldom went out of his way to interact with others. It was your influence on him and your encouraging nature that allowed him to step out of his comfort. 

   It was about eight in the evening when Shadow was helping you make snacks for the movie marathon. Sonic, Tails and Knuckles were bickering over which movie to watch but you didn’t pay much mind to it. “You were great at Uno, I was surprised. It was your first time right?” You mashed the avocados with the mortar and pestle; Everyone had agreed on guacamole as the snack of the night. 

   Shadow nodded in response to your question, “I’m a quick learner, the game was relatively simple.” 

   Shadow added the minced tomatoes into the avocado mix. “I’m proud of you, y’know.” you spoke quietly but your words were warm. It was an exchange just between the two of you. Shadow began chopping up the cilantro as you spoke. “I know it isn’t easy, but I’m proud of you.” 

   His chopping slowed, “.. I’m not a social being, But..” He inhaled slowly before sighing. “Your efforts in encouraging me to engage with others were helpful.” You smiled at his words and listened earnestly, mixing in the ingredients he poured. “Playing board games with everyone today.. It reminded me of Maria.” 

   Your smile was one of understanding as you gazed down at the black hedgehog. He was reserved most of the time, but today he did something he wasn’t usually comfortable with. Your warm nature helped him creep out of his shell and enjoy himself. It helped him remember the lost moments with the person he held dearest to his heart. 

   “I remembered the joy I felt with her.. It was so easy then.” He spoke, a sorrowful smile on his lips. 

   “It might not be easy now, but it isn’t unreachable. Okay?” You washed your hands and dried them before bending down to give him a hug. He let go of the knife and accepted your warm hug. He closed his eyes before enclosing his own arms around you. Even though both of your lives were stressful, he had you and you had him. 

   No matter what, the two of you helped each other up when the other was down. The support you’d given him these past two years — he’d remember it and cherish it. 

   He decided then that he would do the same for you too.

[aquitainequeen]

I've always liked the establishing character moments in the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice; e.g. Bingley is jolly and friendly but tends to be a little too reliant on Darcy's advice and approval; Darcy's rich and snobbish while also a good friend to Bingley; Elizabeth is cheerful and independent; Mr. Bennet is scholarly and clearly isn't that fond of his wife and younger daughters, but obviously loves Elizabeth, etc.

But I've only just now realised that Georgiana Darcy has three such moments.

The first is when Caroline is telling Jane via letter that the Bingleys are going to stay in London for a while, and that she's hoping that her brother will marry Georgiana. We've heard her mentioned before by Darcy, Caroline and Wickham; now we see her in person for the first time, standing arm in arm with her brother before confidently going to meet Bingley:

This is a really interesting moment, because it could be what happened in reality - but that's highly doubtful; Georgiana is far too confident here compared with what we see later in the story and it's very unlikely she'd be interested in a new suitor after what happened so recently with Wickham. Thus it's either Caroline playing up their meeting in her own mind, anticipating their courtship and marriage, or it's Elizabeth picturing what happened, fuelled by her own resentment of how Wickham was supposedly treated by the proud, selfish, unfeeling Darcys. So the first time we see Georgiana is deeply influenced by what two other very biased characters think they see.

The next moment is here:

This time around Georgiana doesn't say a word or take the initiative; it's Wickham who takes her hand to kiss it, flirts excessively with her without saying a word, and strides off while she looks after him longingly, the beginnings of her smile fading as Darcy's handwriting takes over the screen. This is a rather biased moment as well; it's Darcy's flashback and he wasn't here for this bit, so he'd inevitably picture Georgiana as a sweet innocent completely swept off her feet by the charming man he so despises - but Darcy also knows his sister far better than Caroline and Elizabeth do, and she confesses everything to him once he discovers them at Ramsgate, so this is very likely how it went down in real life. And thus we get that much closer to the real Georgiana.

Finally, at the beginning of the fifth episode, we meet Georgiana in the flesh,

waiting nervously to be introduced,

smiling as soon as Darcy steps aside,

so nervous but so very pleased to meet Elizabeth,

hesistant and selfconcious but very interested in learning more about Elizabeth, coming further out of her protective shell, full of love and praise for her brother, earnestly saying that she should have liked to have had a sister. And Elizabeth, like the audience, is charmed by the real Georgiana.

[xinganhao]

playing for your number 🎾 challengers!seokmin x reader x vernon.

“for about fifteen seconds there, we were actually playing tennis. and we understood each other completely. so did everyone watching. it's like we were in love.” lifts/rewrites from the challengers (2024) script, orig. by justin kuritzkes + happy seokmin & vernon day!

SET ONE

C. VERNON: 0 - 0 

L. SEOKMIN: 0 - 0

EXT. A TENNIS COURT IN GANGDONG, SEOUL  –  LATE EVENING. THE YEAR IS 2015. 

VERNON, 17, wearing a black Kenzo hoodie. He has a mop of wavy brown hair that he keeps pushing out of his face. You could almost be fooled that he’s bored, with the way he pointedly tries not to look at you. Almost. 

SEOKMIN, 17, wearing an orange sweatshirt with white stripes. His hair is kept better than Vernon’s, cropped closely to accentuate his features. He keeps glancing your way, as if checking to see if you’re still watching, or if you’re actually there. 

YOU, wearing a yet-to-be-released Adidas Tennis Y-Dress. You sit looking out at the court with one leg over the other, grinning with amusement at the sight of the two men looking like they are about to fight to the death. 

There is no one else in sight. No one to witness this allegedly load-bearing match, held between two men who are much more used to being on the same side of the court. The look on Vernon, Seokmin, and your face suggests that this is about something much more than tennis. 

YOU (exaggerated) Lee to serve. 

Vernon goes to serve. Thwackkk! The ball comes scorching off his racket. A rally ensues. Seokmin sends the ball out wide. 

YOU OUT!

SEOKMIN Aw, c’mooon!

YOU Fifteen - love. 

The two reset. Vernon sends in another scorcher. Thwackkk!

YOU Out!

VERNON Yeah, yeah. I hear ya. 

Vernon resets, steps back up to the line. Finally, finally, he looks at you. He doesn’t smile too wide, but there’s a hint of a smirk on his face as he readies to serve. 

SEOKMIN Any day now, ‘Nonnie!

VERNON Excited to lose, are you? 

Vernon doesn’t look away from you. When he throws the ball up, it almost looks like he’s going to serve it for you. In a way, he is. That’s the point of this ‘friendly’ match, anyway. The winner gets to text you. He’s intent on making sure that will be him by the end of the night. 

Thwwackkkkkkk!

CUT TO BLACK.

SNAP.

The crowd gasps. Seokmin gets to his feet. 

You are SCREAMING IN PAIN. A trainer is already on the floor with you, trying to calm you down. You writhe around, sobbing, holding your knee. You’d been off your game the entire match, and that was what led to the slight miscalculation. The slip. The attempt at correction. The crash. 

Seokmin pushes through the shell-shocked crowd. He feels the burn of his phone in his pocket, the one with the text from Vernon. “not coming. we had a big fight. it’s wtvr.” 

INT. SPORTS THERAPY ROOM  –  NIGHT.

Seokmin is sitting at your bedside. Neither of you are speaking. You stare at the wall, your expression devoid of emotion. You look like you just had the life sucked out of you. 

Vernon appears in the doorway, his face pale. You turn, see him.  

VERNON Babe— 

YOU (deceptively calm) Out. 

VERNON Hey—

YOU OUT. 

VERNON (distressed) Please, just— 

YOU OUT! OUT! OUT!

Vernon looks at Seokmin. Seokmin knows he has a choice, here. In this very moment. He chooses— 

SEOKMIN You heard her, Vernon. Get out. 

EXT. A TENNIS COURT IN YONGSAN, SEOUL  –  LATE AFTERNOON. THE YEAR IS 2025. 

VERNON, 28, wearing a dirty white tee. He is ranked 218 in the world. He has no sponsorship deal, no team to rep him. He’s just a guy playing tennis, aiming for the KRW11,000,000 tournament prize. At least that was the initial goal. Now, there’s something else to win. Something more. 

SEOKMIN, 28, wearing head-to-toe UNIQLO. He is the biggest men’s tennis star South Korea has seen in a generation. There are speculations he’s training to represent the country in the Olympics. (False.) There is no reason for him to be at this amateur tournament— except, maybe, for the man on the other side of the net, and you. 

YOU, wearing sunglasses. Seokmin’s head coach-slash-wife. You sit over by the bleachers with both feet planted firmly on the ground. You look somber. Like this is a funeral of some sorts. 

The spectators are tennis enthusiasts, tourists, and residents alike. Everyone is here to watch this weird matchup. Two men so different in status, supposedly dissimilar in their motivations. They are more alike than anyone would expect.

The look on Vernon, Seokmin and your face is the same as from a decade ago. This is about something much more than tennis.

THE NIGHT BEFORE —

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[cece693]

PART 2 OF THE BUCKYxLOKI’S BROTHER PLEASE!! (And thank you)

He's Cute Pt. 2

pairing: bucky barnes x male reader tags: date night, cute moments between bucky and reader, protective bucky, reader having eyes only for his man, couldn't help myself so we have some jealous bucky

The morning sun cast a warm glow on the bustling New York street as you and Bucky left the Avengers Tower, side by side, for your much-anticipated coffee date. You could practically feel Bucky’s heartbeat thrumming—his energy was a mix of nerves and excitement, hidden behind a carefully maintained cool exterior.

Still, you caught the way he’d sneak glances at you, how he kept a polite but protective distance between you and the street, and how his hand hovered near the small of your back whenever you paused to look in a shop window. If there was one thing you’d learned about James “Bucky” Barnes, it was that beneath the stoic shell, he was a sweet, attentive soul.

When you reached the little coffee shop a few blocks away, the sweet aroma of espresso and baked goods made you inhale appreciatively. Bucky let you step in first, his eyes still straying to you while you gawked at the menu board.

“Wow,” you murmured, half to yourself. “So many options. Mocha latte, flat white, salted caramel… Are these incantations?”

Bucky suppressed a grin, remembering the first time you’d asked that. “No magic, promise,” he said, nudging your shoulder gently. “What are you in the mood for?”

Before you could answer, the barista—a cheerful guy in his mid-twenties with a neat man-bun and bright green apron—leaned over the counter, practically beaming at you. “Hey there! First time, huh? Don’t worry, I can help you pick the perfect drink,” he offered, sliding an elbow onto the counter in a move that was definitely meant to come off as suave.

You blinked, oblivious to the barista’s flirty smile. “That’s kind of you,” you said politely. “I’ve only tried a couple coffees so far.”

“Awesome,” the barista replied, eyes dancing with interest. “You should let me whip up a custom latte just for you. Something sweet, with a little extra foam on top, maybe a heart design…”

Bucky cleared his throat, stepping forward so that his broad shoulder was just enough in the barista’s line of sight to cut off the direct gaze. “He’ll have a caramel macchiato,” Bucky said firmly, voice low in a way that suggested the barista hurry it up. “And I’ll take a black coffee.”

The barista’s smile faltered, eyeing Bucky with a mix of confusion and polite fear. “Sure thing.”

As the barista fiddled with the espresso machine, you turned to Bucky, eyes sparkling. “I didn’t realize there were so many specialized drinks. Custom lattes?”

Bucky’s jaw unclenched, and he mustered a small, reassuring smile for you. “Yeah, they get creative. But trust me, you’ll like the macchiato.”

Once you two collected your drinks, you picked out a cozy table near the window. The morning light bathed you in a soft glow that made your hair look…well, downright ethereal, if Bucky were being honest. And from the corner of his eye, he noticed more than one patron shooting glances your way.

You sipped your caramel macchiato, eyes lighting up at the sweet, creamy flavor. “This is wonderful!”

Bucky felt a surge of pride, as if he’d personally crafted the drink. “Glad you like it,” he said, resisting the urge to reach out and brush his fingers across your knuckles. Before the conversation could deepen, another interruption arrived—this time a fellow customer who lingered by the pastry display, giving you a once-over before sauntering over.

“Good morning,” she said, flipping her hair with a practiced flourish. “I haven't seen you here before."

You, perpetually polite, offered a friendly nod. “Yes, I’m new to Midg—New York. It’s very different from home.”

She giggled, eyes trailing over your features. “Well, if you need a local guide, I live right around the corner.” She lowered her voice, leaning in conspiratorially, “And I know all the best spots.”

Your eyebrows lifted in genuine curiosity. “Really? That sounds interesting.”

Bucky’s grip on his coffee cup tightened until his knuckles turned white. He cleared his throat, but she didn’t budge—she seemed more than happy to ignore him entirely, focusing on you like a hawk. “Yeah,” she continued. “I could show you a real good time. How about—”

“He’s good,” Bucky cut in, voice dangerously soft. He stared her down, his intense blue eyes flicking to her face with a distinct warning.

She blinked, finally noticing the murderously protective glint in his gaze. “Oh—are you two…?”

“Yes,” Bucky said bluntly, not even letting the question hang.

You, still oblivious, looked between them. “We’re on a date,” you added helpfully, as though trying to clarify.

The woman looked between you, Bucky, and his metal arm resting on the table. An awkward laugh escaped her. “My mistake. Enjoy your coffee.” She walked off, adjusting her purse with forced nonchalance.

As soon as she was gone, you turned back to Bucky, your expression perplexed. “She was hitting on me, right? Is that like a phrase, ‘hitting on someone?’ Because you said—”

“Yeah,” Bucky confirmed, irritation still simmering just behind his calm veneer. “She was.”

“Oh,” you murmured, taking another sip of your drink. “Well, that’s not a problem, is it? I mean, people here are friendly…”

Bucky exhaled heavily, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. He reached across the table, lightly brushing the back of your hand. “You’re too nice for your own good,” he said softly. “Just...it gets on my nerves when strangers try to pick you up right in front of me.”

Understanding dawned on you, and your eyes softened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

He shook his head, giving a dismissive little shrug. “Not your fault at all. I just…might have a jealous streak, I guess.”

A warm smile curved your lips. “That’s kind of sweet. In a protective way.”

Your words made him relax, and he actually managed a genuine, sheepish grin. “Glad you think so.”

With the interlopers gone, you and Bucky finally got some quieter moments. You asked him about the differences between the 1940s and modern times—he gave you quick anecdotes about old radio shows, dime coffees, and awkward attempts to use smartphones now. In return, you regaled him with tales of Asgard—though you stuck to the less epic parts, not wanting to overshadow the mundane joy of a simple coffee date.

Sometimes Bucky would reach out and tap the rim of your cup with his vibranium fingers, almost like he wanted an excuse to brush against your hand. More than once, your gentle laughter made him forget the rest of the café altogether. That is, until your phone chimed with a text—a reminder from Tony about some meeting in a couple of hours.

“Guess we need to head back soon?” Bucky asked, trying and failing to hide his disappointment.

You nodded regretfully, finishing the last sweet sip of your drink. “Seems so. We can’t exactly ditch the meeting, can we? Tony would… he’d probably show up here with an Iron Man suit,” you joked.

Bucky gave a small smirk. “He’s petty like that.”

With some reluctance, you both stood, disposing of your cups and stepping out into the warm late-morning air. The short walk back to Avengers Tower was surprisingly pleasant, even with the occasional sideways glances from passersby who recognized one of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. Bucky kept close to you, occasionally brushing his shoulder against yours, as if to remind everyone this is my date.

The moment you stepped through the Tower doors, though, you found yourselves ambushed by the rest of the team loitering in the lobby—clearly waiting. Tony, arms crossed over his chest, grinned like a cat who caught the canary. Steve, Sam, Clint, and Natasha stood behind him in a loose huddle, each wearing various degrees of curiosity and mischief.

“Would you look at that,” Tony drawled, “our resident star-crossed duo has returned.”

Sam smirked. “Didn’t think a simple coffee run would take this long. Or is that code for something else?”

Clint raised an eyebrow suggestively. “‘Coffee run?’ That’s a new one.”

Bucky glowered at them, ears turning pink. “It was just coffee. And we walked.”

“Walked,” Tony echoed, lips twisting in an exaggerated pout. “Uh-huh, I’m sure.”

You, still glowing from the morning’s events, decided to speak up. “There was coffee, yes, and a few people...tried to start a conversation.”

Natasha picked up on your hint of confusion. “Tried to start a conversation? That’s a polite way of saying they were hitting on you in front of Bucky?”

You nodded earnestly, unwittingly dropping the bomb the team was waiting for. “Yes, actually! Twice, in fact. Bucky was not pleased.”

A collective gasp and a few stifled laughs rippled through the group. Sam hooted, patting Bucky’s shoulder. “Oh man, did you go all Winter Soldier on them? Metal arm intimidation?”

Bucky shrugged off Sam’s hand, trying to maintain dignity. “I just told them to buzz off. That’s all.”

Tony snickered. “I can see it now: ‘Move along, buddy, or you’ll be meeting Mr. Vibranium.’”

Steve, at least, tried to look sympathetic. “Glad it went okay, though. The date, I mean.”

“It was nice,” you said, the corners of your mouth lifting in a sincere smile. “Very…sweet.” You turned to Bucky, stepping closer. “Thank you for showing me more of Midgard’s culture.”

Before Bucky could form a reply, you leaned in and planted a quick, affectionate kiss on his cheek. The lobby erupted in whoops and cackles. Sam feigned swooning against Clint, who patted his forehead dramatically. Tony cupped a hand to his ear as though straining to hear wedding bells. Bucky froze, eyes going wide, heat rushing to his face. But the grin that broke out was nothing short of radiant.

“Oh, that’s how it is, huh?” Tony teased, crossing his arms with a smug grin. “Looks like we’re gonna have to start calling you guys ‘Sugar and Spice.’”

Clint made an exaggerated smooching sound. “Or do we call you both ‘Buzz Off!’ and ‘He’s Mine!’”

Bucky grumbled something incoherent, but he still looked over at you with soft eyes that said he didn’t regret a thing.