#i certainly can and will and do write fics where it means something else

[jennelikejennay]

You know what I think t'hy'la means?

It's not an ambiguous term, like it could mean three different things. But I also don't think it always means all three. I think it's a singular concept that we don't use on Earth, but maybe we should.

You know how some people's number one person is their spouse, while other people, married or not, have a best friend who's the one they really tell everything to? You know how you might have a queerplatonic relationship but whether or not you have sex with them is just ...not an important question?

I think t'hy'la means your number one person. And humans don't have a word that says most important without distinguishing whether we're blood-related or whether we're having sex.

Vulcans do. So I don't especially like the idea that all t'hy'la pairs have to be lovers in a sexual sense. It's not that at all. It's that they have this deep bond that transcends everything. You could have that with your brother. You could have it with your friend. Or if you're attracted to that person, you would probably be lovers.

Kirk and Spock love each other deeply; everyone who knows them knows that. The word they use for each other doesn't say whether they're having sex because Vulcans don't care about that. Humans are all "weird, the dictionary definition won't tell me whether they're boning, which is information I'm used to having publicly announced!" Well, too bad. Vulcans have arranged marriages usually, and some of them have sex once every seven years. So I just don't think sex is the defining point that makes a relationship serious to them.

If a Vulcan says "this is my t'hy'la" that lets everyone know they are bonded in the deepest level of the katra and any arranged spouses or temporary pon farr surrogates they might have don't even rank, by comparison. That's uncomfortable to humans.

Now Kirk and Spock are definitely having sex, but Spock doesn't consider that to be the fact that makes their relationship serious and primary over all others. So that's why he chooses a word that is about the soul bond, not the flesh.

[littlcdarlin]

dbf!Joel headcanons

warnings: big, though unspecified age gap, 18+ (as always)

note: Uni has been kicking my ass, so I’ve only had time for some headcanons lately. This Joel is very sweet, but I’m open to writing sleazy or dark Joel, too! If you have requests for any headcanons, I will be able to write them even during this stressful time. Full fics will take me a while longer. Enjoy reading, my loves <3 and feel free to add stuff!

He doesn’t really know how to cook well and mostly eats his faves every day but when you stay over more and more he makes an effort to learn and actually finds out he really likes it

Whatever pressure your parents put on you, he relieves it by accepting it rather than trying to fix it for you — you can just exist around him without expectation

He worries the age difference means you don’t have much to talk about, so he watches your favourite show that you mentioned and although it certainly wouldn’t have been his first pick, it lets him unwind. He likes watching something he knows you’ve watched and loved when you’re not around, it makes him feel closer to you

When he first starts looking at you differently he blue balls himself so as not to disrespect you — when he has sex with someone to relieve himself, he accidentally says your name to them

He keeps a polaroid of you in his wallet and cashiers wonder why he smiles at his debit card so much

He finds it hard to stay friends with your dad, because it makes him feel weird about this dynamic with you. He distances himself from your parents after they react badly to the news of your relationship, not because of guilt or cowardice, but because he doesn’t tolerate how they treat you

He thought he would hate the gossip after the two of you go public, but when you do, he finds himself imagining knocking you up just so everyone knows what he does to you. He opts for lots of hickeys until kids might be a possibility, but that doesn’t stop him from pretending you don’t have an IUD when he finishes inside of you

He loves when you wear his clothes, but when you forget your scarf at his place he wears it and enjoys that just as much — it smells like you and he likes the idea of people being able to tell it’s somebody else’s

When he figures out how much you like him talking to you during sex, he starts using the same voice/phrases in public to get you flustered & wet for him

He keeps everything that reminds him of you, like parking tickets etc. He doesn’t do anything with those things, doesn’t put them in a box, so they linger around his house, reminding him of you the way photographs would, except more privately

He starts “putting in an effort” for you when you start dating: styling his hair & wearing clothes he thinks you would prefer, until you tell him you like nothing more than his flannels and band tees and jeans, and although he doesn’t tell you, he’s beyond relieved. He realises you like him for him

When you tell your parents, Joel asks your father to hit him because “he knows he deserves it”. With time he learns he also deserves your kisses and smiles. Those things coexist within him, he thinks both are true

Despite completely supporting you in your pursuit of a degree & career, he likes when you’re on holiday, waiting around for him in his house wearing nothing but a pair of panties he bought for you & one of his hoodies. During those lazy weeks, he fucks you morning, afternoon, and night: before he leaves, when he gets home, and right before you go to sleep

He buys you a ring during the first week of dating because you mentioned how much you like it. He doesn’t give it to you until he knows you feel certain about him — he doesn’t want to freak you out. Still, even before that, he sometimes looks at it in its little black box and envisions it on your finger

During your first couple of “public dates” (neighbourhood barbecue where your parents are present etc.) he refrains from touching you much, although everyone knows about your relationship. You have to take his hand and initiate small touches for him to feel more comfortable

It takes him a short while, but then he loves being able to touch you in front of people: a hand on your lower back, an arm across your shoulder, his fingers lacing through yours, him pulling your back against his front and wrapping his arms around you. People stare sometimes (your Dad breaks one or two wine glasses in his hand), but Joel stops caring when he sees how happy it makes you

He tells you that you can change things about his home, that it should feel like your place, too and asks if you want to go shopping for “candles and stuff”, but you love being in a space that feels completely like him. It’s not how your apartment looks, but it makes you feel at ease, like you’re somehow living inside of him

Before he tells you he loves you, he whispers it in your ear when you’re sleeping, hoping your subconscious will somehow pick up on it. When he does tell you while you’re awake for the first time, it’s during breakfast. You stub your toe, and let out a string of curses you must have picked up on from him, and while he presses ice against your foot, kneeling in front of you, he smiles up and tells you: I love you.

The first time you sleep over at his house after he spent the night in your apartment, two brand new bottles of the shampoo and conditioner you use are in his shower. You thank him and jokingly ask why he didn’t buy your shower gel, too. He kisses you and tells you he likes when you smell like him.

He likes making you come more times than you thought you could — something about moving in and out of you while you tell him you can’t do it again, that you’re done, and then watching you fall apart on his cock anyway, thrills him to the bone. It makes him feel powerful, but part of it is knowing you let him fuck you without expecting an orgasm, that him being inside of you is enough for you to feel good

He doesn’t tell you, but he adds your name to his car insurance, so that you can drive it whenever you want

When you figure it out you give him road head every time the two of you drive somewhere — until he almost crashes the car and he forbids you to tempt him while he’s behind the wheel

He’s so nervous he asks Tommy for help when picking out a birthday gift for you — Tommy goes overboard and the gift turns out to be something completely ridiculous like a pair of huge earrings you would never wear. You tell Joel you don’t need a big fuss to feel loved by him. At night, he gives you a present he’s been wanting to give you for a while: he plays you a song he wrote for you on his guitar. It’s quiet and simple and so perfect you cry for half an hour

He doesn’t sleep well when you’re not around, and loves being close to you at night. If he could, he’d sleep nestled inside of you after a round of lazy midnight sex every night

As much as Tommy annoys him, it makes him happy to see how well you two get along. When you become actual friends with Tommy and hang out with him on your own, he’s more than pleased: the two people he loves the most in the world have become close

He would never ask it of you, but when you tell him you have stopped masturbating because he fucks you so often, it pleases him deeply. He likes being the only source of your pleasure. When you are apart for a while because of work/collage etc., he buys you a toy he can control from his phone

He tells Tommy he thinks he’s going to marry you during the first month of dating, which you find out about only on your wedding day during Tommy’s speech

[prettyboykatsuki]

I can just imagine fujo neet reader practicing different sex position with rin to make sure she gets the proportions right.

✮ tags ; fem!reader, sexual tension, rin's pov, RIN IS KIND OF MEAN TO HER BUT HE WANTS HER SO BAD FDKJJS, reader is a fujoshi and bl mangaka, pre-relationship, they work together, part of a ficverse i haven't written yet Sorry, ONE JOKE ABOUT RIN WANTING TO OFF HIMSELF, SUPER SUGGESTIVE LOL 18+

✮ wc ; 3.5k (WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!)

✮ a/n ; i had to do this for my sanity. i promise i will write them a proper fic with them i promise.

You never text Rin.

Not really. Not first at least. It's a new... friendship. Kind of. Sort of. Most of your communication thus far has been through meetings and random in-person chance encounters. Outside of that, Rin will call you since it's faster. If you do "text", it's mostly through twitter DM's.

There's a discord server your fans run, and you pop in there often enough. He's had the invitation extended but declined unilaterally, since he'd rather not see himself fucking Isagi anymore than he already has in his short, miserable career.

It surprised him this morning, seeing your message flash across the top of his screen. Asking, specifically, for him to come over and help you with something related to the new manga you were writing. He had it in his right mind to decline, but after learning it wasn't a doujin for him, he semi-reluctantly agreed.

Rin doesn't know when exactly your relationship to him grew this...comfortable. Inviting him over to your house, begging him for favors, not wincing every time he talks to you. Rin isn't an extrovert but compared to you he's a social butterfly. And your aversion to people in general, Rin thought, would prevent you from doing anything more than squeak at him forever just like you did when he met you.

(Though nothing in his life has been normal since your arrival in it. He's not sure why you would remain unchanged when he certainly hasn't.)

He doesn't know what to feel when you ask him for a favor, and he doesn't know what force of nature compels him to go. If it's morbid curiosity or annoyance or something else even worse.

It was compelling enough to take the train all the way out to Machida - an hour long trip from his own place. His manager hounded him to take you something, so he has a bag of ginseng energy drinks and snacks with him as a gift. He took the bus with his mask on, and then walked all the way to your building.

Your apartment is tucked somewhere classically suburban - attached at the far end of a residential street and behind concrete support beams for a highway just overhead. Cherry blossom trees and other shades of white flowers grow around it in thick patches, making the entrance hard to find. Rin would've had trouble if you didn’t give him details on exactly where to go.

It's an older building, stone walls worn and grass-stained from age. At the gate are groups of old people talking amongst each other as they sort through recycling and trash. All visor hats and sunspots, they fawn over Rin for a long while before he goes in and interrogates him with questions. None of them know him, which is relieving. It quickly graduates to them asking who he's there to visit, if he has a girlfriend or not.

All of them ooh and aah when he mentions your name, say something about being relieved she's found a man so handsome and that Rin should marry you because even though you're a little strange you're a good girl. Rin does not have the time nor energy to correct them - only nods and bows his head and leaves.

On the elevator ride up to your floor, he can't help but think repeatedly that this isn't the kind of place he'd expect you to live. He thought it'd be out in the middle of nowhere, maybe in a damp and broken building.

But this is a nice place with nice people, vibrant and colorful. Totally opposite from what he considers your personality.

Suitable or not, Rin manages to make it to your floor without a hitch.

He finds you, then, as he'd expect. Down a long hall, behind an unassuming white door. When you open it, you're a mess. Your hair completely unkempt, face greasy, a wild look in your eyes and complete surprise in your expression as if you didn't invite him over. You do, however, manage to invite him in without stuttering or stumbling over your words foolishly like you did the first time you spoke to him.

Another surprise is how... clean your living room is. It's lived in but he was expecting more mess in there. Your bedroom is in a similar state, undoubtedly messy but not terrible. Your NEET tendencies finally end up showing when you drag Rin into your office where you draw your manga.

It's not dirty but it's cluttered. There's a pull out sofa on one wall, with a blanket and pillow littered about and pages upon pages of paper sheets with scrapped panels about the floor. One wall has a bunch of post-its with several notes in both English and Japanese, and another has tacked up pieces of art. Both yours and other peoples. He chooses to ignore the ones of him and Isagi, The walls themselves are cream colored and uninteresting and the wood floors are slippery. At the far end of the room is a spread of desks, a PC set-up and a professional looking tablet among various art supplies in stacked boxes.

It's this room you bring Rin into without explaining yourself at all, mumbling and muttering as you give him a place to sit and go back to your work for fifteen silent minutes.

When you're finally finished doing whatever the fuck you were doing, you turn yourself back towards Rin. Bluelight glasses fall down the bridge of your nose as you swivel around in your chair - your sweatpants half pulled up your leg with the other pulled down. You're wearing fuzzy socks with Naruto characters on them.

You stare at him, pulling your glasses off and rubbing your eyes - dark circles under them.

"Uhm," Your voice is clipped and thick with exhaustion. "You came."

Rin deadpans. "You asked me to come."

"I thought you'd say no."

He did too. He doesn't respond back. You chew your lips, already anxious and Rin resists the urge to say something about it.

"Okay. Uhm. Please don't get mad," You start with and then explain, looking away. Your hands pull your sleeves over your palms. "So. Like. For my new series, I'm finally getting to the sex scene but I've never drawn characters with an intense height difference like this. And I need... new reference photos.... and uhm," You rub your feet together on your chair where you sit "Well our height differences and size is the exact one my characters have. So."

Rin stares at you. "So?"

"SoIwaswonderingifyou'dtakereferenceimagesforsexpositionswithme,"

Rin feels his jaw lock. "Slower."

You frown and look away, tucking your chin with embarrassment. "I was uhm, like, wondering if you'd take... take the uhm, sex position reference photos with me, please."

"What?"

You clasp your hands together, immediately prostrating yourself by throwing yourself down the ground. He flinches back, wondering if you're gonna hold onto his leg next.

"Please, please help me. You're the exact height of my seme and you uhm have similar builds and he's doing the most of the legwork. The poses are a little bit hard but I want them to look good or Minami-san will eat me and I'm scared of her, please help me."

"Who is Minami-san?"

You sniffle, on the verge of tears just thinking about it. "My editor. She used to be my fan. She's scary. Please, Rin-kun, please."

"What the hell did you do before?"

You frown at him, big wet puppy-dog eyes.

"It was hard. Sometimes I'd pose with my big stuffed animals and make up the proportions. Oh and usually watched porn and stuff. Sometimes I'd get lucky with stockphotos. But I don’t get the angle exactly right unless I have good references."

Rin wonders if anything you have ever said has processed in your mind before saying it. He doubts it for some reason.

"So," Rin pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes the image of you humping your stuffed animals out of his head. "You're asking me to.. pose with you?"

You nod and chew your lip. "Please, I promise I'd never ask you for this if I wasn't s-scared of Minami-san! Please?"

"I should make you pay me for this," He sneers. You flinch back and close your eyes.

"I'm sorry." You whine wetly, but then open your eyes again anyway. "Please help me."

Rin doesn't know why he helps you. Maybe you're just too pathetic for him to ignore. Maybe he's a masochist. Maybe inhaling the same air as Bachira last week turned him stupid.

He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Fine."

__

If Rin didn't believe you before when you told him you make your own references, he'd definitely believe you after you take him to your bedroom.

Your bed is in the center of your room, instead of being pushed against a wall. Large stuffed animals laid in one corner. On both sides of the room, are makeshift digital camera stands and remote-controlled lighting among another remote for said cameras. There's about 4-6 angles from what you explained to Rin, and a few adjustable lights. It's an elaborate set-up and takes the kind of dedication Rin can only imagine a hardcore fujoshi freak like yourself thinking up.

All of this to mostly draw porn of him and his rival. He tries not to think about it too hard because he thinks it's going to give him an aneurysm. Rin sits at the edge of your bed as you adjust each of the cameras individually.

"What do you do if it's not on a bed?"

You flinch like you aren't expecting him to talk. "Uhm. I either simulate as best I can o-or move my things and bed around. It's why I moved my desk to my office."

Rin stares at you. "You take it seriously."

You nod meekly. "Producing high-quality doujin is what made me money, so I have to work hard. Being poor is tough."

If Rin didn't find you so unbearable he might find that awe-inspiring in his own fucked up way.

"Okay. Everything is set-up. Now for the poses," You say, suddenly sparking back to life. Rin sits and watches. "They're having sex on a public beach so the bed and the way the seme sort of sinks into the sand will be good... I think the bridge one is the one we'll do first."

"The bridge?"

You nod, talking in short sentences. But Rin can tell this is where you're comfortable, doing things for this... hobby. Your usual constant embarrassment and shame seem to disappear when it comes to it. It's fascinating like a car crash. "Uhm. You have to stand on your knees and then, I'll lay on my back and arch my back up to meet your... y'know. It'll emphasize the height difference."

Rin stares at you agape. You take the remote control for your cameras in your hands and look at him expectantly.

Rin doesn't know whats wrong with him. Why the hell did he agree to this?

"Do you want me to take my jacket off?"

You nod, surprised. He shrugs the thing off of his shoulders and tosses it onto the floor.

Rin, per your instruction, gets into the position in the middle of the bed. He stands on his knees waiting for you. You join him a minute after, squinting at your phone screen beforehand. He isn't sure what he's expecting as a result of your ask, but he sure is shocked when he finds you placing your feet flat on the bed next to his knees and pushing yourself up for your crotch to meet his.

He knows that’s what you said but your shamelessness proves to be… shocking.

He tries not to let it show. His jaw ticks. His face feels warm but his expression remains neutral all the same. You shift and adjust and don't seem concerned at all - like it doesn't occur to you that this is in any way socially unacceptable. Or it's unfathomable Rin would take advantage of this. That this is weird, or could be interpreted in less than innocent ways. Rin knows you're so out of touch that it probably isn't. That this is, to you, just considered a favor which is partially why he even agrees.

But you're mid-brushing up against his bulge. The angle of your back forms a triangle, your arms laid flat at your sides as you squirm and push. And your expression shifts, deep in thought.

"Uhm, like, would you mind p-putting your hands on my hips? Kind of squeezing tight like it's," You flush this time, but Rin harbors doubt it's about him. "Like it feels good I guess? Like hard, and stuff so you can see the indent."

He's so astonished, he does it on autopilot. Neutral and even. He lets his hands grab your hips and holds tight just as you ask. Your long, loose sweatshirt falls down revealing the soft skin of your tummy. He can see the tops of your underwear, the thin cotton kind that come in 6-packs with a single bow in the middle in a grey color.

You don't seem to care about it. Rin shouldn't either, but his body does seem to care. His brain does. Something is happening in his gut. Anger maybe. Some cheap, frustrated desire to make fun of you.

Instead the words he's been wanting to ask since you proposed this tumble out of his mouth. He stares at you.

"Is this the first time someone's done this with you?"

You jump with a start, but remain in position. You take the pictures first, six clicks in a row before answering.

"H-huh? Why-why are you asking that?"

He doesn't know. Really. And he knows how it sounds. Rin doesn't say anything and you fold under the immense pressure of his gaze.

"S-stop staring," You say, and take a few more pictures, lowering your back just a little but still staying up right. "And no. No one tall enough or with the right physique."

There is another gnawing question, another burning curiosity. He makes his voice as even and unaffected and apathetic as he can. As mean as possible.

"Have you ever even had sex?"

Your eyes blow wide, but you seem to fall for the persona of apathy, curious boredom and cruelty. Worse, you seem a little used to it. You squirm this time and Rin holds you firmly in place. Your voice is small.

"Uhm, like, once I guess. I-it was with a guy, I didn't really date him but he seemed interested in me and I didn't think I'd ever have the opportunity again s-so I did it and I didn't uhm, it wasn't very good or anything." You reply, and he can feel your toes curl in your socks next to him and his brain feels like it'll melt from out of his ears. "Sorry, I don't-don't think you care about that, just uhm, felt like I should explain."

"Yeah," Rin feels dizzy. "Do you need another pose?"

You blink and then nod. "Yeah! Another one kind of like this, but with the legs like uhm, on your chest and my feet closer to your head. With you leaned back a little. Does that make sense? The butterfly position, I think."

Rin swallows something at the back of throat.

He nods, pulling you into position so easily he can heard you gasp. Your legs straighten against his clothed chest, and your sweatshirt falls far enough to let him see your bra. A fabric sports kind, a little worn - just the logo visible. He doesn't say anything about it, your feet resting near his neck. You make a little soft noise.

"This feels a little difficult to be in. Poor uke. Sorry if this one is kind of weird, but can you put your hands, I dunno, on my ass, I guess? I know that's probably too much but I think it'll be a good detail, so please? I'll pay you"

Rin stares at you, teeth gritting so hard he feels the back of his skull throb. "Fine."

Rin, per your request, puts his hands on your ass. It's easy enough, and he doesn't hold too tight. But it's too intimate, too stupidly fucking intimate, and he can feel you. You're hardly paying attention, caught up in your own head with whatever else. Rin is paying too much attention. Like how your sweatpants aren't thick enough to cover the outline of your frumpy cotton panties and how your soft all over. He's going to kill someone. Maybe himself.

Six more clicks and a little noise of satisfaction.

"Okay!!! I think these will turn out so great, and I can use them later too. Just one more. I have a lot of refs for this position, but uhm - I want to see if I can get the proportions correct, so if you'd please lay down," You tell him with such genuine excitement he can't find it in himself to say anything horribly cruel. "I'll be doing most of the work this time. I just-just need to see how uke will compare..."

You mutter something to yourself as Rin lets you down and lays himself down on your bed. You sit next to him for a long while, squinting at your phone. Rin stares at you as you. Wonders if he's gone completely insane, and tries to ignore the doom of the impending hard-on cozying itself in his pants.

Unceremoniously, you find yourself perching over Rin's lap. Not bothering to give him any pretense, it's the one thing about today that's really getting him.

"Oh, I need my hands for this," You give him the remote and stare down at him wide-eyed, over his lap. This has to be hell. "Could you take the photos this time?"

He closes his eyes and counts to ten and wonders if a concussion has made him insane. "Hm."

You brighten and Rin feels his chest go tight. "Thanks!"

Rin just nods, his mouth drying as you start to move and pose. A picture with your hands next to his head, and anothe r where you're sat up - your hands at your sides. Rin obediently takes pictures when you ask, his entire body tensing every single time you move.

"Okay, last one," You say. This time, you put your hands on his chest. Just the one. You must have something specific in your head that you're wanting to recreate. You bend down close, looking down at him as you do - your other hand clenched.

Rin looks up at you. He should not be thinking about you in any way. He's looking at the way your lips curve and plump and at your bare skin and your dark circles and your stupid licensed anime hoodie. He just gapes at you in confusion and mystique. He's around so many weirdos. It's not like there's anything special about you. You’re just another freak who makes porn of him. Plenty of people do that.

A loser and an idiot with no sense of self-preservation. There's nothing special about this, but Rin hasn’t been able to convince himself of that.

You stare down at him.

"Take a picture?"

Rin looks at you. Studies your expression. You seem like you're thinking. It's the only oppurtunity he has to pry.

"Did you want to ask something?" He says first. “You’re not hard to read.”

You startle, then nod. Your hand is on his chest. It's warm, and smaller than his.

"Oh, I-I guess I was wondering about what you asked me earlier. And uhm, like, I don't know. If you ever did anything. Your relationships aren't in the media and fans speculate but," You fall flat on your words. "I guess I was just curious."

Rin hates this question. It's why he never answers it. Why he hates being called a hearthrob, always too shallow and too personal for his taste.

"Nothing long term or serious. It was most for physical relief." Rin says, almost on autopilot. “Not that’d you know what that’s like.”

Your eyes widen. Rin feels his hands twitch, watching your expression finally grown conscious of him. Lust spreads through you like honey and Rin can see it in how you look. You squirm in his lap. He's not usually so aggressive, not usually one to care about sex in any important way. Not one to brag about something so unbelievably inane and trivial.

But it's bothering him, just how much he's fighting the urge to pin you down and fuck you. You of all people. It's not like him. Rough sex is whatever, but it's bothering him how little any of it seems to register in your head anymore like it once did. You could barely breathe the first time you met.

He doesn't know why he cares that you don’t anymore. He doesn’t give a shit about anything related to you

But the thought nothing seems to bother you anymore bothers him.

"Oh... I see. That's uhm, interesting. I b-bet you have a lot more experience than me. Maybe it'd be a good thing to keep you around for that kind of refernce too," You joke.

Rin lets his hand slip up to your hips without asking, not bothering to hide it anymore. His head feels with nothing but stupid useless thoughts. Thoughts of fucking you in your old, worn clothes and stained shirts and comfortable cotton underwear. Thoughts of your hands clutching at his shoulder all weepy with desire and need and stupidity - your big wide eyes bleary and sensitive. It's cruel how relentlessly he thinks about taking advantage of all your differences. Of how unathletic and awkward and unused to everything you are.

It's horrible just how much he's staving off his own arousal about it. Maybe you're strange habits are infecting him, making him strange too strange. All Rin can think about uselessly is how easily he could put you in your place. Fix you in some strange way. You’d be his to fix and you’d cry and weep and want to run away. Rin wouldn’t let you, keep you pinned and caged like an animal.

His throat feels tight. What is fucking wrong with him today?

Is he that pent up? He stares at you, and gets some passing feeling that there is more to it than that. He closes his eyes.

"Whatever," He says, letting go. You don't seem to notice it again, how thick his voice is getting "Are you almost done?"

You nod and smile. "Yes. Thank you."

Rin feels his heart tug and seethes. “You're welcome."

[orionremastered]

Hybrid/shapeshifter golden tiger reader as a vigilante with batfam? I really love your writing :0

They're so PRETTY how did I not know they existed before???? Also I love shifter fics bc who doesn't

Masterlist

Part Two

Golden

Being a shifter is bad in this day and age, at least until the shifter is mature enough to shift on command. Before then, young shifters can shift with any strong emotion, especially negative ones like anger and fear.

Most shifters mature when they turn into adults, which means they're either taught to become temporary psychopaths or are homeschooled until they're mature enough.

You, like many shifters, were the latter. Now that you're in university and studying biology, living in your own apartment states away from your parents, you're free. So incredibly free.

Free to be you, free to talk to people who interest you, and free to fight the lowly criminals of Goth- wait, what?

It was an accident, you swear. You couldn't bear to hear that poor little girl's blood-curdling screams (you hadn't understood what the phrase meant before, but you sure do now) any longer, so you shifted and almost, but not quite, mauled the man to death.

"Pretty kitty!" she had called you, and from then on you vowed to look after the young kids of Gotham, especially when going to and coming from school as well as at night (if you weren't studying). Sometimes you simply lay in the bushes of a park and watched over the kids as they played on the playground.

They remained your main focus (though you did save others, you mostly watched over the young children) even when the press got wind of the golden tiger shifter vigilante. "Golden" is what they called you, and it was certainly better than other names the press had given vigilantes before.

The local bat population had gotten word of your existence beforehand and had tried to even just get a glimpse of you, but you were too quick. After the press got wind, they amped up their efforts.

You've decidedly had enough of your studying and walked out of your apartment, climbing into the window of an ashy-smelling abandoned building, the charcoal staining your fingers as you moved into the dark to shift.

One could guess what happened to the building, but it didn't have anything to do with a golden tiger climbing out its window on a cool early spring night, the snow thawing slower than usual. There weren't many people on the streets at this hour which you were glad for.

You take your normal route today, going through the less fortunate neighbourhoods where kids are most commonly found. Slushy snow drenches your paws in cold water as you leap onto the next roof and climb down the stairs on the side of the building.

There's a bundle of blankets placed gently into a plastic bucket. You nudge the bundle with your nose gently and when the wailing begins you huff. Another abandoned baby; it's the third one this month. A mother you can't afford a child or is scared for the child's safety when it comes to the father.

Your teeth close around the bucket and you begin carrying the baby to the hospital in Crime Alley, a long trek from where you picked the baby up.

You hear something. Whispers. Your ears rotate to find the source of the sound which would be impossible for a human to hear.

"That's the tiger?"

"No shit," the second voice hisses, much older than the first. "What else could it be? A cow?"

"Whatever," the first one replies. "What do we do? Think that's a baby?"

"Probably. I say we take the baby and bring it to the hospital."

You turn your head to where the sound is coming from, impeccable vision allowing you to see Robin and Red Hood perched on a building above you.

"What about the- how good is a tiger's hearing?"

You do trust these vigilantes but not more than you trust yourself. You flick your tail and continue walking, a few corners from the hospital. The sound of their grappling hooks as the vigilantes follow you are only able to annoy you.

There's the hospital, just at the end of the street. You take no more than two steps before Red Hood steps out in front of you. You aren't surprised as you could hear him the entire time.

"Can I have the baby?" He asks, hand outstretched as he gestures for you to hand it over.

Your eyes narrow and you turn to see Robin behind you.

"It'll be easier for me to get it to the hospital," he explains. "They won't react calmly to a tiger carrying a baby."

He had an unfortunately valid point. The other times where you'd brought a baby into a facility, people freaked out.

Reluctantly, you gently place the bucket on the cold pavement and step back, letting the vigilante pick it up.

As Red Hood takes the baby to the hospital, you turn fully to face Robin. He's short and you reach up to the start of his ribcage.

"You're not an easy tiger to locate," he says. "It takes a few idiots."

You make a sound akin to a laugh, turn your head and vanish into the alleyway beside you.

Robin curses himself for not getting to pat the tiger. He'll be damned if his siblings get to first.

[leviathanlazarus]

In Your Fantasy

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x (F) Reader

Word Count: ~5300

Warnings: semi-public sex (like...very low-key), oral sex (F receiving), unprotected PIV sex. 18+ only ~

This took me forever to finish because I started it before my stupid tonsillectomy and I was totally useless throughout most of the recovery. Also, it's been absolutely ages since I wrote a Jake x Reader fic so I'm not sure how I feel about it...I really enjoyed writing this regardless of my trepidation though. I loved the idea of falling in love with him at work and him being so cheeky...hope you enjoy it too <3

P.S. also ages ago, I wrote a Josh x Reader fic that also took place in a library which you can read here. Links on my desktop masterlist aren't active for some reason...but I found it using a certain tag lmao. If you know, you know.

---

You were finishing up fixing the order of some art books in the back of the library when you felt Jake come up behind you. “Wanna hear something kind of crazy?” he whispered in your ear, his chin nearly on your shoulder, his hair brushing against yours. Without even seeing him, the closeness and warmth of his body and the low, husky whisper sent a tingle up your spine–he certainly added a level of intrigue to working in a library. 

“Always,” you said, slipping the last book into the correct spot. It was a quiet Thursday afternoon–you’d thought it’d actually be busier given the rain that kept bucketing down outside, creating an even cozier atmosphere, but maybe people just wanted to stay home with their books instead. That was fine by you. You liked it when it was nearly dead silent throughout the building and Jake was there to occasionally break through, his voice a river through your thoughts and his subtle touches all shockwaves to your heart. 

When you turned around to face him, Jake looked like he was holding back a hilarious joke or something, eyes all eager and a grin tight on his lips like he was bursting at the seams. “So I just went to the bathroom and guess what I heard?” he went on, raising his eyebrows. 

You scrunched up your nose, already worried. This wasn’t what you were expecting when he’d said ‘something crazy.’ What sort of craziness happened in libraries anyway? “There are a lot of things I can think of. Is this a gross story?”

Jake chuckled. “It depends on your definition of ‘gross.’ Okay,” he said, looking around to make sure you two were still alone in the section. Then he looked into your eyes again and lowered his voice even more to tell you, “There were people fucking in there.” 

You scoffed, offended on behalf of the library–the sacred, beautiful space where people went to relax and read, not deal with lewd conduct. That wasn’t crazy, that was just offensive! “What, like two guys?” you questioned, tilting your head, a little irked at Jake finding this all so funny. 

“No, a guy and a girl.”

“Ugh. That’s even worse. Women shouldn’t have to deal with getting laid in a men’s bathroom,” you said, then were momentarily distracting yourself with yet another out of place book on the shelf.  “I’d never do that. I can’t believe someone else is. I mean, kids go here.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Jake said slowly. He leaned against the bookshelf and looked at you pointedly, his dark eyes even darker in the dim light. “Then again–”

Before he could finish, you had another thought. “Wait, Jake–did you say anything to them?”

“No. What could I say? I just high-tailed it out of there as soon as I heard.”

You sighed. The whole thing would be far more redeemable if your boyfriend had at least tried to throw out some warning words to the perpetrators. “You should have told them to stop. I would have.”

“I’m sure they finished soon after I left.” He smirked. “It sounded like they were pretty close.”

You groaned quietly and turned away, preferring to find another thing to busy yourself with now. “Gross. They should be banned.”

Jake followed along right at your side as you whisked through the rest of the art section and back to the cart you needed to empty. “I didn’t see who they were, so no chance of that.” At the cart, he put his hands on it, keeping it in place. “I actually thought you’d find it sort of amusing, Y/N.”

You leaned over, almost close enough to touch your noses together. “You’re such a guy. Only a guy would think it’s amusing and not disgusting.” 

“I don’t know about that. Maybe you’re just a little stuffy,” Jake replied, tilting his head up as if he were challenging you. “Although maybe I shouldn’t be surprised, considering we’ve never done anything like that.”

You scoffed again and leaned back, surprised and still a little irritated, but also genuinely curious. “Oh, so you want to fuck around in a public place? That’s something I didn’t know about you.”

Jake’s challenging stance turned crestfallen, and he lifted one of your hands to press a kiss to. “Forget I said anything about it. I mean, I suppose you’re right–it is kind of gross.” He kept your hand clasped in his for a few seconds as he said, “But I’d never make love to you in a public bathroom. I’d hope you know me better than that.”

You looked over your shoulder at the sound of a man clearing his throat, settling down into a chair with a newspaper. He wasn’t paying any attention to you or Jake, but you gave the cart a push anyway, cajoling Jake off it so you could navigate to where you needed to go next. 

“It’s really the fact that it’s the bathroom that makes it so gross,” you whispered as Jake kept following you. You couldn’t deny you’d had some secret fantasies about getting it on in the library–after all, it was where you and Jake had met and where you continued to spend the most time together. But none of your fantasies included the restrooms in the hall, or the utility closet or that little corridor tucked away across from the restrooms where the vending machines were. Too grody, too cramped, too obvious.

“At least our bathrooms are clean.” Jake parked himself right next to you once you were in the biography section, and when you stepped away from the cart, he wrapped his arms around your waist and held you in place. “But if I’m being really honest, I have thought about us, well, fooling around here. I think it’s quite surprising we never have.”

“Jake,” you said in an attempt to protest, but his sweet, pretty face and ticklish touch on your waist made you giggle, and his confession that echoed your own secret thoughts lit a little spark. “We work here!” 

“So? All the more reason. It’s always been our special place.” Jake smiled as he got even closer to kiss you; you kissed him back, looping your arms over his shoulders. He was smiling even bigger when you both broke away and he said, “You know, it’s just me closing tonight. You should stay after with me.”

“God, and do what?” you replied, but, despite yourself, you were growing more intrigued. 

“Well, don’t you think the study rooms here are nice and cozy?” Jake questioned, still latching himself to your side as you started to put more books away. “There aren’t any cameras in any of them either. No one would know.”

You looked up at him from your crouched position, sliding a book into place. “Someone would know. Someone would find out somehow.” You were quickly finding even more perfectly good reasons in your mind not to do this, to not even really toy with the idea, but the more you thought about it, the more you thought, why not? Could the risk make it more fun? Even just the new, ill-fitting, sort of scandalous environment? 

Besides, Jake really did look hot today. He looked hot every day, but the second you’d seen him after he’d come into work earlier, he’d lit a fire in your belly that was more intense than usual. His hair had the perfect level of slight messiness and the relaxed black button-down shirt was perhaps one or two buttons shy of being overtly inappropriate for work; the smooth tan skin of his chest exposed and acting as a lovely backdrop to the long silver chain dangling, the pendant hitting his sternum. You could imagine tugging on that chain, grasping the pendant in your palm, to pull him closer while he pressed you against one of those thick wooden tables. You’d run your fingers through his hair and kiss him in the frozen silence, and maybe no one would ever know after all.

“I can practically hear the wheels turning,” Jake remarked, tapping your forehead once you were standing again. “You know you want to.” 

You let out an inadvertent nervous giggle and rolled your eyes. “Yes, I’m thinking about it.”

Jake stepped closer, pressing you back against the cart of books. “I’d love to hear some of those thoughts,” he said, putting his hands on your waist.

“You’re lucky it’s dead here today,” you said, keeping your voice a whisper despite the, indeed, dead library around you. You rested your arms over his shoulders, twisting a strand of his hair between your fingers; Jake just kept looking at you with that sweet, silently begging gaze until you giggled, relenting. “Okay. I was, um…thinking about you pushing me down on one of those big tables.”

Jake’s eyebrows rose. “What else?”

“Well…” you began, looking down at his dark jeans rubbing against your skirt. “You’re giving me some more ideas now.” You lifted one foot off the floor to rub your calf over his, the delicate material of your tights creating subtle but scintillating friction against his denim. 

Jake ran the tip of his nose up your cheek and whispered in your ear, “Same here.” 

Just as you were closing your eyes and allowing yourself to let your environment fall away around you, to forget about all the risk of being caught right there, and just as Jake’s hand was sliding down between your legs, a person’s incredibly soft–thanks to the clever carpeting job–footsteps headed your way yanked you right out of the moment.

Jake, too. He shot back and cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair and looked in the direction of the footsteps; you did too, and soon enough an older woman with her nose already in an open book trotted past the shelves. 

“See?” you whispered, gesturing at the passer-by who was already out of view. “It’s so easy to get caught.”

“Please, that lady didn’t notice a thing. Alright,” Jake said before he stole one last hurried kiss. “I should let you keep doing your job and I should carry on with mine. But will you stay after with me tonight?”

You pursed your lips as you looked at him, considering, but it wasn’t long before you said, “Alright, Jake. I’ll stay after and we can play out your little fantasy.”

“It’s your fantasy too, baby doll,” Jake said with a wink before he half-turned, beginning to step away. “I think we’ve established that.”

-

There wasn’t a whole lot to keep your mind occupied as the afternoon carried on. The rain kept coming down, hammering hard against the roof and windows, and the sky outside was pure gray, all flat and blank. It reminded you of your first day working here, as a matter of fact–that morning in the previous late October, when autumn’s chill was officially in the air. A fine layer of frost had even been on the ground that morning; your shoes had crunched over it on the short walk to your car and you’d had to use your defroster once you turned the key, your anxiety peaking as you had to wait even longer to start the new job. 

How could such a quiet, peaceful place encite so much anxiety anyway? You remembered wondering that very question as you walked over the sidewalk to the library entrance for the first time since being hired, the concrete slick with that morning frost and the beginnings of a gentle rainfall. And just when you’d been settling in and getting comfortable, Jake had showed up and introduced himself, all casual and easy like he didn’t know he was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen.

Thankfully, Jake was also the sweetest man you’d ever met. It didn’t take long before his beauty and charm stopped intimidating you and instead just made you feel all light and full of joy–you were simply happy to chat with him whenever you both could spare a few minutes. Those few minutes steadily turned into shared breaks; then, shared lunches where you’d sit out back on the one picnic table when the weather permitted. Then he started bringing you special treats sometimes, things he knew you liked because he actually listened about what you liked, and then after that he started bringing you whole lunches packed with love and care that you’d never experienced before. 

So, after all that, was it really such a big deal to make love inside the place in which you fell in love?

None of your other coworkers even seemed to notice that you were staying later than planned this evening. But, just to be safe, you also made a point to hide out in the kid’s section when closing time crept up, busying yourself with cleaning up stray crayons and markers and then browsing through some of the newer picture book additions when you were done with that. 

When you were sliding one picture book back onto the shelf and reaching for another, you noticed the part of the library beyond the kid’s section dim; you stood up and walked out into the main area, and there Jake was behind the checkout counters flipping switches.

“Despite almost always being the one to close,” he said, flipping another switch. “I still sometimes forget which lights actually get turned off and which ones stay on.”

A path of yellow light led the way past the checkout and reception, past the few rows of public use desktop computers. Jake held your hand as you both stepped through the library, your heartbeat speeding up a bit with nervous yet delightful anticipation; a few more steps and you were further into the very back of the library, just about there. Four study rooms were staggered just beyond the teen reading section, two on the left and two on the right with a wall of windows in between. 

Jake opened the door to the last study room on the right. A large window was in there too, soaking in the deep sunset that was resting beyond the grass outside and the trees, and the mostly-bare branches of all the trees were throwing shadows across the library grounds. Then Jake flipped the light on, making it all disappear.

“Oh no,” you said, reaching behind him to flip it off again. “It’s sort of magical with the light off. Look at that sunset.”

Jake followed your gaze out the window to the wash of deep blue painted across the sky, nighttime so early in autumn that only a slight sliver of golden-orange remained just on the horizon. The rain had stopped a few minutes ago and had left a lingering mist on the ground, its faint haze trailing along just outside the windows–the whole scene was so much more peaceful than what was going on inside your head. You couldn’t shake the possibility of getting caught even though Jake was right about there being no cameras back here, and there was no one else around, not even any of the custodial staff, and not a soul out there in the fog. Just you and Jake in the little dark study room, his hand still warm around your own.

Your thoughts started to drift away, making space for your mind to comprehend the shadowed image of Jake before you as he gently turned you to face him. He smiled with the slightest bit of white teeth gleaming between his full lips, and you instinctively smiled back, pulled under his charm again. So, now effortlessly charmed and put at ease, you wrapped him in your arms and pulled him close, caressing his shoulder blade with one hand and the slight curve of his waist with the other as both of your smiles disappeared into a kiss. 

“You were making me crazy all day,” he remarked between the kisses that accelerated with both of your lips parted and the wet meeting of tongues. 

“Really? You kept it well-hidden.” Of course Jake did–you never doubted his affection and passion for you, but he kept everything so private. It was one of the many things you liked about him. You cupped the back of his head, sinking your fingers into his hair, scratching his scalp with your nails just the way he liked it, and kissed him again.

“God, your ass in this skirt,” Jake said, voice a little rough, and he reached down to grab you there. “The way your hips move.” He licked his bottom lip as he took a moment to just look at you, his eyes scanning your face. “So unbelievably pretty.”

You held the side of his face. “You are too, Jakey.” He really was, and even in the dark–perhaps especially in the dark, actually. The shadows enveloped him in even more mystery than normal, but you could still so plainly see the angles of his face and the smoothness of his skin in the faint, distant glow of the lingering sunset. Jake smiled at the sound of that little nickname coming from you, then disappeared as he pressed his lips to yours again and pushed you back against the table just like in your little fantasy. 

You felt the warmth of his hand travel around your hip then slide down over your skirt; you kissed him harder and spread your legs a little wider when his fingers skated effortlessly up your thigh over your tights. Jake purred against your mouth as he traced the seam of those tights, and subsequently the crotch of your panties beneath, with one fingertip, and your own hands hurried down his body with much less grace to squeeze his ass and feel the hardness between his legs as reciprocity. 

Before you could do much more than that, he was pushing your skirt up all the way with one hand and continuing to use the other to tease you. Your breath caught in your throat as you were finding yourself trying to stay silent despite the library being completely empty; Jake carried on with longer, deeper touches over the crotch of your panties and tights. The steady back and forth of his fingers over the two thin layers of fabric sent a delightful tingle of pleasure up your spine but you couldn’t forget his either–you kept that one hand of your own on his crotch too, gently squeezing his erection through his pants.

Jake huffed softly and kissed you again; you clutched his arm with your other hand, squeezing his bicep. Maybe other people didn’t mind getting caught–maybe there really was some sort of thrill to it. Maybe other people actually sometimes wanted others to witness their most intimate moments but you didn’t. You couldn’t imagine doing this with the lights on in the middle of the day, with the soft noises of people beyond the walls and the risk of someone catching a glimpse from opening the door or from outside the windows. You were perfectly happy with having Jake all to yourself in the shadowed little square study room, his skin so perfectly warm, his kiss so perfectly molded to yours.

“Was this part of your fantasy?” Jake questioned as he slowly sank to his knees, keeping your skirt bunched up over your hips with both hands now. But it was obvious what he was doing, so you took their place to keep it out of the way while his hands squeezed your thighs as he pressed his face between your legs.

The scant sharpness of his teeth over your crotch made you gasp. “Maybe,” you answered, thighs quivering against the table behind you.

“Oh, come on,” Jake beckoned, looking up at you with a sweet but slightly mischievous gaze, his eyebrows raised just enough to display teasing curiosity. 

“Seems like you already know,” you replied, stifling a giggle at him struggling to get your tights down from beneath your skirt. 

“I don’t know how you wear these things,” he remarked, which made you actually let out a laugh.

“Just rip them for fuck’s sake,” you instructed, eager now, already wet for him. “They’re not expensive.”

Jake didn’t hesitate. “If you insist,” he said as he grabbed a fistful of black nylon in each hand and ripped the tights right open, then quickly pulled your panties to the side next, giving you no time to think at all anymore. Whatever words your mind may have found merely turned to shaky breaths as you watched Jake’s face disappear between your legs again.

He gave a little hum just as he went straight in, the bridge of his nose rubbing up against your clit while he dove his tongue into your center like he really did want to eat up all the arousal that had been conjured up just for him. Your fingers found his hair again, knuckles curling to tug the long strands while your nails scratched his scalp again and he let out a little pleased sound, almost like a gratified laugh, and dug his own blunt nails into your inner thigh as he kept you spread open. 

One word finally emerged from your lips–Jake’s name, simply spoken in a soft tone as the ministration of his tongue and lips had you squirming and quivering even harder, your heels digging into the carpet below as you slightly struggled to stay upright. The repeated flicks of tongue over your clit disappeared for a brief moment, then slowed to one long drag of his tongue over your center just to start that quick pace again. Sighs and whimpers were dragged out of you with each lick; when Jake slipped two fingers in, the slow but easy stretch made you tremble and clench your fingers into his hair even harder.

“You’re so tight,” he commented when he pulled back just enough for you to look down again and see your own wetness glistening on his lips and chin. You could feel it too, how much tighter you were clenching around his fingers as he gently thrust them and teased, curling them and now rubbing your clit with his thumb.

“You’re so good,” you told him breathlessly, closing your eyes again when the sensations had you arching your back. You hissed and bit your lip when Jake’s mouth found you again, his tongue teasing your clit more while he slid his fingers in deeper.

You had thought it would take more of a conscious effort to relax in this space and just let go, but it was easy, so easy–you just let your body respond to Jake with each tremble and moan and gasp and tug at his hair until your legs were outright shaking. Panting, the peak rising deep inside, you pulled him closer and he obliged, sucking on your clit as his fingers curled and gently tugged deep inside you too as if he was literally trying to pull you right to the edge you were already rapidly careening to.

His name from your lips once more wasn’t a soft little sigh; it was a sharp, long whine that seemed to boom in the little study room. Your ferocity surprised you even more when the overstimulation came on so soon and you yanked his head back with one hand and shoved him away with the other, your hand gripping his shoulder. Panting, eyes still shut, you could feel how much wetter you were with his saliva and the rush of your orgasm, the fluid soaking your panties that were pulled to the side and even the very inside of your thighs. 

Jake pressing a kiss to your thigh made you look down but he was getting up on his feet now; your gaze followed the steady movement of his rise and then you were whisked away into blissful darkness again when he closed in and kissed you–close-lipped because he was so polite. But you parted yours and slid your tongue over his and gripped his waist tight for a moment before hastily getting those buttons on his shirt undone, fingers trailing all the way down to get his pants undone next. 

He tentatively pushed you back onto the table a bit more so your feet were off the floor, legs still spread wide around him and dangling when he pulled his pants and underwear down just enough to reveal that heated hardness. His cock leaked just a bit as he stroked it once, looking at you, and a blip of that old insecurity born from adoration and fascination stroked your brain, because Jake was just so beautiful and his beauty was so much more stark in contrast to the plain white walls behind him. 

“That was intense,” Jake said with a chuckle, leaning in to kiss you. You sighed against his lips as he slid the head of his cock all through your wet center, making a point to rub longer and harder over your clit. As he slid in, taking your breath away entirely, he sighed too and you watched his shoulders drop and his chest flush and he asked, so casually, “Is your fantasy being fulfilled?”

Even with the impact of Jake’s cock filling you so perfectly, you had to laugh. “You're a fantasy, Jake,” you told him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to bring him closer, to make the head of his cock hit so deep inside you that you gasped again as if you weren’t expecting the feeling. “What about–” You had to pause when Jake gave his first thrust. “What about your fantasy? This was all your idea.”

“It was a shared idea,” he reminded you with the cutest little smile. How could anyone be so sexy and adorable at the same time, especially during the actual act of sex, especially when that sex was taking place inside a public library? But he was, and you kept your eyes on him as he steadily sped up with his hips and his hands explored your body over your clothes, one squeezing your breast through your shirt and the other smoothing down your waist, your hip, traveling around your thigh.

“Oh god,” you chirped when Jake’s fingers made contact with your still-sensitive clit; but he was gentle, clearly deliberately being slow with the little circles he was making. With your arms still a loop around his shoulders, you sank your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and held him there for a minute before the soft pink of his chest became too tempting not to touch.

“Fuck yeah, that feels amazing,” Jake said in that deliciously hazy, husky voice after you slipped your hands past his open shirt to toy with his nipples. Bringing more attention to him put your lingering overstimulation in the background–you continued to tease with one hand while the other skated over the other side of his chest, feeling his warm, soft skin, up to his neck. You caressed him there, your fingers lightly touching the tender skin along his throat and then up to his ear, and Jake moaned softly and tilted his head to try and get more contact.

That was fine by you. You lightly scratched behind his ear like he was a cat and he sort of purred like one anyway, making you giggle; Jake giggled too and surged forward, picking up his pace as he whisked you away with another series of kisses that were deep but just sloppy enough for your mutual moans to be voiced. 

But, also to your surprise, Jake began to voice more thoughts between increasingly ragged breaths: “Remember when we first met?” he asked, his fingers over your clit sliding down to get slick again from your own arousal. “That was–fuck, that was such a good day.”

“It was,” you agreed, playing with one of his earrings as your other hand squeezed his pec. “I’m lucky I even got the job here. For a lot of reasons.” You stole another lingering kiss before adding, “You’re the biggest reason.”

Jake smiled. The sunset that had been just barely clinging to life when you’d both began was gone now–the only illumination was coming from a parking lot light that was too far away from the windows to see, but the pale yellow glow was scant enough to see that alluring, mystical beauty that your boyfriend possessed. Just looking at his face was enough to make you come again.

But Jake’s skilled fingers and the heat, weight and stretch of his cock still thrusting into you certainly helped. You buried your face against his neck now that you had access to all of him; a thick sob was muffled as you tightened and spasmed around him, and you heard him let out a quiet “wow” as the second orgasm rolled through you. 

His fingers on your clit, thankfully, moved away. He gripped your thigh again instead; his pace was now messy and fierce, and you had to fight to stay in place not only from the harsh movements and how the table you were sitting on was skidding a bit across the floor, but also from that second round of intense bodily excitement. 

“God,” you huffed, stifling another laugh. Apparently it didn't matter where you were–if you were with Jake, he just gave you the giggles. “You’re really going for it.”

Jake cradled the back of your head, messing with your hair a bit. “And I’m–hmm–almost there.”

You kissed him softly and sweetly, from his collarbone and up his neck to his ear. “Good boy,” you whispered there, giving his ear a nibble. Jake moaned wordlessly in response and gave one last deep, solid thrust that jostled you backwards and made the table creak, then he went slack over you, his whole upper body all loose and so hot that warmth was radiating through his shirt.

When Jake lifted his head, you leaned back and waved the back of your hand over your forehead with a silly “whew” motion; Jake laughed and nodded, then slowly pulled out. He collapsed forward again, resting his head on your chest, and you wrapped your arms around him once more. 

“Well, we’ve done it once. Do we ever need to do it again?” you asked, petting his back.

“Like, um, sex?” Jake asked, mumbling against your chest. “Or sex in the library?”

“In the library, duh,” you said with a chuckle, and kissed him when he lifted himself up and looked at you. 

“Where else should we do it?” Jake replied, his tone and little smile making it obvious he was kidding–finally. You were glad to have played out this little fantasy and do something new and a little risky, but you’d be even more glad to just go back to the way things were. Nothing wrong with a classic. 

“Our bed, definitely,” you said, and Jake smiled and nodded again; you began working on buttoning up his shirt. “Our couch. The floor. Maybe the shower.” 

“Maybe?”

“Last time we tried the shower, you nearly cracked your head open,” you reminded him, lifting a hand to cup his jaw. “And nearly broke your perfect teeth.”

Jake’s smile grew wider. “That would be terrible, wouldn’t it?”

“I’d never forgive that stupid shower.”

Jake patted his hands from your shoulders down the length of your body, stopping at your ankles. “Well, babe, we’re both in one piece now, aren’t we? Time to close up?”

“Definitely. The custodians are probably going to be here any minute.”

“Oh my.” Jake held your hand to bring you off the table. “That would have been quite the show for them.” 

“No more shows,” you said as you both put the finishing touches on getting yourselves decent before Jake opened the door. “I should be the only one looking at you when we fuck.”

---

If you'd like to be tagged in any of my fics, you can let me know here or DM me :)

Tagging: @kissingsun @starbuggie @lightsofthe-living-gvf @sanguinebats @gvfrry @milojames16 @mindastreamofcolours @wetkleenex-gvf @itsafullmoon @heckingfrick @peaceloveunitygvf @musicspeaks @clairesjointshurt @bizzielisteningtogreta

[sleepyeepyp3rson]

tf141 as Hozier songs !! (x female!reader section in each)

an: used to so this with hazbin hotel characters, this was my og format before i started writing fics, decided to go back to it!! also shout out my poor best friend who had do read the spam texts of me explaining which song goes with with each character

hope this keeps yall fed until tf141!wwe au pt 2 drops :33

tw: vauge mentions of (soap's) death, canon typical mentions of violence, small references to ghosts childhood abuse, price in the gulag, religion/religious doubt, and civilian death

(masterlist)

John Price

If I ever say Too Sweet isn't Price, I want you to shoot me because THATS NOT ME!!!!

This song is him in every aspect. He's not a "good man," he knows that. He's committed atrocities, and done things no one else has the guts to do, and he does it all in the shadows.

He'd corrupt anything sweet he put his hands on. He has his boys, sure, but they're not sweet. And that's what's best for him.

He's fine where he is. Captain John Price. He doesn't need some sweet thing, it'd be bad for his health anyway.

He's watching his sugar intake.

(x reader section)

He's scared, honestly. And John Price is not a scared man. Not in the gulag, not facing down Shepherd, not staring down the barrel of a gun. He makes other people scared. He is the boogeyman. There's no way some sweet thing can make him scared.

But you do.

He thinks that at any moment, he'll break you. He knows how to nurture skill, he did it with Gaz, but he doesn't know how to be gentle. Not anymore. He tries though. Tries softening his harsh edges, makes two cups of coffee instead of one, apologizes when he's too blunt with you, tries his best to keep Captain and John separate.

He messes up sometimes, slips into commanding officer mode when you drop glasses or mess something up, but he doesn't mean to. He cups your face when you cry, tries to make it better. Just let him fix it. He can fix it, he always does.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

He gets two whole songs! (Price is my favorite but these fit a little too well for me to pick one.)

Simon's a soldier first. Hardened by the years, mean, rough, with blood stained scarred hands. He chose the military not because he was attached to his country or from a sense of loyalty, but because it was this or nothing.

He is what his father made him. A rabid dog, and given the chance, he'll tear men to bone.

His only other job was a butcher. He was made to draw blood. Made to be this Ghost, this horrid thing that haunts the nightmares of anyone unfortunate enough to hear the stories. He would retire if he could. But he can't. This is it. There is no Simon, only Ghost.

Even when the mask comes off, and he stares into the mirror, the scars covering his skin keep him there. Trap him in his own web.

He is a soldier, but he is nobody's. He's just Ghost. Livin' the dream.

(Jackie and Wilson, x reader section)

He finds you in a bar. Or, more likely, Soap finds you and won't stop talking his ear off about "That bonnie lass in the corner, just look at 'er, Lt." And through grumbles, he turns his head and-

He stops short. Guess Johnny knew him better than he thought, if he knew his type that well. And behind the very, very intense stare he's giving you, he's thinking about the future already. Maybe kids, name them Jackie and Wilson, go on coffee dates or whatever it is a bird like you likes. He'll learn.

He'll bury his mask if you ask. With his childhood bear in the backyard. Deep, deep in the mud and dirt, where he can finally keep the Ghost down and be Simon.

This world certainly isn't for him. He never got to feel like a kid, but this sudden crush has him feeling childish.

Johnny snaps his fingers in his face. "Aye! You're scarin' the lass! Stop staring."

He huffs, the smoke of his cigarette blowing out. He puts it out, and by the time he looks up, you disappeared. More of a ghost than him.

John "Soap" MacTavish

This is mostly x reader, but also also! thought the song fit his general attitude and death (HE WASN'T IN THAT URN)

He's used to working on empty. Chugging through missions and fighting his way through Hell to get back to a base with mediocre food. He likes it though. The rush of explosions, the quick decisions and actions, his team. He likes it.

But good Lord, his Mam will kill him for this. An early death is what she warned him of when he left home, with a wary pat on his cheek and a prayer.

Where is his mother's God now? Where is He as Johnny lies on the ground, the splitting pain in his head, the bullet under his skin making his vision blurry?

He sees no God. He only sees Simon, leaning over him.

He won't die. He can't. He crawls right back to his team everytime. He'll crawl home to them.

(x reader section)

You save him. Through hushed curses and Simon looming over you. You removed the bullet from his head before he could be lost.

He thinks you might be an angel, through the fever. The combat medic who saved him, the one person who could reach him in time, sent down from heaven.

He knows you've seen your fare share. He knows you don't care about what he's done, he knows you've seen the explosions and bombs and guns and came right back to your post everytime. You're just like him.

He tries to court you. To show his unending devotion. It doesn't work out well, but maybe he shouldn't have followed Simon's advice.

But one day, while he's lingering by you while you're trying to patch someone up (definitely breaking a few rules,) you take one look at him, sigh, reach in your pocket for your pen, and you write down your number on his hand.

He beams, leans down and gives you a peck on the cheek and leaves.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Gaz!!!! He gets arguably my favorite Hozier song because I LOVE HIM AWOOO AWOOOOO

Whenever he gets the adrenaline rush of battle, he feels like he's floating.

When he was in the SAS, he got that feeling often. The rush before the jump, the air wooshing around him, knowing he was doing something good. He was doing the right thing.

He's doing the right thing now too, but sometimes he doubts. Seeing his friends shoot bystanders alarms the morals floating around in the back of his head, makes him want to jump in between the barrel of the gun and the enemies and keep the peace.

But he can't. This is the right thing. They have to do the dirty work, right? The things no one else will do falls on them. Of course it's not pretty.

He takes a deep breath, and he jumps out of the heli. He falls, yet he feels like he's floating up, like the world is falling away from him.

(x reader section)

He'd do anything to keep you from falling away from him. He knows what the world is like, he knows what he's done, and while he knows there is good, he knows the bad is tenfold. He needs to keep you safe from all of it. To keep this floating feeling in his palms before it slips away.

He comes home from missions ragged, and you soothe.

And in your arms, he is weightless again. He has his wings, he's got the adrenaline he lost long ago back, he is in love.

And he finds himself craving that always. So much so, that on base between one mission and another, he's ranting about you to Price. "--everything to me. Always has been, since I saw 'er, Captain. Has me feeling lighter than a feather."

"Maybe you should get on with it and marry her then."

And that alone has him buying a ring the next day. His Captain knows best, after all.

[thetriggeredhappy]

I know we’re on spoiler lock down and you can respond at your pace but OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD THIS IS HANDS DOWN THE BEST BIRTHDAY GIFT IVE EVER GOTTEN! HOW IS THIS GOING TO EFFECT YOUR TAKING SHOTS CANON? ARE YOU GOING TO BE WRITING OTHER FICS IN LINE WITH THE FINALE CANON NOW???? Oh my god HOW ARE YOU FEELING?????

yeah i know right! this does mean i’m going to need to go back and edit taking shots a bit to be more canon-compliant, here’s some of my initial notes on it:

fixing scout’s last name to reflect “willis”.

fixing spy’s first and last name to reflect “eugene hinkle”.

adjusting to make room in dialogue for scout being definitively a brunette, as we saw near the end.

a few tweaks to better fill in the implications the comics seem to have for how the respawn system works.

in the same shot we saw the photo of scout and his mom, opposite that we see a picture that i believe is of scout and a doggy—i’ll need to add that into the story somewhere, maybe from his brothers telling a story or something similar.

already word on the street is that some of his kids seem close enough in age to probably be twins, which actually does imply that it’s likely some of his brothers are twins! this is good, but i should really lean in more—maybe more of his nieces are twins?

”willis” is an english name, so i’ll need to slightly adjust some backstory to make them english-catholic or perhaps protestant, not irish-catholic.

obviously i’ll need to adjust to include the address of the house and a better approximate location, as well as adjust all timings mentioned to account for the correct distance and travel times.

scout seems to be big on rushing into marriages, so i’ll most likely need to rework the fic slightly to include a proposal within the first chapter or two.

since sniper knows how to fly a plane, it makes sense that they would probably just fly to boston rather than road-tripping, which means i’ll need to edit out most instances of driving that sniper does.

obviously, spy hadn’t come clean about being scout’s father, so i imagine that he probably never will, and instead that entire storyline will pivot, instead being about something else, perhaps that spy wants to romance and marry his ma, who he met some five or six years previously.

since there is apparently some kind of indoor public pool in the area they live in, all scenes outside of the home will be moved to take place in that pool.

it seems like sniper’s reaction to scout’s rambling to miss pauling about his courting would imply he is aware of scout’s crush, so the story and dialogue will be altered to instead have sniper suggest they be a throuple of some kind. this will lead to complications in which Benny and Terry are irritated that they’re being copied so blatantly.

speaking of which, scout gave two of his kids names that start with “t”, which to me implies they perhaps have some kind of naming convention in their family involving repeating first consonants. to reflect this, some of scout’s brothers will be renamed, meaning his brothers (oldest to youngest) will be named Jack, Jenry, Jarcher (Jarchie for short), Jolin, Jenjamin and Jerrence (Jenny and Jerry for short), and Jony.

while going over these changes, i realized that i’d completely forgotten to account for spy’s cyanide tooth, and written a moment where he’s gritting his teeth. unfortunately, that means that in my rewrite, spy will need to die during that scene when the cyanide tooth most certainly pops mistakenly. this will be inconvenient, but a gifted writer knows how to play with the cards dealt.

since unfortunately we now know that scout is terrible at marriage, i will most likely need to write a scene where scout finds out he is pregnant and sniper immediately leaves him. i find this difficult because i’m unsure how sniper will be able to get into a plane quickly enough to escape in the pre-established suburb, but i will make do.

i will have to kill scout’s mom.

oh and happy belated birthday!

[teeny-tiny-revenge]

Came across this in a fic again and I have to vent for a moment here: Ed's hair isn't unclean or not taken care of. Ever. Even at his lowest, in the first two episodes of season two, his hair is light and blows with the wind, it's got perfect waves, there is zero grime in it. Impossible Birds Ed hair has clearly been fairly recently washed, combed out and conditioned. Ed canonically loves soap, and you don't get that hair without owning a comb or brush and frequently working oil into it. He's at sea! The air is salty! It'll dry out your hair, but Ed's hair doesn't ever look dried out. The day he decides to commit suicide he puts his hair up into a lovely bun, with whispy stands framing his face. I have no idea what some people are watching, because Ed taking meticulous care (and most likely also putting pride and love) into his hair is clear, on-screen canon.

Like, if you want to write about how he was neglecting himself in his depression Kraken era? There's plenty there for you on screen as well! He sobs all night, probably sleeps on the floor if he sleeps at all. He doesn't wear his knee brace. He drinks and does drugs (and admits to that being poison to Frenchie!). He's pushing everyone away, he's pushing himself hard into a role that made him passively suicidal even before the breakup depression. He doesn't watch his back during raids At All. There's so much self harm there to address. If you want to, it would probably be plausible to add him not bothering to properly care for any wounds he might obtain during a raid. But he clearly doesn't neglect bathing and hair care. They're probably the only elements of self-care he actually still does during this dark time!

Even rock bottom Ed doesn't neglect his hair. And that says things about him! It's also something I'd love to see actually addressed in fic (will probably write it myself one of these days...): Taking good care of his hair, putting on jewelry, doing his makeup, these are things that seem to bring Ed joy or relief in his darkest moments. Where's my fic about these quiet moments of self-care being a straw he clutches to when everything else is terrible?

I love a good bathing together/doing each other's hair fic. It's intimate and loving! And Stede and Ed are prime material to write a mutual caretaking and bonding over it couple! Ed canonically loves soap and taking care of his hair! And Stede brought an entire fucking bathtub on a ship, the wonderful madman. S1 Stede's hair is always carefully curled, and we know that's not its natural state (it's wavy but not in this manner) from seeing him in S2, away from his certainly plentiful bath and grooming equipment. Stede probably has an hour of daily hair routine! We know he has nice smelling, probably expensive soaps. Where's the fic where they share in this?

There's so much potential! They can show each other their favourite care products! Sometimes they'll work on each other and sometimes not at all! Ed's rich hair oils will make Stede's hair all sticky and weird! Ed will think it's hilarious and adorable, he'll try to ruffle his hair and make it stick up worse and Stede will pout! 🥺 He'll look like this, just with weird spiky hair! One ill-advised day they try putting Stede's curlers in Ed's hair and then they almost can't get them back out because Ed's hair is so long and has lots of natural wave and it'll cling to the curlers and it's awful (they laugh about it afterwards, once Ed has very carefully brushed his hair out again and it no longer pulls at his scalp).

Makeup was a thing done by men and women at the time, especially for aristocrats (as seen in Episode 5), so Stede will know his way around hoity toity makeup, meaning rouges and whites (contained lots of lead, yuck!). Meanwhile Ed does pirate costume makeup for Blackbeard endeavours, that's a whole different thing. And both of these are makeups they don't actually enjoy doing (Stede avoids heavy makeup for the party, and Ed's Kraken makeup is part of his whole Everything Is Awful And I'm Making Myself Feel That look). But we see Ed do nice makeup that seems to be him! On his supposed to be final day on Earth, he cleans away all the Kraken coal, he cleans up his cabin, he gets rid of drugs, booze, Izzy (everything that was harming him), he does up his hair really nice and in a style that's very much Not Blackbeard, and he puts on a gorgeous bit of eyeliner that really brings out his eyes. And now that they're safe and happy together, when Ed decides he wants to look pretty today, not only can Stede lose his marbles over the look, Ed can also show him how to make his own eyes pop like that. They can stand in front of their mirror together, giggling and trying not to poke anyone in the eye.

Like. This is a fancy bathroom items for fancy bathroom items couple. They will bond over their love of bubble baths and nice smelling soaps and soft oils for hair and skin! They will learn each other's routines and how to do them just right for them. Let Stede learn that Ed loves his baths scalding hot (Stede has to wait a while for it to cool before he joins him in the tub because he'll get all pink and lightheaded). Let Ed learn how to put in Stede's curlers for him if Stede wants his hair to look extra fluffy the next day. Let Ed learn to massage Stede's back and Stede learn to massage Ed's knee. There's so much potential for loving caretaking with this ship. The trope doesn't at all require Ed to not know or not want to take care of his hair and hygiene. Fuck's sake.

[genshinluvr]

Where Are the Updates? (HSR Filler)

Pairings: Somewhat HSR Men x Isekai'd!Reader, but there's no romance in this fic (unless you count the moment with Sampo)

Summary: The person who writes the script for your and the men's future project is visiting the Astral Express. Everyone is wondering what is their future role in the projects (and Sampo is being Sampo)

Note: This is a filler fanfic since I haven't updated in so long and I'm trying to force myself to write something so I can get used to writing fanfics again. I'm not expecting anyone to read this. This is a filler chapter until I can actually write something. Anyway! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.6k

Caelus walks into the Astral Express, approaching March and Dan Heng. “Hey, does anyone know where [Y/N] is? I’ve been trying to look for them, but they’re not in their room.” Caelus says, crossing his arms over his chest.

March scratches the back of her head. “Uh, I think they’re with the author right now. [Y/N]’s been keeping them company ever since they boarded the Astral Express.”

Caelus does a double take. “Well, this is news to me. How long has she been on the Astral Express?”

Dan Heng looks at his phone. “She’s been here for a few hours now. I don’t think you should disturb the two of them. But if you want to see what they’re up to, they’re in the Parlor Car.”

Caelus quickly thanks Dan Heng before rushing to the Parlor Car. Dan Heng and March watch the silver-haired man leave the Passenger Cabin before turning to look at one another.

“Should we follow him to make sure he doesn’t cause any problems? Who knows what Caelus is going to ask the author to do for him,” March says, propping her hands on her hips.

Dan Heng sighs. “Looks like we have no choice.” Dan Heng mutters before following March to the Parlor Car.

Caelus enters the Parlor Car and freezes. You look away from the woman sitting across from you and wave at Caelus, who presses his lips together while surveying the area. You shrug and turn towards the woman across from you, leaning in your seat. 

“How about a story where you make the main character, aka me, get mad at someone, and they jump universes and get lost for months?” You suggest.

The woman sitting across from you puckers her lips, tapping her chin as she stares at the laptop before her. Hey, you’re merely suggesting ideas for her to write, but the woman seems hesitant about it.

“I like the idea, but I’m not sure. Is it supposed to be another version of the story where these men,” she gestures to the men sitting around you and her, “jumped to another universe in search for you— I mean, the main character from their universe?”

You squint at the woman before you, nodding slowly. “Yes? But that’s up to you! I’m trying to help you come up with ideas to write.”

She nods wordlessly, eyes focusing on the screen before her. Caelus approaches where you and the black-haired woman are sitting. Before Caelus can make it over to the table, someone places a heavy hand on his shoulders, causing him to stop in his tracks. Caelus turns to see Jing Yuan standing beside him while his eyes are elsewhere.

“General, it’s good to see you on the Astral Express! Though, it’s a bit unexpected,” Caelus says, glancing in your direction from the corner of his eyes.

The General of the Xianzhou Luofu chuckles, shaking his head. “I received a message from [Y/N]. They wanted us to come over while someone important was stopping by,” Jing Yuan replies, showing Caelus his phone.

Caelus looks at the screen, and yep, you certainly sent out a message to the General to meet up at the Astral Express. However, Caelus doesn’t know why this “important” person was stopping by the Astral Express. The very same person glued to her laptop, occasionally pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose as it kept slipping down. Caelus has met this woman before, heck, and so has everyone in the Astral Express. The woman with black hair is the one who delivers everyone their “scripts.” And since it’s been a while since there was an update from the author, no one has heard from her since then. Until now, of course.

“Ooh! If you ever write about Penacony, would the others make an appearance?” You ask excitedly, tapping your foot on the ground.

The woman blinks at you cluelessly. “Oh, shit. There’s more?” She mutters, looking around the Astral Express for new faces. Lo and behold, there are certainly new people on the Astral Express. The woman turns toward you, scratching her head, “I haven’t even written anything that debuts Dr. Ratio and Argenti’s appearance— which is long overdue—”

“Very overdue. I understand academics are important, but I don’t see how you can’t write something short and simple for my appearance,” Dr. Ratio comments, crossing his arms over his chest while staring at the woman, displeased. 

The woman gives Dr. Ratio a tight-lipped smile and closes her laptop. “Dr. Ratio, with all due respect, but if you continue to give me that sass, I will continue to delay your appearance in future works.”

Dr. Ratio huffs, looking away with a visible pout on his face, while Adventurine snorts and shakes his head. Adventurine props his arms on Dr. Ratio’s shoulders, only for the man to push him off with a glare.

Adventurine clears his throat. “Dearest author, allow me to pitch my idea for your possible upcoming story~” he strikes a dramatic pose.

The woman nods, “And what is the idea you’ll be pitching?” She asks, waiting for the blond man to say something.

Adventurine clears his throat and jogs over to the woman, sitting beside her before whispering something into her ears. Caelus nearly let out a loud groan. Damn him for making his pitch a secret. Adventurine pulls away and clasps his hands together, placing them on the table while waiting for the woman’s approval or disapproval of his idea.

“I will think about it, and if I’m able to map out how your idea goes, then I will try to make it into a script.” The woman nods.

Adventurine cheers loudly, hopping up from his spot and jumping in the air before looking at Dr. Ratio smugly. Dr. Ratio rolls his eyes with disgust before walking to the other side of the Astral Express while muttering under his breath about how Adventurine is an annoyance. 

“And what about me, Madam Author?” Sunday asks, bowing to the woman before him.

The woman stares at Sunday, pressing her lips into a thin line. “If you’re talking about your appearance in future works, I will include you and new people in future works. The only issue is I’m still unfamiliar with all of you, and your personalities won’t be nearly as accurate as the others.”

Sampo approaches the table where you’re sitting with the woman. You stare at Sampo while he gives you a sheepish smile before looking at the woman. If Sampo had a tail, it would’ve been wagging. Is he excited, or is he nervous? You can’t really tell.

“Ahem, Miss Author, I was wondering why there’s a delay in updates for the script,” Sampo says, poking his index fingers together. “You’re not tired of us, are you?” Cue the puppy dog's eyes.

Welt Yang sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sampo, I don’t think you should be asking something like that. There could be many factors that play into why she hasn’t been updating us with new scripts.” He mutters, giving Sampo a subtle glare.

The black-haired woman smiles at the older man and gets up from her seat, dusting her pants off. “Sampo, I wasn’t able to update you all on new scripts because I have other priorities, such as my education. I was also behind on your world and wasn’t able to keep up with what was happening in your world.”

Sampo sniffles dramatically, his bottom lips trembling. “But you have time to keep up with the other universe with other people?” Sampo whines, batting his eyelashes at the woman.

“To be fair… I didn’t even update things for them, either.” The woman shrugs.

You got up from your seat and pat Sampo’s shoulders. Sampo dramatically drapes himself over you, burying his face into your neck while dramatically sniffling. You can’t tell if he’s pretending to cry or if he’s trying to inhale you— or both.

Luocha whispers to the woman, “I think he meant being updated with what’s happening in the universe, not your stories and scripts.”

The woman mouths ‘oh’ before nodding slowly. The Parlor Car feels crowded with how many people are present on the Astral Express. All have pressing questions regarding their roles for future projects and what they can expect to happen as the plot (is there even a plot?) progresses. Of course, you and the author reassured everyone that their roles are safe and nothing is going to happen to them. However, even if something were to happen, it would not be permanent. Speaking of something happening and permanent….

You turn to the woman and clear your throat. “You’re not going to kill me in any future projects, are you?”

The woman takes her glasses off and wipes the lenses with her shirt. “That would depend on the plot and the situation. I’ve killed you once, and the other time where you reincarnated, your death was implied and mentioned, but there weren’t scenes, you know?”

You pout, crossing your arms over your chest. “I know, but why do I have to be the one to die? Why can’t it be someone else like, and I mean this as nice as possible, Blade?”

The woman puts her glasses back on and tucks her hair behind her ears. “Because I love making the male love interests suffer.” She replies nonchalantly, brushing her hair off her shoulders.

“I mean, you can still do that without killing me,” You bat your eyelashes at her.

The woman nods. “You’re not wrong about that. I’ll see what I can do, but it will take time, and I probably won’t have the script done before I complete other scripts as well.”

You’re fine with that. As long as you don’t die in future projects (again), then you’re not complaining! Although now that you have (somewhat) given her an idea for future projects, you don’t think you’re going to be prepared for anything gutwrenching. 

Note: I feel bad for not updating in so long 😭 I've been super busy with school and did not have any motivation to write at all, even though that's what I'm required to do for my major. I have finally caught up with Honkai Star Rail— it took me days to catch up because I was also exploring Penacony. I have school in 4 hours, and I still haven't slept. Goodnight! Anyway, to all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Read more of my works on my Masterlist / Masterlist 2 | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories on there, too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

[mcrololo]

Bechloe fic recs

(in no particular order)

You Make Me Believe In Magic by @shikariix

In the opening stood a woman with a tiny frame, bending forward slightly and breathing heavily. The light pouring in from behind her made it hard to see just how dirty and scratched up her clothing was. “Hey, uh,” she started loudly, still panting, “not to freak anyone out or whatever, but there's kind of a dragon on the loose. You all gotta evacuate.”

What can I say? It's got magic, it's got dragons, it's got gay flirting AND a kick-ass moodboard that inspired the whole shebang. Exactly up my alley, and if you said 'hell yeah Rolo, me too!' then what are you waiting for!! (nudges the author to write the soft epilogue i so truly desire) (in the meantime also read this new years one-shot & also this incredible piece of writing by my love and heart)

All is fair in Love and War by @pulledpurplecurtains

It's not about having feelings. It's about what you do with them. There's never a choice where the heart is concerned. The mind, however…the mind always comes up with choices. And sometimes life tends to happen as well.

Honestly I'm due for a reread of this but I remember immensely enjoying this fic. I certainly had a blast getting the go ahead to analyze it, almost as much as Ana probably had writing it! They're in high school, they're in gay love & also they are idiots. What else would you need?

"Something angsty, Rolo," you might say. And boy do I have the fic for you by the same author! (read the tags, be mindful of the warnings)

it takes two (to be santa claus) by @becasbelt

With their marriage on the brink of divorce, Beca and Chloe vow to do whatever it takes to give their daughter one last perfect Christmas- even if it means tracking down a rare American Girl doll two weeks before Christmas.

I know I already recommended this the other day but I just... It's so fucking good. I don't have words. Actually I do, go read it y'all (and when you're done then also read the cream in my coffee by the same author because I'm also still thinking about that one.

i think (s)he knows by @pinkpastels113

The Starbucks espresso machine broke again and Chloe is supposed to be taking care of everything, but the mechanic who showed up to fix it is making her job more difficult than it already was.

I forgot how much I love me a coffeeshop AU until I read this one. I don't often see flustered Chloe Beale in fic but here it's so blatant and I adore it so much!! I need more flustered Chloe Beale in my life pls (also go read this one too it's so fun!)

All I Ask of You by @kailoraurelius

From day one, Beca has always been there for her. If Chloe can count on anything, it's Beca. So now, pacing her kitchen anxiously, she waits for Beca to show up. Chloe has something very important to tell her…

Listen, Stained Glass will always have a special place in my heart, but I think AIAOY actually knocked it off its place because the found family characterization in this one just HITS. It's off the charts!! It's got everything; love, humor, and me on the floor crying (positive!) tears because the writing is so so beautifully descriptive.

naked in manhattan by @afh48

"Hi, it's Chloe! I know you just landed, and I know you're probably busy. But I would love to see you! So call me when you can!"

From the first chapter onwards I was HOOKED. I love experimental works and what is a first ever fic if not finding your writers voice? I enjoyed the journey of unlearning internalized homophobia; of characters clearly making decisions that were bad for them because of fear. But the fluff is the sweet, sweet cherry on top!

those days turned into nights by hedaswolf (the baddestwolf)

Beca kisses Chloe in the heat of the moment after winning Worlds. Of course, she proceeds to avoid the topic altogether. You can imagine Chloe’s surprise when Beca suggests they change their flights so they can drive to Stockholm in search of Swedish Princess Cake. But how long can Chloe go without bringing up the kiss? or, the Denmark to Sweden roadtrip fic that no one asked for

I swooned reading this. It's romantic, it's funny, it's angsty because they're pining idiots.... On top of that it's in 2nd pov and I LOVE 2nd pov <3

Life on Shuffle by @yelena-belover

“I know you don’t know me, Beca. But I’ve basically known you my whole life.” Bechloe // The Time Traveler's Wife AU -- Beca Mitchell suffers from Chrono-Impairment, a rare genetic disorder that causes her to spontaneously and uncontrollably time travel. Living life out of order isn't easy for Beca, and it's just as hard for Chloe, who struggles to cope with her frequent, often dangerous absences.

Chapter 8 and 11 shattered me in all possible ways. The way this fic weaves the timeline together so seamlessly... Time fuckery is hard to write, and it needs to be done right in order to feel satisfying; though still an ongoing fic, this one does it so masterfully that it scratched all of my itches as is.

Forgive Me These November Days by @obstinate-questionings

Why Chloe Beale didn’t graduate—and why she finally did—as told through yearly celebrations of Thanksgiving.

This fic made me take the first step into loving myself. imho it's one of the best Chloe Beale character studies out there and I genuinely can not stop thinking about it. If you're having a rainy day and need a pick-me-up, I definitely recommend reading this!

[so-long-soldier-writes]

Don't Worry Today, Face It Tomorrow

kai parker x reader

summary: kai's been lonely enough in his life to sense something's off with you. tonight was a good time to trust his intuition.

tags: mental health issues, depression, loneliness, late night conversations, suicidal thoughts, emotional hurt / comfort

word count: 2.6k

a/n: this is a fic i kind of wrote for myself but still want to share. i somewhat vaguely made the reader's problems my problems, because i needed to talk them out, but struggle to do that with people, so i do it through my writing. i wrote this a little while ago but have been hesitant to post it bc i didn't want to worry my readers by posting so many sui/sh related fics, but as explained in the ending note of this fic on ao3, i'm entering a new stage in my life where i hope i can start writing gentler & more lighthearted & fun fics again. i've been in a dark place these last couple months and have completely lost myself as a person, but i'm actively trying to make my life one where i'm not afraid to be present. i saw a quote recently that said, "...if hope is out of reach, try curiosity instead," and so that's about where i am rn. but anyway, i hope, despite it's heaviness, you guys like this, or maybe, it helps you feel less alone. <3

“Thought I’d find you here.”

You roll your eyes at the familiar voice. Of course he’d come to disturb your peace. 

“What do you want?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. The sound of shuffling indicates he’s coming closer. “Just checking on you.”

“I don’t need checking on. I didn’t the last time, nor the time before that, and certainly not this time. Can’t you catch the hint that I want to be left alone?”

“See that’s the thing… the hints are all there, I’m just choosing not to leave you alone.”

Fully irritated now, you shift your whole body to face Kai. Annoyingly, he leans against the restaurant’s chimney, unbothered by the heat that must be emanating from it. His arms are crossed over his chest, but his usual smirk is replaced with a somber look.

“Why?”

“Because…” He isn’t looking at you. In fact, he seems to look right through you, perhaps into some far off world or a deep void that threatens to swallow you whole. “...You look like someone who shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve climbed up here five times in the last two weeks. You’ve been acting distant. You don’t eat, I doubt you sleep. Everyone’s worried about you, and they have every right to be.”

“I’m fine,” you lie. “Maybe I just like it up here. I can see the whole town. I’m in it, without being in it. It’s peaceful.”

If that was supposed to comfort the young witch, it didn’t. He tilts his head against the brick. “And what about the rest? Are they right to worry about you? Are these new habits you’ve seem to have adopted secretly a cry for help?”

You narrow your eyes. “Of course not, that’s insane. I told you, I’m fine.” Before he can ask anything else, you continue. “And what’s it to you? Why do you care? If they’re so worried, why don’t they come and bother me instead?”

“Because they haven’t followed you to the extent I’ve followed you.”

“Comforting.”

“They see you at lunch, not talking, not eating, not laughing. And then they see you go home, usually early, and not come out for days. They acknowledge the fact you haven’t answered their texts in days, and they know you’re not feeling well, but they’ve barely scratched the surface.” He pauses. “I’ve been studying you. I see the dullness in your eyes, and I can tell apart a real laugh from a fake one. I’ve begun to notice that right before you’re about to make up an excuse to go home, you tap your nails on the edge of the table. You scan the restaurant, making sure the coast is clear, so that you can make a sure shot to the door without being interrupted.” You open your mouth to speak, disturbed by the detail, but Kai interrupts. “I’m a sociopath. I notice things in a person’s behavior that are missed by most.”

“And why do you think all these ‘things’ are reasons to have you so worried? Maybe I’m just tired of socializing.”

“Maybe. But I’ve been alone for a long time and I know how it feels. How it feels to be hopeless, and anxious, and exhausted, in a way that goes beyond needing a couple more hours of sleep. I might not’ve been under the same circumstances, but I remember searching for the nearest, tallest building several times when I was locked in that prison world. Let me tell you, the view is nice, but when you finally get the courage to walk up to the edge, the fall is not.”

Your eyes had dropped back down the roof’s floor, but they snap back up to him quickly. His words make your heart race with sudden anxiety. When you try to open your mouth to respond, nothing comes out. It takes a moment to recover. 

“How many times did you try?” Invasive, but he’s sharing, so you ask anyway. 

“Truth be told,” he surprisingly answers, “I lost count.” He inches closer to you, but you don’t move away. “I couldn’t die in there, but that never stopped me from trying.”

“Until Damon and Bonnie got there.” 

“Yes, but I was alone for eighteen years until they did.” He sits beside you now. “Maybe you can see why I was so determined to get out.”

“I could see it before,” you admit. 

You know most of Kai’s background. You know he had a big family, most of which are dead now. You know he has been in and out of prison worlds for most of his young life. You know his time spent in those other worlds was deserved; he wasn’t just a sociopath, but a serial killer, as well. Only recently did he finally stop hurting people, afraid of ending up in another one. It was a deal he made with the brothers and Bonnie.

Kai is less afraid of death than being alone. Hell would be a cakewalk compared to the prison worlds. 

“My father ensured I couldn’t die so that I wouldn’t be able to take the easy way out. And then again, in 1903, the heretics could only dessicate; they couldn’t die, either. Guess my ancestors have some deep-rooted fascination with eternal suffering. The twin merge is a curse. You either die or kill your sibling before you’re old enough to rent a car. Then, if you live, you have to marry and watch your kids do the same. And if you die before you have merge-able kids, whoops, the death of the coven is on you. Like, imagine you get hit by a car and die, and so does the whole three hundred year old coven. That’s embarrassing. Imagine explaining that to the ancestors in hell.”

You snort and let out a laugh. 

“Obviously, I don’t care about my coven, and I only wanted to be the leader so I could prove that I could, but it does suck that we’re all nonconsensually born into this life and can’t get out of it. It would be easier if we didn’t hate each other so much, and that instead of life being one big game of dog-eat-dog, we could come together and be like, ‘Hey! This sucks! Can we try to figure out which ancestral bitch cursed us and maybe reverse that? We’re supposed to be witches, right?’”

You laugh more now. A genuine laugh, amused by Kai Parker’s unusual bareness and honesty. Never had you had such a sincere conversation with him. Frankly, you didn’t know he was capable of opening up as much as he is now. It’s nice. It’s the most meaningful conversation you’ve had recently, and if you’re honest with yourself, it’s healing. 

Not only do you know Kai’s background, you know his loneliness. Of course, you’ve never been in his shoes exactly, but you know what it’s like to feel helpless. Sometimes your parents teach you about pain before anyone else has the chance. Sometimes your friends break your heart the hardest. Sometimes it feels like there’s a target on your back and everyone’s carrying arrows. 

You don’t need to experience the same trauma to relate to someone, you just need a little bit of courage to speak up about it. The right people will listen. Those who understand. 

“I said before that I understand why you were willing to hurt Bonnie and Damon to get out,” you say. “I stand by that still.”

“You do?”

“I met your father once. I was friends with Liv before she skipped town, and he came to her dorm when I was there. He was cold.” You pause, rubbing your arms as a chill runs through your body. Whether it’s the cool night breeze or the memory, you’re not sure. “He smiled, and he made a joke, but his posture was rigid and his eyes were dark. It was like looking into the face of a snake that could strike at any moment. I was afraid to look away, yet afraid to look right at him.”

“He was never a warm person. He loved his wife, and did love my siblings, I think, but coven always came before family. He would betray even those closest to him in a second if asked. I was always told it was complicated for him, but it’s pretty simple. He never hesitated. It was obvious. There was no right vs wrong war in his mind. Guess it makes him a good leader, though. Maybe.”

“Not a good leader,” you argue, “but a dedicated one.” Kai seems to ponder that. “My family’s the opposite: they are complicated. They say one thing, but expect the other. Everything is a guessing game. You’re never quite sure what they want from you, and nothing’s ever good enough. Life feels like a competition: you have to do the most, study the hardest. There’s a thousand boxes to check by the age of twenty-three, and if you don’t complete them, you’re never going to catch up, never going to make them proud.” You’ve ranted a little, spoken somewhat quickly, but Kai follows along with great understanding. “I have a relatively big family, too, and they’re all over the country checking boxes. I live in a small town, with goals only big enough that I won’t feel like a failure if I don’t achieve, and spend every day just trying to stay alive. I’m the biggest disappointment to them and it’s so obvious.”

“Looks like we’re both family disappointments. Do they know about the supernatural?”

“Oh, god no. Their heads would explode.”

Kai laughs. He sees you shiver again and silently unzips his sweater. You startle a bit when he puts it around your shoulders, but then welcome the warmth it brings. It smells like him, so you pull it closer, finding that as a new comfort. 

“Thank you.”

“It’s technically Alaric’s-”

You start to pull it off, “ew-”

He stops you with a hand to your back. “But I’ve had it for months.”

“How’d you-?”

“After Damon woke me up when they put me on ice. I’d siphon the magic from Caroline’s mom on two conditions: one, he’d let me merge that night, and two, I could borrow a sweater.”

You chuckle, then let it envelope you again. Kai’s hand leaves your back, taking some, but not all, of the new warmth with him. He stretches out, leaning back on his elbows, and watches you copy the position. Your knees touch gently, though neither of you move. He studies you again, eyeing your face for tension, but finds your lips slightly parted in a relaxed state. You aren’t afraid of him; you aren’t trying to get away. 

The only person who isn’t taut as a band around him is Damon, because the vampire’s confidence and strength matches that of the young witch. But here, you’re only human, full of emotion and exhaustion, and alone on a rooftop with none other than the self-proclaimed sociopath himself. If your friends knew, they’d surely be freaking out, and maybe an hour ago, the thought would panic you, too. But now, at this moment in time, you’re completely calm. You’re trusting him. 

“So what’s the verdict?” He says out of nowhere, speaking up in the dead of night. The restaurant crowd left some time ago, and the roundabout hasn’t been driven through for less. In the far-off distance, you can hear a dog, but it stops after a few barks. 

“What?”

“How are we getting off this roof tonight?” You look over to him with an eyebrow raised. “Are we jumping, or are you gonna climb off with me?”

You ponder the question. Truthfully, you didn’t climb up today with the full intention of climbing back down. If Kai hadn’t followed you up, you, as he put it earlier, may have made it to the edge. 

But now, with both of your hearts and histories spilled out in front of you, things are different. Things are harder, because he’s involved. Yet, at the same time, things feel easier. He’s involved. He listened, and he shared his own story. You found common ground and it brought you closer than you’d ever imagined you could be with him. Hell, lately, with anyone. Somewhere, deep in your heart, you feel a bit of hope. 

“I’ll be honest,” he starts, “even though I’m out of the prison world, finally leading this dumb coven, and somewhat surviving in this town, I’ve considered it. I thought getting out would be a fix-all, and once I was, I would be okay, but I never imagined that life outside of it could be as lonely as my life was there. My coven still controls me and my family still hates me, and I wanted to get out and prove myself, and live, but now, sometimes,” he struggles for the right words, “I can’t find it in myself to care anymore.” He looks over to you to find you nodding, understanding. “I could die a hundred times over in the prison world with little consequence, but here, death is permanent.”

You offer a smile and a second of silence before agreeing. “Sometimes its permanence is a comfort, but sometimes a hindrance. It's permanent, I’ll never have to carry this weight again. I’ll never be a burden, or a failure, or a disappointment. But at the same time… what if I regret it? What if I’m halfway through the fall, or lying in a hospital bed, and there’s no saving me, but suddenly, I regret it? Or what if we’re conscious in the afterlife, and I miss the body and soul I once had, but gave up before my time was up? It haunts me. I have decision paralysis over dying. I wish I could make up my mind.”

Kai’s never cared much for other people, but in this moment, he knows if you got any closer to the edge, he’d hurl himself forward to pull you back. He sensed something was off about you earlier. You’d been climbing up here for weeks, but this time felt different. Necessary. 

“How about this? Climb down with me and we don’t have to make any decisions. Okay?”

“So the decision is to make no decisions?”

“Exactly.” He sits back up, outstretching a hand for you to take. “Let’s go get a coffee or something, and we can worry about it later. And, maybe, tomorrow won’t be so bad, and we can put off that decision making a little bit longer.” Kai manipulates slightly. He knows there is no decision to be made - it’s not a yes or no - but an ultimate decision on when you will take that step closer to the edge. So, if he can distract you day by day, and put off that ultimate decision, he could, with time, pull you from the edge, and eventually, off the roof. 

And that is a decision he is willing to make. He’s never cared much for other people, but something about you softens him. His life hasn’t been a fulfilling one. He hasn’t accomplished much, and he’s done little that makes him proud of himself, but you make him want to change. Be better, do more. Even if he only does one good thing, he wants to do it. He wants to save you. 

“Okay,” you finally agree, taking his hand. “Coffee sounds nice.”

For the first time of possibly many, he helps guide you back down the stairs, onto the safety of the pavement ground. You keep a hold of his hand all the way to the twenty-four hour diner two blocks down, and the whole time, he can’t stop smiling. 

[middleearthpixie]

Can you please write a fic where Thorin falls in love with a human girl, but he thinks she is disgusted by his looks? 🙏

Hi there, Nonny!! I know it took me forEVER, but here you go and i hope you like it! 💜

The Harp

Summary: You and Thorin are friends, but then you find out his feelings for you run deeper, and he’s holding back because he feels he is not good enough for you.  

Pairing: Thorin x fem!Reader (post-sack of Erebor, pre-quest for Erebor)

Warning: None. Just fluffy fluff

Rating: G

Word Count: 4.7k

***

He came into the dining room at the same time each evening and always sat at the same table—the one in the far corner, which was also the darkest corner of the room. He was polite, but kept to himself and you noticed how he always sat with his back to the wall and rarely did his eyes pause from scanning the room. 

The other diners eyed him with just as much suspicion but then again, they all eyed each other with suspicion as well. It was second nature to this lot, as they came from all four corners of Middle Earth. No one was actually from Emyn Vanya. No, every warm body had come from somewhere else to this tiny village on the outskirts of everywhere and yet somehow in the middle of nowhere. Some came to start over. Some came to forget. Some came to do both and some were just passing through. But everyone was from somewhere else and almost no one wished to discuss where that somewhere else might be.

You couldn't help but notice him, for he was a dwarf and the Grey Gander did not see many dwarves in their dining room. And not only that, but he was a handsome dwarf, to boot, with black hair, touched here and there with hints of silver, that spilled over his shoulders in a long tangle of curls. His most striking feature was his eyes, however, for they were the most piercing shade of icy blue you’d ever seen. There was a hardness within those pale eyes, one belied by his polite demeanor and deep, if soft, voice. 

Night after night, this man came in alone. He sat alone. He spoke to no one other than you when you approached to take his order, just as you did this evening. He was polite, if reserved, and spoke only when absolutely necessary, which was an interesting change from the patrons who grew louder and more opinionated as they dove further and further into their cups. 

“Welcome back,” you said with a smile as you approached him. “Might I fetch you a drink to begin?”

“Thank you. A tanked of ale would suit.”

“Of course. And do you know what you’d like or are you still trying to decide?”

He looked up at you with those striking eyes. “The hunter’s stew.”

His order never varied and you were certain you could just bring him a bowl of the stew without asking, which was why you couldn't resist a bit of playing with him. “I think we should start calling that your usual. Perhaps we should change it on the menu itself.”

That earned you one of the dwarf’s rare smiles. “I am not so certain that is necessary.”

“Well, you’ve been in here eight of the last ten nights and have yet to order anything different.” You couldn’t help teasing him. You sensed a hint of sadness in him, one that might explain the hardness in his eyes. And while it was a bit of a risk, teasing this man you didn’t really know, you had to admit, his smile made the risk worthwhile.

“But,” you added, taking your teasing further than you normally did, “you would have to tell me your name first. I certainly cannot ask to rename it Dwarf Stew. That would give the wrong impression, don’t you think?”

A darkness flashed through his eyes and you knew you’d overstepped. Your mind raced as you struggled to come up with something to smooth over his obviously ruffled feathers, knowing your employer would be furious if your flippancy drove away a paying customer. “I mean… that is… I apolo—”

“No,” he interrupted softly, shaking his head, “there is no need to apologize. And you’re right, it would sound odd. So, I suppose then, it would only be fair to tell you my name, wouldn’t it?”

Your heart beat a little faster at that. Perhaps it was but your imagination, but his voice sounded lower than it normally did. Lower and bit growlier. Had he, by any chance, noticed you the way you’d noticed him?

No, that was madness talking. Very few people noticed you aside from being their serving girl. You tended to blend into the background far too easily and since so many people in Emyn Vanya were only passing through, they paid little heed to you.

Still, that didn't stop you from replying, “It would, yes.”

To your surprise, that earned you a laugh. A genuine, honest-to-goodness laugh and one that sent flutters through you as it rolled across the small table in your direction. Like his voice, it was low and silken, and those flutters made you forget your own name for a moment.

“Very well,” he nodded, his eyes meeting and holding yours, “I am Thorin.”

You offered your name in return and added, “It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance, Thorin.”

“And yours as well.”

Heat climbed into your cheeks and you ducked your head, saying, “I will be back in a few moments with your ale,” you hesitated, then added, “Thorin.”

“I will be here.”

Thorin sat back as you darted off and couldn't believe his cheek. What had possessed him to even think to flirt with you? Your interest had to be only because he was a paying customer, because there was no way a woman as beautiful as you could possibly be interested in him. 

The first time he stepped into the Grey Gander, he’d noticed you at once, noticed how easily you smiled and joked with the tavern’s patrons. Your laughter was a silvery melody that made everyone turn in your direction and smile even if they had no idea what it was that made you laugh. 

He noticed everything about you—from that amazing smile and intoxicating laughter to your beautiful eyes and easy grace with which you moved about the crowded dining room. You never seemed impatience, or irritated, and even when someone gave you a hard time about something, you never lost your temper and somehow managed to defuse the most volatile of situations. 

The second night he’d come in, he’d witness such a scene, almost reaching for his sword, propped against the table, when the giant of man actually grabbed you by the arm. He had no doubt he’d have intervened if you needed it, but you didn’t. You smiled at the man as you peeled his fingers from your wrist and very sweetly informed him that if he touched you again, you’d turn him from a rooster to a hen in one fell swoop. 

It was at that moment, Thorin lost his heart.

A foolish notion at best, as you would never feel about him the way he did you. Why would you? He was a dwarf. He had no home. He had been in line for a throne, but now supported himself by moving from place to place, taking work where he could find it. 

That was what brought him to Emyn Vanya. His trade was blacksmithing and the village needed one. So, there he was, in the dining room of the Grey Gander, admiring you from afar and wishing he stood a chance at winning your hand. 

It was just as well, for what did he have to offer you? A king with no kingdom was no better than a pauper, really. Not to mention, he certainly couldn’t compete with the men of Emyn Vanya, who were all taller, slimmer, and far more attractive than he certainly was. You would be a fool to even consider him.

But, he watched you from afar, watched as you moved from table to table, how you brought a beaming smile to the face of an old crone, how you soothed angry children bickering over a toy, how you made a crying infant smile by making silly faces until they could do nothing else. 

How you focused on him as if he was the most interesting man in the room and not, for lack of a better phrase, a homely, homeless refugee. 

If only…

He sighed as you approached with a tankard in one hand. His heart beat so much faster when you met his gaze. His mouth went as dry as the plains between his lost kingdom of Erebor and the city of Dale after the dragon Smaug torched it from one end to the other.

You set the tankard before him. “Your supper will be ready in but a few minutes, Mr. Thorin.”

Mr. Thorin. He smiled, shaking his head. “No Mister. Thorin is just fine.”

“Oh, well that wouldn’t be proper now, would it?” Your eyes almost sparkled as your easy smile curved your lips. “After all, we only just met.”

“This is true,” he nodded, reaching for the tankard. Then, on impulse, he added, “Perhaps you might join me one evening?”

You looked taken aback and he immediately berated himself silently. You fool! What is wrong with you?

But then you smiled. “I think I would like that. I have an off night tomorrow. Would that work for you?”

He was stunned, not only by your agreement, but by your suggestion. No woman ever approached him that way. He’d always been the one to ask. You were bold and he admired that. So, he nodded. “That would work just fine for me.”

“Wonderful. What time?”

“Half seven?”

“Half seven it is,” you told him. “And I’ll be back in but a moment with your supper.”

****

What were you thinking? How could you just blurt out an invitation to him that way? He must think you a harlot, or a wanton woman for doing so. 

But at the same time, as you smoothed a hand along your skirts, you had to admit, you looked so forward to seeing him without having to wait upon him. It was a nice change of pace for you. A break in the monotony of your life that was work, sleep, and more work.

You’d told him where you lived, a rundown little flat above the florist’s shop, and at half eight, when the knock came at the door, you nearly jumped clear out of your skin. Then, laughing at your foolishness, you hurried to the door, before he thought you’d changed your mind and left. 

You smiled as you pulled open the door. “You are early.”

“I allowed myself extra time in case I found myself lost. I’m still new to these parts and this town takes a bit of getting used to.”

“If you remember the streets run east and west, and the avenues run north and south, you might fare better.”

He bobbed his head. “I would, but there are three florists on this street alone.”

“It is a very competitive business in Emyn Vanya.”

“So I’ve noticed.” 

You hesitated a moment and then stepped aside. “Come in.”

As he stepped over the threshold, you tried not to dwell on how shabby your flat was, with its scratched and scuffed hand-me-down furnishings. After you paid your rent and made certain there was food on the table, there was not much money left for luxuries such as nice furniture. Normally, it didn't trouble you. This was your home and you thought it cozy, if a bit rundown. But, when you tried to see it through Thorin’s eyes? 

You saw exactly how awful it must have looked to him. Threadbare sofa. The armchair had a hole in the cushion thanks to a broken spring, which meant that not only was stuffing peeping up from the hole, one received a nasty poke in the backside, should they think to sit there. 

And of course, there was that awful water stain in the far corner. You had no idea from where it had come, only that no matter how much you tried to paint over it, it bled through. You’d given up trying when paint fell into the luxury category.

But, he reached up for the frogs at his throat and then whisked his cloak off to drape over his arm. “This is lovely.”

Lovely? You looked about, wondering exactly what he found so lovely about it. “It’s a bit… ah… worn, don't you think?”

“Lived in, is how I would describe it.” He smiled at you. “Homes should be lived in. That is how they become such. Otherwise, they are but houses, flats, nothing more than buildings.”

You looked back at him. “Lived in?”

He nodded. “Lived in.” 

Then he looked back at you and for a moment, you were rendered speechless. Did he have any idea whatsoever as to how handsome he truly was? Because if he did, he certainly did not act as if he did.

Of course, you kept that to yourself, especially when that night, a deep friendship was born. You had dinner together on the nights when you weren’t working. You spent off days together, sometimes running errands with each other, sometimes just doing nothing. He had a knack for the acrostics printed in the village newspaper and the two of you spent your share of days or nights looking up which answers you thought would work. It didn't matter. He had quickly become your dearest friend and while you loved that, you’d also begun thinking that perhaps there was a bit more to your relationship than only friendship.

It was too bad he’d never given any indication at all that he saw you as anything more than a friend.

So you stayed quiet. Autumn gave way to winter and the Yule holiday was only a few days off when you made your way to Thorin’s forge at the northern end of town. A bitter cold wind whipped down the narrow alleyway where his shop was located and you didn't have to look to know you were near it. The carved wooden sign identifying the forge creaked on its hooks as it swung in the wind. Through the swirling snow, you could still make out the word etched into the wood. 

Blacksmith

Beneath that word, Thorin had carved symbols as well, and when you’d asked, he’d smiled and explained that they were a language called khuzdul, which was his native language, actually. He’d attempted to teach you some of it, and showed nothing but patience as you fumbled over seemingly simple words. Little by little, though, it became easier and left you wishing you had something like that to share with him. 

But then you found something. One night, over several goblets of wine, he confessed that he once played the harp, but had lost his when he’d lost his home, but that was all he would say about either the harp or what happened to his home. So, you’d saved a bit of your pay each week and put it aside and then went to the music shop at the far end of town and found what you’d hoped would be a suitable replacement harp. It wasn't a big, grand instrument, as those were far beyond what you could ever hope to afford, but you hoped he’d like it the same. You couldn’t remember the last time you were so excited and impatient to give someone a gift as you were this one, which was why you braved the worsening weather.  

So there you were, at the far end of a gray-shingled building with a roof in need of repair, listening to the almost melodic sound of metal striking metal. The closer you drew to his workshop, the warmer the air grew and as you rounded the corner, a blast of heat hit you square in the face. It was a welcome sensation as your cheeks felt quite numb from the cold. 

He had his back to you and heat shot through you at the sight of him, shirtless in deference to that blasted heat, the muscles in his back and along his shoulders bulging as he held a piece of iron in one hand, a hammer in the other. The clang rang through you when he brought the hammer slamming against the iron, again and again and you couldn't help but just stare. 

Your eyes roamed over his naked back, heavy with obviously well-earned muscle, and inked with black lines of varying sizes that covered his entire shoulder, stretched across his back, and into the opposite shoulder as well. You had no idea what the symbols and lines meant, but they looked very similar to the ones carved into the forge’s sign, so your guess was they were dwarfish runes or words.

The heat in the forge was brutal regardless of how cold it was beyond the walls. Sweat prickled along your back as you stepped closer. You didn't want to startle him. The iron with which he worked began with an orange glow, but slowly, as he pounded it flat, the glow faded and when he set down the hammer and used a pair of tongs to pick up the flattened piece and thrust it into a tub of water, steam actually rose from the tub.

“Thorin?”

He jumped, letting go of the tongs as he spun around and now heat shot up into your cheeks at the naked chest you found yourself staring at. Like his back, his chest was just as broad, with black hair swirled from one nipple to the other and down across his belly. More symbols had been inked across it, meeting with the design on his left shoulder.

“I am so sorry,” you stammered, tearing your eyes from that impressive sight to meet his startled blue eyes, “I was trying not to startle you.”

“What are you doing here?”

You hugged the package close. “I had to go and pick something up and thought while I was out, I’d stop by.” You peered around him, at the iron still resting in the water. “What are you making?”

“A sword.” He reached for the towel draped over the workbench and swept it across his forehead. “You should not be in here. It’s far too dangerous.”

“I will come no closer then. But tell me, who commissioned the sword?”

“No one. It is mine. I work on it when I’ve a bit of free time.”

“Might I see?”

“It’s not even close to being finished.” He came around the bench and stood before you. His black hair was damp at the temples. 

“You don't have to stop on my account, you know.” You took a step closer to him, the urge to reach out and touch him so powerful, it nearly overwhelmed you. You wish you had the courage to tell him how you’d come to feel about him, as you’d had when you’d left your flat. You’d left there full of fire and determined to confess your feelings for him, but unfortunately, by the time you reached his forge, that courage evaporated like the water in the tub had. 

“It would be rude of me to continue.”

“Not at all. I think it would be fascinating, watching you work.” 

His gaze shifted slightly to his left and you followed it to see what he looked at—a heavy dark gray henley lay draped over a chair by his desk. Without thinking, you shifted the package to one arm and reached out to catch him by the upper arm as he stretched for his shirt.

“Wait, don’t,” you said, shaking your head.

“Don’t?”

You nodded. “I—what is this?” You traced your fingertips along the thick black lines curving his shoulder, unable to believe your own brazenness but unable to halt your touch as well. 

“It’s my… my… it’s a raven,” he managed, his voice deep and huskier than usual. He cleared his throat. “The symbol of my clan, and my family crest.”

You could not keep yourself from tracing along those lines as little by little, the image of a raven wearing a crown slowly showed itself to you. You’d held back from telling him how you felt for so long, now that the opportunity to perhaps go beyond friendship had presented itself and you were not about to let it slip by. But… you had to be careful. It was a delicate matter and that called for delicate handling. The last thing you wished to do was destroy your friendship with him.

With that, you lowered your hand “It’s lovely.”

“Thank you.”

“This is for you, by the by.” You pressed the package toward him. “I know Yule isn’t for several more days, but when I went to pick this up, I grew far too impatient to wait.”

He stared down at it. “What is it?”

“Well, you have to open it to find out.”

He took the package and slowly unwrapped it and then just stared, his blue eyes growing shiny as he murmured, “How did you know?”

“You told me, silly.” You nudged him with your shoulder. “Remember? We were talking about how my neighbor plays the harpsichord and how awful it sounds and you told me you once played the harp. So, I asked Mr. Trumble if he could find me a harp for you and he did me one better. He made this.”

“He—” those blue eyes met yours, wide and incredulous—“made this?”

You nodded. “He did, indeed.”

He gazed down at the harp, and then back at you. “I—this—this is beautiful. I thank you.”

“There is one condition to it, however.” You nudged him once more. “You must play it for me.”

“Oh, I couldn't now. I’d be far too rusty.”

“Well, once you flake off all the rust.”

“Fair enough.” He offered up a smile brighter than any you’d ever seen from him. “You shouldn’t have done this, though. Save your wages, don’t spend them on me.”

“I didn't mind.” You shrugged as if you spent that kind of money all the time. “And it’s Yule, so it was but a small sacrifice.”

He stepped closer. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me, you know. I will treasure it. And you.”

And with that, he leaned in and to your surprise, pressed his lips to yours. You froze at first, caught by utter surprise, as this was the last thing you’d expected him to do. For one maddening moment, you wondered if perhaps you were just imagining it.

But then, his lips moved softly against yours and your toes actually curled in your sensible boots when he brought his hands up to cup your face, and you knew that this was, in fact, actually happening. And how wonderful it was! The sensations that rippled through you were soft and sweet, the crisp, coarse hair around his mouth tickling at first, but then you found you didn't mind it so much as it was a caress of its own. 

Your head did a slow spin, his kiss leaving you lightheaded and when your hands came to rest on those massive upper arms of his, your fingers pressed into muscle that greatly resembled stone of their own accord. You were afraid your weak knees might buckle on you at any moment.

His kiss was slow and sweet, teasing and gentle and when his lips parted and his tongue swept gently along yours, your head spun even faster. A rush of heat swept through you. Your lips tingled. Your heart beat harder and faster and it took every bit of will you had to not melt right into his arms. 

When he drew back, his eyes were soft, swirling with an emotion you couldn’t quite place and he seemed as breathless as you were as he murmured, “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time now.”

“What?”

He nodded. “I do and I did and now I just want to do it again.” Then he paused, a hint of sheepishness creeping into his smile, into his eyes, “Unless, of course, you’d rather I didn’t.”

“No, I’d not rather that at all,” you told him, smiling as you curved a hand against his cheek. “In fact, I’d like it very much if you would do it again. And again. And I think you should keep doing, no matter where we might be.”

A low chuckle rumbled up from the depths of his chest. “So, I am not about to send you screaming into the snow?”

“Hardly.” 

“Are you certain? I mean,” he rubbed his bearded jaw ruefully, a sheepish smile coming to his lips, “I know people whisper about me and poke fun at me behind my back.”

“They whisper about you because they are fascinated by you. And no one pokes fun at you. I know they think you’re quite an excellent smithy, judging by what I’ve heard. And I won’t even tell you what the women say about you.”

To your surprise, his sheepish smile faded and a darkness came to his eyes. “I can only imagine.”

“Have I said something wrong? I thought I was complimenting you. Do dwarves not like to hear how handsome they are thought to be?”

“Handsome?” He snorted as he shook his head. “That’s kind of you, but I’ve seen my own face and that is not how I’d describe it.”

“Well, perhaps you should but have Mr. Sinclair examine your eyes, for you are not only handsome, but very handsome.”

He stared at you, clearly not believing a word you said. “Thank you, but you are just being kind, as you’ve been since we met.”

“Thorin,” you caught his hands in yours, “I’ve been wishing you’d notice me as more than simply your friend, that you’d kiss me, and perhaps I’ve been too brazen in taking the first step. If you wish me to leave you alone, I will.”

“Leave me alone?” His eyes went wide and he shook his head once more. “No, no, I don’t wish that at all. In fact, I—”

A scarlet flush swept up into his cheeks and he went quiet. You waited for him to continue, your heart hammering away at your ribs. All you wanted was for him to pull you into his arms, to tug you flush against that massive chest, and kiss you until you forgot your name.

“You what?” you asked softly.

“I lied. About the sword.” He smiled then. “It’s for you, actually. For Yule. I meant it to be a surprise.”

“For me? But I don't even know who to wield one.”

“Worry not, for I will teach you. When the weather breaks.”

“You did this for me? You would do that for me?”

He nodded. “I would do anything for you, you know.” His eyes softened then as he smiled. “I love you.”

This was the last thing you ever expected him to say and you could only stare at him for a long moment, as your stupid brain forgot how to process words. The best you could muster was a whispered, “What?”

“I love you. I’ve been wanting to tell you for some time now, but how could I when I thought you would be embarrassed to be courted by me. So, I relegated myself to knowing we would only ever be friends, but now…”

“Embarrassed to be courted by you? Are you mad, Thorin? Are you absolutely and completely mad? Because you would have to be to think any woman alive would be embarrassed to be courted by you.” You shifted to wind your arms about his neck. “And no one has ever made something for me. At least, not something as beautiful as a sword. So, if I didn't already love you in return, I would have most definitely fallen at this moment.”

He smiled. “So, all this time, it would’ve only taken a sword to win your hand?”

“I’m a very simple woman, Thorin. You should know that by now.”

Your heart skipped a beat as he eased his arms about your waist, pulling you flush against him. He leaned closer, his lips just brushing yours as he murmured, “I’ll keep it in mind.”

You tried to think of something witty to reply with, but then his lips met yours once more and rendered words unnecessary.

***

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[yourstingrey]

“What are you wearing…?”

Description: you forget about laundry day and are forced with the tough decision of going out in your most embarrassing pajamas set in front of a certain Hermes camp counselor

A/N: I haven't written a fic since uh 2019…? So my writing is a bit rusty but I wanted to try to get back into it so hopefully you all don't think this is too bad😭😭😭 The pajamas are inspired from this OW2 character's outfit but obvi changed for the fic! Anywho if you do like this hopefully it'll inspire me to write even more little fics but thank you for reading if you choose to do so and I hope you're having a wonderful day/evening/night!!

wc:1009

Pairings: Athena!reader x Luke Castellan

Warnings!: fluff pretty much and the reader getting teased

You don't even know how you could have forgotten it was an honest mistake anyone could make but certainly not as embarrassing for everyone else. You had woken up just like any other day yawning not truly ready to get up for the day but at camp half blood unless you're a child of Hypnos sleeping in isn't the smartest.

As you stretch out and then slip your feet into your slippers you finally make that last stumble out of bed. Walking up to my dresser and open up the drawer noticing how barren it is so much so a cartoon mouth might as well fly out. I turned around to march up to my laundry hamper, deciding it better to re-wear something this once than to simply have nothing else until I noticed it was missing from its key spot. 

I looked up to see if any of my siblings were in the room and saw my sister, Bea “Hey uh Bea have you seen my laundry hamper? I can't remember where I put it…” I say to her with sleepy confusion laced into my voice “Oh yeah well it's laundry day and you were sleeping for a while so Annabeth decided to take yours and do it for you!” Bea explained, “So all my clothes are in the wash.” “Oh yeah sorry is that a bad thing I mean I can't say I won't judge you if you wanna be those people who don't bathe or anything..” Bea says with an astute tone to her voice and a clear grimace on her face “Um no no it's fine…” I replied under my breath.

I walked back to my drawer deliberating between just going out in my PJs or trying to squeeze into some old t-shirt from my first years at camp. I think we all know what I picked but I did decide if I'm going to wear my PJs out I can still wear my normal shoes, lacing up my sneakers I head out marching my way to the mess hall. 

I walk quietly the cold crisp camp air biting at my cheeks while I notice the cold I fail to notice the sound of a certain Hermes boy sneaking up on me before he lightly tugged on one of my braids “Woah woah where are you going girl” Luke said as he stepped in front of me.

 “Luke! I hate when you do that my hair takes a while y'know.” Luke irked me to no end yet I couldn't help but enjoy all our tiny arguments. “Hold on. What are you wearing…?”

 I look down at my outfit: a basic white sleep tank but then lavender pajama pants with owls and moons scattered about with a matching cardigan on top. “What are you jealous, Castellan?” “Very you think we can get matching sets, hm?” Luke replied with a smirk evident on his face.

“ Ugh Why have you come to pester me Luke” I huff out at him as I shift under his gaze “Just wanted to know if you’re still gonna come to training later” I almost freeze up a little as though it might be small Luke has usually never asked to see if I'm coming or not it's not like its hard for him to get another sparring partner. 

“Hmm I don't know.. These are my best fighting clothes. I think they actually might let me beat you this time butttt I already promised Annabeth to sneak out into the strawberry fields with her later..” As I say this I start to continue my walk to the mess hall not letting Luke interrupt my stride.

“Hey wait wait tell her you’ll go on a different day!” Luke jogs back over and starts walking with me “I don't know why you’re being so persistent this time you’ve never acted like this before!” I sass back to him “Oh what I just want to spare with my favorite Athena girl” “Well it's not gonna happen you can spare with me tomorrow okay” my voice holding a teasing tone.

I look at him and scrunch my nose at him as if he were the foul smell you would get if you ventured to the stables. But with that pause in my step, Luke took it to his advantage quickly snagging the owl sleeping mask off of my head and holding it up.

“Well, you'll just have to come by if you want this back then hmm little owl.” With him snatching my eye mask and this newly formed nickname my face glowed a light pink you would think I was a daughter of Aphrodite for a second “Wait what-” Luke already cut me off with a quick peck to my cheek stunning me again and starts to strut off before calling over his shoulder “Okay see you later then my little owl!”

I turn to watch him walk for a mere second before knocking some sense into myself and continuing my walk. I know I shouldn't go. I'm a daughter of Athena, I should be smarter than this but maybe Annabeth could wait a day. It's just fruit…  I think I just really need “my sleeping mask” back…

[allthatmay]

FORGIVE MY GREED BUT I BEG FOR CRUMBS OF ANY KIND OR FLAVOUR

OKAY SO I'm having a week where I'm like, "Nothing I write is ever good enough!" so sharing could be good for me! I couldn't decide between Ace/Sanji or Shanks/Benn/Ace, but I went for the former because it's more polished...

This fic is inspired by the way Sanji looked at Ace in Alabasta. I mean, seriously. He was so staring.

As soon as Ace realises what Sanji's up to, he smothers a laugh, holding his hands up in surrender when Sanji reaches for the dirty knife. Though the threat of violence is tempting, Sanji would much rather return to their previous activity, so he simply puts the cutting board and knife in the sink to be cleaned later. When he turns back around, his hands newly washed, Ace is watching him with a large, affectionate grin.

“All done, chef?”

“I take food very seriously.”

“Yeah, I can tell. It's one of the things I like about ya.”

“…One of the things?”

It's meant to sound playful, but it comes out dreadfully desperate. Sanji briefly contemplates drowning himself in the mop bucket.

Ace, though, steps toward him. “Yeah,” he says. “I like that you're so contentious about food, chef. I like that you give as good as you get. I like that you've got those long legs and swirly eyebrows. Those are really cool, by the way. And I really like the way you look at me.”

Sanji swallows. “Enough to let me look a little more?”

“You wanna watch me?” Ace looks surprisingly pleased. “I'll do anything for ya, chef, I swear. D'ya wanna watch me touch myself?”

What the fuck is Sanji doing?

“Yeah,” he admits, more to himself than Ace.

Braced against the counter, Ace slowly undoes his belt like he's expecting Sanji to change his mind at any time and—well, that's fair, really. But Sanji cannot possibly turn back when Ace’s hand reaches into his shorts—he's not wearing any underwear—and reveals his cock. It’s not the first cock Sanji’s seen other than his own, but it’s the first he’s seen in this context and it’s certainly the nicest: satisfyingly thick, nestled amongst neat hair, and coloured a deep pink towards the tip. That pink skin glistens as Ace gives his cock a singular pump, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Fuck… You sure this is okay, chef?”

Sanji does not sound like himself when he says, “Yes,” and perhaps that is for the best; the less he is associated with what’s happening, the more he can excuse it. But Sanji cannot possibly excuse, nor forget, nor exorcise the memory of Ace’s cock coming to full hardness; the way his hips rock upward into his fisted hand as he rasps, “Sanji…”

The dam of denial inside Sanji’s head bursts at the sight. He struggles to keep his legs steady, holding himself up by the counter. An uncomfortable cocktail of shame, guilt and lust has him feeling drunker as the moments go by; kissing is one thing, but this is something else entirely.

[arabaka]

ᰔ ̗̀➛ CHAPTER O1. INDULGENCE

₊˚ʚ ☁️ ₊˚ ♡ ﾟ. content warnings ⤸

nsfw. reigen arataka x afab!reader. dubcon (you 'n reigen drink beforehand). power dynamics (he's your boss). oral sex (both ways). 6k word count.

₊˚ʚ ☁️ ₊˚ ♡ ﾟ. author's note ⤸

excited to get into my first multi-chapter fic for my favorite of all time and i hope you all enjoy this as much as i had fun writing it. please be on the look out for further installments and i will be making a chapter index post once the second chapter one is out.

ᰔ ̗̀➛ MINORS / AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

“I feel bad, making you work on your birthday.” 

“You’re not making me.” You tease him with an eye roll. “You offered me the day off, remember? Buuuutttt I have nowhere else to be right now so might as well. My plans are in the evening anyways.” 

Well you’ve certainly piqued his interest. “Oh? What are you going to do?” 

“My friends want to take me out drinking. They do this thing where they order the same drink at every bar to rank them and there’s a bar they’ve been talking about for ages…” 

“Is that something you want to do?” There he goes again, being thoughtful in a way that shouldn’t strike you like one of Cupid’s arrows to the heart but it does. It stings a little that way too, because you’ve been ruminating over feelings you have for your boss, feelings you shouldn’t have in the first place, for a while now and there’s no hope for that going anywhere. But you manage a convincing enough smile and a lighthearted laugh to throw him off your scent.

“Oh yeah, of course! It’s better I leave it in their hands anyways. I’m only good at organizing when I’m on the clock.” You give him a wink and when he laughs, you let your gaze linger on the man. You aren’t about to miss that smile on his face, the kind that travels north, giving him a delightful crinkle by the eyes as his whole face just lights up. And over something you said.

The moment passes but you keep thinking, even as you retreat to your work on the company laptop. It’s easy for your mind to wander as you sift through the drivel that is Reigen’s email. Sorting requests by type and urgency, the task’s drudgery can’t distract you like you want it to. So the gears keep turning, subjecting you to thoughts of him, him, him until–

“Would you want to come?” 

The way Reigen whips his whole body around, face cast with a look of surprise with raised brows and his mouth slightly agape, makes you shrink in your seat. God, why did I ask? Of course he wouldn’t want to come, he hardly drinks as it is, he’s probably busy, he’s –

“Sure– I mean, yes!” His hands wave about, hoping to dispel any doubt in the air, “S-Sorry, I just– Didn’t expect you to ask.” 

A weight’s been lifted off your chest, that much he can see by the way you unclench your jaw and smile at him. Your smile. Makes his heart pitter patter, rumbling awake feelings of his own he’s been trying so hard to deny. Professionalism first, he struggles to tell himself but the heart is a funny thing; it does what it wants and as of late, it’s been wreaking havoc every time you come into the office.

“Oh, good!” You cheer and the way you clap your hands together is more adorable than you realize. Hand clasped over his mouth, digits conveniently covering the dust of pink on his cheekbones, Reigen clears his throat. “Where’s it by?” He asks, hands now occupying themselves with the purportless shuffling of papers with his back turned to you– another means of hiding his blush from you.

Not that you even noticed in the first place. You’re much too busy trying to mask your own excitement. “Not from here, actually… But it is by my place.” Now you’re using the laptop as a crutch, gluing your eyes to the screen when you suggest, “If you want, we can go together… And then walk to the bar?” Your lips pressed into a tight, thin line, you still your breathing for Reigen’s reaction. You’ve never been alone with him after work, where are you getting this bravery from?! If you can barely survive asking him, how are you going to handle him stepping into your home? Your brain starts to unravel, questions of when the last time you cleaned and tidied your place swirling about and there are no good answers to bring you peace.

Spine jerking upright, Reigen stammers, “Y-Yeah, that works!” He nearly avoids cracking his voice, one surprise after the other doing damage to his psyche you’re not even aware of.  

“Good– Great!” You, however, are not so lucky. Your pitch is obviously notes higher than the last time you spoke and god, do you wish you would stop embarrassing yourself. Now you’re welcoming the silence between the two, however awkward it may be, because it’s a reprieve from making a fool of yourself. 

Okay, time to get back to those emails. You can do this.

✩ ̗̀➛ Spirit photo - Is it dangerous? ✩ ̗̀➛ The spirit of my ex-boyfriend keeps showing up! Help me! ✩ ̗̀➛ I’ll believe you’re real if you answer my 3 questions…

You can’t help but snort at that last one. Into the Obvious Troll folder it goes.

One page down. Just a few more to go.

The next array of requests loads, but you don’t get any farther than the first one. 

✩ ̗̀➛ Perv Master - We got a fresh batch of pervy videos for you! Now you can be a perv master…

SNAP! 

You slam the laptop shut, only now you wish you hadn’t because you’re met with an equally shocked look from Reigen, his attention squarely on you and your very loud reaction to what you just saw.  “What happened?! Something wrong?” 

“N-Nothing! Nothing!” It’s not very convincing, but it’ll do. “Just– Needed some updates is all. Figured I’d let it rest. Don’t want it overheating!” The laugh you muster is weak, barely leaves your lips with an exhale but it’s all you can give. “I need a smoke break.”

You leave before Reigen can even think of a reply. 

Since when do you smoke?

You don’t. You just needed to get out of there and fast. What the hell was that? Maybe you were seeing things; you didn’t give yourself a chance to read it over but what else could it have been? You stumble back against the building’s hard surface, hand over your heart as if you couldn’t already feel it pulsate like mini earthquakes in your ears. 

Does Reigen really go on sites like that? You didn’t pen him down as the type. You gulp but your throat aches, the prospect of Reigen’s lascivious activities a jagged lump you can’t seem to swallow. Not that there would be a problem, he’s free to do what he wants but… You’re contending with that wild imagination of yours and you’re picturing Reigen, late at night when no one’s around but his urges, the hand you’ve had on your shoulder many times before reaching into his draws to relieve himself and—

Your heart rate quickens and you feel dizzy.

But what if it was a spam email, and you’re out here frazzled for nothing? You have to laugh. You might just be making a mountain out of a molehill, jumping to conclusions… As you’re wont to do.

“Sorry about that.” You come back as abruptly as you left but Reigen can’t help but notice your sheepish expression, along with the faint sheen on sweat cast alongside your features. 

And the fact that you don’t smell of smoke at all.

“You alright?” He asks from the end of the short corridor, gaze following you as you get yourself situated.  

Fingers drumming along the laptop’s edge, you hesitate opening it up under Reigen’s watchful eyes. Surely he wouldn’t be able to read the text from where he’s standing but you’re paranoid now, already wanting a reprieve from this awkward moment. The last thing you need is diving head first into another one. “Yeah, totally.” You rub your lips together and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, mannerisms Reigen knows better than to dismiss. 

You wear your heart on your sleeve, your anxiety even more so. Everyone has a tell and Reigen’s just so happened to memorize yours. But he won’t pry; if you want him to know, you’ll tell him. So he gives you your space, retreating to his own desk but not before offering up a warm smile– not knowing that right now, his charm could very well be the death of you. 

Laptop open, the email stares back at you. No mistaking it, the correspondence is definitely from a porn site. But should you open it? It’s none of your business, none of Spirits and Such business but… Your pointer finger trembles crazily over the touchpad. Guilt welling in your very soul, contending with burgeoning curiosity, you hesitate.

And then you click.

It could be spam. Maybe someone signed up using Reigen’s email as revenge. These are all options swiveling in your mind before the email loads but when it does, there’s no mistaking it. 

It’s 100% intentional.

Hello REIGEN ARATAKA,

There are new videos in some of your subscribed categories! Catch up on what you’ve been missing! 

SUBSCRIBED CATEGORIES: 

JOI STOCKINGS UPSKIRT FACESITTING PUBLIC

Oh, what were you thinking? Embarrassment flares over the apples of your cheeks, veins down the column of your neck flexing with tension as your eyes dawdle over the very, very explicit thumbnails accompanying each genre. You’re no prude but this… You’re viewing porn at work. And not just any porn– porn your boss, the man your heart and brain have been clouded with lately, is so interested in, he receives email updates. 

You’re frozen to your seat, the only thing of yours capable of making any sort of movement being your eyes– you drink in the sight before you, the little voice in your head be damned. This is an insight into what Reigen is into and can you really deny the intrigue infiltrating your bloodstream? You’re only human, after all.

So you look, chest tightening and thighs rubbing with every image. Some of the stills are innocuous, for porn that is. Take for example the stockings category– most of the previews are focused on the legs, each thumbnail featuring a different pair. Some are lacy, featuring ornate designs while others are simply opaque, the allure being in the glimpse of garter straps just beneath the skirt’s hemline. 

You gulp. Does he really like them that much? You can’t help but scour your closet in your mind’s eye– you must have a few pairs yourself, right? You swallow harder. What if you wore some to your party tonight?

Flustered but still inquisitive, your eyes flit through the other categories, taking in the sights and trying not to make a peep. You see it all: women with their hands on dildos of varying sizes, a worm’s eye view of a woman’s bottom, her skirt a mere curtain around her plump thighs, and a man’s face just before he’s to be obscured by the partner hovering above him. 

The mouse jitters on the screen, mimicking your real life twitches, as you panic over what to do now. Do you mark it unread? Delete it? After concocting a scenario where Reigen looks at his inbox, sees the email, and then approaches you with an apology, you decide it’s better to trash it… And then empty the trash, digitally wiping your hands clean of the situation entirely.

If only you could purge your mind the same way… Although… Would you want to?

You can’t deny that it was jarring at first– getting an eyeful of exactly what your boss gets up to when no one else is around. But you have to admit, that when the initial panic washed away, what you were left with was…

Temptation.

Intrigue.

Arousal.

It’s dirty, feeling the way you do but god, there’s something so liberating about it. All this time, you hadn’t an inkling of what Reigen, the object of your affection, was into but now it’s like an open book, all about him, has plopped onto your lap. It’d be a shame to waste such an opportunity acting like you’re so innocent.

Because let’s face it, you liked it. Liked knowing what gets Reigen to fish his cock out in a hurry after a long day of work, loved imagining those overworked hands being put to good use. You thought you would spend the next few hours on the clock riddled with worry but oh, your brain was far too deep in the gutter to even consider that at this point.

Maybe this was just the push you needed because now that you’ve seen, now that you know what Reigen is into, you can no longer be satisfied with your boss-employee relationship. How can you? You know what makes him tick, maybe the only one that does and you want to keep it that way.

And when you flip the sign from OPEN to CLOSED, you know there’s no turning back. 

You’re making a move on him. Tonight.

“... and to this day, she still brings it up! I was seven!” 

“Didn’t know you had such sticky fingers– do I have to keep an eye on you? Been wondering about some missing pens…”

You giggle, fishing for your keys as the two of you near your apartment door. “I took it back to the store! I have a conscience, you know. Steal dagashi once and you’re a pariah for life.” You hear Reigen mumble something or another but you laugh all the same, shoving your key in the lock and letting yourself breathe in the normalcy of the moment surrounding you. It feels nice.

And your apartment is clean. Perfect.

“You have a …. Really nice place.” Reigen comments, hands humbly in his pockets as he realizes… He’s never really imagined what kind of house you would keep: whether you set out coasters and if they’re personalized, what you kept in your fridge, what you put on display, etc. But everything he is seeing– it’s so you and that makes Reigen smile.

“You think so?” You can’t deny the surge of pride that spreads like a blanket of warmth over the pitter patter of your head. “Thanks! I couldn’t wait to get my own place so I could spruce it up the way I like. Couldn’t really do that when I lived at home.” 

“Strict parents?” Reigen broaches the topic with a little trepidation, though within his words there’s a subtext of compassion.

You don’t mind the gentle nudge in your personal life, reassuring he’s alright with a returned tone of care, “It’s more like… Realizing as an adult, it means you can do whatever the hell you want.” You smile tenderly at Reigen, “I should… I should get ready. I won’t take long. Remotes are over there, if you’re thirsty I have waters in the fridge. Make yourself at home, really.”

Reigen chuckles under his breath, waving you off, “Thanks but take your time.”

You skitter off to your room, a rush of excitement surging your system as you shut the door behind you. You don’t think you’ve ever moved faster to change, having already long pieced the perfect outfit in your head since your big resolution. You roll up your favorite pair of thigh highs over your plump thighs, smiling to yourself as you admire the way your own legs look covered by the sheer, black fabric. These are the winners, alright.

You stumble and shimmy into the rest of your ensemble, whole body jittering at every beat. Your stomach winds, butterflies struggling to flutter but you allow yourself a breath, really let the air fill and expand your lungs, before your hand is on the doorknob and the rest of you is on your way to the man you’re going to do your best to woo tonight.

And when you come out, there’s no mistaking it; he’s doing more than just the courtesy glance you do when a friend gussies up. He’s drinking in your appearance, trying to fight the obvious drift towards your legs, the absolute territory of your thighs showing just a peek under your skirt. He has to clear his throat, as though that in itself wasn’t a tell, before finally piping up, “You look good– great.” He corrects his wording, but it’s still not enough. But going beyond that…

That would be an issue, wouldn’t it?

He’s… He’s your boss. He’s here in your house, sitting like a friend, ready to go out with you like one but… 

He’s certainly not looking at you like either one.

But that’s okay. That’s what you want. And soon he’ll know that too. Because tonight, you want to cross boundaries. You want to erase them altogether. You don’t want to think about the potential mess you’ll leave when the limits are blurred and streaked.

So you let him ogle, relish the way it feels to have his attention so obviously tuned into the erotic stretch of your socks, the fabric turned gossamer under the delicious expanse of your thighs. You can already see the effects of your outfit clear as day on Reigen’s face; he’s never been great at concealing his surprise, or in this case… His flustering. 

A bead of sweat attempts a path down his temple but he swipes it away, framing it as fixing his hair but you see through him. Try as he might, those dark brown irises always find a way back to your absolute territory. Because after all, your stockings are stretched so thin, they’ll rip if you’re not careful. 

Good thing tonight isn’t about being careful.

“Can I get you anything?” 

Reigen shakes his head a little faster than normal, struggling to maintain eye contact. You think it’s cute. “Uh, actually,” He ends up croaking, resisting the twitch in his fingers to adjust his tie, “Just a glass of water. Thank you.” 

The stark crack in his voice is unlike anything you’ve ever heard, at least from him. The foray into the unknown is already beginning with a series of firsts, the next being a stir in your belly upon seeing your boss so on edge and all because of you. A power trip.

The confidence may have left him, but not you. Because when you turn to leave, the pleats of your skirt swaying and descending around you in a sinful halo, you can feel his eyes boring into you, Reigen falling headfirst into the brief moment of reprieve to quell his curiosity.

You could get used to this.

He, on the other hand, is spiraling. Sure, he’s stolen long looks at you when you’re greeting clients or working on the computer but all that was harmless. This? This is dangerous.

His composure coming undone and his head steaming like a pot with water boiling over, being left alone with his thoughts is a much worse decision than Reigen anticipated. He sits in the unbearable thick silence, back hunched over with his hands together and fingers splayed, unable and not wanting to erase that image of you in his mind.

He swears he’s not a bad guy. He liked you before this, he tells himself. It’s not out of left field for him to ogle you in your natural element. Absorb what he can. Besides, there’s more to you than just the sashay of your hips, the peek of supple flesh just underneath your chic skirt… But god if that isn’t the only thing clogging his thoughts.

A new batch of perspiration starting to build up in his pores, Reigen fights it with regular inhales-exhales, telling himself he’s fine and can manage. But even he knows that’s not the case.

You have to know– there’s just no mistaking the gloss of sweat that streaks down from both temples, even after he tries to get rid of the evidence with a tissue he’s nabbed from your coffee table. And there’s no cloaking the frazzled expression flush over his face, cheeks a subtle pink when you return, glass of water in hand. 

You so badly want to ask if everything is okay, make him answer you with a warbled voice and put on a show like he does for clients that catch him off guard, but even you have a limit.

You sit next to him, leaving a cushion space between the two of you. Your smile is angelic, so much so that Reigen feels bad. He feels terrible because he wants to bring you down to his level, make you fall just like you did him. 

Because there’s just no way you feel the same. 

Your living room is humble but still bigger than his studio apartment; there’s pictures in varying frames and sizes aligned on your wall, featuring people he doesn’t know. Featuring a side of you he doesn’t know. A sick feeling in his gut sinks like an anchor, chains of jealousy falling in clumps all around him but then you look at him with your eyes absolutely sparkling with intrigued enthusiasm, and he feels the weight leave just as quick as it came.

You smile but really, you don’t know what to say now that your run of temptation has slowed down. Do you talk about work? Do you play 21 Questions? Do you talk about yourself? 

Much to your relief, it’s Reigen that cuts through the silence after a much needed half-glass of water. “So, any of your friends,” An open palm gestures towards the wall of memories, “going to be there tonight?”

And surprisingly enough, it’s this simple question that gets the ball rolling because then it’s talking about some of the events portrayed in the pictures, sharing of stories, and most importantly, shared laughter. 

You don’t know why - and neither does he - why it took you two so long to do something like this. 

So much so, you’re a twinge disappointed when your phone rouses awake on the coffee table; it’s your friend.

“Oh, that’s them. Hold on.” You get back on your feet, ambling to your kitchenette and giving your friend the usual greeting before asking, “So where are you guys? Are you there yet?” 

Reigen watches you walk away, surprisingly able to resist the urge to visually devour your legs once again because now he’s thinking about something else: that this is already inherently different from the many group outings the Spirits and Such family has had since you came on board, but not just because it’s you and him and you and him alone.

It’s because with just the two of you, the chemistry you have is undeniable. It’s not clouded by conversations from two or three different people. It’s not interrupted by bursts of laughter, of which either one of you is swept up by the buzzing fun. It’s real, it’s organic, and it’s… It’s going to be difficult to ignore moving forward.

Even more so now because when you return, with one of your hands idly playing with the bottom hem of your skirt, you give him a game-changing update.

“Soo, they all have food poisoning… Real glad I turned down their lunch invite.” You say, relief whistling from pursed lips with only a small shrug slumping your shoulders. 

You don’t look… All that upset, Reigen notices. Shouldn’t you? It’s your birthday after all… “I’m sorry to hear that… We can still go, if you’d like?” It’s not a pity offer. It’s very real. He hopes you know that.

You do. But… “I have something a little different in mind… If you’re up for it.”

Because you’re not going to let anything hold you back– not friends, not food poisoning, not even an act of god. No, you’re going to make your own plans.

It is your birthday after all. 

“... And you’re sure you want to spend it with your boss?” He asks you with a chuckle when the two of you raise the first glass of the night.

“No.” A clink and a giggle and you say the words that seal your fate for the night, “I want to spend it with you.”

Oh. Well, who is he to deny the birthday girl?

And that’s how one drink turns to two. Then three. Then… You’ve lost count. 

But Reigen hasn’t. He’s only one drink in and that’s by choice; the lightweight is already slush with alcohol all the same. 

Besides… He wants to remember you like this. 

How you laugh a little louder, smile a little wider…

How you touch him… Touch him a lot more than you ever would sober. 

Stripped of your inhibitions and loosely guarded, your hands travel where they want and he lets them. A pang of guilt rattles his ribcage because he should be stronger than this. But he tried, he promises– he’s a good guy, but even that thought is strained when you scoot so close you’re leg-to-leg with the man and you can only produce a look of disappointment when he tries to add in some distance.

Because… You feel the same. He sees it now, so clearly even through the blur of a lemon sour. 

So this is… This is fine, right?

Letting your hand make a lazy clasp around his thigh. Letting your alcohol-spotted lips coo in drunk marvel at the defined muscle you’ve just squeezed. Letting your fingers walk up his suit until they’re hooked around his tie. Letting you help him out of his suit when you slur about him being overdressed.

All of that is fine, right?

So then it’s okay for him to do the same, for his much larger hands to mimic the actions of yours. For his fingers to play with the elastic band of your stockings, dipping underneath to feel for himself the supple flesh he’s been eyeing all night. 

Reigen has to stifle a groan, harbor it in his throat, when you clench your sweet thighs together, smushing his hand into an open palm over your leg. The way you feel, how much of your softness comes to meet his touch is making the room feel so, so much smaller. 

He doesn’t have to wonder if it’s you or the alcohol that’s making him so dizzy. He knows. 

You watch as his fingers curl in, daring to give you a squeeze. The room is quiet. You swallow thickly. Head heavy with what feels like cotton balls, your eyes are slow to wander up Reigen’s body but when they finally get to his face, you find that his gaze had been waiting for you the entire time. 

The next few seconds are a motion blur. 

The urge to kiss him at its peak, you move in… And so does he. It’s a kiss that quickly comes to house a chorus of groans from the both of you, both your lips quickly wetting with spit and clumsily sealing the lewd tremors from your throats. 

Noses brush together. Teeth clatter when they bump. But your veins crave more. Through the fog of the alcohol, you try to will your legs to move but for better or worse, your muscles seize up. 

That’s okay. Reigen tells you, not with words but with hands on your waist that can’t help but dig in as he guides you on your back. Let me.

He huddles over you, breath dense with want. You watch his chest cave in and release, that’s how heavy he’s panting over you and all just before he dives in for another kiss that feels as important to him as breathing. The kiss is somewhat discoordinated again – your mouths nearly miss and there’s spin staining your cheeks – but who can blame either one of you? 

After all, for how long has this been in the making? 

How long has it been since you started daydreaming of this very moment? And how could it be so much better than your imagination already, spirits and all? Reigen kisses you at a feverish pace, knees closing in on your hips and his hands at either side of your face, holding firmly as though you’ll slip through his fingers otherwise. 

He gives you a hungry groan to swallow and you return the noise in kind with a whine that rumbles all the way from your chest, your hips pushing up and out to try and grab some friction. Something. Anything.

You taste like candied alcohol; sickly sweet, Reigen thinks but pushes his tongue in your mouth anyways. The way you just give in his hold, the noises he manages to lick out of you, it’s making his slacks hurt fucking terribly. 

You giggle loosely against the corner of his mouth, droopily kissing a path of kisses to his jawline. “You’re really enjoying this.” You observe cheekily, openly teasing your boss as though you aren’t just as culpable, just as dirty. As if your panties weren’t already giving way to your slick.

“I – I can stop.” Reigen mumbles, though he isn’t convincing anyone with the way he’s already leaning up against your lips, relenting in the way your mouth so greedily latches onto him. Your mouth… It just feels so good…

He’s said the last part out loud, he realizes it now from the way your lips purse and suck around his tender flesh. You’re going to leave him a mark. He should stop you.

But he doesn’t stop you, because he doesn’t want to. 

His hips start their attempts to meet yours, Reigen humping into the air like an animal. He knows it’s pitiful, can feel the shame trickle down his temples in slithering beads of sweat, but he just can’t seem to get himself under control. 

“Please,” He rasps, “Please tell me you want this.” He’ll allow your kisses, your hands to memorize his body if you just –

“Yes, Reigen.” You say so hushed, “Of course I do.” The words tumble together in a slur. But your intention is clear when you suddenly yank his hand and direct him to your dripping cunt from underneath your wrinkled skirt. 

His breath rasps in his throat, his fingers curling into your seductive heat. He wasn’t expecting you to hold him there, jump right into goading his fingers to take a peek under the innocent hemline of your panties. Hell, he hasn’t even gotten to fondle your tits yet.

“You’re crazy.” Reigen is kissing to the side of your face, lips dragging as he shifts focus to getting his fingers under that pesky mesh band that rubs up against his fingertips from in between your legs. His cock throbs, aches from the unsatisfactory friction against his briefs. 

You sweep your lower half up in a waving motion, loosely running your puffed clit along Reigen’s hand with a beautifully blissful sigh waiting for him at every peak. Eyelashes fluttering, your vision is a little blurry but you can just make out the staunch outline of his member straining through cotton fabric. Back lifting off the couch, you reach over and cup a squeeze, lips popping apart for a gasp as you get a taste of just how hard he is. 

You grope and feel, pull and squeeze, all to satiate your perverted curiosity. Reigen’s cock… His shaft is slender but his girth is taut and as you run through his length, every time making him whimper and buck in your hand, you also discover just how much precum he’s already leaking out. “You feel so good,” Your voice is drawn out with a lewd whine, “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Reigen groans, mostly in pleasure but partly because he can’t believe it. “Oh?” His mouth at your ear, he clamps down on the shell for a nibble. “That makes two of us then.” He pants with an open mouth when you start massaging his twitching erection, “G-God.” He pulls away to spoil himself with another look at your plump legs cuffed by the sheer socks. “How’d you know I love thigh highs?” He grunts, one hand sliding down your body.

At this, you laugh. It’s airy and it’s short but gives Reigen pause. He pulls away, though still lets you rub firm strokes down his dick with just your thumb. He looks confused and in the haze of your drunkenness, you realize that you just gave yourself up.

How– How do you explain that to him? You remember being so damn sure earlier, with your goal to finally start something with your boss taking root earlier that day, but that was when you thought you could keep your advantage under wraps! You hiccup, “U-Uh, well…” 

He’s looking at you expectantly. What are you going to say?

“I saw your porn earlier.” 

The truth. You decide to go with the truth.

“My what ?!” 

You realize now how that sounds, so you scramble to explain, “E-Email! You got an email. I, um… I opened it.” Shame’s got a chokehold on you right now. “I-I’m sorry! I was just curious! I wanted to know what you liked so I could– so I could get your attention! I w-wanted… I wanted you to see me that way.”

You watch Reigen’s throat tense on a hard swallow. He’s thinking.

Well, you did already confess your feelings, feelings he returns and then some… 

With a small tremble, Reigen lurches forward until his lips are at your ear. You can’t hear him take a breath but you can feel it: it’s hot and sharp on your skin, making your pores bead up with sweat. “D-Did you want to do… Anything that you saw?” His voice is husky and several shades desperate. Rubbing against you is his hard on, throbbing and unashamed. “I-I– I already saw– see you that way.” He says in a deeply strained croak after a hearty pause.

That’s what gets you where you are now, still on the couch with your knees wedged up to your ears and Reigen crouched face deep into your plump cunt. Hungry swipes of his tongue over your panty-clad folds send shivers up to your mind. You grit your teeth in pain and pleasure– it’s close but not enough… 

Reigen seems to be enjoying himself though, tongue nice and flat dragging slobber up your nether lips, every exhale accompanied by a tempered groan over your pussy. “Tastes so good…” He whimpers and sniffs, sucking on your lips with juicy puckers through the fabric. You watch his beautiful brown eyes start to flutter back, watch just how much of a lush your boss is for your warm cunt.

Still in awe, Reigen just barely gets to prying your underwear from your sticky inner thighs with the hook of one finger. “Mmmm,” He’s humming into your bare skin now and it makes you raise your hips off the couch right into his mouth, “Such a sweet pussy…”

Your hand finds refuge in his hair, pushing his choppy fringe back and holding on, something Reigen seems to enjoy if the muffled sound of his moaning is any indication. His gaze flickers upwards, the man currently lolling his velvety warm muscle through your labia minora, ending every cycle with a flick to your swollen clit in a strike that has you seeing white. He gives nasty, wet and loud kisses to your bud, drawing your tender collection of nerves between his lips until your aroma is thick in his mouth.

“Could eat you out all day.” Reigen huffs, coming up for air and looking so disheveled, your pussy throbs. His hair is all out of sorts, sticking up where it shouldn’t with sweat. His chin is dripping with your fluids and his. He looks so fucking good.

Your foot wobbles as it winds up Reigen’s outer thigh and your voice is a wispy shadow of your usual volume but you still manage to tease, “Then why’d you stop?” 

And with a sheepish chuckle and his cheekbones aglow, he admits, “I was… Really close to cumming.” You giggle but the way your tongue wipes over your bottom lip tells him you like that.

“You wanna ?” Syllables blurring together, you turn the tables as you rise to your knees, cushions dipping under the weight shift as you lean closer and closer until it’s Reigen’s back along your couch and you between his legs. 

… He doesn’t last long. How could he? 

Your mouth was pure heaven on his cock, sucking up the pre-cum that was still driveling down his pinkened shaft. You had just gotten to the base, mouth leaking with saliva when all of a sudden, his hands were on the back of your head and his hips were pathetically rocking spurts of hot cum down your throat.

“Shit– I’m sorry I didn’t–”

His cock springs out of your mouth (his decision), spouting spit and cum with it. His hands flit about in the air; he’s trying to come up with something, anything that could redeem him but then he sees you, finger running across your lips and scooping up every last dribble of his load for swallowing, and his blood runs south. 

And all you have to say for yourself is: “Can you go again?”

[talkativeanxiousturtle]

Bitches will watch two episodes of a show and write a fic. Anyways I'm bitches, here's a short page of how I think "the morning after" would go down for Wilson and House.

This was going to be incredibly embarrassing. Wilson just knew it.

Yet, he sighed, and slammed the car door shut. He walked through the parking lot with some difficulty, sighing in relief when he finally reached the hospital's doors. He greeted a few colleagues on his way to his office. The familiar faces were, at first, smiling as usual, but they each quickly dropped to concern as they noticed his awkward limping. James hurried his pace.

Finally, as he reached the sanctum of his office, he allowed himself to whimper in pain. He eyed his chair, grunting in apprehension. He walked to it, letting a careless hand run against his desk. He whined again, before slowly, steadily, crouching down on the chair. He winced when his butt made contact. Having to sit all day in front of his patients would be hell.

James had known for long that Greg was anything but gentle. Now, he knew that also applied to the bedroom.

Wilson gasped in surprise as his morning paperwork session was interrupted by his door flying open. The slight movement sent a shockwave of pain through his entire body. It wasn't terrible, far from the worst thing he'd experienced, but it was new, unfamiliar, distracting. He forced his mouth shut by biting his lip, and looked at whoever had just intruded his office.

"Yes?" he squealed, though a part of him already knew who it was.

"Hey, Wilson," Greg purred, smirking proudly.

James rolled his eyes, and sighed, relaxing instantly.

"Greg, what are you doing here so early?"

"I think you know that perfectly well," he replied, walking slowly to Wilson's desk. He sat on the corner. "I wanted to check on you."

Wilson raised an eyebrow. "Check on me?"

Greg shrugged casually. "I was worried. Sue me."

The doctor's blue eyes fixated on Wilson's tense grip to his chair. He snorted slightly, looking James in the eye again.

"I really did a number on you last night," he mocked.

Wilson scoffed. "Worried, right. Just say you wanted to gloat and be done with it already," James complained. He tried to lean back in his chair to show contempt, but the slight wince ruined the effect.

Greg chuckled under his breath, putting a patronizing hand on Wilson's shoulder. "It's alright, you can tell me where it hurts. I'm a doctor, I've seen worse," he mocked with a flirty wink.

"Well," Wilson laughed, "I'd certainly hope so! Or else, you should be mortified right now. And you seem the furthest thing from."

"I'm actually quite proud," Greg assured, raising his cane slightly. "I managed to convert you to homosexuality in less than a night."

"It's not a religion," Wilson scoffed.

"You did mention God a lot last night. I might've even heard a few Christ's here and there. Careful there, they might revoke your Jewish license, or however that works."

"Oh, hush," Wilson said, hiding in his hands, exhausted. "And you didn't convert me, I'm bi, and I've known for a while."

Greg seemed a bit upset by that. His shoulders dropped slightly, and his stare grew despondent. It was all very subtle, but clear as day for Wilson who had known Greg so long. 

"What?"

Greg shook his head and chuckled, killing the sparkle of vulnerability with surgical precision.

"So, are you saying that wasn't your first time getting something up your ass? I mean, outside of the occasional broom."

Wilson sighed, and rolled his eyes. 

"I've... Experimented a little, before. With a few girlfriends. But I've never had anything this big-"

Wilson stopped himself as he saw Greg's smile. James felt his cheeks burn and he looked away.

"Why, thank you there, darling," Greg teased.

"Don't be so self-important! You're bigger than a finger or two, so what, don't flatter yourself."

"I'm not. You're doing it for me."

"You know what, House? Maybe you don't have it, but you definitely are the biggest dick!" Wilson complained, embarrassed.

House looked surprisingly hurt by the comment. He shook it off quickly, though. "But this dick really was your first, right?"

Greg looked at him, insistent, with a wide grin. Wilson felt that he could melt. He grunted and sighed in admittance.

Greg cheered with a fist, and smirked. "So I am still a little bit special, at least?"

Oh, you have no idea.

Wilson shook his head. "Yeah, yeah, my first man, whatever." Wilson paused, realizing something. "Wait..." he raised his eyes to meet Greg's. "Are you implying that I'm not yours?"

Wilson's mocking smile reached his eyes as House concealed the slight embarrassment as best he could.

"What does that mean? Am I right?"

"No, you're not," Greg let out, exasperated. He got up from the desk. "But that's really no surprise coming from you."

The dig slid on Wilson's back like rain on a duck's.

"That doesn't answer my question, exactly."

Greg sighed, already leaving. "Let's just say we both got something new to add to our resumes last night."

Wilson took advantage of Greg's back facing him to ogle him, and giggled under his breath like a love-crazed teen. That ass was his.