#im like a. how do i make this sound less corny. ah well

[kakusboyfriend]

Hm... Getting into ace attorney was a mistake, I see. If there's one thing I'm weak to, its men looking pathetic and desperate.

Beg for your life. I'm listening.

[soaringsearingphoenix]

Valentine's Day Asks: The Prime Numbers

Wow! I dont know why i didnt see the notification for this one but ok, alright ah

1. do you have a crush on anyone?

I guess so? There are people who Stand Out to me and i call them crushes in my head sometimes but mostly I just want to be friends with them. Like I dont usually get dizzying sweeps of emotion for someone, physical or romantic, but I do get an urgent and baseless desire to hang out with them... maybe take a walk or invite them to get ice cream. So like if we’re on the same page about what I call a Crush on my emotional scale then yes. Theres a couple people.

2. what’s your favorite candy?

I like lemonheads and i will eat them until im sick of them if given half a chance. I also like snickers now because theres peanuts in it so i get to pretend im making a healthy choice

3. favorite love song?

Slow Boat To China, any version but specifically sung by Bette Midler and Barry Manilow. You know, like, just the corniest possible version? Partly for nostalgia, because it was one of like three CDs i remember my mom playing all the time when we were just kind of around the house when I was little. It also has the distinction of being the first duet I learned the words to (though as far as im aware none of my friends know the lyrics... i dont think ive ever actually sung it with someone) and it’s probably gotta be the one that gets stuck in my head the most. Right down to the dumb banter in the middle (“Bette, I didn’t know you felt that way about me.” “I don’t. I need a piano player.”)

I also like “Somewhere Beyond The Sea.” I think, as a general rule, that if there are boats in the words to a love song I will probably like it.

5. what was your last kiss like?

Meaningful

7. do you prefer poems or love letters?

Ahhhhhhhhhh to read or to write? I like writing poems because I think they’re... easier honestly? Writing is so hard, identifying your feelings is hard. Having some constraints makes writing easier, and a rhyme and cadence makes it flow. Besides, it’s more musical that way so I think for me it feels like a more natural expression of love. I do well with more structured expression, and not so much with making just raw, unrefined feelings known.

Not to say writing poetry is easy. It’s less difficult than a love letter, sure, but there are still potential pitfalls. If i make a metaphor that makes me think of science, the rest of the poem WILL be just an extension of the metaphor that gets more and more didactic until I’m just telling you science facts.

11. dinner dates or brunch dates?

Dinner dates. I decided that before i came up with a reason why. I think the reason is that an evening engagement means I have something to look forward to, or be nervous about but then i have time to mentally prepare myself. Whereas morning, even if it’s not “early” morning, I feel more stressed about getting there on time and then afterwards theres a whole rest of the day where i either have to get somewhere after, or its just this unstructured uncertainty. Dinner, youve already done the rest of the day, so you can be present without worrying about what you gotta get to after.

13. favorite perfume/cologne?

I... dont know that ive ever noticed a perfume or cologne and felt it was applied tastefully, because i think if it is insubtle it defeats the point. That said, if it’s actually well applied so that it’s less an overwhelming cloud that trails comically behind people you pass in the quad and more like when someone sits down right next to you om the couch and you get just a hint of their shampoo or conditioner, to the point where maybe you didnt even consciously notice it before but now you say “oh, you’re the reason ive been craving ice cream, you smell minty” if it was only that subtle then i think im generally fond of more smoky incense-y smells like sandalwood, or roses but i am picky about rose fragrances, so it has to actually smell just like fresh roses or i wont be able to overlook that the smell is not roses. I have this friend who went to my middle school, and we were very into scents and making potpourri and things. At the time, his grandma had a hand soap that smelled exactly like roses, it was delightful and he said as much and I said that it sounded amazing but I’d have to take his word for it, but then the next time he visited her he came back with a little jar of it for me just so i could smell it, and he was right, it smelled just like roses. Actually forget the roses, it will make me think of the hand soap and as lovely as that is I dont want to give anyone vying for my affection any reason to feel like they’re in competition with someone, or something. It’s not a competition. Learn to coexist with my memories, because you’re not going to fight my nostalgia and win.

17. what’s the most attractive thing a person could wear?

If you’re wearing something knit or embroidered that you made yourself Im definitely gonna want to talk to you. Also if you’re wearing really comfy looking cargo pants but thats probably because i want to know where you got them so i can get some for me.

19. snow, rain, or sun?

Sun because people will take a walk with me

23. what’s your dream wedding like?

Dont have one but if i did its in a forest or at least a grove of trees. Mostly small gathering, family and close friends. I have a dress for the vows i guess, just because ive seen a lot of Say Yes to the Dress so thats how ive generally pictured it, (which i only really do when im watching Say Yes to the Dress), but ive got comfortable shoes, and im gonna change into pants asap after. We probably do some corny thing thats kind of an inside joke. Each of us has a Best Man or equivalent, who carries a sword — we joke that this makes it a “traditional” wedding, though beyond that it’s really not meant to be. It’s mostly simple, though maybe have a little extravagance or two, like a chocolate fountain, because how often do you have an excuse to have a chocolate fountain. I tend to wander off from other peoples weddings somewhere in the middle, at some point i just get a little overstimulated, and the amount of people that will likely be invited makes this probable. At the reception, when the families and friends are singing and dancing, i probably quietly excuse myself to my spouse and drift away, finding a spot in a tree where i can still hear the music and the laughter from a distance. I am joined not long after by my spouse (and the thought is strange, and even then i cant quite wrap my mind around that word yet, the commitment it implies) who knows where to look for me, and who perhaps pulls a leaf or two from my hair as they join me on an adjacent branch. We sit quietly together for some time until it seems appropriate to rejoin the festivities, as it is our wedding after all, and the slow dance is coming up, and we will spend some quiet time later when everyone has gone home. It is nice, the dancing, and as tired as we are we still drift around the dance floor among loved ones long into the night.

I dont know if this is like... how i intend my wedding to be. Like i said i didnt have an answer going in. But now that im trying to imagine it, this feels realistic.

29. are you single?

Yup!

31. guitar or piano?

Piano. First of all because i am better at piano than guitar and second because you can do duets on one piano

37. do you like to dance?

Aw hell yeah!! I would call myself an... Inexperienced dancer, but if a song has a good rhythm or even if it doesnt and i am full of energy i WILL be moving and twisting and you ARE welcome to join me

41. favorite soda?

I usually go for lighter ones like orange or sprite. I found Lime fanta at a gas station once that tasted like green jello and it was good but ive only seen it maybe twice ever.

43. favorite ABBA song?

Gimme Gimme Gimme always gets me on my feet, and ive listened to it probably the most because it’s on my “Dates and Times Playlist” (the first line says ‘half past 12’ and then the chorus says ‘after midnight’ so its in with a collection of other midnight songs. Any time i hear any of the others i get this one in my head as well. Thatd just how it is.)

47. do you think about love a lot?

No

[rhodesmystery]

um. smutfic. i joked about 3hrs but then got embarrassed about posting until i bought my vow hoodie from bungie and got such a rush and now here we are lmfao 

2.5k words of pwp. god bless. charlie x mc

Charlie finds her standing by the window. Not so unusual, all things considered. One of the first places he always thought to look, whenever they happened to be together. Something about staring out, letting her thoughts get away, eased her. He knew that much. 

However, Charlie had mostly found her clothed in the other times. Or as close to it. A shirt of his that was barely hiding anything wasn’t passable, and it wasn’t the first time he was thankful they had enchanted his windows to be one-way only. He didn’t want to think what would be said about some poor soul walking past and seeing Natasha the way she was. 

With a yawn, loud enough to alert her, and a roll of his shoulders, Charlie steps completely into the room. Mismatched, with parts kitchen, living and dining, all in one. Not that he minded, as it was his. Much like her, as he happily thought, when Natasha turned. Never a hint of sleepiness in her, with bright eyes and lips half turned up into a smile. Yeah, he knew she already knew that he was awake, but it was the entrance that mattered. Especially when he scratches his chest, stomach, only to rest his hand idly on his thigh.

“Morning.” Once, Natasha told him that she loved his voice in the morning. Didn’t tell him what exactly it was she loved, but he had made a note since then to take full advantage of it.

Natasha is surprisingly quiet with her response. A tumble of ‘morning’, that’s soft and private. Charlie might’ve thought something was wrong, if her eyes weren’t pointedly south. That gets a smile out of him.

“Thought you’d still be in bed.” Idle conversation, to fill the gap between him and her. Until he took those seven exact steps to stand before her. “Missed you.”

“Did you now?” Natasha is facing him now, and he can see his shirt was open, not even buttoned in some vague attempt for decency. Like this was some grand scheme of hers (and he was playing right into her hand). “I’m sorry.” Her lack of sincerity was hilarious, and his laughter was infectious, as she giggles to herself. Enough to distract him again. 

Charlie always liked her tits. Or, maybe he should call them breasts outright, to add some politeness to the conversation. But Natasha clasps her hands behind her back, purposely jutting them out at him, that he can see the swell of each, and how the shirt was barely holding on to cover her nipples. He was definitely going to commit this to memory.

“You should be.” Still trying to keep his tone vague. Not focus on how he could almost follow an arrow that pointed down, between her breasts, over her stomach. Like everything was shouting look at me, and he ate it up. Taking a lot for him not to just sink to his knees and eat her until she screamed his name. Forecast was telling him that was his immediate future.

With a fleeting look back at Natasha’s face, to gauge where she was at, Charlie gets a rather satisfied smile. Yeah, yeah, she read his thoughts, thought herself to be so smart about it too. Not like he wasn’t being obvious about it, cock at half mast already just thinking about her. Natasha, in his shirt, unbuttoned and open, and legs spread just enough, leaning against the window, a hand idly running down her front. Like he hadn’t already had that image in his mind since he’d walked out the bedroom.

“What ever can I do to make it up to you?” And the lines were corny, something out of the really bad movies she was fond of mimicking, except with the way she punctuates her words, making it different. Implications abound.

Charlie moves in a bit closer, a half step forward. Until there’s not else in his vision except her, her lips, her eyes, the spattering of freckles over her nose and the mismatched scars along her jaw. Practically swims in the green, noticing they were darker than any other day. And he loved why he knew that happened. Natasha kisses him, and it’s slow, deep, the only touch. Just the tilt of their heads, the slide of their tongues, and each other. Nothing more, nothing less.

Eventually, it’s his turn to make the move. And not to romanticise their positions, knight takes queen, pushing her against the window, pressing against her entirely. Never breaking the kiss, just hands trying to pull the shirt off, to find skin, only to end up with it tangled around her elbows. To trace along the curve of her spine as she arches into him. Natasha moans against his mouth, her nails burning into his shoulders, Charlie please. Please, the real magic word. Held a lot of weight, when applied properly. Like how it sits pleasantly on his head, as he begins a trail down.

Soft kisses, trying to catch every inch he could. Charlie could never tire of this, even if he knew how embarrassed she got. How she insisted on reciprocating. Not that he minded that outcome, of course, but there was something to be said for how Natasha’s face would look, when he looked up at her. Always partway there to covering her mouth, eyes heavy and hair a mess. Chest heaving, and a flush that coloured her pink. He didn’t know how many times he was up to, with calling her beautiful, but he was bound to crack a thousand eventually, surely. 

Natasha just snorts, trying to play off her embarrassment. Hand on his head, edging him down further. Charlie can only grin, kneeling as comfortably as he could, hands on her thighs. Encourages her wider for him, further still. Fingers tease her nipples, and Charlie can only savour the first strong lick in response. 

Something almost like a hiccup escapes her, and Natasha visibly shudders. With two fingers, Charlie parts her lips, and finds exactly what he wants. What he knew would have her all but shake on him. Charlie sucks, nips, laves her clit with attention, trying desperately to keep his eyes closed, but unable to stop from looking up. He loves when she looks like that, flustered and letting control go. 

Fingers that had spread her move to touch, to feel. Dragging across her seam, barely pressing against her. Charlie has to stop from smiling, when he feels the telltale buck as with one finger, he drives in a little further, but never quite enough. So soon? he thinks, but doesn’t complain. Not like he wasn’t in the same boat. At that thought, Charlie runs a hand over himself, pulling away from her clit only to look down, notice he was leaking. 

Not that he wanted to hurry, but with another twist of his wrist against his cock, he turns back. Ah well, he could make it up to her later. 

Tongue pressing against her, Charlie edges in. The slick sounds, normally off-putting in any other circumstance, always made Natasha a little weaker in the knees. Or it might’ve just been his good work, as she’s saying his name, muffled only by the sleeve of the shirt. Fingers circle her clit, and his free hand pulls at her cheek, massaging, spreading. A barely there teasing touch, against her ass, until he leans back again. 

Switching hands, replacing tongue with fingers, Charlie turns to watching her carefully. How her face may contort into something other than pleasure, when he presses one finger in. Slow, turning, brushing along her inner walls. Last night she’d mentioned that she was sore, a little more than usual. Perhaps Natasha knew what he was looking for, in how she meets his eye entirely, whispering his name as a second finger joins the first. No outward signs of discomfort, especially not when her fingers twist in his hair, tugging strands with a certain amount of force.

“Feels good?” Charlie has to ask, anyway. Can’t help himself. 

Natasha huffs, sending hair flying up. “Yes, Charlie, Merlin’s beard, if you don’t make me come, I swear—”

Even though he’s laughing, he cuts her off. One somewhat satisfied customer then. Curls his fingers, thumb pressing against her clit, and laves attention on what skin he could find with his tongue. Scissors his fingers, free hand perhaps the only thing holding her upright as she all but presses her weight down on his shoulders. From how she bent over him, Charlie could hear her whispers clearer, her pleads. 

Nope, not letting go until she’d come, good and hard. She's shuddering, Charlie yes please right there god yes. Charlie knew about the muggle god that her father’s family worshipped. It was oddly satisfying to hear that name mix in with his, to the point where he didn’t know who was who, as he pumped his fingers in and out of her. 

Natasha comes with a low, long moan. Not her first orgasm, no sir, but definitely one that has her lock up and quiver all at once. Charlie rides her through it, slow circles drawn out, just how she liked. Knew exactly where to touch, where to hold, as she comes down. Time isn’t a concept, as Natasha struggles to push herself back up, eventually leans against the window for support.

And then she says: “You’ve gotten better at that.” As if she’s not heaving in air, sensitivity overloading with how Charlie can’t seem to run a hand up her legs without her nearly giving out.

“I’ve had practice,” is what he says instead. If only because he’s getting a kick out of how he splays his fingers over her stomach, and she has to close her eyes. Bite her lip. 

Puffs of air that resemble try to resemble a laugh leaver her. “Oh, really? What’s her name?” Natasha tries to keep the conversation light and teasing, but Charlie knew. Probably a light draft would have her tumble over once again, if aimed right.

“Natasha. You probably don’t know her. Great gal. Fantastic tits.”

When she laughs, it’s the best sound Charlie had heard in months. Head thrown back, genuine kind of laugh, that ignores the situation and encompasses it all at once. Natasha grins, slack and easy, running a finger over his lips. Charlie chases it, nibbling on the tip, which earns him a pointed look. One he was quite happy to keep around. 

Leaning in, Natasha kisses him. Hot and wet, far too much tongue, and he knows that she can taste herself. The knot in his stomach tightens, acutely aware of how he was running warmer than usual. Along her lower back, Charlie drags his nails, finds her hips. Palms her into turning around, breaking the kiss despite her noise of disapproval. And he might’ve told her that if she just asked him to come on command, he would’ve then and there, except Charlie manages to get her with her back to him, hands firmly planted on the window. 

As Charlie rights himself, one hand firmly stroking his cock as he lines himself up, does he notice how Natasha turns to look over her shoulder. As if regaining some bravado in that moment, she smirks, wiggles her hips. 

“This is new for you.” 

With a snort, Charlie can only settle for giving her ass a light slap. “Shut up.” Perhaps he was a little mollified. Not to say that he was the most adventurous, as he knew he wasn’t and more often than not blushed his way into Natasha all but dominating. Definitely not his fault that he was far more favourable of the lower end of the scale. 

Fine, fine. If she was going to be all smarmy about him branching out, then he'd show her! As long as he could figure out how to stop his ears from burning as he eased his way in. Charlie moans, as she's twitchy and wet around his cock, not helping how Natasha pushes up onto her toes, fingers pressed against the glass. With a few blinks, Charlie is able to see just how the glass steamed in front of her, with every breath she took.

“I’m gonna move.”

“Thank god.”

Chuckles dissolve into pitches in breathing. Like there was just not enough oxygen in the room, and Charlie was definitely a little dizzy, enamoured, whatever, when he grips her hips and pulls her back to meet his thrust. Pushes a hand up, moving the damned shirt up with it, following the arch of her back. Until he lets it fall back again, settling for her shoulder to hold instead. 

Natasha isn’t quiet. Not by a long shot. Settled for thanking her later that she’d been the one to soundproof the house on her arrival. Faster harder Charlie pleasepleaseplease. And he tries to keep up what she’s saying, how he lets go of her hip to palm his way to her front. Find her clit and rub at it furiously, which does nothing except have her cover a moan with her arm. Even as she twitches, tries to pull away, tries to keep meeting him thrust for thrust, Charlie keeps at it. Nothing if not consistent. One of her hands joins his, Natasha’s fingers slipping along his, brushing what was exposed of his cock as he continued to move inside her. 

It's when he presses his forehead between her shoulder blades, does Charlie struggle. Hand slipping from her shoulder, he finds her hand against the window, threading fingers and gripping until his knuckles turn white. Embarrassingly so, holding her firmly against him as he comes. Moans against her skin, something that was definitely her name if a little garbled, until she follows only seconds later. 

Charlie doesn’t know how to move. Limbs felt heavy and light all at once, as if he moved even one foot, he’ll just fall flat on his face, either way. Blinking, the world doesn't stop spinning. Not yet, but he gingerly slides himself out. Regrettably, and “sorry,” when he spies the telltale spill begin to trail down her thighs. Too bad he was tired, or it might’ve been able to roll him into action, strangely so (except, he was acutely aware that his lower half was almost numb, brain fuzzy, eyes only trying to find her face).

As she turns, Natasha faces him with heavily lidded eyes, and a very pleased smile. “It’s fine.” But she’s leaning against the window, as if she didn’t trust her own legs too. With a blush that spread to the tops of her breasts, hair mussed and eyes dark, Charlie knew she was beautiful. And told her just that.

Eventually, she slides down, landing on the ground with a grunt. Charlie follows suit, wobbly and flushed, bumping shoulders when he’s beside her. Natasha kicks a leg over his, idly playing with what he could now consider her shirt, until she pulls it up and holds it at her front. Tilting his head back, Charlie closes his eyes, finds her hand, and squeezes it fiercely. 

For several minutes they sit just so. Until, with a sigh, Natasha rolls her head towards him. “Want breakfast?”

Charlie grins, one that slowly builds, that doesn’t even try to hide what he was going to say next. Opening one eye, he looks at her. “I already ate.”