#it’s actually just ice now which is LAME | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lavshaze · 2 months ago

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❤️ | Beautiful thing

Continuation to terrible thing, but can be read as a stand-alone, I'm terribly sorry this took so long, I'm starting to think writing silco smut is my destiny and I should just drop out and do this 24/7

✧ contains ⤐ continuation of the wet dream shenanigans, so naturally also smut! finger sucking and fucking, oral (female receiving), missionary, a lot of feelings, like the yearning truly hits its climax (but so do both of them so it's alright), oh and lovely tween jinx is there at the beginning <3 w.c. ~ 7.7k (big boy)

It’s around 7:35 when you reach The Last Drop.

You could blame it on the amount of time you spent in the shower, staring at the tiled floor and trying to get over the visions you had, but you weren’t going to tell Silco any of that. ‘I almost got robbed’ sounds a lot nicer and just as believable.

You’re greeted with ear-splitting music the minute you walk through the door, a usual for the club, especially at this hour. It was only getting started and was probably going to be a lot worse by the time you leave. You pull your jacket tighter around yourself as you scan the crowd of faceless dancing bodies, looking for your possible silver line for tonight, a tall and strong woman who you’d actually pay to come up to Silco’s office and bully you just for this night.

You visibly deflate when you don’t catch sight of her in her usual spots, not playing poker nor flirting at the bar. All you can see is a lot of sweaty people and a lot of shimmer being passed around. You do, however, spot Ran by the pool table, and you place her in your mind as your backup plan.

Fortunately for Ran, your favorite blue haired devil is at your side the minute you open the door to his office.

“Jinx!”

You yelp out her name in equal parts excitement and surprise. Her hug attack nearly knocks you off your feet, if it weren’t for the door frame you’d managed to hold on to. You can’t help the grin that spreads on your face at the eagerness; the poor girl is stuck with a monologuing villain as a father all day, it’s probably a relief to see you, a normal human being who doesn’t glower and speak in riddles.

“Hello, Jinx.” You fondly run your fingers through the hair at the top of her head. She turns her head to look up at you, pearly whites exposed in a wide grin. “I missed you, sweet girl.”

She's grown taller over the past few months, now tall enough to reach your chest when she hugs you, but she's still as lanky as the day you found her. Or, well, the day Silco found her. She was smaller back then, but just as skinny. You look at the man who took her in, deeply immersed in whatever document is stressing him out tonight— looking just as malnourished as she does— and it all makes sense.

“I've been waiting for you all day,” comes the squeaky whine from below, demanding your undivided attention. “Silco is so busy, he doesn't have the time to check out my new paintball gun, which is really lame, because this one has explosives!”

At the mention of his name, the man looks up from the troubling piece of paper. He stares at you for a minute, eye adjusting to the sight of another human being, then begrudgingly places the wretched document down on the desk and pushes the chair back to stand.

“You're here.”

You smile, absentmindedly petting the girl attached to your waist, “yes, I am. Did you not hear me talking just now?”

He reaches for his glass of bourbon, three melting ice cubes in a nearly empty cup, “I did. I wasn't quite sure if you were a figment of my imagination or not.”

Your smile almost slips into something sinister, all the nervousness from before suddenly escaping your body, “what, you have fantasies about me?” It’s so easy to slip back into the subtle flirtatious routine, the light comments that aren’t supposed to mean much to either of you. The earth-shattering dream almost seems like a silly thought now that you’re here, in his office, breathing in the air that’s tinted by him in every way.

It’s Silco. Things didn’t have to change between the two of you, you could always just enjoy purgatory.

He looks at you from atop the rim of his glass, a flicker of a smile on his face, “only when I'm at my wit's end.”

The moment ends there, if only to protect Jinx.

He makes his way around the desk to settle on the couch, leaning back and finishing up his drink. You observe the way his hands curl around the glass, how he crosses one slender leg over the other, and bite down on your lip like a voyeur— always watching through the glass, never having the chance to lay your hands on the merchandise.

Jinx detaches from your waist and goes over to sit next to him, thankfully pulling you out of the slightly unpleasant thoughts you were having. He puts his arm out, and she automatically goes for a side hug. You smile to yourself, watching The Eye of Zaun growing softer around the edges at the hands of the blue haired menace never gets old.

You sit beside her on the couch, and she draws you into countless conversations. Reminiscing the past week, telling you about the progress she's been making with the explosives/paintball gun, and how she's already tried it on Sevika a couple times— ‘Jinx, that's not nice’ ‘it's sevika, she doesn't deserve nice!’ — and retelling a particularly funny bar fight that she witnessed.

While she’s explaining the process she went through to implement the explosives into a harmless toy gun, your eyes flicker back to the man at her side. He’s leaning back, craning his neck to look at the ceiling, and you take the chance to admire his side profile. Enhanced by the dim light of his desk lamp, the curve of his nose is particularly alluring at the moment. From his nose to his charming overbite to the strands of hair that fall to the side as a result of a long exhausting day, you sneak subtle glances at him, as much as you can without getting caught.

But you know, in your heart of hearts, that he must be aware of your burning gaze on the side of his face. And you know, when he turns his head slightly to lock eyes with you, that the look he gives you is just as loaded and dangerous as this little game you were playing.

“..anyways, I’d really like to show you the gun now.”

Your attention falls back to the child nestled between the two of you, big blue eyes blinking innocently at you. You know she’s not clueless, and you know she’s probably sick of you playing eye games with her father when she’s right there.

“Of course, honey. Silco?”

He removes his arm from around her, adjusting his position so his body is drawn away from yours. Huh, funny. You hadn’t noticed how much it was angled towards you until now.

Jinx sighs in relief the minute the two of you are out of the door and you can’t help but laugh.

“Jinx.”

“Oh, c’mon, it’s impossible to be in the same room with the two of you without you making kissy eyes at each other!”

Thankfully, you’re far enough down the hall to know Silco wouldn’t hear that. “We do not make kissy eyes at each other.”

She stops, turns to give you an unamused look, then turns back around and continues walking.

You follow her down to the basement, where she pulls out her magnificent invention. She shoots it far enough away so neither of you get impacted and you’re thankful to see that the explosions are more like fireworks than actual big booms. You’re proud of her and you tell her as much, she practically glows at the praise.

But then her smile drops and she sighs dramatically— the spitting image of her father when it comes to dramatics, how are they not blood related— “if only things could always be like this…”

You frown, “like what?”

“You and me, having fun, no Silco.”

The statement is so jarring that it pulls a stunned laugh out of you, and Jinx grins, proud of herself. “Kidding! I like him too, I just wish you two would stop your secret messages.”

“Secret messages?”

She nods, “the ones you communicate with your eyes. I wanna be in on those conversations too!”

You smile. She definitely does not want to be in on those conversations, but you'd preserve what was left of her innocence.

“So, Jinx,” you lean down to be on her level, “what do you wanna do next?”

You watch as all thoughts of those secret conversations practically vanish from her head, replaced with much more important things, like visiting Jericho’s stall.

When you make your way back to Silco’s office, it’s with a lot more food than you left with. Jinx is happily satisfied with the meal that she had at the stall, but she carries the extra food bags like ammo. She was nice enough to consider leaving some of it for her dear father.

To your disappointment though, the office is empty. You think maybe something came up and he had to take care of it, as it often happens, and you feel a little relieved that maybe you’ll get to end the night here and postpone the sensual torture he puts you through to a later time, when you're not so hormonal. As you’re about to back up into the hallway to ask the standing guard of his whereabouts, you feel a pair of hands on your hips, holding you in place.

“Careful,” Silco leans forward to speak the words right into your ear, “it’s awfully rude to cause such an injury to your host.” He’s not even whispering, he just always uses that tone.

His hands are gone from your hips as fast as they’d been placed there, and you almost mourn the loss. But the sight of Jinx’s knowing, bored expression diverts your attention back to the girl.

Right, no kissy eyes.

“Jericho’s?” He asks, one eyebrow raised. Jinx nods and rushes to place the remaining food on the coffee table, “we got some for you too!”

“How nice of you, Jinx. Unfortunately, I’m rather full at the moment so I must postpone such an appetizing meal to a later time.” You note the smell of smoke in the air, he definitely had his meal of the night. “In the meantime, I think we should be getting you to bed.”

Jinx groans, “already? But she just got here! I barely get to spend time with her.”

You put an arm around her shoulder, “I’ll come by earlier on Monday if you go to bed on time right now.” She moves to wrap her arms around you for a final time, looking up at you with glossy blue eyes, “you promise?”

“I do,” you plant a kiss on her forehead.

Silco extends a hand and she takes it, small fingers engulfed in his much larger one. She waves at you as he guides her outside his office, down to her bedroom, you wave back as they slip out the door. This leaves you in the dim office alone.

You saunter over to the couch and mindlessly drape yourself over the cushions, your head occupied with the inevitable decision you’re facing now. You either make up an excuse to leave early, one that he’d know better than to believe, or stay and put up with more hidden innuendos and dark, poorly masked looks. It’s not that you’re not used to it, or that it’s a new development, but rather the fact that you’ve come to the harrowing realization that whatever you felt for him ran deeper than you anticipated. It had been bubbling in your chest, threatening to overflow like a boiling kettle on a stove, and the final straw— the thing that truly pushed you over the edge— was that dream.

And it's not the fact that it was dirty, you've had those about him before, and consequently, you’d learned to brush them off as wild fantasies. It happened once in a dream kind of deal, you weren’t going to get hung up over the possibilities of those thoughts ever coming to fruition. The problem with this particular dream was how romantic it was— the heated gaze in his reflection, the appreciative scan of your body, gods, just the feeling of him inside you. You weren’t fucking that man, you were making love to him.

The thought is so cliche it makes you gag, but that look in his eyes when he was watching you in the mirror, your unconscious brain was endlessly cruel to make it look like he held such love for you. The longing, the monstrous yearning that dream instilled in you was dangerous. It planted a feeling inside your chest that now threatens to split it open if you're not careful.

You're not blind to possibilities, there's a chance that Silco shares the sentiment and you're not in this mess entirely alone; but you're also aware that he's extremely mission oriented, and he probably wouldn't consider the prospect of something serious with you as long as Zaun wasn't free. It’s something you respect him for, never losing sight of his goals, you just wish it didn't make him nearly unattainable.

Because gods above, you'd love to attain him.

It’s a thought that’s been brewing in the back of your mind since you first met. Three years ago, a much more distressed version of yourself was too tipsy to feel endangered by his presence at one of the less frequented bars. Back when Vander was in charge, you didn't know who Silco was or the implications of what had happened between them. All you knew was that this strange man had a sexy scar and his eye kinda glowed in the dark, and that made your alcohol-addled brain see stars.

To this day, you aren’t quite sure what about your slurred conversation skills made him tolerate you enough to listen to you all night. You’ve suspected it was the loneliness he was dealing with at the time, and you were likely his least dangerous form of entertainment, or maybe he thought you were pretty and perhaps much more charming when sober. It’s probably the second one.

But that's how your unconventional friendship started, chance encounters in small bars. He was always able to find you alone and you were never sure how he did it but you didn't really mind. Where you found your curiosities being satisfied every time he shared something about himself, he found someone willing to share the burden with him. Eventually, you learned about Vander and what actually happened between them. The river, the betrayal, the blood; the respect you'd had for Vander soured into distaste, and turned into borderline hatred when you learned of the deal he had with the enforcers.

Things were progressing quickly though, and it wasn't long before Vander was out of the picture. The Hound had been overpowered by The Eye, and that's when you met Jinx for the first time, hysterical and wailing in Silco’s arms. Powder, they used to call her, peculiarly fitting for the girl who had crumbled in your hold that night. You held her until the screaming ceased and the three of you fell asleep on the couch.

That's when your relationship with Silco started changing, getting much more intimate. That night where Silco discovered just how useful you could be with Jinx, that was the first domino in a long line that led up to this moment, to the present where you were fighting tooth and nail against the feelings that were threatening to suffocate you.

The sound of the door unlocking pulls you out of your thoughts, the object of your suffering walks in.

“Drink?” He walks over to the bar cart.

You shake your head, “actually, Silco, I'm thinking of going home early today.”

He pours himself some whiskey and doesn't look up at you, “oh, were you now?” He takes a slow, agonizing sip of his drink before he speaks again, “anything important?”

You smile in spite of yourself, “not really, just tired.”

He looks up from his drink, two mismatched eyes settling on your frame. His gaze travels down your body, assessing you as if you were one of the chembarons working under him. But under that scrutinizing gaze, you catch embers of something else, something dark and seductive, something that looks a lot like desire.

Your face burns.

“I guess I shall not keep you then.” He turns, walking over to his desk, “I wouldn't want to distract you from such important appointments.”

He settles back in his chair and is almost immediately immersed in work again. You envy him for being so focused, knowing that if you go home now you'll just keep yourself awake thinking about him. You watch his fingers grasp the pen that he puts to paper and feel yourself grow light-headed, it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that you had to go home and sit with your thoughts while all he touches is paperwork. You wanted him to touch you, put you out of your misery.

You stand but make no move towards the door, instead making your way over to him. He doesn't look up when you pass by, walking over to the grand window that highlights the main wall of the office. You'd always been fascinated by it, the color was certainly a choice, and in daylight it looks mystifying. Right now, it's dark enough for you to catch your reflection, you pretend to adjust your hair.

“You don't really want to leave, do you?”

He doesn't move, doesn't turn in his chair. You know he can't see the gesture but you shake your head, “I don't know.”

“Is there something you'd like to tell me?”

Your body feels a tad too warm for comfort.

“I don't know.”

He discards his work with a sigh. Your lips curl in amusement, knowing that whenever you’re around, he’s too distracted to get any actual work done.

You watch as his reflection comes up behind yours, the heat in your body intensifies in response to the glowing glare of his dark eye. You know he's aware of the effect he has on you, and you know he does it on purpose. You wonder if he's ever haunted with thoughts of you the way you are of him, you wonder if he ever has dirty dreams about you.

“Has something happened?”

You shake your head.

“Is someone threatening you?”

You shake your head again and laugh, of course that's what he would ask.

“Look at me.”

You don't have it in you to resist, especially when he's using that tone. You turn around, coming face to face with his narrowed eyes, sea green and charcoal eyes looking back at you. It’s difficult to miss the hint of concern that you’ve become accustomed to recognizing over the years.

“What's on your mind, dove?”

Your heart sings at the pet name and your lips curl bashfully, “I can't say it.”

“Can't you?” His eyes trail down to your lips, “you can tell me anything.”

In theory, you can. In theory, you have, ever since you first met and you'd spilled way too much about yourself to him, and that leap of faith is exactly how you ended up here. Standing in front of the man who holds your heart so firmly, unable to reach out and touch him, unable to have more than a small part of him.

He draws closer, too close.

“No, Sil. I'm afraid I can't this time,” your voice comes out soft, strained, “I'm afraid I have to leave before I do something stupid.”

He pays no mind to your statement, hands reaching up to cup your face, rough fingertips contradicting the gentle nature of the act. Your eyes gloss over, the spark you've been feeling erupts into wild flames that threaten to consume your whole being. His thumb brushes over your cheekbone with such care that it makes your chest squeeze. Expression unreadable, he observes your face carefully; when his thumb skirts the outline of your lips, your breath catches in your throat.

You part your lips slightly and something inside him understands the silent communication. Something else throbs.

Experimentally, he brushes his thumb over your lips, appreciating the rough texture of the chewed skin. He watches as you open your mouth wider in invitation, assessing the situation before he pushes his thumb past your lips and right into the wetness of your oral cavity. Your mouth closes around him, careful not to bite, as you stare back into his observant eyes.

His breath hitches, pupil of the good eye blowing wider, as he watches you take his finger to the hilt. You think this must be another cruel trick from the gods, another wet dream that you're going to wake up from in frustration, but the feeling of his finger against your soft, wet tongue is unmistakable.

You’re not sure what this means, for you or your relationship with him, but you’re sure that it’s happening and you feel the need to savor what you can. Your hand comes up to wrap around his wrist, thumb caressing the inside of his hand as your eyelids grow heavier.

For a moment, the world stops. For a moment, all you can think about is how he tastes in your mouth, and flashes of the wicked dream you had only a few hours before run through your mind. Weeks of filthy thoughts push at you to do more, to ask for more of him, but you’re insistent on taking it slow, on memorizing every little gesture, just in case you never experience it again.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

You hum around his finger. The tent in his pants may be a visual representation of the effect you have on him, but you’re feeling rather greedy.

“Surely, you must, or else, you wouldn't walk into this office with such pride, so confident knowing that you've got me wrapped around your finger.” Your lips curl into a smile around his finger and he scoffs in amusement, “happy to know that you're my weakness, aren't you?”

He removes his finger and you're left to think about the implications of a ‘weakness’. A soft spot, a passion, a sweetness, a hazard, an obstacle, a problem. Did Silco see you as a problem? And most importantly, as you look into hungry, lustful eyes, does he care about that right now?

You can't help the hand that comes up to grasp at his vest in desperation, you can't help the frantic need to keep him close while you can, to touch him for as long as he deems himself touchable. You can't help the force that makes you pull him closer to press your lips against his in a bruising kiss, and you can't help the shiver that runs through your body when he kisses you back with just as much force.

He tastes like the cigar that you knew he was having earlier, sweetened by the taste of whiskey still in his mouth. The contact overwhelms your senses, unable to process anything besides how he tastes, how he smells, how he feels.

He backs you up against the window so your burning hot skin is pressed against the cold glass, tongue shoving into your mouth with admirable ferocity. You let him tilt your head for better access, place his arms around your waist, push you up against the glass, you'd let him do anything to you right now.

Sharp teeth bite down on your lips and the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth, you find yourself unable to contain the small sounds of pleasure at his vicious probing. You can feel his arousal through his pants, poking at your thigh. Hungry for more, you reach down to give it a stroke over the clothes, to which he groans directly into your mouth.

He draws back and you come face to face with the feral look in his eyes.

“Needy little thing.”

He reaches underneath your skirt and you gasp when his cool fingers make contact with the warm wetness of your underwear. He runs his finger back and forth in slow tortuous cycles.

“So wet, so eager for my touch. Tell me, dove, how many times have you fantasized about this?” Your breath catches as he moves the offending fabric to the side and presses his finger to your bare cunt. “How many times have I made you this wet?”

“Silco, please.”

A devilish smile extends on his lips, “I know. Answer my question.”

You throw your head back against the glass in frustration, breathing deeply.

“More than I can count.”

The fire that catches in his eyes is enough to burn down the greatest libraries in the world, mere embers of it manage to set your whole body aflame. It would be mortifying to witness if you weren’t the object of his affection, the recipient of what pleasure he has to offer.

“You terrible little thing.”

Your answer rewards you with one, long finger easing its way past your lips and into your cunt. Your hips stutter at the contact and it elicits a sharp smile from your assailant as he curls the digit inside you. He watches your face contorting in pleasure, drawing out helpless needy moans from your sweet little mouth. He moves to swallow the gasps with his own, planting soft but relentless kisses on your lips.

He's kind enough to insert a second finger in, working you on his hand as he angles his wrist to reach further inside. You break off from his mouth to peer down at the sight, watching his fingers disappear into your cunt; it’s endlessly obscene and it only feeds the fire burning inside you. You tighten around him when the pleasure gets too much and he grunts into your ear, the sound rolling down your spine.

You force your head back up so he can kiss you again, shoving your head back against the glass. He claims your mouth once more, fingers relentlessly probing at your opening. His thumb moves to rub against your clitoris and your body twitches with pleasure, forcing you to draw back from his searing hot mouth. He observes you with the ravenousness of a predator observing its prey, appreciating the way your mouth helplessly hangs open.

His thumb continues to rub against your clit as you approach the precipice at an alarming rate.

“I should like to see you speechless like this more often.”

The smug smirk that stretches upon his kiss-bruised lips, the sinful tone of his voice, and the burning hot gaze he observes you with— it’s all too much.

It takes a lot of control to keep your eyes open, but you don't strip him of the pleasure that comes from watching you crumble at his hand— on his hand. Those cursed, rough fingers that have committed atrocious crimes in the name of a greater cause, they continue to fuck the common sense out of you until you have no fight left in you.

When he pulls his fingers out, they’re coated with your wetness and you flush in embarrassment. Undeterred, he places the fingers in his mouth and licks them clean, before he leans forward and presses a soft kiss against your lips.

“Shall we continue this in the bedroom?”

Gods above, thank you Janna.

“Please.”

When you're laid down on the silky bed sheets this time, it's miles better than you dreamt it to be.

Silco wastes no time undressing you, having pulled your shirt off on the way to the bed, he figures out how to unhook your bra pretty quickly. You shouldn't be too surprised, those fingers are seriously skilled at everything they do. Once they're off, he dives to catch one of your breasts in his mouth, teeth grazing sensitive nipples. You take rapid deep breaths as you watch him devour your chest, creating bite marks that you'd definitely admire later. The wanting between your legs is overwhelming, but so is the one in your chest. You affectionately thread your fingers through his hair, pulling on it when he bites down on your sensitive skin. You think you could come from this alone.

When he's satisfied with the assault on your chest, he moves lower. Your skirt is unzipped and removed at an alarming speed and his face is between your thighs before you have a chance to protest.

Warm breath fans over your underwear, still wet from your first orgasm. He pauses, eyes peering up at you in such an uncharacteristically serene manner that you almost think something's wrong.

“I've thought about this before.”

You tilt your head, eyelids heavy as you smile down at him. “Have you?”

“You have no idea, darling. I've thought about you in positions much worse.”

You bite your lip, “I know. I've thought about you too.” There's a silent, unspoken implication in your statement that you hope the breathlessness and aching look you give him convey well enough, you're not sure that you'd be able to push out the confession otherwise. His eyes flicker from your face back to your clothed cunt, deep in thought. Almost mindlessly, he reaches up to lace his fingers through yours. He does it on his left, you reach for both his hands, rubbing gently at his knuckles. If it weren't for the position, you'd lean down and kiss them.

“You must understand how badly I've wanted this,” and you do, “you must understand that this isn't a mindless act of the body.” Your breath hitches at what he's implying, and you're thankful that he doesn't declare it just yet, because you think you'd explode under the weight of the feeling bubbling in your chest.

“I do, Silco. I feel the same.”

‘We can talk about it later’ is unspoken, but well understood between the two of you. For now, you focus on the way his body feels against yours, the way he noses at the inner side of your thigh in a slow absentminded motion.

“Are you going to eat me out or should I get up and leave, Sil?”

That catches his attention, eyes snapping to meet yours. His fingers leave yours to curl possessively around your thigh, digging hard enough to leave marks.

“Leave? I would never let you, not when I have you in my hands like this.”

And oh Janna, did he have you in his hands.

The first contact of his tongue against your folds has you arching your back in fervor, eager to meet his mouth with your core. His eyes flicker in amusement as he pins you down by the hips.

“Patience.”

You whine, the amount of need circulating your body overwhelming your senses. He presses his tongue flat against you and licks another experimental strip; your chest heaves, heart beating erratically against your ribcage. The frustration has you untangling your fingers from his to grip onto the sheets. He glances up at you, a dangerous look playing in his eyes, and goes for another lick.

You sharply inhale, “Silco.”

His lips curl in amusement, “good things come to those who wait, my love.”

You throw your head back and release a sound that's a combination of pleasure and frustration. Teasing, evil bastard.

“You've waited a long time for this, haven't you?” You nod, feeling too frustrated to answer. “Tell me, dove, what made you snap this time? What gave you the audacity to wrap your lips around my finger so desperately, looking at me like I hold the key to all your desires?”

Your skin feels impossibly hot, his warm breath fans over your exposed core but he makes no move to relieve you of your suffering, looking at you expectantly instead.

“I had a dream,” you push out through gritted teeth, “I had a dream about you.”

He draws lazy circles on the inside of your thigh, “have you? Did it feature such promiscuous positions?”

You shake your head, smiling down at him, “worse, you fucked me in front of your mirror.”

His breath hitches, pupils going wide at the mental image. He speaks slowly, entranced, “is that what you like?”

“Maybe for another time,” your smile drops, “right now, I'd like you to fucking eat me out, please.”

He chuckles, planting a toothy kiss on the inside of your thigh, “so impatient.”

When his tongue makes proper contact with your pussy, you let out a wanton moan. The relief it provides is inexplicable, allowing you to melt back into the covers, his grip on your thighs keeping them wide open. Your hands travel down to thread through his hair, and you get the wonderful vision of dream-disheveled Silco as a very real projection between your thighs.

“I always knew you were good with your tongue, Sil.” You sigh in bliss. He hums against your core, “gave it a lot of thought, have you?”

“You have no idea.”

His wet tongue rubs against your soft walls, eliciting more needy sounds from your throat. He eats pussy like an experienced veteran, silver tongue curling inside you to reach the deepest spots. If only he could always put it to such good use.

His sharp nose rubs against your clit and your body jolts in pleasure.

“Right there, Sil. Don't stop,” he looks up at you with dark eyes as you continue to beg in the neediest tone known to man, “please, don't stop.”

And he doesn't. True to his nature, he has the stamina of a fighter, and if this is how good he eats you out, you look forward to what comes after.

He works you with his tongue until you approach your second orgasm of the night. Your back arches in anticipation, grip tightening around his hair, all you can manage in warning is a breathless close that he responds to with more vigorous probing. His hands around your hips pin you down, resisting the relentless twitching that's evoked by his tongue moving inside you.

You call out his name in desperate pleas, hips stuttering with every deep plunge into your cunt. His eyes meet yours from between your legs, practically glowing in enjoyment; your heart stutters at the sight, you don't know if you'll ever witness anything like this in your lifetime. He mercifully continues to rub at your clit, providing you with the release you've been begging for.

The tight rope inside you continues to curl and tighten further until it snaps, reverberating through your body like an intense war cry. You come with a broken moan that has you squeezing your eyes under the intense weight of pleasure, unshed tears wetting your lashes.

Silco squeezes your thighs, silently asking you to look at him, and you shakily comply, allowing him direct eye contact while he fucks you through your high.

He detaches from you within a few seconds, and the affection swelling in your chest has you pulling at his vest to pull him up for a bruising kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue, the evidence of your orgasm mixing into your shared spit. When you pull back, you're met with his wonderfully disheveled and flushed face, and you notice— with great amusement— that you've rubbed some of his foundation off on your thighs.

Your eyes trail down to his clothed chest, you realize that there's a great disequilibrium between your states of undress. Your hands rise to trace the gold in his clothes, all the way up to his collar.

“Will you take this off?” You tug at his clothes, “please, I'd like to see you.”

You're aware that it's a big request, that his bare body would put him in such a vulnerable position that he would never recover from if this doesn't go well; but you're not quite sure what ‘this’ is either, between the lust you feel in your core, and the love beating in your chest, the one feeling that courses through you is ‘want’.

You want him naked, vulnerable, offering himself to you just as you have to him.

He looks torn, hesitant.

Your hand creeps up further to brush at what little skin is exposed from his neck. Slow tentative movements over the sensitive area has him twitching in your hands, but he doesn't move away. Your hands creep higher to settle around his neck, feeling for the physical and emotional scar that was left there ages ago, but still burns as if recently instilled.

Discussions about Vander have been few and far in-between, and you understand the wound still runs deep. For a minute, you're afraid that he's going to turn away from your touch when his breath catches in his throat at the incidental scratch of your nails, but he relaxes in your grip when you continue to rub soothing patterns over the sensitive skin.

With what power you have, you trace mindless circles on his shoulders, leaning forward to plant soft kisses along his collarbones. “It’s okay.” You kiss upwards, drawing closer to the junction of his shoulder and neck. His breath hitches as you draw closer to the sensitive skin, but he tilts his head back and allows you unspoken access anyways.

Trust is not easy to come by, especially with someone like him, but the sight of Silco practically melting in your hands while you trace over his most sensitive scar, it feels like a bond even deeper than trust.

The need to be brave for him, to lay yourself bare— even more than being entirely naked under him— is imminent. You take a deep breath before your fingers hook together behind his neck and pull him down for another kiss, once more for courage.

“I like you, Silco,” you speak against his lips, glistening with the proof of your kiss. “I like you a lot, and there's nothing you can say or do that will make me like you less.” Your eyes trail up to his own, the next words feeling much more serious than you intend, “I like you so much that nothing you can show me now will make me turn away.”

It's a reckless promise, a heated confession that admittedly just follows the weight of the moment without much previous thought. Later, you'd have to enforce the idea of boundaries, the things that he isn't allowed to do, but something in your head tells you that you weren't lying. Regardless of what he does, you don't see yourself ever walking away.

His gaze softens, the hesitant look from earlier replaced by a prominent ache, the aftermath of a healing wound.

“Ever the sweet talker, dove.”

You smile, “only for you, Sil. Only for you.”

He draws back, moving to undo his vest before he halts, instead reaching for your hands.

“Would you like to help?”

Your eyes twinkle with mirth, “please.”

Slender fingers wrap around yours, guiding you to undo his tie, take off his vest, push his shirt off his shoulder. You appreciate the sight of his bare, scarred chest, running your fingers across his torso. You lean forward to plant a few soft kisses on his shoulder while you attempt to undo his pants without looking.

You’re forced to draw back with a laugh when you undeniably fail.

“Your pants are killing me.”

He huffs a light laugh, “it takes a moderate amount of skill, dearest,” something flickers in his eyes, “you'll gain experience in no time.”

Your heart squeezes at the implication. You watch as he illustrates how to undo those buttons, burning every movement to memory. Once the pants are off, you reach for his underwear eagerly, grunting out a finally that only amuses him further.

Within a few seconds, he's back on top of you and you're both equal parts naked this time. You wrap your legs around his waist, secure him against you as you exchange more open mouthed kisses. He grows harder against you, rubbing against your thighs and wet, sensitive cunt. You groan into his mouth and he takes it as a sign to reach between your legs and position himself properly.

Your arms squeeze around his shoulder when he slips in. His girth is impressive for someone of such stature and it has you gasping for air. He raises his head to look at your face as you take him in, allowing you the glorious vision of his ruined, flushed face— he's continuously coming undone under your touch. Janna, you could watch him like this forever.

Your fingers dig crescent moons into his pale skin once he begins moving inside you. It starts out slow, he enters all the way until you're taking him to the hilt and then allows you the pleasure of slow thrusts. Needy moans bubble in your throat as your grip on his shoulders tighten so much that you think you're about to draw blood, giving him a more pleasurable sort of scar.

“It's been hard holding back around you lately,” he whispers against your lips. “You're impossibly alluring when you want to be.”

You kiss him once more, “how do you think I feel?” He chases your lips when you part but you speak again, “how long has it been for you?”

“Since the day I took in Jinx.” He drops his head into the crook of your neck, almost like he's shy, “and for you?”

You wrap your arms around his neck, “since the day we met.”

He breathes a light laugh against your skin, you continue. “No seriously, I'd have fucked you back then if you initiated anything. Men with scars are lethally sexy.”

“Aren't you lucky, then.”

He bites into your neck, eliciting a soft moan from your mouth, and sucks until you're sure it forms a nice satisfactory bruise. He licks the sensitive skin and moves to other sites to plant more marks. “Always knew you were a biter,” you say breathlessly, throat constricting under his hot mouth.

Once he's done with his assault on your neck, he stands tall and you watch something shift in his expression. The soft, loving look is replaced with something hungry and dangerous, it has you squeezing around his cock.

“You've waited so patiently,” he hooks your legs higher around his middle, “I have to make sure I live up to your expectations.”

And then something is set off inside him, because his pace changes from soft and romantic to goddamn animalistic. His pace speeds up, drilling so deeply inside you that you think you feel him in your stomach. Your fingers dig into his back for some sort of grounding ritual but it only makes him groan right into your ear and the sound travels down to where you're connected. You can barely catch your breath.

“You, oh my gods, you exceed expectations, Sil.”

“Oh, I know, darling, the way your cunt squeezes around me is proof enough.”

Every obscene word goes right to your core and you feel him tugging on every sensitive string in your body. It's much more than that dream— gods that stupid, wonderful dream that had started the cascade of events that lead to this. There was no need for dreams anymore, his cock inside you was very much real and it was throbbing with need, one that you matched in your own core.

His arms are on either side of your face as he fucks the living daylight out of you, and you turn and burry your teeth in his left hand to feed some of the gnawing need in your core. You think it would be delightful if you could have more of him in your mouth, you consider if you should bite down until you draw blood but you choose to be kind this time. You can save it for the next few times, something he seems to be planning as well.

You turn back to face him and find yourself grinning stupidly at the knowledge that you're going to get this sight again, and again, and again, until you are either satisfied or dead. And if you happen to die during it, that'd be even better.

“Dirty girl, smiling to yourself while you take my cock. What are you thinking of?”

“I'm thinking of how beautiful you are, and how you're going to fuck me over and over again until we're both satisfied.”

He releases a low groan, hips stuttering momentarily before he picks up the pace again, slamming against your bare ass with newfound vigor.

“You're going to be the death of me.”

Then he leans down and catches your mouth in one last sloppy kiss, tongue assaulting yours in a similar fashion to his cock assaulting your cunt. You wrap your arms around his neck once more, whining pleas into his open mouth. The pleasure in your lower abdomen is overwhelming, overstimulated by his bruising kiss and arms coming around you.

It accumulates, all the sensations and the continuous coiling in your pelvis, until it explodes. The ecstasy washes over your body in waves, making you gasp against Silco’s mouth as you come undone. It shakes your whole body and for a second you think you see stars in the glowing orb of his damaged eye. He's endlessly beautiful, even as he brings you to your ruin.

He continues to fuck you through your orgasm and long enough to reach his own, too. He finishes inside, spilling himself deep within you, making you shudder at the sensation. He doesn't stop until he's completely soft inside you.

It's severely disappointing when he pulls out, but you understand that you can't be joined at the hips forever without an unfortunate lab accident. Instead, you settle for his embrace when he puts an arm around your shoulder, cuddling into him— two sweaty heaving bodies and an uncertain future.

When he traces invisible patterns into your bare skin and leans down to kiss your forehead though, it doesn't really matter.

It especially doesn't matter when you look up at him with a smile that matches his own, and it doesn't matter even more when that smile of his turns into a smirk at his next words.

“If that's what one dream can do, I look forward to the rest of them.”

Lovely illustration for silco being an #eater right here ♡

#i have thoughts about whether they'd end up in a relationship after this or not #if ur interested u know where to hmu wink wink #or dont hmu thats fine too... yeah im okay with not spilling my thoughts in the form of long ass rambles .#its fine honestly.#i think u should just go find another writer that doesnt ramble so much if u HATE ME THAT BADLY!!!#sorry #silco smut #arcane silco #silco #silco x reader smut #silco x reader fluff #silco x reader #silco x oc #💌 . the anthology

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arxiwon · 3 months ago

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hi hi! can i request a fic where the reader and jake are childhood best friends (joined at the hip, did everything together), and one day when they’re in high school/college he suddenly realizes he likes her and starts acting awkward around her and stuff and the reader’s just like ??? fluff with a tiny bit of angst please!! 🫶🏼

Sure honey, I'll make this one shot 🤍

More Than Best Friends

Pairing: Jake × Reader

Genre: Childhood Friends-to-Lovers, Fluff, Slight Angst

Synopsis: You and Jake have been inseparable since childhood, always side by side, always just friends. At least, that's what you thought—until he starts acting strange. Avoiding your touch, dodging eye contact, getting awkward around you. Something's wrong, and when you finally confront him, he blurts out the one thing that could change everything.

Jake had always been by your side.

From the moment you scraped your knee in kindergarten and he dramatically declared himself your "lifelong protector," to the time he snuck out of his house at midnight just to bring you ice cream after a bad day—he was always there.

People called you two inseparable, and it was true. Where there was you, there was Jake, and vice versa.

But lately… something was off.

Jake wasn’t acting like himself.

It started small—he’d randomly get quiet in the middle of a conversation, like he forgot how to speak. His usual teasing remarks were cut short, replaced with nervous laughter. And the worst part? He had started avoiding eye contact, which was just weird because Jake had never been shy a day in his life.

At first, you thought maybe he was going through something. You tried asking, but he just brushed it off with a lame excuse.

Then came the physical distance.

Jake, your Jake, who had never hesitated to throw an arm over your shoulder or dramatically collapse onto you like you were a human pillow, suddenly stiffened whenever you got too close.

It was driving you insane.

So, naturally, you confronted him.

"Okay, spill it," you said, standing in front of him as he sat on the edge of your bed, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie.

He looked up, eyes wide. "Spill what?"

"You! Acting weird. Acting like I suddenly have cooties or something. If I did something, tell me."

His ears turned red. That was new.

"You didn’t do anything," he mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

You crossed your arms. "Then what is it?"

He swallowed hard. You saw his fingers dig into the fabric of his hoodie like he was holding onto it for dear life.

"Jake."

He exhaled sharply, finally meeting your eyes. And for the first time in weeks, you saw something raw there—something vulnerable.

"I like you."

The words hung between you like a held breath.

Your heart stuttered. "...What?"

"I like you," he repeated, a little firmer this time. "Like, not in a best friend way. In a—" He groaned, running a hand through his hair. "God, I don’t know. I just—one day I looked at you and realized I wanted to hold your hand for real. Not in a joking way. Not because we’re messing around. Because I actually want to. And it freaked me out, okay?"

You blinked.

Then blinked again.

Jake… liked you?

Your Jake?

Your brain was short-circuiting.

Meanwhile, he was growing more and more restless, clearly taking your silence as rejection.

"Look, just—forget I said anything, alright? It’s fine. We can pretend it didn’t—"

"Shut up, Jake."

He blinked, stunned. "Huh?"

Your face was burning, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. "I didn’t say I don’t like you back."

The sheer hope that flooded his expression nearly knocked the wind out of you.

"Wait. Are you serious?"

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. "I mean, yeah, you idiot. Did you really think you could confess and I’d just be like, ‘Okay, thanks for sharing, let’s go back to being normal’?"

His mouth opened and closed, as if he hadn’t considered that possibility.

Then, after a beat—

"Can I hold your hand now?"

Your chest tightened, and you huffed out a laugh. "You’re ridiculous."

But you took his hand anyway.

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quiteliterallyilliterate · 1 year ago

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MDNI

Ok, for real this time.

CW: Sex/Sexual content, not feral twilight, but he’s almost there, light marking, breeding

Reader has feminine anatomy and no pronouns.

Not proofread!!

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Spring was a very prominent season among Ordon. Sure, every season had its place in their ritualistic life. But given Ordon was a small farming village, the icey cold of winter and droughts of summer didn’t provide them with much. Hell— even the goats were cranky without fresh grass to gnaw on.

But the sun would, with time, melt the snow and nourish the land. Small flowers would poke up on the edges of pathways and riverbeds. The bank would crack as the sheets of ice splintered and gave way. The grounds would soften and absorb the first rain of many months.

Link had always loved spring. As a boy, he loved the warm sun on his skin as he picked away at fresh grass, splitting the blades and getting soft dirt under his fingernails. As he grew, the season proved to be enjoyable far beyond just its temperance. Laying largely in, of course, that his job of caring for a herd of goats relied primarily on their happiness. Spring was kind to him. The sun didn’t beat at his skin, the goats didn’t groan their discontent, the work was plentiful, but pleasant.

Only one true downside sprung to mind with the season of spring. He remembers being particularly younger -perhaps his first season working as a hand with the goats- and getting rammed by a particularly competitive ram. His chest and back had minor bruises, and his palms were scraped.

It was that year he learned there was a lot more to caring for a herd of animals than simply providing them what they needed.

‘One must adjust themselves’ Fado explained as he wrapped the scrapes, ‘To the animals, you are new. Not one of them. Competition to that ram, in his eyes.’ He chuckled heartily as Link explained that he was only trying to help feed them. ‘They ain’t smart enough to know that, kiddo. Don’t you worry yerself. Now run along, I have things handled.’

The years passed. He grew familiar with the herd and they grew familiar with him. He could pick out which were particularly moody, the others more friendly. He knew their waking and feeding times to the minute. He knew which were the most prone to being lame.

But most importantly related to avoiding injury, like that of his prior example, when they’d mate.

And though he never would admit it aloud to a single soul so long as he had dignity, the idea was captivating. The thought that someone could feel the primal need to fuck so badly that the world becomes irrelevant was one he’d often entertain on quieter nights, his lungs struggling to draw steady breath as his hands wrapped around his cock. There was something about that need to rut into somewhere soft and warm and fertile never failed to draw strangled whines from his throat.

But of course, that was before he had to actually tend to said urges.

That was before his soul was shattered and welded back together with something more beast than man.

He’d found, more often than not, that a rut was more annoying than anything else. He was constantly covered in a thin sheen of sweat from his body temperature being so elevated. Worked wonders for attracting attention as a bead of sweat would travel down the contours of his muscles. However, having consistently damp sheets because of it was so annoying he’d sleep on the couch most nights. The aggression was mostly annoying because it resulted in him cursing out the goats so often he was sure he looked utterly insane.

That was, of course, not even mentioning the sexual aggression.

The weeks dragged out and the temperatures raised up. And every single night Link would come home, take a shower, eat some dinner, and proceed to spend the rest of the evening with his hands between his legs. Occasionally a pillow would find its way between strong, plush thighs, his hips bucking and grinding pathetically at the sensation. But even after his hands, thighs, stomach and bed were stained with sticky cum, another wave of mind-numbing heat would roll over him.

Notably most annoying was there was no solution. Horny as he was, the beast would shove away any lover he tried to take in distaste. It craved something special. Something specific to sate his urges and carry his kin.

At first, he thought this to be a cruel and unusual curse from Hylia. Her way of forsaking her hero who was permanently ‘tainted’. It only seemed fitting when one considers the purity culture the church possesses. That it was something beyond simply shameful to tend to temptation.

But then he met you. You who was always different. Who both him and wolf pined for. Who had him tripping over himself for your affection. You who he didn’t care about the consequences. So long has he had you.

You who did not spit at him for who he was— what he was. You who loved him regardless. You who kissed his tattoos and markings. You who reassured him during his anxiety attack, that you weren’t ’too good for him’ that he truly was deserving of love either way.

So much had shifted since then, though nothing really had at all. The both of you both still split chores and cuddled at night. But now both hemispheres of his sentience could be satisfied knowing you were his. First as a lover who he could cuddle and kiss, someone to cherish until the end of his being. And second as a mate who he could protect and claim, someone to breed and carry his pups.

Not much changed as of genuine dynamics, but his outlook most certainly had.

Spring, familiar in the back of his mind, began to bloom. The snow melted off the fields, the life returning to the woods, his mind running wild at seeing any newly exposed skin.

To some extent he felt indecent. The man in him wanted to help you prepare for the festival, to caress your warm skin and pepper your cheeks with kisses. He wanted to enjoy life at your side. The wolfish, however, wanted nothing more than to pin you to the bed and fuck you senseless. To make new life as if his own was dependent on it. The civility instilled in him was mortified with the thoughts of the primal.

But that of course, made them no less present. Nor did it made his skin no less warm, or his jealousy less looming.

Ordon never really held large events, but the equinox of each season was mutually assured to be the time to go all in. Each family would show up with multiple dishes and drinks and the festivities would last long into the early hours of the day. It was your first time at the spring festival, the children presenting you with a flower crown and giddy grins. You both ate and drank your shares, laughing among the village. Just like any other family at the table… that was, excluding the lack of little ones.

Eventually, some of the more drunken began to sing and chant, the makeshift beat and music causing some to dance and sway. Link hung back as you were tugged into the crowd by Ilia. The fading sun caught your skin, dousing it in a radiance beyond mortality. He could hear your laughter amidst the voices, clear and crisp. You were divine, he decided. Not just perfect or stunning, but someone he’d devote himself to until he had nothing left to give.

He’s actually quite unsure on how long it was he sat there in admirance. He got more than a few comments on how utterly lovesick he was for you, but it didn’t matter. Not to him. Not now you were finally his. You came back, a smile lingering on your lips as you kissed him, your hand squeezing his shoulder with some sense of urgency.

“Are you alright?” His hand, rough from a life of nothing but work, cupped your jaw with such delicacy. His voice was hushed, not wishing to draw attention to you in the case something truly was wrong. You grabbed him by the collar, demanding him closer, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you spoke.

“I think it’s time we headed home.” And who was he to deny you? Especially not with the lilt in your voice, one that had him weak willed to your order.

He didn’t bother putting you down as he walked through the front door. He had you on the bed in seconds. He straddled your hips, a single strong hand pressing you to the mattress by the neck. His hands tugged sharply at your shirt, ripping away the fabric with a muttered promise for a new shirt. He immediately defended upon the skin, latching and sucking marks and bruises.

“Yer so fuckin’ stunning sugar” He whispered against your skin, kissing the hickey he just planted.

“All laid out f’me, huh?” His accent thickened, his teeth grazed against the fragile skin of your throat, pulling it taught in places.

“All yours, just for you” You managed to weakly affirm. He grinned, sharp and suggestive.

“All mine.” He nipped at your neck, his subconscious running crazy with the scent of your skin. Begging him once more to claim— to mark what’s his. Reverently, he kisses the lovebites he leaves. Some bleed, but his tongue travels along each ridge in the bite mark. He savours your blood on his tongue. It’s the finest drug, setting each half of his mind reeling and his own blood rushing. He travels to your perked nipples, suckling on them both in turns as his hand massages the other one.

“So good for me.” He lets his hand trail down to your thighs, pressing them open. He chuckles at how easily they spread apart. A fang drags lightly against your skin as he kissed right above your hips, directly on top of where your uterus would be.

“G’na look so pretty, all stuffed with my pups.” He looked up at you through his lashes, his hands tightening around your thighs with the look of need on your face.

“I’ll help ya’ darlin’ don’t you worry” He slid back, hooking a finger over your waistband and asking a slightly shaky “may I?”

“Please, Link I-“ His hands ripped through any clothes that separated his mouth from your cunt. His hands slid to your hips to pull them even closer to his face as he lapped away. A starving man would’ve been more civilised with their meal.

But as far as he was concerned, he was drinking the most intoxicating wine straight from the tap.

He payed no mind to your whines, nor did he slow as your thighs squeezed his head. He would occasionally dive up, his tongue toying with your clit. He lets your fingers thread hrough his hair, pulling him as close as possible before gushing into his maw. He revels in the pain of your knuckles tugging at your hair. He leans in closer, trying to drink you in even more. You tried to pull back to give him breathing room, only to be pulled back in by the hips. He licked your pussy clean, some cum still dripping down his chin. Your hips buck at the sight, a man so pussydrunk he could die of suffocation between your thighs and be happy. He gently traveled back up to kiss either of your cheeks and comb through your hair, massaging out the insides of your thighs as you resurfaced from your mind.

“Love?” He praised you in his tone alone, his forehead pressed against yours as he untangles himself from between your legs.

“Yes?” You open one half-lidded eye to see a beggar man, eyes full of such hope.

“C-Can I,-“ He didn’t need to say ask before you knew the question.

“Yes.” He’s careful, as of trying to convey to you in the motion of pressing your legs upward just how much he loves you.

Something in his eyes darkens the second he’d sunken inside your heat. He paused, letting you adjust to him and your muscles to relax.

“Fuck that greedy hole a’ yours fits me- so so well” He grumbles out, his chest rising and falling, as if staying still were truly a great effort to him. He bares his teeth, unnaturally sharp for one of his kind. His hips suddenly draw back and snap against your own, his length pushing against your cervix. He mumbles fragmented praises incoherently, slamming into you with an abusive pace, contrasted to the slow circling of your clit. His hand is so warm against your sensitive nerves, you want help but buck and wail in a desperate attempt to keep the stimulation as you get closer and closer to cumming. And you know you’re not alone— his grunts turning raspy the closer he himself gets to cumming, almost like a growl.

“Gna’ knock you up.” His hips buck out of time, but certainly no less fast. Your cunt flutters with the dizzying combination of sensations.

“You want that? My litter? Pups of our own?” Perhaps it was the near ferality in his tone that caused you to topple over. Or maybe it was his two fingers that curled around your clit. Even his cock nudging against your most sensitive bundle of nerves. He followed not too soon after, your silken walls squeezing around him must’ve been exactly the fix he’d been lusting after.

You both spent a few minutes curled up, catching your breath and letting your minds settle. You begin to shift, only to be met with a needy whine and arms around your abdomen.

“Nonono! Not yet- Please stay still” Link’s arms were loose, willing to let you go if that were your decree. You made no motion to move, much to his delight. He kneaded out any of your sore muscles and whispered praises into your hair as he played with it. Your eyelids began to flutter, sleep only staged off by his quiet whisper.

“Hey Darlin’?”

“Hm?”

“I love you. I love you so much.”

#link x reader #lu x reader #tp!link x reader #tp!link #lu twilight x reader #lu twilight #link x reader smut

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newtonsheffield · 6 months ago

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Was he running late bc he couldnt decide if the color should match his own outfit for ~style~ or neddy's so he'd be more likely to wear it? Because he has no idea if thats actually how child brains work but sounds legit to him! Or if he should match Kate in solidarity so that people walking past maybe might possibly think they're a FAMILY and then gets caught up wondering if he should just buy 3 so they REALLY look like a unit or if thats just lame or would somehow upset Kate and then he loses track of time and he forgot his phone and if he doesnt run back theyre gonna think he abandoned them?

Anthony spent a grand total of seven minutes trying to decide between a red and a navy cap. He was trying to figure out which of these would make him more attractive to Kate. Tough call, red might really make his eyes pop but Navy’s a really safe choice. In the end he turned to the random women beside him holding up both of the caps.

“If I was wearing this to support the mother of my child which one of these would make her want to kiss me more?”

The woman blinked at him for a second, “Navy?”

“Perfect! Thank you!”

By the time he gets back to the park he’s got a stitch in his side and he’s sure it’s not attractive how bloody sweaty he is but he loves the way Kate’s looking at him. It makes him feel 12ft tall when Neddy puts his Donald Duck cap on and Kate smiles as she snaps a photo of them both, crouched in front of Newton. He loves spending time with Kate and Neddy like this. He’s spent so much time feeling lonely these last few years even when he’s surrounded by his family and now he doesn’t. Now he feels like this is where he’s meant to be, laughing with Kate at their son with chocolate icing on his nose.

#surprise neddy au #kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers

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paraphwrites · 13 days ago

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dbda twilight au. we all know i was gonna write one eventually

crystal palace moves to a small town -port townsend, washington- to get away from her mom, who seems more invested in her art and her new fiancé philip than her ("it's pronounced phil-eep, darling, not philip, like some common american") -- and, more importantly, she needs to get away from her shitty ex, david. port townsend is just as shitty as you'd expect - rain, constantly, and cats, everywhere. her dad, mick, is fine enough, mostly keeps to himself and fishes.

she befriends litty (jessica) and kingham (lauren), who try to "show her the ropes," no matter how many times crystal insists she doesn't actually give a fuck about this school, and will be out of here in 18 months.

and then, she meets the cullens. there's three of them: edwin (edward), niko (alice), monty (jasper), and. their parents, jenny (carlisle) and maxine (esme), are apparently really young -barely thirty- and jenny is the best doctor in the state. and she's- intrigued is an understatement. they're so beautiful it physically hurts, and they're strangely pale. most of all, though, they're keeping to themselves, which naturally means crystal needs to fucking figure out what's up with them. litty says that they're, like, dating each other, even though they're adopted siblings, and that they would never date anyone else, so don't even bother

well, then crystal is assigned to be edwin's lab partner. and he's making this awful face the whole time, like she smells bad or some shit. she tries to confront him about his after class, but he immediately runs off, and disappears for the next two weeks.

when he finally does return, he's a whole other person. hella nice, asking all sorts of questions, but he asks them sort of off. like he isn't used to talking to people. which makes sense, because his family is always sitting at lunch dead silent, with a bag of eggs between them. no wonder he's socialized badly. she tries to shrug him off at first, because crystal palace has fucking pride, but she's really curious about him, and eventually that wins out.

and then he saves her life. and that really does throw a wrench in everything. because there was no fucking way he should have been able to stop a moving car.

so- his skin is cold as ice, and he's got inhumane skin, and he's hella pale- obviously a vampire.

she goes to the beach with litty and kingham and some other people who she doesn't know the names of -- maren something, and a guy who's name is chad or brad or something douchey. she breaks away from them pretty quickly. and then, she meets charles (jacob).

charles is- well, first of all, he's cute. secondly, he's really eager to talk to her. she's pretty sure he has a crush on her, which is validating, and also, like, extremely useful. because charles has an extensive knowledge of local lore. he's really happy to tell her, too. and eventually she gathers that, in fact, there are legends of vampires in port townsend, washington

it escalates pretty quickly, from that. the fucker saves her life, again, and this time, he can't hide it. so, they discuss. in the forest. at night. because crystal is a little stupid sometimes, okay?

eventually, it's figured out. he's a vampire. he lives with his vampire family in a vampire house in the middle of port townsend, washington, and he's been to high school thirty times.

"i could kill you," he says. he tears a tree from the ground to demonstrate.

"you'll get dirt under your nails," crystal replies, unimpressed. "what would the babes think?"

but so now crystal wants to meet his family, or else -- she's tired of hearing about them vaguely watching them from a distance. unsure of how else to proceed, he agrees.

of course, niko immediately is all over her. niko decides they're best friends, now, and that edwin doesn't get to hang out with crystal ever again, because edwin is lame and boring and 102, and she's only 84, so she's the much better choice.

it's eventually revealed that monty and edwin are, in fact, dating, so litty at least got that much right. but niko is very much single.

(crystal knows this because the first time they meet niko says, "hi!! i'm niko!! i'm 84, single, and think you're very cute.")

anyway, everything's going great. crystal practically moves in there. niko loves fashion and using crystal as a barbie doll, and crystal loves watching niko work, laughing and chatting for hours. crystal also gets the joy of insulting edwin's music taste ("debussy? really?") and using monty's tarrot cards to tell edwin that something mysteriously bad was going to happen soon

jenny invites her, one day, to play baseball with them. crystal is kind of apprehensive, at first, because peace and love, but none of them seem particularly athletic. she's pretty sure a strong breeze could knock monty over. but she reluctantly agrees, even though it's raining, because niko wraps her in her pink wool coat, and asks her pretty please, and also, because when she says yes, niko kisses her cheek and smiles like it's christmas.

so, yeah, they play baseball. it's actually fucking insane, because of how strong and fast they are. she watches with maxine, who point-blank refuses to play, and for the first time, ever, she feels at home.

and then, the vampires come. esther and thomas and a red-haired woman who doesn't give her name.

as soon as esther smells crystal, a human, the hunt is on.

it's all a blur, after that. niko and monty take her to arizona, while edwin stays behind to hold off esther, and jenny and maxine spread a fake-scent of crystal elsewhere. it's 48 hours of pure chaos.

and then, someone else kills esther.

a long-haired woman, running around in full nude. it's ruthlessly efficient. thomas and the red-haired woman take one look at her and immediately run the fuck away. edwin murmurs something sounding like "lilith," and then she is gone too, and it's over.

they take her back to washington.

#dead boy detectives #edwin payne #crystal palace #niko sasaki #twilight #save dead boy detectives #idea

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hannie-dul-set · 1 year ago

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sorry but golden retriever sungchan x black cat reader is the only canon option! if you write a blurb on this pls i will actually kiss you in the mouth (ily btw)

[man on a mission]. jung sungchan has taken it upon himself to make you laugh at least once a day.

“you’re so fucking lame,” you tell him with a roll of your eyes, sitting in front of him at the cafeteria while he has two chopsticks sticking out of his nose. “gross,” you say, but the slight quirk of your lips and the way you quickly reach for your iced lemonade to cover it up makes him pump his fist in the air in victory— even at the expense of his image.

“ha! you laughed! i win.”

his other friends ask him why he even bothers. or, in the words of anton, “hyung, why are you so hell bent on making a fool out of yourself at least once a day?” but his motivations go beyond the selfish desire of proving that his sense of humor can even penetrate the moody and scary (i.e. you). sungchan has made is a mission to make you laugh every single day because of one single reason.

sungchan is simply sick and tired of people talking shit about you.

“it’s ridiculous!” he huffs, slamming both fists on the table after anton asked him the question. “they don’t even know them that well!” yet those same people call you bossy, call you a stick in the mud, temperamental and so on and so forth— which, sungchan has to admit isn’t all wrong. you’re always scowling or glaring or telling people off, but your love language is violence and words needled with spikes. sungchan is the only with enough fluency to see the tenderness in your light punches and your eloquent “fuck you’s” straight to his face.

no, he doesn’t want you to change. he doesn’t want you to soften up your edges just because of the thoughtless impressions of a couple dozen unimportant people.

but it won’t hurt to see you laughing ever so often, right?

“oh my god, stop it,” you wheeze, hands pressed tightly to your face after sungchan shows you a dumb tiktok video he just saw, then imitating it with just as much grace and passion, causing you to snort out loud and burst into a fit. “fuck’s sake, i hate you so much.”

once more, mission accomplished. he forced you to tag along with his friends for dinner today, so that was a necessary move to break the ice— especially because anton is kind of afraid of you. seeing you out of your usual resting bitch face should ease their intimidation, and jung sungchan is proud of himself for a job well done seeing shotaro having a passionate discussion about a manga you’ve both read.

“no way, i couldn’t find a copy anywhere! can you lend it to me?”

there’s a swell of pride in his chest seeing you talk so easily with someone else other than him. it’s nice to see other people finally seeing you in the same light as he had for the past couple of years. pride. yes. that’s exactly and the only thing he’s feeling right now.

“hey.”

but as your conversation with taro lengthens that you haven’t looked at him since laughing at his joke, and as eunseok discreetly calls his attention while staring at you from across the table with a look in his eyes that’s all too familiar— almost as if he’s looking straight at a mirror—sungchan thinks that maybe he should abort his mission.

“your friend has a pretty smile.”

he knows. he’s been trying to get everyone else to see it all this time.

#blurbs #had this thought in the bathroom huahahahahahah #sungchan x reader #jung sungchan x reader #riize x reader #sungchan x you #jung sungchan x you #riize x you #riize scenarios #riize imagines #riize fluff #jung sungchan scenarios #sungchan scenarios

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hazashiovo · 1 year ago

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imagine sparring with Korra and ended up with a heated makeout session

I can see it, like angry sparing which turns into heated kisses😶

Korra x Reader

Warnings: suggestive towards the end, fighting, making out, pouring out your feelings.

Maybe pushing Korra's buttons all day long wasn't such a good idea,and what brings you to this conclusion? Well maybe her pissed off face as she enters the training ring.

But it's not your fault! You were just bored,and what other entertainment was better than annoying the girl you hate? (Are deeply in love with but deny it) Yes,maybe you'd get a kick out of seeing her face red with anger,it's funny really!

Not to her it isn't, ever since this morning you were on to your mission to make her day insufferable,and imagine how happy she was when you proposed sparing with her,oh yes. How happy she was to blow off some steam , caused by no one else but you.

Korra knew, she knew you only wanted to piss her off further,but maybe you should've thought that she's the avatar,able to use all four elements,while you can only bend one element. This is going to be entertaining.

"Gonna keep staring at me like you wanna eat me up or you're gonna actually fight me?" Oh that smirk,that stupid smirk plastered on your face , matching with your raised eyebrow,she just wants to rip it off your face and throw it on the ground and stomp-

"Bring it on." Her stance changes, ready to attack. Fists clenched tightly urging to get you on your ass. She smirks only thinking about it.

You smile , running towards her with hot fiery fists,one punch, she dodges, taking advantage of her exposed position you trip her,a grin taking over your face.

"What's wrong Korra? Can't handle little old me?" You chuckle at her furious expression.

The brunette groans, bending herself of the ground using earth. Silently cursing you for taking her down in the first place. Oh you wanna see what she can do? She'll show you what she's can really do.

Hit with a sudden surge of adrenaline,Korra sends your way multiple earth spikes, almost loosing your balance you bend yourself a fire wave , sending it her way.

Korra scoffs, dodging the wave with an air ball. You roll your eyes, can this girl be any more frustrating? That's one of your best moves!

"That's so weak! Lame." The girl mocks, smirking down at you,a feeling of satisfaction taking over her frustration.

You roll your eyes, she's the lame one ,not you! "You wanna see power privileged girl? I'll show you power."

The avatar watches as fire starts surrounding you, slowly taking the shape of a huge snake.

How the fuck are you able to do that?! Is she capable of doing this to? She must admit ,even if she despises you,it's pretty fucking cool. Maybe one day you could teach her that.

During the time she spaced out staring at your fire creation, your snake lunged at her fast. Surrounding her with hot red fire.

Korra furrows her brows annoyed, resulting to water bending. She could hear you chuckling in the back round as she tries to fight off the huge fire monster.

Once she figured out she has to get away from the beast she uses earth bending, creating a small tunnel to pass your snake.

"You like my power now, Avatar?" Her eyes land on your amused face. With one swift move she runs towards you, using earth bending to give her a boost, and with her iced fists she punches you, in the stomach making you stumble to the ground. Your snake of fire disappearing in the clear air.

So in order for you to lose control of the created beast,you must take physical damage? Noted.

What really didn't help your case was your physical health. Unfortunately for you, you were weaker in hand to hand combat. It's mostly why your fire bending is so much stronger then Korra's.

You start coughing up, holding your stomach in pain. "No fair," you mutter through coughs, Korra towers over you, her anger eyes taking in your fallen form.

"Maybe you shouldn't have been so cocky." Her hands hang loosely on her hips,a victorious glint in her eyes.

Once you finally regain your breath you're able to stand on your feet. Glaring at her trough your furrowed brows.

"You're the one to speak." You scoff, she's the one acting like a bitch...damn your stomach hurts.

"Admit that I'm better than you already! It's the least you can do after I kicked your dumb ass!" You grit your teeth at her totally untrue words.

You take a deep breath in, turning your upper body to attack Korra again, after all you're not one to give up that easy.

One strong kick with your fire laced leg sends Korra flying into a wall. While trying to recover from your strong attack ,you stroll towards her. Your stomach no longer hurting as it did before.

"Look at you," your hands land on each side of her head, caging her in. "The all mighty avatar at my mercy." She can't help but stare,a proud smirk stuck to your face like a medal. How could you of everyone beat her?

The dark haired girl grits her teeth in anger, yet one taught hangs around her mind, why are you so eager to prove her wrong?

"What's it to you? Don't forget I'm stronger than you'll ever be." Now she's the one holding the smirk, Korra tried raising her hands,but you're quick to stick both of them to the wall.

"What's it to me? Everything!" You huff out at her obliviousness. One eyebrow raised,she waits for you to continue your blabbing. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

"Everything fell to your feet ever since you were a child! And me? I had to work for it. But no matter how long I trained or how strong I became,I was never truly acknowledged,but you? Their precious little avatar?" Korra huffs annoyed, taking a hold of your hands and swiftly switches your positions, making you the trapped one now.

She inches closer to your face,"I had to work for everything! I had to prove that I am the avatar, nothing came to me for free,so stop assuming I'm some stuck up princess!"

Her words make you scoff. What did she ever have to fight for? She could master all the elements as a kid, Korra never had to worry about being enough,you did. People called you weak ,you allways had to prove yourself to the world,that's why you became a pro bender in the arena. This way they could finally see,that you're enough.

"You? Funny you're the one that cries about having to work,but I'm the one who was judged for not being strong enough! You have no idea how hard the weight placed on my shoulders was."

You squirm under her, trying to break free,but Korra doesn't budge. You try kicking her with your leg, yet your efforts are shut down by her knee that's now placed between your legs, holding you down in place.

"Why are you so damn stubborn?" Korra grits her teeth,your faces mere inches apart, the arguing leading nowhere,just back and forth bickering.

"You're so annoying!" You groan out, resisting the urge to head but her. Korra's face looks like she's about to blow up,smoke practically coming out of her ears.

Korra pushes you further into the wall, drawing a gasp out of you. "Can't you shut up already? You're so insufferable!"

You raise a brow,a new idea popping in your mind. "Oh yeah? Why don't you make me? Bet you can't." She watches as your expression fills with mischief,a different look shining in your (e/c) eyes.

Korra stands in front of you, thinking of what to say now,you practically put her in a corner. Ironic since you're the one backed up.

"Nothing to say n-" before you could finish your sentence shock creeps into you, the feeling of her soft lips forcefully attached to yours silence the snarky remark that was about to be said.

She pushes in,hear leg rising up as a warning once you try closing your thighs.

Her hands tighten around your caged wrists, you push your chest in hers making her whine groan in your mouth.

The kiss is hungry and lustful,yet there's no denying that passion burns as hot as your fire.

Starting to feel light headed,you pull your head away from Korra's. Taking rapid breaths to chase away the light headiness.

"I wasn't expecting you to shut me up like that." You tilt your head away from her burning gaze. Cheeks pinkish and warm.

If she's honest, Korra doesn't really know what took over her,but she knew this was something she was hungry for,deep inside. Is this the reason why her glares would be directed to people getting overly friendly with you, lingering touches on your shoulder or waist. But never did she really get to grasp the reason why.

Korra releases your hands, instinctively your hands rub against one another, already feeling the future bruises.

"It worked, didn't it?" Korra raises a brow to match with her smirk.

You roll your eyes, mustering up a snarky answer to get back at her,that thought fades once she closes the distance between the two of you again,this time her hand wrapping on your neck,one finger holding your jaw in place, her other hand wrapped around your waist.

Your lips move in sink,both of you fighting,yet again, for control. Your tongues rubbing against each other while the kiss becomes more lustful and needy.

Your hands find themselves entangled in Korra's hair,then moving lower towards the back of her neck, pulling her in even more than before. Craving her touch.

You moan when her tigh rubs against you middle, of course she knows what she's doing. Korra takes that split of a moment to gain full control, dominating the kiss shared between you two.

Maybe ,just maybe the two of you don't despise each other as much as you claim.

This was such a fun thing to write! Come at me with more requests of the sort :)

#tlok #tlok korra #the legend of korra #the legend of korra x reader #korea x reader #korra x fem reader #korra #avatar korra #sugestive #fic #fan fiction #x reader #reader #korra tlok

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morroodle · 5 months ago

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Everyone I'd like you to meet my wife the Source Dragon of Motion

She is absolutely HUGE and has a lovely weight to her. She now sits high up on my shelf watching over the whole room and she looks absolutely magestic up there. Please excuse my garbage lighting it does not do her justice.

hello wifey :D

Oh and I guess she came with this lame stupid overdramatic throne thing too. I refuse to put it on her.

I dont know how to explain how absolutely HUGE she is. She's so fuckin big. She competes with the movie version of the destiny's bounty, and makes the bounty from s5 look kinda payhetic. Minifigures are like bugs to h3r. Big Man, what I call the 6 legged ice dragon and who I previously thought was massive, looks small to her. She cannot be held in one hand. She barely fit on my shelf, and I am so glad they made her wings so posable . She is 25 inches long and has a wingspan of 29 inches (63 and 74 cm).

I understand now why yall have been drawing her as a big buff beautiful woman. Yall were RIGHT. I wanna draw her now too

The set itself is also just an absolutely wonderful set, she has great articulation and is incredibly sturdy, with pretty thick joints. The windage especially I think look great, even from the underside, which is a problem I've seen in other sets that have these fabric/vinyl wings. It was a ton of fun to build and took me maybe 5-6 hours though I didn't time it. 10/10 use of my day. A cool trick they did with her feet is to have these kind of silicone pieces on the bottom of her feet that stick out just a little, providing for much better grip and which I think is a wonderful idea. The other odd but nice thing they did was instead of one massive instruction book it was actually divided into 5 books, for the body, front legs, back legs, head wings and tail, and the saddle. There were multiple bags for each book but it provided really nice pausing points. Good job lego. Good set.

#i still love the preeminent #i swear #i have 2 hands #ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago dragon #ninjago dragons rising #ninjago dragons rising season 2 #source dragon of motion #lego #lego set #ninjago lego set

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galactic-rhea · 7 months ago

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never thought about the vader + obiwan dynamic like that but damn. kind vibe. consider !! (or dont ur decision) if we were to tentatively tie it into the pre-existing canon that instead of the "vader wants to kill obiwan because he blames him and is therefore obsessed with killing him" it could be more. vader is obsessed with kill obiwan BECAUSE of his self-hatred and self-disgust. obiwan (and ahsoka. and rex. and luke and-) is one of the last pieces of Anakin Skywalker alive. he's a living reminder of that pain and who vader couldve been. so the obsession is less With obiwan, then with himself and it turns into this grotesque self-harming violence and obiwan is being sucked into by association. i could also see this applying to vader's fights with ahsoka and luke (the first one not the second). peace and love ur thoughts and art are golden ❤️

Woah thank you! <3

I haven't watched Rebels yet, so I have no idea how the Ahsoka vs Vader fight went (which is why I avoid so hard gifsets with Ahsoka and Anakin 😂😂) but it could be pretty accurate, I suppose!

With Vader, I usually remain on the notion that he's pretty much a husk of Anakin, he lacks any passion at all, like sure he's angry and furious most of the time, and annoyed, but it's like, instead of raging burning fury, it burns like how ice burns, is old and calculated and rootten and it leaves you numb to everything.

In the original trilogy he doesn't seem to deny thaaaaaat hard being Anakin, I mean he does, but like he's just so...idk, he's so "meh" about everything, nothing matters, like instead of going "THAT NAME MEANS NOTHING TO ME ANYMOREEEEEE!!!!" it's more like "-takes away Luke's lightsaber- That name means nothing to me anymore y'know."

"then my father is truly dead"

"ah"

Like he's almost bored, in fact when he kills Obi-Wan he does look almost bored like "wow, this is a lame fight, I'll end it quickly old master" and then he stomps on the robes when Obi-Wan's corpse disappear,,,,like a cat trying to catch a light pointer, and then he just leaves like "whatever idc why this body is gone, i've seen weirder stuff" NKJDFSNJDFSSD

He doesn't even care enough about his self-hatred to like, you know, do something about himself, or like, even kill himself because Palpatine probably doesn't let him die and because he believes he deserves the hell he lives him. He only mostly moves to carry on Palpatine's orders.

So that's mostly what I go by with him, if he's obssesed about anything, is when he learns about Luke, probably. If he wanted to rid off everything about 'anakin skywalker', you would think he wouldn't care about Luke that much because Luke very proudly takes on the name Skywalker (i would say agressively and stubbornly 😆) and he would rather not aknowledge anything about Padmé or why he turned to the dark side, which he probably doesn't admit outwardly, and probably tells himself he doesn't care, but internally is the very reason he hates himself.

He also kept Ahsoka's lightsaber, which, again, is he reaaally wanted to destroy everything that remained of his old life wouldn't fit (again, I haven't watched Rebels so idk if that's brought up in their fight)

He wanted to kill Obi-Wan mostly out of the fact he...kills anything opposing the empire, and the jedi are forbidden now and "I suppose I should want revenge and he's here now".

But yeah, I could see an AU where he does want to hunt down Obi-Wan and it's just an attempt to end what's left of Anakin, and feeling really empty and unchanged if he believes Obi-Wan dead (or actually manages to kill him before ANH timeline). Like there's just quiet silence, and he still feels the same, Anakin's still hasn't been destroyed, and then goes back to his usual misererable apathy.

#vader is like the extreme worse levels of depression just full on black apathy nothing matters nothing can make him care nothing at all #and even the hate for himself turns on apathy at himself which is arguably worse the only thing that keeps him alive is fucking damn Sheev #until sunshine farmer sonboy shows up (or moonshine princess daughtergirl in other AUs)#darth vader #obi wan kenobi #rambling #thanks for the ask!#rhea dissects the text

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a-court-of-moonlight-and-ire · 1 year ago

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Alright, I took a quick nap and Ive decided that I wanna get the UTM reenactment over with as quickly as possible so Im reading chapter 42 and then I'll reward myself with some pain au chocolats and not thinking about this book for the rest of the day and watching the 2002 takarazuka flower troupe production of elisabeth instead. lets go

Chapter 42

here we fucking go with the illyrian wingspan-dicksize correlation, how would Amren even know that isnt she above sex or something. Honestly, I think Cassian would know wayyyyy more about that. on account of all the gay sex hes having i mean. I thought of that joke and then I realized that you could interpret it to mean that he knows about that because hes illyrian and has a dick, but I want to make it very clear that this is a gay sex joke

how come wings are so sensitive that just barely stroking them makes you moan and shudder but you can still fly with them in harsh winds with no issue. My headcanon is that wings arent actually that sensitive, Rhysand and Cassian are just weirdos with a specific kink

This conversation Feyre and Rhys are having about his wings is so weird, its like dirty and yet uncomfortably clinical

oh Rhysand is quicker than death just fucking kill me, im getting so angry again

Syphons are called 'Trichtersteine' ['funnel stones' or 'funnel gems'] in german which is more accurate to how we're actually told they work imo but it sounds pretty lame

Is it just me or is Rhysand being kinda weirdly paranoid rn. I mean granted, they did just get attacked with ash arrows so maybe hes actually doing a good job for once and Im just biased against him

Okay so we finally get some night court fae wearing white, but of course its not for moon symbolism its so they can blend in with the rock of the mountain because this series does nothing but disappoint me

The Hewn City actually sounds really cool, why couldnt this have been the secret city where we spend most of our time, you couldve made it a whole thing about Feyre healing from her trauma UTM through like, exposure therapy or something idk. That wouldve been neat and dramatic, her healing from her UTM trauma in the place that inspired it with the person that inflicted it. I mean, maybe that would be less healthy and even more controversial than Feysand already is but then you could atleast lean into the dark romance of it

I mightve said this already but you knowwww sjm is NOT a painter and consulted ZERO painters because Ive never heard of anyone think about creating art the way feyre does

and Mor is wearing red AGAIN why would you make this a trigger for Feyre just go back and edit it out its not like it matters

God, the description of her outfit is so deeply discomfortingl like it literally is exactly what she wore while she was being drugged assaulted but atleast they left the bodypaint out this time

"[Keir] looked at my face, then my body. I had thought that he would stare and drool greedily but... there was nothing. No emotion. Just ice cold. Shaking internally, - from anger and revulsion - I followed Mor." Im sorry, is she mad that Keir doesnt find her hot????

Theres something uncomfortable about Feyre referring to Rhysand as 'Mor's Lord' especially when we just had a whole paragraph describing her as a proud and empowered queen

"Usually, one Syphon was enough for an Illyrian to to able to steer his urge to kill down the right path." what???

Now shes describing Azriel as dark and beautiful as death and oughhhhhh i knoww im the only who cares about this and its for a pretty stupid reason but I care a lot and it makes me very angry

Feyre referring to a 19 year old Mor as 'barely more than a child' is weirdddddd

of COURSE hes wearing a black tunic for this, I cant believe this is the guy that the fandom has designated the fashion lover when he has two (2) outfits

Feyre describing Rhysand as sooooo powerful and beautiful with a face of nightmares and dreams makes me want to vomit, but more importantly, it makes me yearn to rewatch the 1996 takarazuka star troupe production of Elisabeth with Asaji Saki as Death who unirionically fits all of Feyres descriptors 1000 times better

Not Rhysand using Feyres Cursebreaker title while hes thoroughly humiliating her

Now Feyre is calling him a god, bro youre not gonna be able to have sex if you jack him off this hard hes gonna be all sore

Imagine being a hewn city noble and you all get together because your high lord wants something from you and youre kinda scared because hes the worst, and then you just have to watch him finger some random lady. and you cant leave because then he'll just kill you

I dont like that this is framed as empowering to Feyre, i think its one thing to write a female character who sexualises herself in order to empower herself but the fact that Feyre is doing this at the behest of Rhys automatically renders it non-empowering to me. Like yeah, she obviously consented to this but it wasnt her idea but this was not her idea and this is not something she usually does, the only times shes been sexualized like this is because it was part of some plan that Rhysand came up with

"[Keir] apparently clung to the power. But Rhys was the power." i hate that that sentence made me think of Keir/Rhysand as a ship why am I so goddamn yaoi-brained. And yeah, i know theyre related but according to Rhys himself, he and Mor are only cousins in the most distant sense, so. Man, that would make the IC dynamics so much more fucked up but also so much funnier

Theyre trying so hard to make this hot n sexy but its just so unappealing and dragged out. Granted, sorry if this is TMI, but I did just jerk off so Im all out of horniness for the next little while so maybe I just dont like this because Im not in the mood but idk. theres something so annoying about this, i think its how over-the-top and artificial Rhysands hotness feels, not to mention the fact that he is absolutely not my type

Imagine being Keir rn, just trying to do your job and tell your high lord everything that he needs to know, meanwhile his high lord is sitting in front of him fondling his new sex slave and you just have to keep a straight face. i mean, he sucks ass so i guess he deserves it but man

Presented to you with no further comment: "My breasts became heavy and full, longing, desiring, just like my crotch."

goddamnit, Rhysand just said that he put Feyre on his leash and then Keir made a kinda slutshame-y remark about her clothes and then I thought Rhys was like "maybe I'll put you on a leash too" but it was Feyre who said that. another loss for big gay incest

"He liked this as little as I did" uhhhhh no offense girlie but you actually seem to be having a pretty great time rn

I dont even know what to say about this part where Feyre is like, detaching herself from her thoughts that are calling her a traitor a liar and a whore ?? I think thats whats happening here?? Like, its trying so hard to be sexy but its invoking the imagery of Feyre's (and even Rhysand's) trauma and its just very strange

It took Rhys a fucking eternity to actually touch her pussy

What if Keir developed a voyerism kink because of this. would that be fucked up or what

Its so weird how Feyre thinks about how maybe Rhysand doesnt like sex or being desirable anymore because of amarantha and that certainly sounds like a trauma response he should have but instead it just never matters

"I had been tortured and tormented but my pain was nothing compared to his." YOU DIED

Oh man I cant believe I completely forgot about the absolutely iconic part where Rhysand gets so mad Keir for calling the woman he introduced as a whore a whore that he telepathically breaks his hand about it

what was the point of doing that, Feyre didnt even seem to like it that much

#anti acotar #anti sjm #anti acomaf #anti rhysand #anti feysand #flames and darkness liveblog

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blog-name-idk · 2 years ago

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The Plot Twist | 03

Written by @blog-name-idk and @eserethriddle

Summary: Once upon a time you would have jumped at the chance to live the idol girlfriend life. The cameras, the action, the whirlwind romance. But what was once a dream has now become your worst nightmare, and you fully intend to fight the universe as it repeatedly conspires to set you up with your seven perfectly good soulmates from Bangtan Sonyeondan.

In which we punt Y/N into all the fanfiction tropes and you do your feral best to subvert the love story.

Because nani the fuck, you are The Plot Twist.

Pairing: OT7 X Fem!Reader

Genre: Soulmate!AU, crack, humor, idol!AU, light angst, slow burn, romantic comedy, just a fun silly old time

Rating: 18+

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Chapter 3: "I'm moving out."

You've never been a hypochondriac. Each time something strange and new occurred over the past week, you simply normalized it and moved on. But seven sevens mysteriously appearing on your skin the morning after your fever spell were admittedly too much, too eerie.

Something was definitely up.

So you went to the all-seer, the earthly keeper of scientific knowledge, the only place that could tell you what the hell was going on with concrete authority: NaverMD.

But then even you and NaverMD were stumped. Feeding your symptoms into the search engine reported a limited consensus of only two diagnoses. Dr. Naver, MD concluded that you either had a soulmate, or some extremely rare, spontaneous condition in which all your toenails will fall off and cause your eventual and sudden death.

Well, actually, no, the first diagnosis was cancer. But it always is, even when you're just constipated from too many snacks and too little fiber, so you discarded that one immediately.

Despite yourself, you found yourself leaning towards the worse of the two. Because somehow even the prospect of a bizarre, yet-unproven disease still seemed more believable than you having a soulmate.

And then you made your first mistake.

Oh, how simple life had been. You were just a wee child, trying to narrow down your suspicions, so young and naive. You never stopped to realize that some things were better left unknown, uncharted.

Like some theological figures before you, you couldn't resist the forbidden fruit of knowledge. Too drawn by the serpentine lure of instant internet search results, you plugged "7 tattoo" into Naver. And now you must live with your decision.

Because smoldering at you from behind your suddenly hateable phone screen are seven men widely considered to be amongst Korea's national treasures.

The thus-far revealed tattoo locations match some of yours, and you try to stave away the sinking feeling that the remaining others are just as accurate. Because that would mean…

…That would mean…

You have a soulmate. Soulmates.

Seven soulmates… who happen to be Bangtan Seonyeondan.

And that’s the moment your mind breaks.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

It's fine. You're fine. You are handling recent revelations with utmost grace and dignity.

Or at least you are sticking your pinky up as you completely obliterate a tub of ice cream in panic. It takes all the poise you can muster. Understandably. And then you almost throw up all that processed dairy back up, your stomach churning too much for you to punish it with cookies and cream like your usual comfort mechanism.

Why is this happening? Why you? You're not some chosen one, and you've never wanted to be the main character in some lame k-drama or fanfiction.

Maybe this is a weird prank your mother concocted to punish you for completely ignoring her texts and forgetting your "obligations" – i.e. popping out grandchildren for her to coo over. And that, to her well-meaning if conservative outlook, requires a well-established partnership and romance at the minimum. Your father must have let slip that you've skipped all of the group dating events she's been spamming your family group-chat with.

Your caring, loving, ruthless mother has picked your worst nightmare and brought it to reality, all to teach you a lesson. To try to ensure that you find love before you reach hagdom at thirty and must be sent to live shrouded in the woods, away from decent, beautiful society. (Her words, despite the fact that she herself is quite a ways past that age. Not that you would ever point that out. You value your life.)

The thought calms you, and you decide to vacuum the feathers from the pillows you destroyed in a fit of rage and madness. You needed to buy new throw pillows, anyway.

The loud drone of the vacuum soothes you further. Of course, having more than one soulmate is possible, but extremely unlikely. Having seven? Who happen to be the some of the most famous people in the world? That is as statistically likely as you winning the lottery seven times in a row. Probably less, actually.

Pfft! Soulmates? Hah! Nice try, eomma.

You have to hand it to her, she really had you going there for a second. You chuckle to yourself as you turn off the vacuum and go to empty it in the trash. Noticing your kitchen trash is full, you tie it off and carry it downstairs to the garbage room.

You feel oddly pensive as you carry the bag down. Perhaps something about the odor of the two-day old kimchi jjigae leftovers emanating from the plastic is addling your brain, because despite your rationalization you now can't stop thinking about the concept of soulmates.

It seems like there's so much that goes into a partnership, even with pre-destined compatibility. Sure, your parents are soulmates and love each other very much, but that doesn't mean their marriage is perfect. The equilibrium, the joy, the easy comfort they find in each other now is the result of many years of growing both together and apart, of being their own individuals who have learned to fit into each other like puzzle pieces.

They are soulmates, but their happiness wasn't fated. Perhaps the universe contrived for them to meet, but their bond was forged by their own hands. They chose each other.

You can't imagine ever giving someone the keys to your heart and trusting them not to disappoint you.

Or trusting yourself not to disappoint them.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

On your way back to your floor, you’re surprised to see your landlord with a guest when you step into the building elevator.

“Oh, great timing! Say hello, this young man moving in at 8004, right next to you,” your landlord says.

Your new neighbor is decked out in a bucket hat and oversized sweater ensemble. You see the moon tattoo peeking out from the back of his sweater and gulp.

That… That can’t be Park Jimin… right?

A split second, and that’s when everything you have been avoiding clicks with the finality of a key turning in a lock.

The call with Mijin, the anomalies you’d experienced, the comical twist of your recent everyday life.

It wasn't a prank.

And despite all the very real and terrifying things your mother is capable of, surely this coincidence is beyond even her ability to machinate. Which can only mean one thing.

You do have soulmates, and the universe has begun plotting.

But you… you refuse to do this. You’re not a little girl that the world can tell to spin in her skirt and flutter her lashes. There are things worth fighting against, and these things are love and the eventual disappointment of finding out that the person you adored is fallible and rife with flaws. All the more so when it's an idol with a perfect shiny image to uphold.

Despite your earlier post-Naver meltdown, you now find yourself strangely calm. This is a do-or-die situation, and you have never been one to go down without a fight. Your will shall not be bent, no matter what anyone says about "fate."

You realize your new neighbor is peering at you curiously, and you staunchly avoid his gaze. Your hair falls in front of your face like you're Sadako from The Ring, because you don't want him to remember any identifying features. Your landlord looks confused at your silence, but says nothing, and an awkward silence envelops the cramped confines of the elevator.

When the elevator finally, finally dings open, you refuse to wait and walk with your companions like a normal person. To both your landlord and your – ugh – soulmate's shock, you power walk out of there like you're an ahjumma heading to the store on discount day. When you finally make it to your once-safe haven, your now forsaken sanctuary, you slam the door behind you.

With your heart thundering in your chest, you look in the mirror and take in frantic breaths.

You decide once and for all.

“Let’s not fall in love,” you tell yourself, the promising ferocity in your eyes a hand-me-down from your mother.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Today is a good day, thinks Kim Jaehyung. The sun is shining, his wife is making his favorite oxtail soup for dinner, and he's finally managed to rent out the last vacant unit in his building. The new tenant is polite and, more importantly, has paid the entire lease up front without even needing any bank loans.

The only blip is his other tenant's odd behavior in the elevator, and the way you practically fled into your apartment. The new renter is a handsome young man – Jaehyung would have thought that a pretty girl about his age would have been happy to show him the ins and outs of the building. Though perhaps you needed to go to the bathroom – he's certainly had those moments.

"She's my neighbor?" the man asks, sounding curious, his gaze following the way you speed walk away from them.

"Yes! Right next door," Jaehyung replies, trying to remember the new tenant's name. He had just looked at the lease agreement, too! "She's normally very accommodating, so I'm sure the two of you will get along well."

As if to mock his statement, your door slams shut behind you. With a shrug, Jaehyung leads the renter – Park! That was it! Tenant Park! – to the door next to yours.

After showing Park-ssi his new apartment and handing him the keys, Jaehyung is in the elevator when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

You I'm moving out

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

You're exhausted. You might have told your landlord you were moving, but finding a new place within your budget that doesn't come with charming qualities like decorative mold or live-in, six-legged pets is proving difficult on such short notice.

Why isn't Park Jimin of fucking BTS living in one of the more expensive areas of Seoul, anyway? Why would someone that rich and famous choose your cozy, decent little building? He's gentrifying your already gentrified neighborhood! You're too accustomed to the luxuries of upper-middle class life to be happy about being forced out.

So you've taken to leaving home absurdly early and working until late, in hopes of avoiding any run-ins with your soulmate neighbor.

Despite your best efforts, you have somehow managed to end up alone in the elevator with Jimin. You were already inside, and he was running for the door looking so frazzled you didn't have the heart to press the close button on him. Curse the universe for taking advantage of your kind heart and gentle, amiable nature.

"Thank you," Jimin gasps, clearly out of breath. A bead of sweat trickles down from his temple, which you definitely do not notice. "I forgot my wallet."

He takes off his mask to breathe more easily, and you try to look anywhere but at his plump lips and the way his eyes squish when he smiles at you. The universe may have all manner of nefarious powers at its beck and call, but that smile might be the deadliest weapon of all.

"No problem," you mutter, hoping he never sees you again and yet also wishing you had used more eye cream today. Thankfully, the elevator is fast, but as the door dings open somehow Jimin keeps pace with you.

"We didn't get a chance to formally meet," he says cheerfully, somehow keeping stride with you despite your best efforts to break the world record for fastest casual walk. "I'm Jimin. What's your name?"

The simple, completely normal question makes you panic. You've reached your door and you gaze longingly at the handle, dreaming of the safety that beckons on the other side. So near, but so far.

You unlock it, and realize he's paused next to you, awaiting your response. That violently sweet smile is still on his face, and you find yourself staring dazedly at him for a moment before snapping out of it.

You need to exit this situation. Immediately.

You open the door and look him dead in the eye. "I don't talk to strangers."

Swiftly stepping inside, you close the door firmly behind you and try not to dwell on the fact that he is just as beautiful with his mouth hanging open.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Jimin stares in shock at the closed door in front of him, wondering what on earth he did wrong. He just wants to be on friendly terms with his neighbors – well, especially the pretty one – but you seem to be avoiding him like the plague.

Maybe you're shy? Or slow to trust? Jimin doesn't think he's been doing anything threatening or overly familiar – certainly nothing to warrant the way you almost flee whenever you see him.

Then again, he's not a single (well, not that he knows whether you're single or not, but you seem to live alone, and haven't had any visitors of any gender despite being quite attractive, not that he's spent that much time thinking about whether or not you are single or anything) young woman living alone, so perhaps his judgment is biased.

Maybe he just needs to try harder! Show you that he really does have good intentions. Or would that be creepy?

It's been so long since anyone has treated him like this – just a regular, pesky person – that he can't help but be endeared.

And intrigued.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

These days even the temporary security personnel know your name. They know to expect you putting in overtime, but for today’s working hours you’ve completely outdone yourself.

It's late. Late enough that even for a workaholic Korean, you're the last one out of the office. You begin to make the trek to the train station, grabbing your keys from your oversized purse in case any weirdos try to follow you. Though then again, your bag itself could probably be a decent weapon – your building was updating and refreshing all of the first-aid stations, and so you have a bulky, metal kit weighing you down.

It would be kind of funny, actually, if you were able to injure someone with a first-aid kit. Something, something, irony.

You smile, mildly amused at the thought, but it quickly fades when you see a figure slumped on a bench at the bus stop. It looks to be a man, dressed in torn clothing, and when he shifts you see bruises littering his skin. His hair and eyes are hidden by the brim of a black baseball cap, and his features are otherwise also covered by a black mask, and you wonder if his face is also in bad shape.

You make your way closer, the kit weighing heavily in your purse, because you're an idiot who can't leave well enough alone.

"Do you need help?" you ask carefully, standing just slightly far away in case this is a violent person who's going to lunge at you. The man looks up in surprise, and you feel your lunch try to make a resurgence.

Because staring back at you with a black eye is Min Yoongi of BTS.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Yoongi exhales and slumps forward on the bench outside the photoshoot location, wondering why he's been feeling so off lately. It's not quite the same as the depression slumps he's used to – rather than numbness, it just feels like something is missing.

The only time the feeling recedes is at night, when the ghost of that strange lullaby whispers at the edges of his mind. Yoongi's put the basic melody to paper, but he can't get it quite right. Every time he tries, it's like some note eludes him, flitting out of reach just before he can grasp them.

"Do you need help?"

Yoongi almost jumps before looking up to see a prim, well-dressed woman gazing at him in a mixture of suspicion and concern. Your eyes widen at his face, and he can register the exact moment you realize who he is.

Fuck.

You look horrified, which is not the expression he's used to seeing from fans. You take a step back, half turning as if to run. Also not something that typically happens.

Yoongi should leave, return to the photoshoot, find his manager and tell him he's been spotted in case damage control is needed. Instead he finds himself strangely spellbound, staring as your jaw clenches and your eyes close. You set your shoulders as if steeling yourself for war and turn back to him.

You reach into your purse and he tenses, ready to hide his face for when you inevitably pull out your phone to try to take a picture of him with fake bruises all over his face.

To his utter bemusement, instead of a phone, you pull out a metallic-looking case and toss it at him without warning. Yoongi is too taken aback to do anything other than watch it clatter to the ground.

"What the–" he begins, but you whip back around before he can finish and take off as fast as your heels allow. "...Fuck?"

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

As far as obnoxious things the universe has thrown at you go, this one isn't so bad.

That's what you tell yourself as you stare at the very shiny, very pointy looking knife being brandished in your face in the alley you use as a shortcut home.

At least it's not a soulmate.

"There's no one here to rescue you, little girl," this apparent mugger gloats, and for a moment you actually feel a little flattered. Little girl? Really? At twenty-five? That's downright polite, honestly.

"Huh? Is everything okay back there?" calls a strangely familiar voice, making the both of you freeze. Thanks to your recent frantic googling and research, you recognize it surprisingly quickly, and you gasp and look your assailant dead in the eye.

"Kill me. Right now," you order, your voice leaving no room for argument. The maniacal glint leaves your attacker's gaze and he stares at you in confusion. And perhaps a little fear.

"Uh, what?"

"Fucking do it, bitch," you hiss, casting your gaze frantically behind him to see if the owner of the voice is coming to investigate. You point at your chest, where you assume your heart probably is. If you have one. "Right here."

"What the fuck, no, I just want your money?" he says in bewildered tones, beginning to back away from you. You hear footsteps from behind him, and panic begins to set in.

"DID I FUCKING STUTTER?" you screech, wanting your attacker to just hurry the fuck up already. Seriously if he wasn't prepared to stab someone why the hell is he waving around a knife? What a little bitch. This is the problem with youth these days – all talk and no follow-through.

"You know what, fuck it, just go," the guy finally says, dropping the knife to the floor. "This is too much for me. I should have just gone to trade school like my mom wanted."

"Whatever dude," you say with a shrug, taking the opportunity to gear up and sprint out of the alley. You pass a confused looking Kim Taehyung, and pat yourself on the back for avoiding another contrived situation the universe tried to force onto you. It can take its cosmic intervention theory and shove it up its black hole where the stars don't shine.

Unfortunately you don't realize that to Taehyung, time slows as you run by. The scent of your hair, the silhouette of your lips… he is utterly captivated. He can't help but to peek into the alley to see where you were coming from, and is surprised to see a masked man just standing there, staring blankly at the ground. Metal glints, and he's shocked to realize that it's not the ground that has drawn the man's attention, but a knife.

"Yeah, I'm not cut off for this," he hears the guy mumble as he kneels down to pick up the weapon. Taehyung tenses, unsure of what to do, only for the man to toss it into a dumpster. "I… I should go apologize to mom."

Had this man tried to attack that girl? Taehyung's fist clenches at the thought, an uncharacteristic flare of anger lighting his chest. Then it relaxes as it dawns on him that you must have talked the man down. Not just talk him down, but give up on his supposed path of crime entirely.

So not just beautiful, but intelligent too. Empathetic. You probably love animals, because he can already tell you're perfect.

For days after, he can't get the strange girl out of his head, or the smell of your flowery shampoo out of his nose.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

You should have known. You should have fucking known.

"Eomma," you say carefully, lest you invite another scolding from your mother that leaves you equal parts guilty and offended. "This is a very strange place for auntie's birthday."

She purses her lips, managing to look simultaneously irritated with you and pleased with herself, and shoves you forward.

You sigh, resigned, and begin to walk inside the building with slumped shoulders, heels clicking morosely beneath your feet. Until the very pointed throat clearing behind you automatically straightens your spine in a lecture-induced response you have never been able to shake.

"Are you here for the dating event?" chirps the far-too-chipper woman at the front desk, face brightening at the appearance of such a lovely attendee. You force a smile in response, glancing over your shoulder to see that yes, your mother is still watching outside with her arms crossed.

You send her a wave that just makes her tap her foot impatiently. With a sigh, you turn around and nod.

"Yes," you respond with all the joy of a human sacrifice walking to their doom. "I guess I am."

The employee beams at you and pushes forward a form for you to fill out. When you check the box indicating that you indeed have been experiencing soulmate phenomena, because you're an idiot who can't lie even to save yourself, her smile grows even wider.

"It's so great that you're taking initiative," she gushes, oblivious to the way you are now grinding your teeth. "Some people think cosmic intervention will take care of everything, and never end up meeting their soulmate!"

God, goddesses, saints and shamans, whoever the fuck, you think silently. That is literally all I want.

For a moment the image of two spinsters laughing at your pain flashes through your mind, but it's gone before you can really register what happened. What you do notice is that your mother has left.

"Oops, I think I left my ID in my car," you say with a smile suddenly much more genuine than before. "I'll be right back."

The poor, unsuspecting attendant just nods, and you're out the door and around the corner just as a black Palisade rolls up to the building.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The store owner blinks in surprise at your appearance. It's broad daylight, and most of his customers are kids and teenagers. Grown adults don't tend to come here, other than the idol who thinks he's sneaky and the tired salarywoman who –

"Hey, Lee-ssi!" you greet cheerfully, sliding your game card out of your dainty purse. "Is there a new score for me to beat today?"

Lee Seungwon blinks again. You're wearing a sleek maroon dress that ends right above your knees, your hair is coiffed, you smell like a field of flowers instead of burnt coffee, and your face is powdered to perfection.

"[L/N]-ssi?" he asks tentatively. It looks like you. It sounds like you. But he wants to make sure, because you look far too perky for someone dressed like they're supposed to be on a date.

"Yes?" you reply, looking just as confused as he feels. "Is something wrong?"

"Er, no," he replies, accepting the game card from your manicured hand. "The usual? 2,000W?"

You grin and nod, prancing off to the Pacman machine with a bounce to your step.

Seungwon feels a strange sense of foreboding.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Seokjin is the best hyung. Obviously. He's handsome, he's funny, he cooks, he takes care of his brothers, and even drives them to speed-dating events that are objectively a terrible idea.

In fact, he's such a great hyung that instead of returning immediately home, he deserves a little bit of fun. So he heads to a familiar little establishment. Seokjin's managed to re-establish his place as number one in Pacman, but it can't hurt to fill up the leaderboard even more and show that immature punk who's boss.

The fact that he is a grown man in a silent war with a child over an arcade game wooshes gently over his fluffy hair.

Lee-ssi's eyes widen in surprise when Jin walks in, and the idol follows the dart of the elderly man's gaze to see a maroon dress and a very shapely backside. He stifles a sigh when he realizes it is parked right in front of the Pacman machine, and that he likely can't even ask the woman to hurry up lest she recognize him.

Then he realizes that she is inputting a name on the high score screen.

Right above his.

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#bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts ot7 x reader #ot7 x reader #bts soulmate au #soulmate au #eserethriddle #reveri #fruit party 🥭🍒

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