#its barely coherent in there so who knows

[simpforpeterp]

stanford pines x reader

Look Me in the Eye

summary: based on a daisy jones and the six scene! a one shot in which ford comes home from a crazy night with bill, pushing you to your limit

warnings: a slap from reader to ford. gender neutral reader! this one shot came from a chapter of my actual oc story about ford but i made it gender neutral x reader because i’m so proud of this scene.

word count: 4.4k

With Fiddleford back home for Thanksgiving and the portal on a brief hiatus, you’d think Ford would take that chance to be home. But he doesn’t; he keeps working. So, you decide to try and get some work done too. Writing hasn’t come easy, though.

Ford is God knows where, and you’re sitting at your piano, staring at the keys, waiting for the words to come. At this point, a part of you has accepted that the Ford you married is somewhere deep in the back of his brain. He said he would do better, but he hasn’t. You think back to your cousin and how you swore that you wouldn’t let yourself end up like that—in a small town with a deadbeat partner and a baby.

The only thing you don’t have out of those things is a baby, which you don’t want. When you were younger, you always saw yourself having kids. But when you marry a human, it’s a little strange to think about. It’s unknown if you could even have kids together. There were legends back home about two humans in the demon realm, and one of them married and had a baby with a witch.

You do a mini birth control spell that you’re not even sure works. Well, it’s worked so far—you haven’t gotten pregnant yet. Ford wouldn’t give a damn about a baby anyway, so why even put it at the forefront of your mind? And you’re fine without kids. You’re not one of those people who craved kids their whole life and dreamed about what life with children would look like.

You always assumed it would happen if it happened. And with Ford, it’s not happening. These past few months have proven that more than ever because he’s rarely home. The way most couples go out to dinner at the end of a long day, you and Ford go out to breakfast two or three times a week. But he’s usually trying to hide the fact that he’s rushing to get back to work.

His attempt at spending time with you is noted but not necessarily accepted.

The door creaks open, and you hear the unsteady shuffle of Ford’s footsteps before you see him. He stumbles into the room, shirtless, his hair a tangled mess, eyes glassy, and reeking of alcohol. He stands there in the doorway, looking at you with a mix of shame and regret, unable to meet your gaze for long. He tries to speak, but the words fumble out, barely coherent.

“Ford,” you breathe, your voice wavering between anger and concern. You step closer to him, looking at how droopy and tired his eyes look. “What happened to you?”

“I… I know Bill took it too far this time, but it doesn’t… it doesn’t mean anything. It’s not—” He’s almost nonverbal, his normally sharp mind dulled by the alcohol and Bill’s lingering influence. When you see new tattoos on his body, you lose it.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Ford? What the fuck is wrong with you?” You demand. He doesn’t even look at you; his mind is completely somewhere else. It’s as if Ford isn’t even in there right now.

Before he can respond, you close the distance between you, and your hand connects with his face in a swift, stinging slap. Given that you’re smaller than him, it doesn’t do much other than make him look at you. Ford looks at you, stunned, his hand moving slowly to his cheek where your slap left its mark and a slight stinging pain.

“You come home like this,” you say, your voice breaking as tears well up in your eyes. “After everything, you think you can just brush it off? You think you can say it doesn’t mean anything and that’s supposed to be enough?”

Ford’s lips tremble, his eyes filled with a mix of guilt and sorrow. He wants to tell you how sorry he is, how much he hates himself for what he’s become, but the words won’t come.

“What happened to the man I married?” you continue, your voice softer now, though no less pained. “Where’s the Ford who would move mountains for me, who promised we’d get through anything together? Because this…” You gesture at him, tears finally spilling over. “This isn’t the man I fell in love with.”

Ford’s eyes fill with tears, his heart breaking at the sight of your pain. He knows he’s the cause, knows that he’s pushed you to the edge, but he still can’t let go of the work, of the promises he made to Bill. But none of that matters now—not when he sees how much he’s hurting you.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice raw with emotion. “I… it’s Bill, but I—”

“So, who do I blame?” you ask, and he doesn’t have an answer. “Who the fuck do you think you are, acting like this? You come home from doing God knows what, God knows where, and have the nerve to try to defend Bill? After all of this bullshit, you still think he’s someone worth putting up with?”

You look at him, your anger slowly giving way to a deep, aching sadness. You still love him—God, you love him so much—but this version of Ford, the one who’s been consumed by his work and Bill’s influence, is breaking your heart piece by piece.

“I love you, Ford. I love you so much it hurts, but I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep watching you destroy yourself… and us.” Your voice trembles as you take a step back, the space between you feeling like a chasm.

“Please… I don’t want to lose you. I love you more than anything. I’m sorry.” Ford reaches out to you, desperation in his eyes.

You hesitate, looking at the man you married, the one you’ve been trying to hold on to, but you can’t shake the fear that he’s already slipping away.

“You’re losing me, Stanford.” You shake your head as another tear falls, and it’s like everything comes bubbling over all at once.

Ford reaches out, desperate to close the distance between you, but you step back, gently pushing him away. Your hands, though soft against his chest, carry the weight of all the anger and hurt you’ve been holding in.

“Go take a shower, Ford,” you say, your voice trembling but firm. “I’m not going to talk to you again until you do.”

Your words hit him like a cold splash of reality. He can see the resolve in your eyes, the line you’re drawing in the sand. You’re not just angry; you’re done—at least for now. Ford hesitates, wanting to say something, anything to make this right, but the look on your face tells him that words won’t fix this. Not this time.

He nods, defeated, and turns away, heading for the bathroom. The sound of the door closing behind him feels like a finality he’s not ready to face. He lingers for a moment, his hand resting on the doorknob, hoping you’ll say something—anything—to stop him from leaving the room. But you don’t.

As he steps into the shower, the hot water cascades over him, washing away the grime and sweat from the night, but it does nothing to ease the weight on his chest. He leans against the tiled wall, water mingling with the tears he’s been holding back.

His heart breaks. He knew after every other little crack in your relationship that this was coming. But nothing could’ve made him ready for the day you finally snapped. And he knows you don’t believe he loves you as much as he does, which kills him.

Meanwhile, you watch him disappear into the bathroom, your heart heavy with the love you still feel for him, mixed with the deep-seated pain of watching him spiral. You turn on your heel, walking away, needing the space to gather yourself before you can even think about facing him again. As you move through your home, every room feels colder and emptier, and you can’t shake the fear that the warmth you once shared might be slipping away for good.

After all that, you feel like you need a shower too. You can’t believe you said all that and exploded. It felt like it was a long time coming and this was the final straw. His coming home like that, completely shameless, made you feel an anger you hadn’t felt before. Anger because you always said you could do better than your family, but he’s making you feel the same as they did.

When Ford finally emerges, clean but still burdened, he heads into your bedroom. He notices you sitting there with red, puffy eyes. He doesn’t know what to do; he doesn’t know how to fix this.

“I’m sorry for how I reacted, but you have to know how pissed I am,” you speak first as he takes a seat beside you on the bed. “If you don’t love me anymore, just say it. You’re never around anymore, and when you are, it seems like you just want to get away from me. It’s fine if you don’t love me anymore; I’d be heartbroken, but I’d be okay. I’d be even more heartbroken if you kept me hanging around here when it’s just me who still loves you.”

Ford feels his throat tighten at your words, guilt and sorrow gnawing at him. He opens his mouth to respond, but the words catch in his throat. How can he make you understand that his distance has never been about a lack of love? How can he convince you that despite everything, you’re still the most important part of his life?

“I always promised myself I wouldn’t be this,” you start. “Sitting around as if I need someone. I never wanted to be the person stuck at home, trotting around at the genius’ heels. Especially not with someone who doesn’t—who might not—” your voice trembles, and he quickly jumps in.

“I do love you,” he finally whispers, his voice hoarse. “I love you more than anything. I’m just… lost. This work, everything I’ve been doing—it’s consumed me, and I know I’ve let it come between us. But please, don’t ever think that I don’t love you. That’s the furthest thing from the truth.”

You listen, your eyes searching his face for sincerity. You can see the regret there, the deep sadness in his eyes, but you’ve heard apologies before. You need more than just words. Ford reaches out, taking your hand in his, holding it like a lifeline. He can feel your fingers trembling, and it breaks his heart all over again.

“I know I’ve been terrible,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been so wrapped up in my work that I’ve neglected you, neglected us. But I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you. I’ll do better—I promise I’ll do better.”

“How many times have we had this conversation, Ford? I—I’m getting tired,” you breathe out.

“I mean, what do you want me to tell you here? Do you want me to say I’m never gonna work with Bill again? Because I can’t! I need him.” Ford tries.

“No, you don’t!” you slightly raise your voice before sighing.

“Do you want me to just stop working so you can be making money and supporting me while I do nothing? I mean, fuck, you’re not exactly writing or anything right now,” he breathes out.

“I’m trying,” you say firmly.

“I can’t… I can’t lose so you’re comfortable! I can’t lose because you can’t win,” he raises his voice.

And then it’s quiet for a moment. Neither of you speaks, but Ford instantly regrets it.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” your voice breaks.

He’s failed you in so many ways, and he’s terrified that it might be too late to fix things. But as he looks into your eyes, he knows he has to try.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right,” he says, his voice trembling with conviction. “Just… please don’t give up on me. Don’t give up on us.”

“I don’t believe you,” you cry, and he slightly stiffens. “I mean, did you hear what you just said? I need to go for a drive or something.”

“Wait, please,” he starts, but you’re already standing up and trying to leave. “I’m so in love with you it feels like I can’t breathe when I’m not with you!”

As you try to walk out as quickly as possible to hide your tears, he sees your hand come up to wipe them.

“Please don’t go,” he begs, finally catching up with you and placing his hands on your shoulders. “Please, just hear me out.”

“I’ll hear you out later, I just need a minute. I don’t want to give up on this, but I just… I need a coffee or something,” you look him in the eyes, and everything in him softens.

“Okay,” he breathes out. “Just… please, come home to me.”

“I will. I’ll be back soon,” you nod.

Ford watches helplessly as you leave. The door clicks shut behind you, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. His heart aches with a pain he can’t describe, but he doesn’t have the time to wallow. The moment you’re gone, something snaps inside him, and he storms back into his office.

Once inside, Ford slams the door shut and collapses into his chair, his body shaking as the tears finally break free. He buries his face in his hands, the sobs wracking his body with a force he hasn’t felt in years. All of the pain, the regret, the self-loathing—it all comes pouring out in a way that feels like it could tear him apart.

But before he can even begin to regain control, he senses a familiar presence. The air in the room changes, becoming thick with an ominous energy that Ford knows all too well.

"Why the long face, Sixer?" Bill’s voice cuts through the silence. "Having a little lover’s quarrel?"

Ford lifts his head, his bloodshot eyes meeting Bill’s glowing form. Rage surges through him, raw and untamed.

"This is your fault," he yells. "You’ve ruined everything!"

"Me? Ruin? Oh, come on, Fordsy. You know this was bound to happen. You’re the one who’s been pushing them away, not me." Bill laughs, the sound echoing eerily off the walls. Ford’s fists clench at his sides, the anger building to a boiling point.

"I wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for you!" he shouts, his voice cracking with the weight of his emotions. "My marriage is falling apart because of you!"

"Oh, don’t be so dramatic," Bill taunts, his voice dripping with condescension. "You think I made you neglect them? Do you think I made you ignore all those signs? That’s all you, pal. I see everything, and they’ve been telling you how they feel like every day. It’s not my fault you don’t care enough to do anything about it."

"I- why did you have to go so crazy in my body? I respect you, and I’m still finishing the portal, but what the hell? At the end of the day, I wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for you." Ford glares.

"You think finishing that portal is going to fix your problems? Oh, Fordsy, you’re in way over your head. Stop blaming me. It’s not my fault you want to see me more than your own spouse." Bill laughs.

"Maybe you can’t process emotions like this, but they’re the love of my life. Before them, I hadn’t really dated anyone, and I wasn’t even sleeping around or anything; I was a loser. The only reason I ended up with someone as incredible as them without ruining it, like usual, is because I saw them as an anomaly at first. I didn’t think I was flirting or anything. I don’t know what I’d do if they left me. I wouldn’t even know what love is without them. You need to think about what your actions can mean for other people, Bill." Ford turns back to Bill.

"Clearly, you’re the one that needs to think about your actions. Isn’t it crazy that if you neglect someone’s feelings, they won’t want to be with you anymore? Even I can understand that!" Bill laughs, and Ford just stands up.

Ford sits there for a moment before he decides he can’t take it anymore. He stands up and heads to the music room. Bill yells things as he walks away, but Ford doesn’t hear it. He heads straight for a notebook full of songs they’ve written. His heart is racing as he opens it and sees so many that he hasn’t even heard yet.

In fact, this is a new notebook almost full of songs he hasn’t heard except for a few at the beginning. Have they not tried to show him, or has he not tried to listen? He reads the sad lyrics of almost every song, lyrics about feeling lonely when with someone you love and waking up alone. Songs about how they try to convince themselves that they’re a part of his life but not feeling like it. When did he start pulling away from them?

You sit in your car with a to-go cup of coffee, unsure if you should drive home yet or simmer for a little while longer. Your fingers tap on the warm cup as you try to think clearly. Your love for Ford is swarming every inch of your mind. But you know you shouldn’t accept what you don’t deserve, and you know you haven’t done anything to deserve this.

The version of you before Ford would’ve threatened a divorce already to try and scare him. You don’t want to do that now, but you want him to realize that you can’t keep living like this. You can’t keep following in his stride instead of walking beside him. You’ve won ten Grammys; it’s not as if you’re unaccomplished with no other options but to stay with him.

But you want to stay with him. Ford is so loving and warm. No one has ever loved you the way he has. Hell, no one other than Ford has seen you as more than a one-night thing. And you love him so much. You can’t help but wonder if maybe there’s something here for you to try to understand that you don’t already.

You look at the ring on your finger—his ring. And you don’t feel like other people have described, like it’s a handcuff or a jail cell that’s keeping you locked to him. You love being married to Ford. Saying you don’t and never did would be a complete lie. You just don’t love being mostly ignored by the man you love.

For someone so smart, he can be such an idiot sometimes. Letting some kind of entity possess his body whenever it pleases is a new low. Is that my problem? Bill? you think. It’s not right to you that his weakest self gets to decide how your life is going to turn out; you get to decide that. And what you want is a life—a beautiful marriage, a home—with him. With the man you know he truly is. And you’re going to get it, hell or high water.

You take a deep breath, your eyes still fixed on the ring as you turn it around your finger. The thought of a future without Ford makes your heart ache, but you know you deserve better, and you know Ford is capable of giving it to you—if he just realized how much you mean to him, how much you mean to each other.

You sip your coffee, the warmth grounding you, giving you the clarity you need. You know you have limits. If Ford can’t see the toll his actions are taking on your marriage, then you have to make him see it. You have to stand up for yourself, for what you want, and for the life you could have together.

You start the car, the decision made. You’re going to drive home and talk to him—not in anger or frustration, but with the love that’s still there, burning so fiercely in your heart. You’re going to make him understand what’s at stake—not just your marriage, but everything you’ve built together.

As you drive, the road blurs slightly through your unshed tears, but you blink them away. You can’t afford to lose focus now. Ford needs to know that you’re serious, that this isn’t just another fight that will blow over. This is your future, and you won’t let it slip away without a fight.

When you pull up to the house, your resolve only strengthens. You take a deep breath before stepping out of the car, the ring on your finger feeling like a lifeline rather than a chain. You walk into the house, finding Ford sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. He looks up as you enter, and the relief in his eyes is almost overwhelming.

“Ford…” you begin, your voice thick with emotion, but you hold up a hand to stop him as he tries to respond.

“Ford, I need you to listen to me,” you say firmly, though your voice trembles slightly. You sit down beside him, taking his hands in yours. “I love you more than anything in this world, but I can’t keep living like this. I can’t keep being the one who’s always trying to catch up to you, to your work, to everything else that seems to matter more than me or my feelings.”

His eyes widen in panic, and he starts to speak, but you squeeze his hands, stopping him again.

“No, Ford. Let me finish,” you continue, your voice soft but steady. “You’ve always been so loving, so warm, and I’ve never felt like this with anyone else. But you know me, and you know I’m not the type to ignore the fact that I’ve felt more like an afterthought lately. And it hurts. It really, really hurts.”

“Please, I—” Ford’s face crumples, and you can see the guilt and regret swirling in his eyes.

“I don’t want to threaten you with divorce or give you an ultimatum,” you say, your voice breaking slightly. “But I need you to understand that if we’re going to make this work, you need to start seeing me as your partner again, not just someone who’s here to support you while you chase after your dreams. We need to be in this together, walking side by side—not with me always trying to catch up.”

Ford looks at you with such intensity that it nearly takes your breath away. His eyes are red and puffy too, his fingers nervously moving his ring in circles on his finger.

“You’re right,” he finally says, his voice hoarse. “I’ve been an idiot, and I’ve taken you for granted. But I swear to you, I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this. You mean everything to me, and I can’t imagine my life without you in it. You make me want to be better, not just for you, but for us. And I’m going to prove it to you. I don’t want to lose this with you, and I’m so sorry that I’ve hurt you. Just… please, don’t go. I’m still yours. My heart is always gonna be yours. You are the one I want.”

“I just want you to see me, Ford. Really see me. I’m not asking you to give up your work, but I need you to find a balance, to make room for us in your life. Because I can’t keep doing this if things don’t change.” You nod, tears spilling over your lashes as you squeeze his hands.

“I see you. I promise I see you,” Ford whispers, pulling you into his arms. “And I’m going to show you just how much you mean to me. I won’t let you down again. And those aren’t just empty promises—I mean every word I say to you.”

As you hold each other, the tension begins to melt away, replaced by the hope that you can find your way back to each other. It won’t be easy, but you know it’s possible. And for the first time in a long time, you believe that you can make it work. Ford pulls back slightly, his gaze locking with yours.

“I’ve never loved anyone like I love you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t date anyone in high school or college—I was too focused on my work. Hell, I’ve only slept with four people in my life, and you’re the only one who wanted me after that. You’re the only one who stayed the morning after and kissed me and smiled at me. You looked so perfect then, and it would’ve been impossible not to want more with you. You’re the reason I want to be better, the reason I want to wake up every morning. And I don’t know how I got so lucky to have you in my life, but I’m not going to take it for granted anymore. I promise you that.”

“Okay.” You nod for a moment before bringing his lips to yours.

He sinks into you, and the next thing he knows, he’s on top of you on the couch. Both of your hands are desperate as your lips talk. And he thinks, while this is happening, that you are worth everything to him. He didn’t think any of this would be happening when he first got out of high school and his life was in front of him. He never thought he would even have a spouse, let alone be kissing you with his body between your legs in your home on a quiet November night.

And the further things go, he realizes that he hasn’t touched you like this since your most recent talk about him neglecting you before tonight. Seasons changed, months passed, and he was too wrapped up in whatever he was doing to just exist with you, which is what he loved doing when you first met.

[artandbrimstone]

First things first 

!!!! Riptide 115 spoilers !!!!!

And if im wrong about anything i am sorry :( also this might be nothing but i need to say this somewhere

Chip and his lack of control over his own fate is so interesting to me. The guy who tells gillion tidestrider “I didn’t believe in destiny before i met you” is somehow, out of the three of them, the one who is seemingly following a predetermined path set out for him. 

Gillion, whilst being the chosen one, struggles with this identity and was exiled, which may be in his destiny but was clearly not intended by the elders. 

Jay has her prophecy (type thing I know its not exactly a prophecy) but it has no clear path for her specifically to follow.

Chip, however, was destined to end up back at the hole in the sea, but barely remembers actually being there in the first place, and yet when he does return to the black sea, there is a message from Rose from a decade prior knowing not only that he would return, but that he would be there looking for them after their disappearance. (i dont have the brainpower to go into how insane that message makes me so just know i think about it at least once a day). Even chips search for arlin, which was originally his own, was used against him and taken advantage of by Niklaus (with whatever the fuck he is planning im not smart enough to figure that out im just insane) making what was originally a goal into an “incessant urge to not only find the other members but also do what you [chip] were told and return to the hole in the sea”.

Not only that, there is also the compass, which is further twisting and intensifying chips desire to find arlin and return to the hole in the sea (niklaus also told chip to stop using the compass but yknow) so not even his desires, his main motivations that have led him to where he is now, arent truly his own. ( interestingly despite rose knowing he would go back to the black sea, still urges him to leave behind the legacy of the black rose pirates and do something greater) 

Even his death he had no part in, no crucial mistake, nothing he could have done differently to avoid it, he was simply chosen and made an example of for the sake of making a point of how fucked they were against captain widow, yet again a pawn in something he had no control over.

And then, when they do finally reach the hole in the sea, chip is led by the compass (THE FUCKIGN COMPASSSSS) and (im getting into insane territory here) has strange parallels to captain rose. He is separated from his crew (namely the only other black rose pirate, drey), made a deal with niklaus regarding the hole in the sea has the hole in his chest (idc if its not there in canon its there to me) however what is he met with? “Welcome home”. Now what does that mean? I dont fuckign know but it makes me very insane and this is long enough already so i hope you enjoyed my incoherent chip just roll with it ramble :D

[nabaath-areng]

Fuck Sweden as a nation for turning the woobification of our history and culture into one of our greatest exports, pretending to be wholesome and peaceful while profiting from conflicts elsewhere. For never having the fucking spine to take any stance ever and acting high and mighty for being "neutral", all while frothing at the mouth to get a piece of that colonial cake from the cool kids table where the superpowers are seated. For recognizing Palestine's sovereignty only to then consider a withdrawal of said recognition in response to the current genocide. For allowing islamophobia to get to the point it is now and then pointing fingers at jews as a whole. For giving less of a flying fuck about swedish jews during WW2 and until now, yet patting ourselves on the back and taking credit for heroic deeds done primarily by individuals.

I wish nothing but absolute hell and misery for Ulf Kristersson, who is even more spineless about his inaction than I thought possible. Who had nothing to say about the burnings of the torah and quran, only to claim that he stands for fighting antisemitism. Who puffed up his chest and was acting so tough about the things he would do once he became prime minister, only to hold up on none of his lofty promises in true conservative fashion. Both he and his lackeys (as well as their fanclubs of raging screaming bigots) deserve nothing but hurt and hell for continuing to destroy the lives of all marginalized groups in Sweden, all while shamelessly increasing their own salaries blatantly in the open, to then have the sheer and utter gut to declare that actively supporting genocide is within our best interests.

This country's audacity is one that only became possible because we sacrificed our neighbours safety for the sake of maintaining our own, because when your most recent war was in 1809 it's apparently not possible to even try and comprehend the horrors of modern warfare. That is, besides producing the tools for it to happen elsewhere.

[snow-and-saltea]

i know that in media you're constrained with things like budget, time slots and stuff, but sometimes i'm just like. my god. the insane shortcuts people take to write "smart / intelligent" characters, especially in plot-heavy stories, always pisses me off. they write them like they're sherlock holmes (bbc version, derogatory) but they fail to realise that even sherlock holmes (arthur conan doyle) was written with a lot of thought, suffered his own subconscious prejudices and had to learn from mistakes.

i guess what i'm trying to get at is—"smart" people don't magically get good at things overnight, the only difference between them and others is how much they're willing to go through to hone their mental acuity. which means when they try something new, they're going to make obvious mistakes, not understand how things work beyond the surface level, and make mistakes in judgements (like when you don't understand something well enough, your analogies and metaphors aren't 100% accurate or concise).

but it feels like there's a assumption hanging over our heads that, as readers, we don't WANT to see the smart one go through the entire nitty gritty of the learning process. we just want to see them do cool things, piece the puzzle together with a flourish, and clap our hands at the end. and in some parts, yes! that is what i want to see! but i am also interested in how they pieced it together. the joy of mysteries is, to me, that everyone is exposed to the same pieces of information, and we're given the chance to try to piece it ourselves. but then the smart character comes along and interprets those pieces of information in a not-obvious way to us, and it's cool!! years of living with a mind that is primed to turn things over in their head, to make sense of things, reveals to us how differently we experience the same reality, and it's wonderful. i'm able to learn from someone who sees life differently than me, and interpret information differently than me!

but right now i'm often left out feeling flat and confused in the mystery-type plots i've seen. the smart person will have been exposed to information we didn't even get the chance to see and interpret, and then they piece things together and everyone in the story claps their hands at the artificial pedestal that's been propped up under that character's feet. explanations of in-setting magic that can be retconned in and out at any point in time, so there's no logical consistency for us to nitpick or understand, so there's no basis to stand on that the story should be taken seriously. plot twists that make no sense as a gotcha. so many things!!

like. this particular example just my beef with g*nshin, so ignore it if you don't agree or smth. but the use of red herrings in the stories piss me off. the red herrings are either too obvious or nonexistent. they always use some random guy acting suspiciously and have the other characters react to it, as if we can't understand it on our own? but like. these red herrings, in the real world, aren't even red herrings. sometimes people just "act suspiciously" just by virtue of being human, not because they're complicit in some bigger overarching plot. sometimes people just stutter because of their anxious disposition, not to hide a guilty conscience. sometimes people are just defensive and irritable because they're a defensive and irritable person, it doesn't mean they're the ""bad guy"" who you need to crack down on and interrogate even further, especially if there's literally nothing that indicates this character is guilty other than their outward appearances.

but like. the smart characters/protagonist almost never get proven wrong. the stutterer was guilty all along and they're just a bad liar. the defensive guy is selfish and obnoxious, they're defensive because they're hiding something, not because it's a natural reaction on having one's sense of privacy and personal space violated.

the game sure loves trying to do nuance with "not everyone is 100% good or bad, we're all Flawed" but they can't put their money where their mouth is. everyone who is not guilty acts in completely transparent and "good" ways. everyone who is guilty acts in completely opaque and "suspicious" / "bad" ways. end of story. how the hell am i supposed to think anyone in this game is smart when they don't even have to use their brain to sift through, critique, weigh and interpret information? what use is there to do so? just use your eyes and ears. the stutterer is nervous for hiding a secret. the anxious is guilty. the angry is scornful.

there's also another rant here about how g*nshin fucking sucks at writing unique and flawed characters, because they like to make everyone the Specialest Guy In The World, but that's for another day.

[ei-mugi]

my main hurdle with my dcaf fic is my depression but my 2nd task-related hurdle is not knowing what eichi should be doing at my ambiguous and butchered chosen place in time--- nvm see the notes

[mobs-99]

Ok. Ok. Prev post (edit: link to the post) bc like its making me have thoughts but I know its just a silly joke so im not gonna put that on ops post. But like to me that is never how reigen would interact with mobs parents and its like almost funny that we never see reigen interact with them but I almost think thats intentional bc its another way of mob separating himself out and trying to be acceptable to different people???

But anyway I do think reigen just acts the utmost respectful and like a model citizen around the kageyamas and thats both bc he wants to make a good impression bc he knows how useful mob is and he is not going to jeopardize that w mobs parents. But also because reigen wants to be seen as responsible bc thats something he personally values. He wants to be seen as a responsible adult and I think esp considering his relationship w his own mother that would be something he would try his absolute hardest to come across to the kageyamas.

This also got me thinking about ritsu and reigen and what ritsu meeting reigen for the first time would have been like. And I absolutely dont think ritsu would have known reigen was a fraud from the get go and I dont even think thats the main reason ritsu dislikes him. Bc first of all if mob came home and said this man is a psychic and hes going to teach me about my powers. There is absolutely no reason ritsu would not believe mob was 100% correct. Bc of the reverence (and also fear & envy) ritsu had towards his brothers powers he would take mob as the authority on this.

I do think, however, that if mob came home and said "this man is a psychic and hes going to teach me about my powers" that would cause immediate resentment and also fear in ritsu. Bc not only is that a part of mobs life that ritsu inherently feels left out of its also a part that he has his own trauma about. (Which is of course the reason mob was so desperate to separate that from his family life in the first place.)

Of course the kageyamas are very respectful and have taught that to their kids, so I'm sure even at what like 10? Ritsu would have been very respectful to an adult, even if really he really really didnt like him. But I also think that ritsu picked up on the fronts reigen was constantly putting up. Im talking abt the acting like a model citizen w the kageyamas specifically, bc we know he had plenty of ways he acts but specifically that is the thing ritsu would see upon meeting him. But the reason he would see that, is not because reigen is obvious with his attitudes, we KNOW hes a good liar and a child isnt ready to just see through that, but because ritsu would unconsiously see himself. And the things that he does, acting like hes nicer than he feels, acting like he only wants to get high grades and function in society as he has been told to function. Acting just like a model citizen and i think reigen is a bit too similar to ritsu in a lot of ways. And I think thats what ritsu dislikes the most about him....

[maxbegone]

The election doesn’t start tomorrow, it ends tomorrow.

If you haven’t already, please make sure you are registered to vote and know where your polling place is (vote.org is a great and easy way to get that information). Additionally, please make sure you have a way to get to your polling place. Uber and Lyft often give free or discounted rides to the polls, and this year the car rental company, Hertz, is allowing free one-day rentals to get to the polls. More information on that here.

EDIT: NAACP has a discount code to use for Lyft, valid for two rides up to $20 ($40 total). Use code: NAACPVOTE24

The following states allow same day registration for general elections, ie: the presidential election:

California

Colorado

Washington DC

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Montana

Nevada

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Utah

Vermont

Virginia

Washington

Wisconsin

Wyoming

Note: North Dakota does not require formal voter registration, and upon presenting valid identification at a polling place, eligible citizens receive their ballot to vote.

all info here

The following states are required by law to give you time off to vote (between one and three hours):

Alabama

Alaska

Arizona

Arkansas

California

Colorado

Georgia

Illinois

Iowa

Kansas

Kentucky

Maryland

Massachusetts

Minnesota

Missouri

Nebraska

Nevada

New Mexico

New York

Ohio

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Tennessee

Texas

Utah

West Virginia

Wisconsin

Wyoming

*Most states requiring employers to permit voting leave also require that this time is paid. Among the above, the following do not: Alabama, Arkansas, Georgia, Massachusetts, North Dakota. (info here)

Again, it is your right to vote. If you are in line when the polls close, stay in line. It is your legal right to vote.

If you are turned away at the polls, say the following verbatim: “Give me a provisional ballot with a receipt as required by law.”

If you make a mistake on your ballot, you have the right to ask for a new ballot. Don’t cross anything out, simply ask for a new one.

Poll workers are required to make reasonable accommodations for voters who need, including ballots in other languages or translators.

Canvassing is not allowed at polling places, and no one is allowed to threaten or intimidate voters. You have the right to report anything of the like.

All info taken from here

Some tips:

Don’t wear political merch to the polls.

Don’t engage with anyone about your politics at the polls.

Don’t take phone calls inside your polling place — it can wait, please be respectful.

Research who is running locally and see what their policies are. Additionally, research any local propositions that may be on the ballot. The language on ballots is made to be purposefully confusing, so make sure you read everything carefully in addition to your research.

If you’re able to get up early on Election Day, go right when your polling place opens to beat the line.

REMEMBER: IT IS YOUR RIGHT TO VOTE!

Here are a list of state-by-state voter protection hotlines, as well as hotlines in various other languages:

Please vote tomorrow if you have not already. It’s so important, and choosing not to vote or voting for a third party is a vote for extremist measures. Vote down the ballot, and do not let anyone bully you into voting one certain way.

What we are seeing throughout this election cycle (and the last two election cycles) is entirely abnormal. The bullying we see from a certain side and its supporters is childish and dangerous. They spew false information, make racist remarks, and sexualize and discriminate fellow candidates. No single presidential candidate is completely and wholly good, so criticize accordingly.

Vote with those you love in mind, vote with your safety in mind, and vote for those who will be affected for decades to come. Vote for someone who speaks coherently, not for someone who is, let’s be honest, not cognitively alright — and that is the bare minimum of the issue.

If you have anything to add to this post, please do. If anything is incorrect, please let me know and I will gladly change it.

Vote. Vote. Vote.

[lightwing-s]

𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x reader

It must’ve been early when the knocking woke you up. Rolling in the warmth of the bed, you struggled to get up and once you did, you walked towards the door on pure muscle memory, still too tired to proceed with any coherent thoughts.

You opened it automatically, rubbing your heavy eyes and letting out a yawn.

“Ghost, Price and I were thinking that maybe…” you heard a voice you faintly remembered blurt out words you vaguely put together. “Yn? What are you doing in Simon's room?”

Freezing at the spot, your eyes dart open, as wide as they could possibly be, and a burst of energy runs through your body, making your mind jolt alight, finally deciding to work.

“Fuck.” you whisper, as you could hear the sound of objects falling and stumbling steps rushing to your side. Simon, still shirtless, holding up his loose sweatpants and whose mask had been clumsy put on, only one of his eyes properly fitting through it’s proper hole, arrived beside you breathlessly, pulling Gaz into the room and closing the door immediately thereafter.

Pushing the Sergeant onto the unmade bed, it took him a moment to catch his breath, spinning around on the same spot on the floor. He had fixed his mask, and the moment his eyes caught yours you could clearly understand his message.

We’re fucked.

Your eyes were restless, moving from Simon and Gaz so quickly it was making you dizzy. Your hands tugged at Simon’s shirt, dressing you like a dress, but barely covering your legs, ones you were not used to exposing in front of your comrades.

It was awkward, this whole situation an awkward mess you had put you all in.

I’m sorry, you mouthed and pleaded with your eyes as Simon stopped in front of you, his hands reaching for your arm, rubbing it warm, consoling you as much as he could as you two sulked in unwanted company.

“Can you two explain what’s going on?” asked your “guest”. Exchanging glances once more, you two fought over who would break him the news. “Or am I supposed to make my own conclusions?”

“‘S pretty obvious, innit?” Simon replied, dryly.

“I wanted to hear it from you, it looks too surreal.” he said, leaning back and straightening his position, a smirk spreading on his face, amusement evident in his eyes. “The Lt and Yn shagging.”

You looked back at Simon once more, his arms crossed on his chest making his biceps look twice their size, and his clear crunched jawline, probably planning three hundred different ways to murder his teammate. Touching his shoulder, you asked for allowance, watching as he considered the options before nodding in return.

“Gaz.” you called, catching his attention. “We’re married.”

Gaz’s head bobbed forward as his eyes almost jumped out of its socket, questioning the shocking news and his own reality. To confirm your words, showed him your hands, more specifically your ring finger, where a pair of letters, ‘SR’, were tattooed secretly on its side. The Lieutenant followed suit, uncrossing his arms to expose your initials drawn on the same spot in his ring finger. 

You two were married. Married, and no one in the base knew it. Hell, they didn’t even know you two had a thing for each other, was going through Gaz’s mind.

“Married?” he repeated, more an affirmation than a question, trying to process it in his head. “I can’t wait till Johnny knows it.”

“Johnny can’t know it.” you immediately cut him. “Please, Gaz. I-it’s…” private, you wanted to add, our lives. But a lump in your throat caught you, feeling everything you’d build crumbling down. 

You’d been so careful. You and Simon had taken every possible precaution since the first night you hooked up, not wanting anyone to find out your silly “mistake”, to the day of your wedding two years ago, the most important day in your entire life. And now the secret was done for, days counted even if Gaz were kind enough to keep it to himself.

“Private.” Gaz completed your words after a brief minute of silence, and the hope in your chest grew. “I get it. You know I’m not a snitch.” Standing up, he continued. “Your secret is safe with me.” and extending his hand towards your husband he wished. “Congratulations, Simon.”

Your husband, after second thoughts, shook Gaz’s hand in his, evident force used to make sure a warning was heard: you say anything, you’re dead. However, knowing him like no one else, you notice signs no one would, and the slight drop in his shoulder lets you know he trusted his Sergeant.

“Congratulations you too, Yn.” he turned to you, giving you a tight hug instead, lifting you off your feet for a brief moment before returning you to the floor. “Does this make me the best man over Johnny?”

Fishing for a pillow, Simon threw it straight into Gaz’s head as he rushed out of your room, giggles heading out with him. You too stood laughing, enjoying knowing your secret paradise wasn’t done for yet, and trying to calm down your sulking and annoyed husband.

.

a/n: short drabble to announce i'm now taking simon and other cod men requests ♡

[critterbitter]

re: your thoughts on legendaries (which is very cool and based) what’s your take on the differences between legends:arceus giratina and platinum giratina, especially since you defined them as hating the world? specifically the bit where giratina (at least seemingly) actively defended the world from cyrus trying to destroy it, after trying to do the same thing with volo’s help centuries prior?

Weird ghost worm upon yee (AND MORE ART BELOW CUT!)

Anyways, here’s my mad ramblings about Giratina and Arceus’s backstory.

Tldr: Giratina’s a conglomerate of angry souls scorned by Arceus.

(Here’s the playlist. It’s all about worms.)

How it Started.

The original one has chosen favorites over the passage of time. Heroes, legends, protagonists…

Arceus intervenes for those it loves, and the consequences of a god touching the mortal world is devastating in its entirety. One act of divine intervention causes entire civilizations to collapse. One whispered suggestion drives an entire legacy insane.

So Arceus, paralyzed by its love for the mortal world, acts very little, learning from its mistakes. Apathy soaks through every motion. And thus is the way of the world.

But people love the Originator. Religions are born from Arceus’s rare deeds, and generation on generation taught its benevolence. Imagine spending your entire life chasing after that golden light. Imagine knowing its real and there, and it loves you.

Imagine begging it for help, and seeing it turn away when you need it most.

I think those people would feel very abandoned indeed, if they spent their lives worshipping, and receiving no response at all.

Giratina is born from the abandoned, the lost, and the angry. They’re a hundred thousand souls who’s adoration turned to spite. They’re an entity who demands for Arceus to look at them, so they can finally rest.

Arcues can not look at them in full, because if it does Giratina will fade.

(Scio, beloved. For I can not let you go.)

So the Original One banishes the Unwanted Beast into the distortion world, and Giratina seethes, and starves, and screams.

(Here are two truths about the Beast Between Dimensions—

1. Some part of them still loves Arceus. Arceus is their anchor, after all— the sole reason why they exist, why they are. But Arceus can not love it back in a way that matters, and that hurts.

2. Giratina is made of a thousand voices. Some of these voices remember that there’s a world above. They miss it.)

Why Giratina attacked Hisui in PLA:

PLA Giratina’s not a new god, but they’re very, very bitter and barely coherent on a good day. Volo serves as a conduct to help unite the broiling mass of ghosts against Arceus, and thus Giratina’s hatred overcomes any flickering affections they have for the land.

It doesn’t help that Arceus intervened for Hisui, sending Akari to directly stop Volo from summoning Giratina.

(As for Volo, well.

Imagine being a child who was thrown into the future due to Palkia and Dialga’s fits, who learned his people (his world) no longer exist beyond a shadow in the history books and a single, bitter lore keeper.

Volo doesn’t remember his original culture beyond vague imprints and singing praises to Sinnoh, but he knew he was loved, and he knew his family is dust four hundred years in the past. There’s a special sort of rage in him that echoes Giratinas.)

(Why did you abandon my people, Arceus? What kind of god are you, to leave those who love you so callously behind?)

(Maybe some part of Giratina recognizes Volo, beyond a feeling of kinship.

Maybe some part of Giratina grieves because it recognized the child Volo was.)

When Volo gets his pound of flesh, (when he realizes Arceus is not beholden to him, that the inherent alien morality Arceus holds is not a personal slight), Giratina will finally rest.

Anyways what I’m trying to say is: Arceus is never a person, but a nebulous embodiment of the connection shared between pokemon and humans. It tries to experience what it’s supposed to embody, but millennia of watching people be and cease has given it choice paralysis, apathy, and a hoarding issue. If something lasts forever next to it? Good.

Giratina was once a person. (Correction, a LOT of persons.) They don’t think very linearly either, but they have context on mortal matters and are thus the more benevolent and malicious of the two. One day, time will smooth them into something like Arceus. We can only hope the two keep each other in check.

THE DIFFERENCE OF LEGENDS ARCEUS GIRATINA VS PLATINUM PEARL GIRATINA

If the ancient version of giratina is an angry conglomerate of ghosts scorned by Arceus, the modern iteration of Giratina’s a creature that’s more settled in its skin and more assured in its duties. Giratina still has beef with Arceus, but they unionized into one being who’s love of the mortal world has triumphed over its ancestral grudge. One might even postulate they have shifted their anchor from Sinnoh the god, to Sinnoh the place.

((We call this character developement. Good for you, weird ghost worm!))

(((FULL DISCLOSURE, VOLO BEING FROM THE PAST IS INSPIRED FROM FOXFALL. You know. The fic that got me into this fandom. Please give it some love.)))

[syluslnd]

Sssooo... thinking of Stalker Sylus the first time he gets to catch MC masturbating...

Stalker sylus catching you masturbating

You had no idea you were being watched, none at all. The apartment was supposed to be your safe space, where no one could see you in your most vulnerable moments. But Sylus had been watching for weeks now, his eyes always on you, tracking every move you made, every sigh, every flutter of your lashes.

Sylus had always thought you were pure, an innocent creature who stirred something primal in him. He'd set up the cameras around your home, hidden in the shadows of your bookshelves, the corners of your ceiling. He was never far, always lurking, always observing.

Tonight, though, was different. You had no idea what you were doing to him. The way your hand slipped beneath the sheets, your breath catching in the quiet of your bedroom. Sylus leaned forward in his dark office, eyes glued to the monitor. He couldn't look away, couldn't believe what he was seeing. His innocent little kitten, no longer as innocent as he thought.

The way you whimpered softly, biting your lip, your cheeks flushed—he watched with a dark satisfaction growing inside him, feeling a surge of possessiveness like never before.

His fingers hovered over his phone, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“Sweetie” he typed, the word dripping with that familiar teasing energy. “You know l've been watching, right?”

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, startling you. You grabbed it, heart pounding as you read the message. A cold shiver ran down your spine. He knows?

Before you could even react, another message came through. “I'm on my way to you. Don't move.”

Your heart raced as you stared at the screen, a mixture of fear and excitement building inside you. You looked around your empty room, the dim lighting suddenly feeling oppressive, like the walls were closing in on you. You knew he had his darker side-Sylus was dangerous, a man not to be crossed.

But he also had a soft spot for you. His obsession with you had always been more protective than harmful.

What had you gotten yourself into?

A knock sounded at your door mere minutes later, though you hadn't heard any footsteps.

Sylus was always swift, always silent. You hesitated, but the door creaked open before you could even reach it.

And there he was, leaning casually in the doorway, his dark suit clinging to every muscle, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

He closed the door behind him with a soft click, locking it, his lips curling into that maddening smirk.

"Well, well” he drawled, his voice low and dripping with amusement "I didn't know my little kitten had such a dirty side. How long have you been hiding that from me, sweetie?"

Your breath hitched as Sylus stalked toward you, his eyes never leaving yours. You felt your pulse quicken, the heat rising in your cheeks as he got closer, the intensity in his gaze sending a thrill through you. He stopped just inches away, his presence overwhelming, the air around him electric.

"You weren't supposed to see that" you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible.

He chuckled softly, tilting your chin up with one finger so that you were forced to meet his gaze. "Oh, but I did. And I have to say, kitten, I'm not disappointed." His voice was a low purr, dripping with that familiar, teasing tone. "I always thought you were innocent, but it seems l've been missing out."

His eyes darkened as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "Tell me, sweetie" he whispered, his breath warm against your skin "were you thinking about me?"

The question sent a jolt of panic through you but there was no denying the effect his voice had on you. Sylus knew exactly how to get under your skin, how to toy with your emotions and now that he knew your secret, he was going to enjoy every second of it.

"I-" You tried to form a coherent response but his hand had already found its way to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

"Don't be shy, kitten” he murmured, his lips grazing your neck. "You don't need to hide from me anymore. I've seen everything." His words were dark, yet there was something comforting about the way he held you, like even in this twisted obsession, you were safe in his arms.

The game had changed and you knew Sylus wouldn't let you forget it

You stood frozen in his arms, your mind spinning from his words, from his touch.

Sylus held you against him like you were his most prized possession-his obsession fully realized. The teasing look in his eyes deepened, flickering between dark amusement and something more primal.

His thumb traced slow circles against your hip, a touch that sent shivers up your spine.

"You know, sweetie" he continued in that low, velvety voice "I've been patient with you. Watching from afar...protecting you." His lips hovered just above yours, and you could feel his breath, warm and steady, fanning against your skin. "But now, I think it's time I stop being so... subtle."

Your heart pounded, torn between the thrill of his closeness and the fear of how much he knew-how much he'd seen. The intensity in his eyes, the possessiveness that radiated off him-it was overwhelming.

"Sylus, please" you breathed, not even sure what you were asking for. A part of you wanted him to stop, to give you space to think, but another part, the part he was awakening with every word, with every slow caress, wanted to give in. You could see the hunger in his eyes-the need to own every part of you.

His lips twisted into a knowing smirk.

"Please? You're going to have to be more specific than that, kitten. Do you want me to stop?" His fingers slid up to your chin, forcing you to look at him again, to confront the heat in his gaze.

You swallowed hard, your body betraying you with every beat of your heart. You should tell him to stop, but you couldn't deny the way your body responded to his. It was maddening.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours, so close that the air between you felt like a spark about to ignite. But he didn't kiss you. Not yet. Instead, he held you there, teasing, making you wait.

"You're mine” he murmured, his voice a rough whisper, "whether you admit it or not." His eyes darkened, his hand tightening slightly around your waist as if to make the point clear. "And now that l've seen how much you want me... well, kitten, there's no turning back."

A shiver ran through you, but this time, it wasn't just fear. It was anticipation. Sylus had seen everything-your vulnerability, your desires—and now he wasn't just your protector, your stalker. He was the one thing you couldn't run from.

Without warning, his lips crashed down on yours, the kiss rough and claiming. It was everything you'd feared, everything you'd secretly craved. His mouth moved against yours with a hunger that stole your breath, his hands gripping your hips possessively as he deepened the kiss.

When he finally pulled back, you were left gasping, your body trembling under the weight of what had just happened. He looked down at you with that smug, satisfied grin, as if he knew exactly the effect he had on you.

"You'll never be able to hide from me, sweetie," he said softly, almost sweetly, but there was that edge to his voice, a dark promise laced within the words. "I'll always know what you're doing, what you're thinking."

His hand slid up your arm, fingers brushing against your neck, making you shiver. "And next time," he whispered, his lips close to your ear, "you won't be playing with yourself alone. You'll be mine. Completely."

The room felt heavy with tension, the air thick with the weight of his words. You knew Sylus was serious. There was no escaping him, not now, not after this.

And maybe, just maybe, you didn't want to escape at all.

[scribs-dibs]

cherry wine

(separate) belle & wise, gn reader, kinda ooc... because im still early game i think..., late-night proofreading. godspeed if ur reading this 🫶🏾

wc; ~1.7k total

phaethon can navigate hollows with ease. but a crush?

Wise does not hear any of the words that play loudly on the screen in front of him. He doesn’t care to. Though this is one of his favorites– his brain is occupied by you just sitting here, beside him.

The documentary buzzes on about its topic, but Wise can’t make out a word over the sound of his rapidly beating heart. He’s stiff– sat up straight as a board even if the soft cushions of the couch beckon him to do otherwise. He can’t think. Usually he is the one who can iron out the folds of a situation, a cool collected mind built to play in contrast to his sister. But now his thoughts are a mess- contorted underneath the blunt of his embarrassment. If Belle were here now, she’d laugh right in his face.

It’s her fault he’s in this mess to begin with.

(“You suck at hiding it, you know,” Belle is at his side in the doorway, waving you goodbye for the day. Her words make him jolt.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Your crush, obviously.”

Wise is almost sure that for a moment, his heart stops beating. He barely manages to suppress the gasp that threatens to spill out of his throat.

Instead he brushes it off, turns on his heel pointedly and shakes his head from a sudden bout of fake-exhaustion.

“Okay. I’m calling it a night—”

“You’re probably not the only one to like them, Wise.”

He stops in his tracks.

Because she's right. In the months the two have come to know you, you've been the kind, helpful neighbor who has helped them through thick and thin. You are known on Sixth Street, a regular name heard from store to store— he'd be foolish to think that he's the only one that has warmth bloom in his chest at the sight of you. Damn.

“Buuut,” Belle nudges him playfully on the shoulder, her signature smile making her eyes crinkle at the edges, “You could be the first to make a move.”

“Belle–”

“I’ll even help! Come on Wise!”)

And now he’s here, with his heart fit to burst out of his chest.

“So…uh,”

Your attention is on him now, the smoothness of his voice pulling you from the visuals of the movie. Little does he know, Wise is a pleasant sight for the eyes. He has a soft, lopsided smile, and his complexion is tinted with warmth because of his room’s dim lighting. (It’s strange, though, that the more you look the more intense it seems to get.) His eyes are usually crystal clear and focused, but now they are glossed over with something that looks like unease.

The longer you stare, the harder his heart beats against his ribcage. It’s not fair, truly. You’ve only sat next to him and looked in his direction, yet his face feels like it burns and his tongue is too heavy to form proper words. Movies are his thing. Belle had suggested this because it should be easy. But he can’t think straight when butterflies are soaring in his stomach.

At the very least, he wants to see if you’re even enjoying the documentary, so he wills his mouth to do something other than open and immediately snap shut.

“Do you…like me?”

The movie. He meant the movie. The sentence was supposed to be: Do you like the movie.

There is something pitiful, Wise thinks, in how he scrambles to make up for his botched words. The calm, steady tones of his voice are replaced by chopped up mix-mashes of sentences, trying desperately to weave into something coherent.

To no avail of course.

His mouth can’t seem to stop now that it’s started, fragment after fragment tumbling freely out of his mouth– like it has a mind of its own. He’s flushed up to the ears, the pink flush to his skin now all- encompassing. His mouth just keeps moving– until you manage to stop it with your own.

You can feel his breath hitch in his throat. Wise doesn’t think he deserves a reward this good after fumbling so badly, but when your lips brush against his he can’t find it in himself to be truly upset. You are pulling at the edges of his jacket, hands digging hard into the material to ensure he doesn’t try to pull away. You can’t stand to see him apologize for crossing some sort of nonexistent line– your feelings are returned.

“Does that answer your question?”

Wise has to take a moment to breathe. The kiss was a short little thing, one that was chaste in nature– you just wanted him to be sure of your own feelings. The blue-green of his eyes are focused on you– truly focused, this time, not a fleeting glance that is quickly cast away.

“Wise?”

Your voice snaps him out of the daze he was in.

“Yeah. Yeah, but,”

It’s his turn to pull you in this time– subtly soft hands cupping your cheeks.

“Would you mind ‘answering’ me again?”

Belle is someone you’ve always looked up to.

She’s sweet and smart, and throughout all your errands throughout Sixth Street she’s always available to lend a hand. You couldn’t find a paper long enough to list all the reasons you’re grateful for her presence.

That being said, when you’re face to face with her, you can’t quite seem to get yourself together.

“C’mon, you’re not going easy on me, are you?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Belle pouting, brows furrowed and bottom lip jutted out. It’s adorable, and you’re so taken that you fully run into her snake on the arcade machine.

It was her idea to go out once the day had come to a close. The sun still hangs lazily in the sky, casting everything in gold. The arcade is a place where you can relax after being pulled this way and that by different people around town. This time, Belle joins you, offhandedly mentioning how she also needs to destress from such a long day at work.

You’re a bit distracted, though, when the neon lights reflect in her eyes and make her smile that much more radiant.

“You’re not answering…” Belle gasps, complete with a theatrical hand to her chest, “You are, aren’t you!”

“No, of course not! I just,” It dawns on you that the arcade is nearly empty, and suddenly this one-on-one game of snake seems far more intimate than it actually is. It’s just you and her. You can’t help but feel a bit giddy on the inside– the excitement must deal a blow to your accuracy.

“I’m just off my game, that’s all.”

Belle hums, contemplative. You can’t help but feel worried when the gears of her brain start turning.

“In that case…That just means we need to up the steaks!”

“Up the steaks?”

She nods, and her smile grows more devious by the second.

“Mhm! Let’s say…” Belle taps her chin, and though she is putting on a show of trying to think of something, you have a sneaking suspicion that she has already decided what it is she’s after, “The loser has to give something to the winner?”

You know, distantly, that this has to play into Belle’s hands somehow. But she’s never done you any harm, and her eagerness is so palpable that you can’t help but concede.

“Alright, alright. Fine.”

There is nothing but the buzz and click of the machine for a while, and Belle was right– the new motivation lights a fire underneath you, and suddenly your nerves are replaced by a burning desire to win. You don’t know what you’ll ask for if you do– by the time you two are finished here, with the score finally settled, you’re sure most of Sixth Street’s shops will be closed. But you want to win.

You swerve at the last minute to avoid Belle’s snake, grabbing a diamond on the tile in front by the skin of your teeth. But Belle has always been sneaky, able to pull a last-minute change in a situation with ease. She cuts a sharp turn, and the rest of her snake is able to encircle yours. You watch with a sickly sense of dread as your snake breaks into itty-bitty pieces.

You heave a sigh– at least it was a good game. But you’re still soured at the loss of a win that was so close.

“Aww, what’s wrong?” Belle is grinning, eyes forming little crescents, “Don’t tell me you’re a sore loser…”

You roll your eyes, but you’re far too endeared to be properly annoyed.

“’Course not. You won,”

The arcade’s lights have started to dim by now, the peachy-colored sky dipped into inky darkness as you step out.

“Even if you were sneaky about it.”

“Was not!”

You glare out of the corner of your eye, and again you are met with a playful pout.

“What is it you want, anyway?” You busy yourself with walking a few steps ahead, avoiding her moonlit face as much as possible. How can you put up a fight when she looks at you like that?

“Well,” Belle gazes upon the shops along Sixth Street, their windows dark and their doors closed, “Everything is closed for the night, looks like. I’ll have to get a bit creative, huh?”

Belle’s footsteps grow louder, and before you know it she’s made her way in front of you, eyes full of starlight.

“How about…”

She takes slow, calculated steps toward you, and your heart leaps in your throat.

“A kiss?”

Belle is but a few inches away from you, her head tilted and her gaze soft. Her voice is quiet and unusually meek as she says it, like her confidence had reached its limit.

“…O-of course, if you don’t want to–”

You pull her in before you can second-guess yourself. Her lips are plush, and though she is initially surprised by your sudden movement, it takes barely a second for you to feel them smile against your own. Her arms link around you like it’s the easiest thing she’s ever done, and the silver-tinted street is drowned out like it never mattered.

When you part, her face is flushed a pretty shade of pink. You aren’t better off– you’re so happy that you now stand on wobbly legs.

“Happy now?”

“Hm, not quite. I think you should give me another.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

ty for reading! rbs w/comments are appreciated!

[familyvideostevie]

steel drum weight of me

joel miller x fem!reader, 18+ mdni

summary: joel comes back from his wall shift with hands in need of some serious tlc. but why stop there? | 3.2k

warnings: fem!reader, fluff turned to smut, a tender blowjob, p in v sex, unprotected sex, riding, creampie

a/n: this could be in the same universe as come care about me and watching you with wonder but who knows. what matters is it's a post-part i jackson au and all is well. this is my first fic in a while and i hammered it out today so hopefully it's coherent. <3 series masterlist here.

__

Jackson looks its best in the winter.

You've always thought so with its endless skies gone white, blending in with the grey clouds carrying the constant threat of snow. The peaks you never tire of, such ethereal beauty in a world otherwise gone to shit, looming over town with a steadfastness that you can fool yourself into thinking means protection, means safety. In reality, they're just something nice to look at when you have a free moment.

It's also fucking cold.

But you can deal with that. You've spent more winters in the last twenty years than you'd like to remember mostly outside, freezing your ass off, fingers so numb you could barely pull the trigger. But when it counted, you did.

Winter now means a town full of children laughing and having snowball fights. It means big pots of stew and your pick of hats, scarves, and a good pair of boots. It means a warm house to go back to every night, a bed to crawl into, and a man you love to hold you.

Things could be worse.

You're home first today. Joel and Ellie are on the wall and have been since mid-morning. The light is already going, the sun dipping behind the Tetons, sky that winter mix of purple and pink that makes the breath catch in your throat no matter how many times you see it. There's a flu going around and taking people out for a few days at most but it means fewer bodies free for the wall and for patrol. You're pulling a double tomorrow and you're already looking forward to the hot bath you'll take after.

Today, though, you change from your work clothes to something softer, a sweater that travels between your drawer and Joel's, thick socks Dina gave you for your birthday last year. It's hard to heat houses like yours the way you used to but it works well enough to fight the chill so long as you layer. That's the name of the game these days: adapting.

You set the kettle to boil and forgo thinking about dinner for a few hours. Joel won't drink tea with you but if Ellie stops by she'll have some. Maybe you can convince her to watch the movie you pulled from the library this week. You love him, but Joel just doesn't appreciate comedies.

The front door creaks, the bell you have hanging from the doorknob jingling.

"S'me," Joel calls into the house. "You home?"

"Making tea." The kettle isn't steaming yet so you lean against the counter and wait.

The sounds of his return are familiar even though you can't see him. He locks the door with a click, shrugs his jacket off with a sigh. He sits down on the bench you put in the entryway so he can take his boots off. The thunk of one and then the other. He'll tuck them next to yours under the coat rack. When the weather is bad you try to come in the back door so not as to track snow through the house but you don't want his back to get any worse so a bench in front makes sense.

The kettle screams. You pull it off quick and pour the water into your mug -- a chipped green one with a dinosaur holding a cookie that you find endlessly amusing -- and leave it to steep. The floor creaks under your socked feet as you make your way into the hall. Joel still sits on the bench digging into the meat of one palm with his thumb like he's working the feeling back into them.

He looks up and his jaw softens a little. His cheeks are rosy from the cold and his hair a mess from the wind. "Evenin," he says.

"How was the wall?"

"Fine." He stops messing with his hands and rolls his shoulders back with a grunt. "Ellie swears she saw a moose on her last patrol. Said to tell you. I think she's fuckin' with me. How was your shift?"

"Fine," you echo. "Is she coming for dinner?"

He shakes his head. "Game night at Jesse's."

You cross the remaining distance between you and he parts his legs automatically so you can stand between his knees. You run a hand through his hair, pushing the greying fringe back from his eyes. He looks up at you and finally smiles, just a little. You drag your hand down the side of his face and enjoy the feel of his beard on your skin.

"Maybe she did see a moose." He rolls his eyes and brings a hand up to cover yours. You lean down to kiss him but something catches your eye and you pull back, tugging your hand from beneath his to circle his wrist.

"Jesus, Joel." He makes a surprised sound.

"Hey now, what --"

You pull his other hand from his knee and hold them both close to your face, turning them over in the light of the entryway. "You didn't wear gloves, did you?"

He just shrugs. That means someone else on the wall -- probably Ellie -- forgot theirs and he handed his own over.

The skin of his knuckles is dry and cracked, the rest of his palm dry and cold to the touch. You've seen them bloody, broken and bruised, and compared to that, this is tame. Welcome, almost. But you know he won't do a damn thing about it, let himself bleed rather than take a second to make things better.

And you've never minded this part. Taking care of him, making him slow down and rest for even just a little bit. You both know you'd get your hands dirty or worse for him and he for you, but this is the part he has trouble with. So you take the reigns.

It's part of how you fit together -- part of how you look after each other.

"We've got something for this." Joel looks unamused. You press a light kiss to one of his knuckles and his nostrils flare. "Go sit on the couch," you say.

"I'm fine --"

"Joel, they'll bleed if you don't let me --"

"I said I'm --"

"Hey," you say. He hears the finality of your tone and lets you have it, sighing your name in one long breath.

"Alright," he says. "Move, then."

You press a quick kiss to his lips and release his hands to step back. He stands with his usual grunt and you have to stop yourself from leaning into the width of him, from wrapping your arms around him and slotting your nose in his neck and never letting go.

"It's that salve Dina brought over last week," you tell him. "The new one for the winter. Smells nice. Good for this kind of stuff."

Joel makes his way to the couch and you fetch the tin from the kitchen.

"What's it made of?"

"Uh -- oil? And some flowers, I think? Wax, maybe."

He's settled into the cushions when you return, smirking. "It's okay to say you don't fuckin' know."

You sit next to him and unscrew the top, folding your legs so you're facing him. "Well then, I don't fuckin' know." You're sure to imitate his drawl.

"Cute."

"Gimme those hands, big guy."

The salve smells faintly of lavender and it's cold on your fingertips. Joel extends his right hand and you work it into his skin slowly, extra careful around where it's cracked and split. You feel his eyes on you but you let him look.

"Feels good, huh?" He hums. "If you'd wear your gloves then --"

"What was I gonna do, let her freeze?" So it was Ellie, then. You flick your gaze up and find his brow furrowed. If you have a free hand you'd smooth the crease with your thumb.

"No," you say. "Guess it's a damn good thing you have me here, then."

He chuckles, a throaty, rusty sound. "Guess so."

You finish the first hand and motion for his second. He gives it to you and you dig your thumbs into the meat of his palm. Joel lets you touch him whenever you like, for the most part. Pressing into his side when you walk down the street in town, trailing your lips down his neck until he whines just a little in your bedroom. You've worked knots out of his shoulders and cleaned blood from surface wounds. You can never get enough of him, of his warmth, the expanse of his tanned skin all yours for the taking.

And, boy, he touches you back.

So you take your time. You rub the salve between his fingers, over the ridges of knuckles split so many times you don't even know about. His hands are rough even when they're not dry and cracking, callused from years of hard work. From years of violence and playing guitar, shooting a gun and holding the people he loves. Dotted with scars and nicks, hands that have touched every part of you.

Joel's slightly slimy finger taps your chin. "You okay?" You've been stroking the same bit of his hand for who knows how long.

"Yeah," you say and mean it. You rub your own hands together to soak in some of the salve before putting the lid back on the tin and standing. "Need to let it soak in."

"Feels soaked in already," he grumbles.

"Stay there." He purses his lips. "I mean it, Joel."

"Bossy today," he says. "There's wood that needs choppin'." You ignore him since he's just being annoying. The salve goes back in the kitchen and his voice trails after you. "And I told Tommy I'd --"

You turn on the tap. "You gotta let that soak in," you say again from the sink.

"What? Can't hear over the water."

You turn off the tap and dry your hands. Joel is still on the couch when you return. "Sorry," you say. You run your hand through his hair again and settle back down next to him. "I said be patient."

"Don't think that's what you said."

"It's what I meant."

And he looks at you in that way that always makes your face feel hot. Like he's seeing right to the bone of you, like he's laying you bare on the floor in his mind. Like he never wants to stop looking at you, next to him on the couch, leg pressed to yours. Like he loves you.

"Alright," he says.

You get an idea, the flames licking at your belly and your hands itching to touch him again, to touch him differently than before. That idea has you grabbing a pillow and tossing it to the floor, has you getting up and drawing the curtains before you sink to your knees before him.

Joel only looks mildly surprised, eyebrows raised, mouth tugging up at the corner. "Now, I ain't gonna complain but --"

"Then don't," you say. You tug his shirt from his waistband and start working on his belt. "Gotta pass the time somehow. And I don't know what we're doing for dinner yet, so maybe I'm just stalling."

"Hell of a way to stall." He reaches for you to touch your face, maybe, or help you with his belt, when you click your tongue. "We can just go to the community hall--"

"Don't touch," you remind him. "You have to let it--"

"Soak, Jesus, yeah, yeah." Joel tips his head back along the sofa and takes one deep breath. If he really wanted to he could ignore you and you'd let him get away with it, but if there's one thing you and Joel have solidified, it's trust. He trusts you to take care of him, to handle him with hands that love him.

So you do. He lifts his hips just a little so you can tug his jeans down, zipper undone and button popped. You pull out his cock, already half-hard at the promise of what's to come. You spit into your palm and stroke him once root to tip and he hisses. More blood flows and he stiffens in your hand.

"You just gonna look at it?"

You give him a squeeze for being a shit. He laughs but it sounds punched out, on the edge. Frankly it's an effort not to take him in your mouth right away. You've always loved this -- the exchange of power, the trust. You're the one on your knees but you're calling the shots. And he's mouthwatering. The way his cock curves a little, the vein that runs along the underside. The mushroom head a little pinker than the rest, the wiry hair at his base. The hefty weight of his balls in your hand, on your tongue. You know how to make it good for him and it's good for you, too.

Joel opens his mouth to no doubt say something else annoying so you finally drag your tongue along the vein, swirling a little at the top before taking just the tip of him in your mouth. His precome is salty. You work your hand along the rest of him as you start to suck in earnest, hollowing your cheeks and taking a little more each time.

"Look so pretty, baby," Joel says. His voice is gravely, broken in his throat. You manage to take almost all of him and you swallow, just once. Your reward is your name spilling from his mouth in a groan.

It's messy. Spit beads at the corner of your mouth and drips a little as you work him, breathing through your nose when you take him all the way. So good, takin' all of me, keep goin'.

Joel has clearly forgotten your directive as he winds one hand in your hair and pulls just a little, just enough to make you moan around him. You don't scold him for it, instead keeping your eyes on his face. His head is tipped back just a little, lips parted at he gazes down at you. His other arm is stretched along the length of the couch, his fingers digging into the fabric as you bob on his cock.

You know he's close. You can feel how he's trying hard to keep his hips down, trying not to fuck your throat cause usually he asks first. So it's only a little surprising when he pulls you off him, eyes a little glazed and some color high on his cheeks.

He wipes spit from the corner of your mouth with the pad of his thumb. "Why don't you c'mere?" he says. "Let me fill you up."

"Joel." This was supposed to be about making him feel good. You know even if he comes in your mouth he'll ask you let him touch you, so frankly you don't mind if he fucks you or not.

He smirks, presses his fingers into the side of your neck a little. You swallow so he can feel it. "We both know you can take it," he drawls, eyes dark. "Always gets you goin', my cock in your mouth."

You can feel the heat between your legs, the arousal pooling in your gut. He's right but he's also an asshole. "You're annoying," you tell him.

"So is that a no?"

You drag the flat of your tongue up his shaft one last time as punishment before standing, using his knees as leverage to get off your own. He shucks off his jeans the rest of the way as you drag down your pants, letting them pool with your underwear at your feet before stepping out. Joel holds out a hand for you to balance on and you take it, putting your other on his shoulder.

"Feels softer already," you mutter. Joel snickers and you straddle him. He uses one hand to drag his fingers through your cunt and you fail to swallow a gasp.

"Well, look at that," he says. "I was right." He pushes two fingers into you and they go easily, your hips jerking as he pumps them in and out once, twice, and then you're empty again.

"Smug bastard," you manage. He brings his hand to his mouth and takes a long lick before surging forward to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you even wetter.

Joel licks into your mouth and you kiss him back sloppily, desperately, in the way you know he likes. You're so busy with that hands on his face, his beard scratching your skin deliciously, that you don't notice what else he's doing. His hand presses into the bare skin of your back under your shirt and you lift up a little on instinct and then --

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance and his hand presses again and you meet the movement of his hips with your own and he fills you with just one stroke.

You moan in unison, Joel's arm wrapping around your back as you curl yours around his neck, mouths not so much pressed together as hovering as you pant, as you adjust. Even with how wet you are Joel is a stretch, a welcome one, but a stretch regardless. You shift your hips, roll them back and forth a little.

"Go on, then," you tell him. "Fuck me."

He laughs.

His lips leave yours and trail down your chin, sucking spots onto your neck and on that spot that makes you keen as he does what you ask. He goes slow at first, letting you meet him thrust for thrust. One hand snakes up your shirt, thumbs at your nipple when he finds no bra in the way. You wing your fingers in his hair and tug, tug until he picks up the pace, until all you can hear is the smack of his flesh against yours.

"Joel -- Joel -- right there --"

"M'not gonna -- I -- fuck --"

"Said you were gonna fill me up, didn't you?" you pant, managing to find a bit of cheek in the haze of your fucking. "C'mon, Miller. Don't keep a lady wait--"

His hips pick up the pace, his hands pressing into you hard enough to bruise. You give up trying to tease him and hang on for dear life, managing to snake a hand between your legs to rub at your clit as he pounds into you. The only thing you can say is his name over and over as you feel the hook pull taught, feel the head of his cock brush against and then pound that spot that makes your vision blur.

Joel comes just before you do, his thrusts stuttering and his name on your lips. You feel it, the heat inside you and it's enough to send you over the edge, your cunt squeezing him as he empties inside you.

You press your forehead to his and catch your breath. He palms your neck, your jaw, slides his thumb lazily under your eye and kisses the corner of your mouth.

"Hell of a salve," he manages.

You slot your lips over his. "Wear your damn gloves." Joel laughs and it shifts him inside you. Even softening it makes you both hiss a little. "Just gimme a second."

His hand drags up and down your back, pressing into your spine. "Take your time," he says. "M'clearly not goin' anywhere."

"You never stop, do you?"

Joel kisses you again. "'fraid not."

You laugh into his neck. "Good."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[deadmeat666]

Sometimes I watch the manga or anime and I remember that sakusa is someone who hates physical contact and anything that contains germs,with that in mind, wouldn't he look cute while he's under you begging for more while you scoff and ask him where his germophobia went?

PUSHING BOUNDARIES, PUSHING IT IN. k. sakusa x top male reader

warnings. pushing boundaries, reader is extremely rough, kiyoomi's in a daze, kiyoomi is being referred to as ''bunny" at some point, unprotected sex

a/n. FUCK. you could consider this as a short one but i love you sakusa anon for being down bad. i half-assed when proofreading.

Tears. Tears were washing down his cheeks and they pooled onto the cool, wooden floor that burned into his bare skin. His face was scrunched up and red like he had been under the sun for far too long, but he was shivering yet everything felt so hot to him. He was convulsing from the skin to skin contact all over his body, rubbing and slapping against him.

"What happened to you? You're such a dirty boy now" You brushed back his damp curls stuck to his forehead. He whined with that damn look in his eyes looking into yours; the look of a wounded fawn, quivering on its legs and on its mere last breaths.

"It's natural that someday you should be stepping out of your comfort zone, and you need someone much more mature to guide you through it, hm?" To prove your words, you lifted his leg high up to hook onto your shoulder, pulling him much deeper into the situation than he wanted to be in. Kiyoomi could feel the door closing in on him, no escape as he was bound by your hands like chains, your eyes like shackles to his neck.

Pleasure and pain, he was walking on a tightrope between the two pits when he was with you, always. Someday it was the other, and vice-versa. You could never spare him.

"M-m.." Kiyoomi racked his brains for words he could say with somehow half the coherency without tripping over again.

"What is it boy?"

"More! Give whatever you have to me! P- ple- Ah!" The second you lifted up his hips he was on cloud nine. His insides were screaming from how well and rough you were handling him, with such a good amount of fervour and lust you could grant him with that cock of yours.

His mouth twitched, and those empty eyes of his could only gaze in a daze. You still haven't cum.

"Easy there. Stay awake for me, okay? Can you do that?" You coaxed empty, guiding whispers that fell on deaf ears, but he still gave a small nod.

"Good, good."

Kiyoomi's body was rocked by you on the floor, the sensation of it was sure to leave him yearning for more in the future. There was no way he could even look at empty, vacant areas without having to fantasize about you tarnishing his dignity on the spot.

"You're making me cum, bunny. I'm- fuck.. I'm sure you're able to take it all in"

Kiyoomi's muscles tensed and the feeling of your semen inside him brought his body into a convulsion and led him into a whimpering mess. He was like a dog; panting, slobbering on his saliva with how many times he had cum just from tonight's session.

From now on, be sure to have it a little rough with him. You never know what kind of slut he'd turn into every time.

[wbtsan]

SEX BUDDIES͏͏͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏. ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏J.YUNHO

synopsis. ever since yunho gave you an idea of being sex buddies, you couldn't really say no to him. considering the fact that he's been your longtime crush for ages, he surely wouldn't notice. right?

au. student!yunho x student!female!reader | tags. unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it), make out session, sexual content, semi-public sex, dirty talk, praising, mentions of y/n, nicknames (princess, baby etc) | rating. mature | wc. 680+

authors note. i want to go back to the time where i first watched the 'wake up' performance for the first time because WHAT THE FUCK?? who expected them to do this shit? definitely not me!!

networks. @newworldnet

-

"so is that a yes?" yunho questions. yunho just asked you to become his 'sex buddy' while you're here blankly staring at him, wondering what he just said. "hello? earth to y/n?" he says as he waves his hand infront of your eyes. "huh? what? yeah! sorry my bad." you say, getting yourself out of your daydreaming. "is that a yes to become my sex buddy?" yunho once again questions. "um, yeah sure. let's just take it slow though alright?" you say. its your first time actually having sex, but you just wouldn't get the courage to actually tell him. you thought that if you told him, he would distance himself from you. hopefully this wouldn't happen, right?

-

out of all the places, you had to be in a bathroom stall. making out with yunho. how? you guys were happily shopping, looking in a shopping store for new outfits when all of a sudden, yunho just decides to whisper in your ear, "im feeling really horny princess. let's stop the shopping for a bit, deal?" he says, smirking. your face instantly turns red. "yunho! not in public!" you whisper-yelled, hitting his shoulder. "no one's gotta know about it. we'll be quick." yunho whispers. you sigh, accepting defeat and following him to one of the closest bathrooms.

-

"mmm. you're fucking delicious, like sweet, ripe peaches. you're so wet and im going to lap up every.single.fucking drop." yunho's hands pushed into her hair without her even telling him too. you wanted his on mouth on yours, but you wanted to get to taste him too. oh boy, his tongue pressed against your pink, wet pussy in just the right way. "oh yunnie, yes." your legs wobbled a little as he pushed you higher and higher. then they outright shook. another minute of having him lick and suck and her knees were going to give out under you. they'd end up as a pile on the floor. you gripped yunho's hair tight and tried to hang on. you might have too if if he hadn't made that damn sexy low growling sound. hearing yunho actually enjoy going down on you was more than you could handle. you threw your head back on the door of the stall and groaned through your orgasm, your legs giving out and your body went into overload. luckily, you didn't end up on the floor as yunho catcher you swiftly, holding onto you. "don't worry, i got you."

the unrelenting stretch drove the oxygen from your lungs, and your body involuntarily bucked and twisted as you struggle to accommodate him. "please.." you weren't sure whether you were either begging him to stop or make you come. both. neither. it didn't matter. all you knew was you craved something only he could give and you desperately hoped yunho could figure it out on his own because you could barely do something, not even remember your name because of how thick his dick was. yunho gripped your thighs to hold you in place while he withdrew. slowly, until just the tip of his cock was inside you. then he thrusts back in. deeper. faster. harder. any remaining coherence shattered as he fucked you against the door with so much force it rattled your bones.

everything blurred. your nails dug into his shoulders as squeals and whimpers poured out of you, mingling with yunho's grunts and the definitely not child friendly clapping. your entire body was on sensory overload. no matter how much you took, it wasn't enough. more. you need more. yunho's teeth grazed against your neck. "still think im boring?" his taunt whispered into your ear with a particularly savage thrust. white-hot sensation ripped through you. tears leaking from your eyes, and you bucked like an unbroken filly, wild animal. his groans fill the stall as his hot white cum fills you up. "yeah, take all that cum baby. you better keep it in you, got it?" he says, chuckling softly before removing himself from under you. "alright, hurry up. we need to continue shopping. we'll continue this later, alright?"

[satorusluver]

Virgin!Choso x fem!reader

Minors DNI

Word count: 650 ish

Tags/warnings: she/her pronouns, hand job, blow job for like two seconds, premature ejaculation lol

Choso, who is 150+ years old but has never been intimate with anyone, so he's shy and nervous and so so sensitive when you two first start doing things. He audibly gasps when you first palm him through his robes, and at first you think maybe you've done something wrong. But when you ask him if he's okay he gives an eager nod, his dark eyes already glazing over with pleasure and you've barely even touched him. And when you ask him if he'd like to go further, he chokes out a desperate "please, my love" in that deep voice of his.

Choso, who lets out a soft whimper when you finally free his cock from its confines and an even louder one when you wrap your hand around it. His dick is hot and heavy in your hand, already twitching and throbbing and aching to be touched. It's even prettier than you imagined it would be, too -perfectly straight, long and pale with a girth a little thicker than average, and a dark pink mushroom head that's already weeping precum from how excited he is.

Choso, who's never been touched by anyone else in that way, who's surprisingly vocal for someone who's usually so quiet as you slowly pump him up and down, taking your time trying to figure out how he likes it. Except he likes anything you do, every touch is heaven to him. It's unlike anything he could have imagined to feel your soft hand on him, and when your thumb rubs along his leaking slit, he involuntarily bucks his hips up into your hand with a low "oh, fuuuck." Your slow but firm touch feels so good that after only a few minutes he's already beginning to feel that pleasurable pressure building in the pit of his stomach, feeling his abs tense slightly each time you stroke your hand up his length.

Choso, whose pale face is so red and flustered at the sight of his pretty girlfriend lowering her face down to his achingly hard cock. He can't help but note the size of it compared to your face, but all coherent thoughts fly out the window the moment your hand curls around his base and your tongue comes out. His breath hitches in his throat when you slowly, teasingly lick your way up his length, never once breaking eye contact. It's the hottest thing Choso has ever seen, you're the hottest thing Choso has ever seen, and before he can stop himself, he's blowing his load then and there like the pathetic virgin he is. He opens his mouth to warn you, but all that comes out is a strangled moan before his cock twitches violently and a thick load of cum spurts out messily, covering your face in the thick, white substance.

Choso barely has time to enjoy the sweet sensation before he's panting out an apology, his whole body still tingling with the aftermath of his orgasm. "I'm sorry, shit, I'm so sorry. I couldn't help it, you were so good and you know I-" he babbles on, his face only turning redder with every word. Choso is petrified, terrified you'll be angry with him, disgusted with him, that you'll think he's as pathetic as he feels right now. So it's much to his surprise when you let out an amused giggle instead of a repulsed groan. And even more so when you wipe a streak of his cum off your face with two of your fingers before bringing those fingers to your lips and sucking them clean with an all too pleased smirk.

"It's okay, baby," you reassure him gently, "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself." You lean down once more to place a brief kiss to his still half-hard cock with a little wink. "I'll clean myself up and then maybe we can try again in a little while, yeah?"

[ashasdiary]

Perfection

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader Synopsis: PWP. Gojo explores his favourite pastime. CW: established relationship, fluff, smut - cunnilingus, fingering, edging, unprotected sex, brief cockwarming, creampie Word Count: 1.8k A/N: hehe enjoy this <3

Gojo Satoru is the epitome of the phrase “duality of man”. Why? You’ve watched firsthand how he effortlessly switches between who he is at his core (playful, intelligent, selfless and sweet), and who society has shaped him to become on the outside (hardened, stoic, serious, but still intelligent). 

He’s so easily adaptable to everything and everyone that one moment he’ll be having a gentle conversation with Megumi about working on his technique and the next he’ll be butting heads with the higher ups about assigning appropriate missions to his students. One moment, he will be taunting special-grade spirits and exorcising them, and the next? He will be on his knees worshipping your body, his head locked between your legs, while he hungrily laps at your juices. And that, you’ve found, is his favourite pastime. 

Your very being is one that hypnotises everyone that you meet, but your body is a thing to marvel. And Gojo, being the protective but possessive boyfriend that he is, has decided that since he is the only one who gets to see your body in its entirety, he will surely show his appreciation for it every damn chance he gets. 

So here you are, and here he is: you with your bare body writhing in the sheets of your shared bed, and Gojo with his, perched before you, strong arms wrapped tightly around your thighs as he devours your pussy like it’s the first time. 

The range of his character is so perfect to you and it turns you on so much knowing that this man is wholeheartedly yours. 

Your soft gasps and your breathy moans are like music to his ears; sounds which make his cock throb. He rocks his hips absentmindedly against the bed, trying to find some reprieve, while he circles your sensitive clit with his tongue. Your hand threads through his soft hair, and you tug on it lightly, just the way he likes. This, combined with the sinful sounds spilling from your lips, riles him up more and he sucks on your clit, teasing the tips of his fingers at your soaked entrance. 

Your breath shudders as you look down at him and as soon as you do, he looks up having sensed your gaze, your eyes locked. His pupils are blown so wide that only a thin ring of blue remains, and he notes the same with yours. God, you fucking loved this man. 

“Satoru,” you breathed as he pushed his middle fingers into you slowly, continuing to tease your swollen clit with his tongue. All the while he kept his gaze locked with yours. 

“I love it when you say my name like that,” he grinned, slowly retracting his fingers and pushing them into you again. 

“O-oh,” you moan, pulling a little harder on his hair. His cock is throbbing at the sight of you. He pumps his fingers slowly, the copious amounts of slick seeping from you making it smooth. He flicks your clit with his tongue and reaches up to tease your nipple with his fingers. Rolling the hard peak between his thumb and index, your other hand covers his over your breast and you buck your hips against his hand and mouth, letting out a pathetic whine from just how well he’s pleasing you. 

He’s playing your body like his favourite instrument, and the way it’s responding to his touch is truly magnetic.

“Say my name again, baby,” he requests, eyes shining as he watches you, your lips parted as you try to form coherent thoughts and words. 

“S…ah…,” you moan again as he curls his fingers inside you slightly, caressing your inner walls, and your legs quake a little. “Satoru, please…I want you,” you manage to whimper. 

“You have me,” he chuckles softly, his eyes fluttering closed as he takes his fingers from you and pushes his tongue inside you. You gasp at the change and buck your hips again, and he presses his hand flat against your abdomen to push your hips back down. 

By this point, you were desperate for his cock. Your whole body on fire with desire, you tugged more on his hair and he groaned against you, the sound of which sent shockwaves through your core.

“Give it to me,” he murmurs, alternating deftly between his mouth and his fingers and your brows furrow as you try to catch your breath and focus. “Gonna come for me, sweetheart?” He teases you as he feels precome spill from him, and all you can do in that moment is nod, because words are lost.

“Fuuuuck, you’re so fucking pretty,” he sighs happily to himself as he watches you almost reach the edge of bliss…and then, he pulls away completely. 

You blink up at him, panting lightly and cheeks flushed, feeling the loss while he kneels in front of you. “I was right there!” You whine, pouting at his decision to edge you, but you weren’t mad at all. You knew the outcome would be an even stronger orgasm.

“That’s too bad. Because now…” he runs his hands softly over your outer thighs and squeezes your hips as he bends over you, leaning his head down to trace his tongue up your body, “you’re gonna come when I do.” He teases your breasts, his mouth on one and his hand shamelessly cupping the other, pinching the taut peak. 

You let out a squeak as he licks and kisses his way up your collarbone, neck and jaw, and you almost moan at the sight of him on top of you. His face is now a breath away from yours; your legs and arms instantly wrap around him because you want nothing more than for him to consume your being. He captures his mouth with yours as soon as you lock your legs around his hips, and he tangles his tongue with yours, letting you enjoy the taste of yourself on his tongue. 

Gojo kisses like a starved man, and with you, even the smallest, chaste pecks ignite sparks deep in his belly from how perfect you are to him. So now, in this moment, the messy, breathy, needy kisses that you share are making both his and your insides go insane. You cling to him desperately, fingers running up his undercut and to his longer hair where you tug on it again. 

“Taste divine, don’t you?” He pushes his tongue against yours again and you moan in response, then louder again when you feel the solid warmth of his cock against your sensitive folds. 

“Please…”you whine quietly, cupping his face as you continue to kiss the life out of him. You don’t need to ask him twice. 

He doesn’t falter, continuing his assault on your perfect lips while he reaches one hand to guide his achingly hard cock into you. You’re the one to break the messy kiss and gasp as you look down to watch him slide into you. He feeds you each inch tantalisingly slow, knowing it’s going to send you into a frenzy. Every single time that you are intimate with this man, it’s like you’re ascending into the next dimension.

When he bottoms out inside you, you feel nothing but bliss at how perfectly his body connected with yours. You feel nothing but satisfaction at the fullness of him stretching you out, nothing but pure pleasure. He’s like a drug to you. His lips trail down to your neck, kissing, licking, and sucking on the soft skin there as he stays still for a moment, enjoying the warmth of you, of being home. “So damn perfect for me,” he murmurs and you squeeze your walls around him in response. He groans at this, drawing his hips back and rocking them forward again. And again. And again. 

Your eyes flutter shut briefly, almost rolling to the back of your head as he thrusts his cock into you, making you feel so full. You can’t think — it’s the effect that he has on you — so you reach up behind your head to grab onto the pillow to stabilise yourself. 

“My sweet girl,” he coos, “so fuckin’ perfect wrapped around me,” he praises you and you feel a small gush of wetness seep out around him. He then sits up, draping your legs over his thighs and taking hold of your hips. This was your favourite position because it allowed him to hit the deepest spots inside you. 

He ruts his hips into you desperately now, reaching his thumb over to toy with and abuse your clit some more. He alters his technique and instead of thrusting into you, he’s pulling your body onto his cock; you love when he takes control and uses you like this.

All thoughts in your head are well and truly gone by now, nothing but him in your mind, nothing but the way that he was splitting you open on his delicious cock, the sound of his hips meeting yours echoing loudly around you. 

Your back arches at the feeling of pure ecstasy, your moans filling the room as both of you near your peaks. “S-Satoru…I’m gonna come,” you pant out quickly, the imminence of your orgasm nearby. 

“Yeah? Gonna come on my cock, sweet thing?” One last time, he switches his technique again, and this time, he bends your legs and pushes them back, pinning them with his arms locked over them. He fucks you into the mattress harshly, but he only gets to thrust a handful of times in that position before the coil inside you releases, the rush of your orgasm overwhelming your senses as your walls clench incessantly around his aching cock. 

He grunts deeply at the tightness of you, trying to fuck you through it but your orgasm triggers his as his hips stutter, his deep groans making you clench again. He grunts a low “F-fuck,” and he releases his hot come into you. As he does, he leans down quickly, lips finding yours, sharing needy kisses while he pumps you full of his come. 

You’re both panting, a little sweaty, but it’s perfect. You hold onto him as you both stay connected, your kisses becoming more soft and sensual. Carefully, he slips out of you, but stays lying on top of you. 

It might’ve been messy, but you didn’t care. He nuzzles your neck, letting out soft sounds of happiness against you. “Mm. I love you, baby. You’re beautiful. And you’re mine.” His long fingers trail over your arms and your sides as he gets comfortable on top of you. He’s like your personal weighted blanket. 

He’s laying with his head on your chest, lazing with you for a sweet moment in post coital bliss. The tender moment is cut short by the sound of his phone ringing, and he sighs annoyedly as he sits up and snatches the device off the nightstand. “Hi, Gojo speaking,” he says in his normal voice and you stifle a giggle from the vast difference of how he’d been whining mere moments ago. 

“Understood. I’ll be there in 10,” he says and hangs up the phone. You let out a laugh as soon as he does. 

“You’re not real!”

“What can I say, I’m a versatile guy,” he grins. 

~

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