#like fun fact! you can ACTUALLY shut the hell up <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[broke-on-books]

Everytime some tells me they hate what I study I actually start loving it twice as hard. So like fuck you actually

[ghost-proofbaby]

mind blown (eddie munson x fem!reader)

summary: when you get a certain achievement while playing baldur's gate 3, it catches your boyfriend's eye.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: slight spoilers for baldur's gate 3 game, TALK OF MONSTER FUCKING/TENTACLES, you literally have the option to fuck a monster in the game and that is the premise for this one-shot. it isn't described in great detail, but is a background bit. and eddie makes fun of you for it. a lot. oral (f receiving, insinuated m receiving at the end). use of nickname "good girl". minors dni.

wc: 3.5k+

a/n: for anyone who was forced to witness me rizz the emperor on my last bg3 stream - consider this my... apology? half the time i was writing this i couldn't take it seriously so please laugh with me.

also, shout out to @hellfire--cult for the best possible divider EVER.

ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: MIND BLOWN! 

You don’t even notice when the notification pops up in the lower left corner of your screen. It’s the smallest of blips, hardly signified by the quiet ding from your Steam account in a pitiful attempt to congratulate you for the monstrous crimes you were currently committing on your screen. 

But hey, you’ve got to experience the entire game, right? 

“What the fuck,” you whisper to yourself as you click on the second dialogue option, eyes locked on your screen is disbelief in your own actions, “What the fuck.” 

2. Take its tentacle in your hand, invite it in.

You watch in absolute awe as, who would have guessed, your Tav takes the tentacle in their hand, inviting the Mind Flayer in. 

Oh, you’re not seeing Heaven for this. You’re getting kicked straight to Hell, receipts pulled up of this very moment in your lifetime. That time you only cackled when your younger sibling broke their wrist? Fine. That time you let a door slam shut on some random grandma? Forgivable. 

But making your video game character fuck the tentacled-should-be-enemy? No, yeah, you’re heading straight to the flames. 

“Oh. My. God.” 

You really, really, really should have noticed the achievement notification. Should have considered the fact that this was an achievement at all. Should have considered that your achievement would be public. Should have noticed who was currently online, and who would be getting the notification of your sins. 

Should of thought of your boyfriend, in the living room, playing the very same game on your shared gaming laptop that had been reduced to solely allowing the two of you to play Baldur’s Gate 3 at the same time. 

But you’re too entranced by tentacles and embarrassment and shit, is this kind of hot? Is The Emperor kind of hot? to think of any of this until it’s too late.

One moment, you’re leaning far more forward than you had realized, drawn into the screen as your mouth hangs wide open in that continued naivety of disbelief that the game actually allowed this, and the next, two hands are landing on the back of your chair and shaking you out of the trance. 

“Shit!” you can’t help but scream, scrambling wildly to yank off your headset with flailing hands. A few of your knuckles connect with something hard, and you spin quickly to find Eddie standing there with a hand clutched over his nose, “Oh my God, baby, I’m so sor-”

“Are you fucking the mindflayer?” he all but yells, not looking to be in an ounce of pain even as he continues to shield his face where your hand had blatantly smacked him. His eyes catch the screen in the same trance you had just been under before yelling out, “Holy shit, you’re fucking the mindflayer!” 

“It’s not what it looks like-”

“You are literally fucking the space squid right now.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“You’re fucking a glorified piece of sushi right now. You are literally-”

For the second time in the span of what hasn’t even been a full minute, your hand slaps Eddie’s face. This time, it’s more purposeful, slamming your palm right over his mouth before he can continue what you can’t even be sure is teasing. 

And you’re missing the entire scene. Thank God for learning to quicksave as a reflex, you suppose. 

“Eddie, I swear to God, do not speak another word when I drop my hand,” you threaten, no real violence behind your words as he glowers at you. You can see all that mischief swirling behind the look he gives you, every possible bad idea to ever exist in this Universe manifesting in those big brown eyes as they stare widely into yours. “Do you understand?”

He nods. Your mistake for trusting him, you suppose. 

The moment your hand has dropped from him, it reveals that giddy smile, dimples screaming for your instant regret before he even opens his mouth to say, “Play it again.” 

“Excuse me?”

“Go ahead,” he waves towards the screen where the scene is beginning to wrap up, your current companions interrupting the moment in horror. If you had still been entranced, you would have been an absolute mess. But all your focus had been stolen away to the boy towering over you, “Reload the save. Replay the scene for me.” 

Your brows furrow as you cross your arms, shaking your head, “No.”

“No?”

“No,” you repeat yourself more firmly, leaning into your stubbornness, “I am not replaying the scene for you after you just made fun of me for partaking in it.”

Eddie wastes no time pouting as he throws himself down onto the bed nearby, looking at you with unimaginably forced disappointment, “Come on. You’re no fun.” 

You hate how cute he looks right now. Bottom lip jutted out for dramatic effect, legs splayed out to straddle the corner of the bed. He leans back on his arms, torso elongating as you watch him take every steady and expectant breath. He looks determined. 

Unlucky for him, you’re just as stoic in your decision.

“C’mon,” he whines softly, changing his approach when he realizes the cocky exterior isn’t chipping away at that set look on your face, no faltering in your decision to ignore his request, “Please? We both know that I’m not going to be fucking the squid, so this is my only chance to see the-”

“He’s not a squid,” you groan, starting to turn your chair to face the screen again and continue your gameplay, “Might I remind you just how hot my guardian was prior to the whole tentacle reveal? You can’t even blame me for succumbing to this, you know.” 

His lips press together tightly, biting back a grin.

“Your guardian was very hot. But, pray tell, baby, why did you choose to fuck the tentacled version?” You’re not having this conversation. You blatantly refuse to, picking your headphones back up and beginning to slip them over your ears when Eddie’s hand shoots out to stop you, “Wait. I have an idea.” 

“I’m not reloading the save so you can see the scene, Eddie-”

“What if…. I technically don’t watch the scene?” 

You halt all movement willingly, headphones still hovering in midair even as Eddie takes his hand away. “What do you mean?” 

He leans forward, elbows digging into his thighs, sly smile shimmering on his lips as he finally abandons the god-forsaken pout. He’s radiating pride as he simply asks, “Wanna have your mind blown in real life?” 

Your entire body flushes with heat, starting to actually get embarrassed that Eddie wasn’t letting this go. 

“With God as my witness, if you do not stop making fun of me for this, I will kick you out of this room and lock the door.” 

“I’m not making fun of you,” he says slowly, inching off of the bed, dropping to his knees on the carpet of your shared bedroom, “Not in the slightest, sweetheart. I’m making you an offer.” 

You eye him cautiously as he slowly makes his way closer to you. When he’s nearly tucked under your desk, you’re quick to bring your knees up, still terribly weary and unsure of where he’s going with this. 

“What do you mean then, having my mind blown in real life?”

Eddie’s smile has gone downright salacious as he easily fits himself under the desk that holds your computer, situating himself perfectly so that if you were to drop your legs back down, he’d be kneeling prettily between your knees. 

“Reload the scene. And drop your legs, yeah?” 

He says it so casually, nonchalance dripping from his tone as if he’s just asked you to pass him salt or inquired about the weather rather than the actual request he was insinuating. It has your knees pressing more tightly together, your chin dropping on top of them as you stare down at him in the cramped space. 

“Are you… are you seriously suggesting what I think you’re suggesting right now?” you question, each word falling from your mouth slowly. 

It had been a while since either of you had really gotten your hands on one another. Not on purpose, of course. The two of you had simply fallen victim to the immersive game, spending most of your free time either playing your individual campaigns or joining one another on a multiplayer one. Afternoons melted away from gameplay, and the two of you were usually already to the point of exhaustion once you’d end up in bed together. There had been a certain lack of affectionate touches, suggestive squeezes of your thighs and faux-innocent kisses of the neck. And neither had noticed, minds equally preoccupied on thoughts of pixelated characters and harrowing journeys over a screen. 

You can’t remember the last time either of you outright suggested sex. 

“Deathly serious,” you can see the shine of his teeth as he flashes them in the dark space. You continue to hesitate until he quickly adds on, “Only if you want to, of course. If not, I can always fuck off and leave you to Squidwar-”

“I want to,” you interrupt, ignoring the new nickname for the Mind Flayer that he had started to taunt you with. You carefully let your feet slip off your chair, avoiding knocking him in the face with your ankles. He aids you, a careful hand running from the back of your knee and down your calf as he guides your legs to rest on his shoulders. The fact that you had started gaming without pants was suddenly very helpful. 

“Good girl,” it’s sort of ridiculous, the way his words cut right to your core, nearly making you let out a small gasp. Your body is suddenly very aware of just how long the accidental bout of celibacy had been, “A few rules before we begin. You’re going to reload the scene, and really watch it this time. Headphones and all, got it?” 

He places a chaste kiss to your inner thigh, and this time, you can’t bite back your little gasp. It only elicits a chuckle from him as you eagerly nod. You could care less about the game at this point, but you can’t seem to find the words to tell him this. 

“If you stop focusing on the scene, I stop eating this pretty little pussy.” 

If you weren’t so light-headed from the way his breath hits your clothed core currently, you’d probably see just how ridiculous this entire scenario was. It was downright laughable. Even a little shameful, honestly. By no means was it the weirdest situation that you and Eddie had turned into a game of sex, but it was certainly up there. 

God, you were in love with a fucking weirdo. And it made you just as weird, if not weirder, as he was. 

He gently slaps at your knee, forcing your attention to focus back on him, “Got it?” 

“Got it,” you manage to choke out just as his hands begin to trail up to your hips, playing with the lace of your panties teasingly. 

You lift yourself ever so slightly off the chair as he slips your underwear off, bringing the fabric down agonizingly slow. He has to shuffle plenty, guiding your limbs around just to finally remove the garment, but you hardly pay attention to all that awkwardness. Your Tav is still on the screen, awaiting instruction just as you were. 

When Eddie finally has your panties off, knees back to hanging on his shoulders, you can hear him let out a soft groan at the sight of you. 

“Fuck,” he sighs gently, leaning his cheek against your knee ever so slightly, “The tentacles really do it for you, huh? Already fucking soaking-”

“Shut up about the tentacles,” you groan out, throwing your hand back in exasperation, “For the love of God, please shut up about the-”

“Ah, ah,” he tsks, pulling farther away from you, “Might I remind you the whole point of this is all those tentacles on your screen right now, baby? Maybe I should have you hook up your speakers instead of your headphones just to make sure I can hear the entire scene.” 

You’d honestly forgotten about the scene at this point. It was the least intriguing part of your evening now. 

When you stay quiet, biting your lip to avoid making anymore smart ass remarks that would only prolong what you desperately wanted, desperately needed, he finally takes it as his cue. 

That damn grin, dimples and all, look up at you with all the ill intent in the world as he gestures for you to slip on your headphones. You do it immediately, and just before you’ve fully engulfed your ears with them, Eddie says, “Now, please do the honors, and hit F8 for me, doll.” 

Immediately, the only noise you can hear is the ambience from the game. One swift punch of your F8 key pauses it entirely, sudden music replacing it as the reload screen appears on the computer. Eddie waits, staring up at you for a few moments, probably having memorized just how long these damn reloads take from how much the two of you save scum in the game (Ironic, given during your first playthroughs, he’d scolded you endlessly for save scumming rather than just trusting the dice and letting it all play out.) 

After a few beats of stillness, you can see the scene prepared and ready for you to begin to click the options again to initiate the scene in your peripheral. Your eyes are still locked on Eddie’s, though. 

He makes no move to move any closer to you, though, still smirking before he finally mouths ‘watch the game’. 

It’s only once you do as you’ve been told that he has his mouth on you. 

He starts slowly as you distract yourself with the screen, peppering kisses along your knees and inner thighs, working his way towards your pussy. Teasing you, taunting you, dangling what he knows you want so badly that it aches and has you spasming around absolutely nothing. It takes more effort than you could care to admit to focus your vision on the dialogue options, and even more to remember which one is going to initiate the goddamned scene. 

When your shaking hand reaches for the mouse and finally clicks the correct option (thank God), his mouth finally hovers over your slick folds. 

Whatever the Emperor says falls on ringing ears. Subtitles are useless, the words blurring together on the screen when his tongue takes its first stride across your core. 

Your knuckles are paling from how tightly you grip your poor mouse, and you almost consider what you would do if this situation leads to you breaking such a vital piece of the shared gaming setup, but Eddie’s mouth is quick to distract you. You feel the vibrations of the hums falling from his lips just as they trail to wrap around your clit, forming suction as he gives one harsh suck that has your mouth falling open in a silent gasp. Your eyes can barely manage to stay open as you blindly click for the next dialogue option being presented.

Kiss the tentacle and hope that it’s an erogenous appendage. 

Not quite the same path you’d taken before, but it’ll get the job done. Especially when Eddie’s fingers are digging into the flesh of your thighs even harsher, pressing himself even harder against you as his tongue dances over your sensitive bundle of nerves. Kitten licks, but every single one sends a bolt of electricity up your spine. 

The sound that comes from the Emperor in the game doesn’t matter to you, completely overridden by the audible groan you can just barely catch from Eddie as your headphones begin to slip off. 

Was that… a good sound? 

You hadn’t noticed you’d breathily recited the words you read across the scene until movement below the desk catches your eye, and Eddie is nodding into your cunt more eagerly than the character on the screen could ever be capable of. 

It’s the type of eagerness that has you whimpering, the kind of enthusiasm that guides one of your hands away from the keyboard and down to tangle into the roots of Eddie’s curls. 

He’s going to be the death of you. 

His grip tightens until he’s tugging your hips hard enough to bring you further slumped down in your seat, letting your thighs cradle either side of his head. His nose bumping your sensitive clit as his tongue circles teasing against your entrance. Once, twice – and then it dives in, pushing you to arch your back, a soft cry leaving you as you yank at his hair. 

With a heaving chest, you find yourself reciting another line of words from the screen despite making no move to click any options, “Do it again. Please, God- do it again.” 

He lifts to look at you at that, smiling wide with glistening lips and chin alike, “God? Oh, you’re making me blush, babe.” 

“Eddie-” you start, but a smack on your thigh from one of his ringed hands effectively shuts you up. 

“Play the game, and I’ll do it again.” 

Your hand smacks against the mouse, and you must click the right option, the exact command you’d just demanded of Eddie, because the scene continues on. 

You’re not watching the screen. Not consistently. Your eyes can’t stop flickering down to your boy, to his dark eyes shining up at you as he keeps his face buried between your thighs, the only thing giving away his current grin being the slightest crinkle beside those eyes. 

The entire sequence from before is simply playing out, just as before, but your mind stays on the feeling of Eddie’s tongue on you. When he releases one of your thighs and brings his fingers into the mix, stretching you out far more fully than his tongue had, you’re preening beneath his touch. Gasps, moans, whimpers, sobs – they all fall from your lip as he knows just how to work you. All the right touches to bring your neglected body to the precipice, practically worshiping you on his knees as the brightness of the screen exposes your face to him. Eyes tightly screwed shut, mouth wide open, lips swollen from poor attempts to keep your noises down through biting them. 

It only encourages him further. Only has him forgetting entirely about the game as well, the only goal on his mind being making you cum on his tongue. 

And you do. 

In hot waves, broken calls of his name, both hands tugging mercilessly on his hair. Your thighs are squeezing his cheeks tightly as you clench down on his fingers. 

Somewhere between all the whispers of his name, numerous squeaks of please falling from your mouth, he slows down. He gives you a chance to bask in the after-warmth of it all, your entire body buzzing as you catch your breath. You truly, genuinely hadn’t expected to cum that quickly. But it had been a while, and if anyone knew your body well enough to get you off in record speed, it was the man currently still seated on sore knees with a winning grin on his face. 

“Your headphones aren’t even on anymore, you cheater,” he teases, sounding just as out of breath as you felt. 

You detangle your fingers from his hair, retracting your hands just far enough for one of them to flip him off, “Shut up.” 

Your eyes are still closed, head leaning back almost painfully as the headphones cut into your neck. If you could live in this moment forever, you probably would. 

He presses forward, placing a quick peck to your sensitive core that makes your legs try to squeeze together instinctually, “Make me.” 

At those two words, you finally open your eyes, slowly lolling your head towards him, eyes narrowing at the challenge. 

“Get off the floor and onto the bed, and I will.” 

You don’t have to tell him twice. 

The entire process somehow manages to remind you just how ridiculous the situation was. Watching Eddie clamber clumsily out from beneath your desk, cheekily flashing you the set of panties he’d taken off of you that he shoves into his pocket. Eyes glued on him as he flops himself down onto your shared bed, still looking far too proud of himself. 

Your heart swells as you look at the absolute idiot, knowing he was yours. 

“Well?” he asks expectantly, raising his eyebrows as he shimmies his shoulders jokingly, “You gonna make me or not, sweetheart?” 

You’re quick to start to jump out of your chair, just eager to be close to him again, deciding the game could wait until tomorrow. Just as you do, however, Eddie puts up a hand, biting back an even wider smile.

“I’m only reminding you because I won’t hear the end of it otherwise,” he drawls, slowly pointing a finger back towards the desk, “Don’t forget to press F5.”

You roll your eyes, but you do as he says. 

It works. It’ll save you time next time you reload the game – allowing you to skip the entire encounter, considering the way you’ve discovered there are far more fun ways to have your mind blown. 

Now, however, it was Eddie’s turn.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin

@ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87

@thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck

@cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking

@witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore

@mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog

@vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp

@princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

join my taglist!

(please let me know if the tagging worked!!)

[deansbite]

AFAB READER!! 18+ mdni

alec had been leaning back on the couch, you've been sat on his lap, his cock has been sat in your cunt nicely. It'd been god knows how long since your walls had adjusted to his length. and ever since then, he hadn't moved an inch.

unless — you were actually done whining and moaning about his dick lodged in you and were focusing on the show, then he'd intentionally thrust just a tiny bit deeper before retracting.

you could barely even handle his full length, much less having him go deeper — you didn’t even know he could go deeper than he already was.

and that would repeat until now. you were settled and finally could get your mind off of the fact that you were cockwarming him. but alec.. well, he had other plans.

“i can barely see the tv screen now. c’mon, baby lean back, that way you can lean to the side and i’ll be able to watch.”

“but you already.. uh — nevermind.”

“i what? c’mon you want to talk back, so go on, i’m all ears.”

“alec i didn’t mean it like that —”

“ohno, nono, don’t take it back, tell me.”

and as you opened your mouth to oblige and continue, alec raised his hips — quick, with his superhuman speed.

you yelped when his tip rubbed against your cervix — which was probably bruised with the amount of times he thrusted up into you in the span of god knows how long.

“speak up, come on.” alec urged, his smut tone evident. his hands eventually rested on your hips, guiding you to bounce up and down on his length whilst he assisted with some occasional thrusts.

you instinctively clenched around him. “so fucking tight.” he gasped out.

“c’mon, i know how much you enjoy this, hell, i do too. but, i am gonna need you to finish that fucking sentence of yours.”

“i can’t —” you yelped as he slammed you down on his length whilst raising his hips at the same down.

you weren’t paying attention when one of alecs hands went up and he stuck his fingers into your mouth. you immediately swirled your tongue around them. alec seemed pleased — considering his fingers were like a plug to make you shut up.

both you and him knew he had a lot of stamina so he would go on for however long he wanted — which usually ended up with you so fucked out you can barely even form coherent sentences.

“that’s it, atta girl, finally taking the hint and closing that pretty mouth of yours.”

all you could do was whine which was just a slight bit fainter and much softer with his slender fingers in your mouth.

alec kept the same harsh and quick pace of you bouncing and him thrusting up occasionally. which caused a few groans to escape alecs mouth.

he could immediately tell when you were close. “hold it.”. he knew if his fingers weren’t in your mouth and you weren’t currently sucking him into your warmth, you would probably stomp your foot and complain.

but he could really care less. “i wantcha to fucking control it. if you can control how whiny and how much you complain, the least you could do is hold your goddamn orgasm.”

he was slightly annoyed. and both you and he knew if you didn’t listen, he’d make sure you’d regret in one way or another.

“shit, could fuck this soaking pussy all day. you’re so warm — fuck.”

and so he did, his thrusts not coming to a halt no matter how long he’s made you hold in your orgasm and even if you did cum at least six times within the span of an hour, he kept going.

that was simply Alec McDowell.

um!! yea this is not a lot because i wasnt in the mood to write a lot but i hope. this is good enough

tags: @fallbhind @beausling @gibson-g1rl @dollsltt @psychicnatural

special tags: @pearlzier @deanswidow (cause from what i know they love alec!! (not as much as me but</3))

uhh yea this was fun to write

[durrtydawg]

Stalemates

(Sam Drake x F!Reader smut)

'Talking it out' often makes for appropriate conflict resolution. But where's the fun in that?

Masterlist

In which they switch it up like nintendo-oh 🎶 . 12k words of switchy, yucky, hate sex. 3rd person, no y/n, grammatical errors (ooo scary) likely

CW for mildly dubious consent and two bitches being mean to each other. For detailed tags take a peek at ao3! Could only bring myself to write this while ovulating which is why it took so long </3. Enjoy!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭

Sam doesn’t know what smells worse. The stale carpet, the acrid, yellowing wallpaper, or her fucking attitude.

His hand lingers on the doorknob for a beat, eyes scanning the motel room with feigned indifference. He bites the bullet and steps in, dropping his duffel onto the bed, preparing himself for an ear-full.

“Wait,” she says sharply, her voice cutting through the repetitive clicking of the faulty ceiling fan. He cracks his neck in preparation for another bitch fit.

She’s still standing by the door, her breath still heavy from the adrenaline of the last few hours. She's had enough. She wants a plan, a strategy. But every damn thing is on the fly when he’s around. Mortality included.

“What the hell is this?”

“What?” he replies, all casual like they hadn’t just escaped certain death and walked straight into… this.

“What do you mean, what? This place is a dump.”

A beat of silence. Then, “Yeah. I see that.”

She rounds on him. “You see that? That’s all you’ve got to say? There's one damn bed-”

“What do you want me to do, princess? Build a second one?” He practically spits the nickname.

She slams the door shut, throwing her bag to the floor. "Far be it from me to want a bit of space after you tried to kill me off."

He groans. "Don't start-"

"Don't start?" Her incredulous laugh escapes before she can stop it. "I almost got impaled back there because you couldn’t be bothered to share your genius plan - oh hold on. No - that’s right. There wasn’t one.”

“There was a plan,” he counters, turning from her to pat his pockets for his box of cigarettes he’d somehow managed to salvage from a trap he’d accidentally triggered hours earlier. “You just didn't follow it.”

All right, so she'd fallen with the box, stuck clinging to the edge of a spike-filled pit. So what? He pulled her out. She's fine.

“Because you didn’t tell me!”

“It was implied,” he says, the smirk tugging at his lips enough to make her see red.

"What else was implied was the fact that you don't ever think about anyone but yourself."

“Really? You think I dragged your ass out of that hole because I wanted a goddamn medal?”

Get a grip.

"Oh, fuck off, Sam." She exhales sharply, hands braced on her knees as she plops down onto the end of the bed.

Her chest still heaves from the rush of it all - dodging death, being forcibly confined to his bullshit, this shitty room. Feels like a boot on her chest.

She forces herself to breathe and enjoy the momentary silence.

Clink.

Her head snaps up. Of course. HA! Of course.

Tck-tck.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she snaps, seething again. “You’re actually lighting up in here? Can't even be bothered to open a damn window?”

He doesn’t even look at her, his lighter sparking to life. “Relax,” he mutters, cigarette between his lips. “Look how yellow the walls are. You’ll survive.”

Her fists curl at her sides as the sharp tang of smoke curls into the air. "Unbelievable." She marches over to the window, wrestling with the latch. "You couldn’t wait two minutes?”

He exhales deliberately, the smoke drifting lazily between them. “Two minutes, ten minutes - doesn’t really make a difference. You’re gonna bitch about it either way.”

Her jaw clenches, “God, you’re… infuriating.”

“Gotta unwind somehow.” His drawl is lazy, but his eyes are sharp - he’s waiting for her to crack. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

Her stomach twists. It’s the way he looks at her, like he’s waiting for her to lose it. She huffs, giving up on the stiff window latch, turning back to him with a scowl.

She doesn’t like it. She hates it.

He takes another drag, exhaling slowly, watching her through the clag of smoke. “Tell you what,” he drawls, shifting his weight, standing upright as opposed to leaning against the chest of drawers with a few missing handles, “Why don’t you take a swing at me, huh? Let it all out.”

He beckons her with two fingers, the cigarette still pinched between them, his grin deepening as he watches her stiffen. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with mockery. “You’re dyin’ to give me a good fuckin’ smack. I can see it.”

Her nails dig into her palms, biting into her skin as her pulse pounds in her ears. She pictures her fist connecting with his jaw, that stupid smirk wiped clean off his face as she pins him down. It would feel so good.

He takes another step forward. “All that energy,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, almost provocative. “What’re you gonna do with it?”

Fine. Definitely provocative.

She swallows hard, her voice tight. “You’re disgusting.”

Sam watches her, his lips curling as she darts a glance between him and the cigarette. He leans back against the wall, a picture of nonchalance, silently revelling in the way her composure seems to crack, his arrogance only bolstered by her obvious distaste.

Without a second thought, she yanks it out of his mouth, shoving it between her own lips in one fluid motion.

“Really?” he growls, reaching for it, but she steps back, holding it just out of reach with a glare.

“What’s the problem, huh?” she taunts, the cigarette dangling between her fingers. “Can’t go five minutes without something in your mouth? Guess that explains why you’re so full of shit.”

“Ha. Classy.” He scoffs.

 “You are the most crass, irresponsible - no, insufferable - asshole I’ve ever met.” She can feel his eyes on her, and she takes her sweet time before looking back up at him, taking a drag, before huffing it out purposely up towards his face.

He waves a hand in front of him, coughing once. “Real fuckin' cute. Give it back.”

“Give it back,” she mocks, her voice purposely lowered in a crude impersonation of him. “No, no, hold on a sec. I wanna be like you for a moment.” she says, her voice tight with anger, the smoke rolling from her mouth with every word. She raises her chin up to face him. "Can’t be that hard, right? Just gotta act like an arrogant prick."

She ignores the burning ash against her fingers as she scrapes her hair back from her forehead - a gesture that makes him roll his eyes. She leans against the wall in a stance that's just as affected and smug as he is.

“Hmm. Yeah, this - this is nice.”

He chuckles thinly, his arms folding tight across his chest. “Well, I’m glad someone’s entertained.”

“Entertained?” She leans into the word, dragging it out as she takes a drag from the cigarette, blowing the smoke in his direction with a casual flick of her wrist. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m more than entertained.” She snaps her fingers, flicking ash. “I’m inspired! I mean, you’ve got a hell of a system going. The quips. The brawn. The charisma - God, it’s practically oozing out of your every pore, right?”

His grin freezes in place, tight at the edges, but she’s not done. Not even close.

“Hi, I'm Sam. I like to fuck my way out of every tight spot I get myself into, then proceed to leave everyone else behind to clean up the mess.” She steps forward, her eyes gleaming as she watches his jaw tick. “It’s genius, really. Self-destructive, sure, but hey, you’re nothing if not consistent.”

His smirk twitches, then falters. “You done?”

She ignores the warning in his voice, taking another slow step toward him. “Have you ever thought about teaching a class? Writing one of those 'for dummies' books? ‘How to Charm Your Way Through Life Without a Shred of Accountability.’ Could be a bestseller. You’d make a killing.”

“Alright,” he mutters, voice clipped. “That’s enough.”

“Enough?” Her head tilts, her eyes wide. “Come on, Sam, don’t tell me you can’t handle a little constructive criticism.”

He stays quiet, his grin gone now, his jaw tightening as his eyes follow her every move. She doesn’t stop. She loves this. Loves seeing him like this.

His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say a word. The muscles in his jaw tighten, and though his expression remains composed, she can feel the anger simmering beneath the surface. It thrills her. She doesn't want to examine it too closely - the rush - but she can't deny the flicker of satisfaction in knowing she’s gotten under his skin. Better than that smug, righteous babe-magnet haughty bullshit he insists on projecting ninety-nine percent of the time.

“You’re just trying to distract yourself, aren’t you? The scams, the smirks, the sex - oof, let's not forget that. It’s all noise. A shitty cover-up for what you actually are.”

The tension in his jaw, the way his eyes darken, the little scrunch at the bridge of his nose; it's real - a side of him he tries too hard to hide behind that dumb, cool exterior. Boy, does it add fuel to the fire. A rogue spark bouncing onto kindling. She knows she’s pushing him. But hey, they're stuck together for the foreseeable, so what's really the worst he could do?

“And what’s that?” he finally bites out, his voice sharp and low, but she doesn’t flinch.

Her lips curve into a cruel smile, and she gestures to him with the cigarette, her tone cutting. “A sycophantic hedonist with a nicotine addiction, trying - and failing - to claw your way out of your brother’s shadow.”

Then, he laughs, teeth bared in a parody of a grin. No trace of humour. It’s dangerous now. She licks her lips.

“You wanna say that again?”

“Sure.” She takes another step forward, close enough now to feel the heat rolling off him. “I think you’re lame. A shadow-dwelling grifter who’s just pissed he’ll never. Be. Good enough.”

Before she can blink, his hand shoots out, rough fingers clamping around her chin. The suddenness of it sends a shock-wave through her, and she stumbles a little. “And I think that you," He yanks her face up toward his, his grip just shy of bruising, "Are a frigid little control freak who wouldn’t know fun if it bit her in the ass.” he shoots back. The cigarette flies onto the floor, smoke trails smouldering between them, until his boot grinds it into the carpet without even looking.

Her breath stutters, but it’s not fear that does it. She smirks, even as her pulse races. “Hit a nerve, did I?”

Then he shoves her, hard, and her back hits the wall with a thud, his thumb digging in just beneath her cheekbone.

“Listen, you sanctimonious bitch,” His eyes are sharp, narrowed, the fury in them burning hot. “I’d have loved nothin’ more than to have left you to rot in that pit - hell, I’d certainly have much less of a goddamn headache right now if you’d’ve fallen ass-first onto one of those spikes.” Her head jolts in his grip as he punctuates each word, “But luckily for you, I’ve got a job to do. So here you are.”

She doesn’t shrink. Doesn’t falter. Instead, she pushes, craving the intensity. Ha. Frigid. “And wouldn’t that have been dull.”

Stupid fucking men and their need to assert physical dominance. It’s boring.

Her lips curve, deliberately, the ghost of a smile curling at the edges. Not sweet. Not kind - never kind with him. Instead, mocking. Dangerous. 

Her chin tips up, her lips parting ever so slightly as she pushes against his grip, her breath warm and steady as it grazes his mouth. Close, but not close enough. She doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away.

Go on, her silence says. Do something.

Sam’s jaw is ticking. He wants her to flinch, to crack, to give him something - anything - but all she gives him is a tilt of her head, her neck arching just a fraction to shift the angle.

He’s holding on by a thread. She knows it. His jaw clenches, and his pulse hammers as she lets her fingertips drift across his stomach. Teasing, toying, until she hooks them around the buckle of his belt, tugging him closer.

“Do you get off on this?” She speaks quietly, her chin moving against the palm of his hand. The question catches him off guard, making his frown deepen. Because a part of him does. “Using your height and your muscles and cute little frown to intimidate girls young enough to be your daughter?”

Disgust flashes in his eyes. But beneath it, intrigue? Desire? Some gross spark that twists him up inside. He’s disgusted with himself for feeling it, for letting her get to him like this. But the hard truth, as betrayed by the semi he can’t fully hide, is that part of him is undeniably drawn in.

She sucks in a breath through her teeth. “Oh… I think you do.”

His breath falters - barely perceptible, but she catches it. Of course she does. Her eyes catch the flicker of hesitation in his, narrowing as his anger wavers. Shifts. Into something else entirely. It takes a monumental amount of effort to stop herself from laughing in his face.

Her lashes lower, eyes dropping just below his belt for a heartbeat before dragging back up. Slow. Calculated. Intimate, to the point where she’s almost taking herself seriously. She’s not backing down - no, she’s playing with him now. She tugs at the leather, a deft pull that has the belt sliding free of its buckle, then presses her palm against him - light, barely there - but enough for him to feel it.

She feels his fingers loosen their grip on her jaw, just slightly. It’s so subtle, he thinks he’s gotten away with it... and he would’ve, if he hadn’t audibly swallowed and given himself away mere seconds after. Her mouth twitches. The strings are falling into her hands.

“Look at you,” she taunts, her voice a purr now, filled with mock encouragement. “You've got it all under control, haven't you?” She lets her hand move over him again, slower this time, the pressure just enough to make him grind involuntarily against her touch. His breath comes faster, harder, and she feels his body tense against hers.

His grip on her face tightens as he stares at her with scorn - it's starting to hurt, now - she's almost certain his thumb's going to leave a bruise just beneath her cheekbone - but she doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t give him what he wants. She holds him there, her fingers still teasing him through denim.

Her lips are hovering just shy of his, still. The space left between them is so veil-thin it’s barely there. She won’t close it, though. She wants to let him feel her there - let him ache for it. Allow the tension to fester, coiling tighter and tighter with every second that ticks by. His pulse kicks - hard.

Sam doesn’t realise he’s leaning in until it’s too late. His rage, his whole resolve, all of it crumbling under the weight of her strategic silence. His fingers tighten their grip again as he feels his frown falter, thinking it’ll hold up the bravado.

She pops the button through its hole, pushing the zip down with her thumb, "Do you want me to touch you, Sam?" she whispers, stroking along the length of him, light and teasing, drawing a sharp intake of breath from his throat. His body reacts before his mind can catch up, his hips pressing into her touch, desperate for more. "To treat you like the big, strong man that you are?"

Her deepening smirk tells him he’s fucked it all up. It’s slow and sly and her eyes are sparkling with a satisfaction that’s almost unbearable.

He can’t think straight.

“Fuck you,” he growls through gritted teeth, but there’s no strength behind it. It’s not a threat - it’s a plea. Even he knows it's lazy.

She laughs, soft and mocking, her hand still stroking him through his boxers, the feeling of him hardening against her hand is captivating.

She leans in, too, grinning against his faltering grip, letting her lips graze against his in a way that goads him so hard that the power trip alone sends heat coursing through her. He remains still, aside from the loosening grip of his hand once more. He’s trapped.

Her eyelashes flutter as she pulls back mere millimetres, eyes intentionally dropping to his lips again before flicking back up, head tilting. Making sure he sees her display of self-indulgent curiosity. He doesn’t know she’s just tossing the bait into the water.

His fingers twitch at her cheeks, grip loosening just as his body instinctively leans closer, reeled in by her. His hand starts to slide, his palm brushing the curve of her hip as if testing the boundary of how far he can take this.

Her lips part, and for a split second, he thinks she might actually let him. That she’s given in, that this isn’t just some cruel game she’s playing at his expense.

She thinks he's a moron.

So she finally yanks on the rod out of the water.

She stills her hand, and whispers against him: “I’ll take the floor.”

Before he can react, her palm presses against his chest in one swift, decisive shove, forcing him back. The movement isn’t violent - she doesn’t need it to be.

By the time he’s recovered his footing, she’s already long gone. The smirk she tosses over her shoulder is pure satisfaction, her steps casual and unhurried, as though she hasn’t just torn him apart and left the pieces scattered across the shitty old carpet.

It takes him a moment to realise she’s actually walking away. His chest rises and falls heavily, the faint scent of her still clinging to the air around him, all warm skin and sweat and something faintly sweet. Infuriating.

The humiliation crashes over him in waves, his pulse pounding. His body burns with frustration, with the bitter taste of defeat. He feels like a fool - a complete fucking idiot.

He had her caged, in his grip, and still, she slipped through his fingers, leaving him humiliated, rock-fucking-hard, and wholly unsatisfied.

He watches her approach the window, his hands curling into fists as the truth sinks in: she never lost control. Not for a second.

He's not about to let that stand.

His tongue drags over his teeth as he exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders back while she struggles against the window lock.

Poor thing. She usually knows how to press the right buttons.

The sound of her irritated huffs provokes him. She’s giving him space - space to stew, to think. Maybe she knows it. Maybe she planned it. The thought only pisses him off more.

“You’re good at this.” He murmurs, letting his voice dip low, zipping his jeans back up, “The games. Smirks. Little looks. Actin' like a fuckin' skank ‘cause you think it makes you untouchable.”

Her fingers still, gripping the latch tightly. She doesn’t turn. She hums contemplatively.

“Untouchable? No.” Her voice is steady. “Smarter than you, though? Sure.”

He can’t help but laugh. “You think you’re smarter than me?”

“No, Sam, I know I’m smarter than you.” She doesn’t bother glancing his way, but her smile - the kind that cuts and soothes all at once - tells him she’s enjoying this. “You huff and puff around, throwing tantrums, like you’re God’s gift to brawn,”

His self-control is hanging by a thread. He knows he should let her have the last word and leave it at that. Walk away. Take a fucking shower and sleep it all off, but he can’t. 

“Brute force doesn’t equate to intelligence. Pushing me against a wall, blah blah, fucking blah. What next? Gonna toss me out the window because I bruised your ego?”

It's a nice thought. He'll give her that.

His presence is a shadow swallowing hers, a heat at her back that she feels before she even registers the sound of his boots crossing the room. She stiffens, her knuckles whitening on the latch as his arm brushes hers.

Before she can snap, his hand replaces hers on the latch, effortlessly forcing it open with one sharp motion. The cool air floods in, trading places with the stale smell of smoke, but she barely notices it. She’s too focused on him - on his arm brushing against hers, the way he leans in slightly closer than he needs to.

His hand is on her hip.

No more beating around the bush - He rams her forwards with a thunk, her palms bracing against the windowsill as his chest pins her in place.

She sighs, performative insouciance, despite her racing heartbeat. “What are you doing?” she manages, her voice sharp despite the subtle wavering to it. He catches it and he bites back his grin.

“Opening the window. Putting my brute force to good use. Can’t have you straining yourself, can I?”

Her teeth grit together. She doesn’t push him away, though.

The hand at her hip digs in, while the other drifts upward, curling around her throat. Firm. Controlling. She stiffens, chastened anger flickering hot and wild in her chest, but her body doesn’t move. It can’t move.

What the fuck is he doing?

“Tell me to get off’a you.”

His chin rests against the top of her head, a display of dominance so casual it makes her blood boil.

“What the fuck are you playing at, Samuel?”

His lips quirk in a dangerous smirk, his confidence snapping into place now that he has her at his mercy. “Making sure you get the last word, sweetheart. Isn’t that what you always want?”

“You’re such an-” she starts, but he cuts her off with a low laugh, speaking through the top of her head so his voice reverberates through her skull.

“What? An asshole?” His voice cuts her off, gravelly and edged with something teasing. “Crass? Reckless? Got any new ones, or are we recyclin’ tonight?”

She blinks, her mind struggling to catch up.

“C’mon,” He chuckles again, “Tell me to get off.” His grip tightens, just enough to keep her in place but not enough to hurt.

Her heart is thundering now - a crack in the armour she’s so desperately trying to keep intact. What’s worse is the heat from moments ago continues coiling low in her stomach. She hates it. Hates that her body betrays her rationale, hates the smugness in his reflection. That's what she tries to tell herself, at least… though, the reality is more that she hates how much she's anticipating his next steps.

“You’re insane.” she mutters, though her voice lacks its usual bite.

“Insane,” he parrots, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, “Insufferable. The list goes on.”

Her lips part, a retort on the tip of her tongue, but it refuses to come out. She’s frozen, her pride locking her in place even as her body betrays her.

She feels his grip shift, the hand at her hip sliding lower, brushing the top of her thigh, coming round further. The deliberate motion pulls a defiant grunt from her throat, her body betraying her mind’s fury. 

“Listen,” His fingertips rub circles into her thigh.

Light, slow.

“I might be all those things,”

Inwards.

Upwards.

“But, I’m not a monster. So…” Her eyes dart downward, caught between the shame of her own hesitation and the maddening awareness of his every movement. He’s quick to correct that, fingers tightening around her throat just enough to force her head upright again. “Uh-uh,” he chides. “Eyes up, huh? Don’t go gettin’ all shy on me now.”

She almost bites out another snarky comment but all semblance of wit flies out of her head as his thumb swipes between her legs along the seam of her shorts.

Shit, shit, shit.

Her thighs tighten together instinctively, mindlessly trapping his hand there, which only makes him laugh into her ear, squeezing the sides of her throat a little tighter. He's such a delinquent, relishing in her hushed breathlessness and all the soft sounds she's trying to keep behind her teeth.

“Last chance.”

She’s livid. Because she thought she fucking had him.

Say something, She thinks. No - don’t. That’s what he wants. Don’t give him the satisfaction. Ah, shit.

Her mind scrambles for control. She can’t tell Sam to stop. To do as she’s told. He’d just love that, wouldn’t he? He’d win. Never let her live it down. But she shouldn’t let him keep going, either - because, then, he's still winning, and worse, she’s letting him.

Panic swells in her lungs, her insides churning.

“All you men,” She starts, pausing to compose herself once she realises how breathless she sounds, “are exactly the same. So desperate for things you can’t have. Pathetic, really.”

Not her best attempt at tugging back the reins. But at least she didn't call him a skank.

His breath skates along her neck when he snorts at her, and she swears she’ll scream if he doesn’t stop - if he doesn’t move - if he doesn’t-

“All the same, huh?” The condescending prick speaks into her temple, hips pushing firm against her so she knows she's got no choice but to reap what she's sewn. “Wonder if that rule applies to uptight little smart-asses like you?” His hand trails back up from between her thighs to her waist, fingers pulling the material of her shorts away from her stomach, smoothing over warm skin as she tries to control her breathing. “In my experience, they're wet in an instant - fuckin' freaks behind closed doors.”

Her embarrassment is flaring white-hot now. He's giving as good as he got.

Her pulse quickens, and she forces herself to glare at him, jaw tight, nails gritting against the glass to keep her hands from trembling. She refuses to give him the satisfaction of a reaction other than that.

Which is a huge mistake.

“Jesus Chr-” He giggles, rubbing against her underwear with an abruptness that has her biting back a mewl. “You’re actually wet, aren’t you?”

“Choke, you piece of shit.”

That makes him snort.

“Choke? What, like this?”

His fingers flex harder against the sides of her throat, applying just enough pressure with each hand to make her body arch involuntarily against him. It knocks her for six, eyes widening as a palm clambers its way from the window pane up to the hand squeezed around her neck.

He hums low in his throat, a sound of mock consideration as her nails scratch at him.

“That's what you want? To see how far I’ll go? Never pegged you for a whore.”

Her teeth grit, rage bubbling as he sneers his way through his sentence. The push and pull of him pressing damp fabric against her isn't helping matters.

Everything’s too much.

The weight of him pressing her down. His hand at her throat. The fucking self-satisfaction on his face as he pinches her clit through her underwear and makes her buck into him.

She wants to snap. To move. To do something. But her thoughts are slipping and it’s all more intoxicating than it has any right to be.

He thinks he’s in control. He’s so damn sure of it, so drunk on his own smug confidence. She can feel it radiating off him.

Her lashes lower. She lets her lips part slightly, and her body slacken against the window. A deliberate show of defeat. A histrionic surrender. His grip eases just a fraction, and she feels the subtle shift of power.

Her breath shudders, her chest heaving in what she knows he’ll mistake for resignation. He leans in closer, his body flush against hers, bulge pressing into her ass adding insult to injury as she tries to maintain concentration.

She's reluctant to admit to herself how galvanising it all is. The weight of him. The heat rushing through her as his fingers stroke and tease. The unbearable closeness-

Nope - no, this can't continue. Not like this, at least. Let him have what he wants. But it'll be on her terms.

He doesn’t expect her to fight back. He’s too caught up in his performance, too sure of his control. The stupid fuck.

She lets him savour it - hell, she lets herself savour it for one, two, three seconds.

Then she strikes.

Her hand shoots up, grabbing his wrist. Hard. She doesn’t pull away. She pushes, twisting his grip just enough to loosen the choke-hold on her throat. Clarity floods her brain, and her elbow drives back - sharp, fast, ruthless. It connects with his ribs, and the sound of his grunt sends a wild rush through her.

He stumbles, grip faltering.

She pivots, twisting out from beneath him in a blur of motion. Her hands shove against his chest, forceful, determined. He doesn’t stand a chance. His balance tips, his knees hitting the edge of the bed.

Sam falls flat on his back.

For a moment, he looks almost comical, sprawled across the bed in stunned silence, blinking up at her as though he can’t quite believe what just happened.

She takes a step forward, her breath still heavy, her heart pounding against her ribs as she looms over him.

And there it is again - that shift in power, slipping through his fingers and landing squarely in hers.

He knows it. She knows it. She’s straddling him before he even has time to process it fully, pinning his wrists hard against the mattress above his head, her knees clamped to the sides of his hips.

“Cute,” the sarcasm comes out low and gravelly. It's… well, it's hot. She digs her nails into his skin out of contempt for the both of them.

“Well,” she ignores him, leaning in close, her nose brushing his. “Congratulations.”

His brow quirks. “Yeah? For what?”

“For proving my point.”

She can feel the heat radiating from him, the steady rise and fall of his chest against hers. His skin is warm under her touch, and the way his muscles twitch beneath her grip sends an undeniable rush through her. Her nails dig into his wrists, and even she isn’t sure if it’s to keep him down or to rile him up any more.

There’s tension beneath his skin, the restrained strength of someone biding their time. He stays still. Watching. Waiting. Curious. His muscles flex in warning, but his eyes glint with that maddening mix of intrigue and amusement. Always testing her. Always waiting to see how far she’ll push.

"And what point is that?"

She's strong. He's watched her kill men twice her size. But still, he knows he could have her flipped onto her back in a fraction of a second if he pushed.

Her line of sight rakes down his face. He looks infuriatingly good pinned beneath her, and it grates at her self-control. His confidence seeps through the cracks of her power, unrelenting even now.

Her body remembers his touch, the bruising force of his hands, and it deceives her reasoning. She’s soaked. Her arousal seeps out to the tops of her thighs as she gives her hips an experimental roll against his.

She watches him swallow, jaw clenching slightly to fix his smirk in place. She leans in, lips grazing his ear as she grinds on him again.

“Men,” her lips drip venom, “are fucking pathetic.”

Her pulse races, hammering through her, but she pushes the doubt down, letting the smirk sharpen into cruelty. The ever-precarious balance continues to tip in her favour as she senses a touch of nervousness in his little huff of laughter.

“And you,” she whispers, forcing him to hone in on what she's saying, “might be the most pathetic of all of 'em.”

“Keep runnin’ your mouth. See where it gets you.”

Her head tilts, eyes flashing smug. “Right where I want to be, obviously.” A bold move to admit it, but they know each other too well to deny what's about to happen. Of course they do. To despise is to know.

Her hands move fast - just quickly enough for his arms to stay where she's had them. The hem of her shirt is over her head in a fluid motion. His eyes flicker, distracted for the briefest second.

“Focus, Samuel,” she snaps, her grip catching his chin, forcing his eyes back to her face. “Getting distracted already? You’ll never keep up like this.”

"What's there to keep up with, huh? A little dry humping? What are you - fifteen?"

His jaw clenches, but he forces out another frustration-tinged laugh. She can see through it, feel the way his body tenses beneath her. She shifts, pressing harder against him, and the subtle change in his expression tells her everything.

His control is slipping.

"What? Desperate to get your fingers into me? Pervert." She raises a brow, palms moving from his face and wrist to trace the tension in his forearms. His muscles twitch beneath her touch, a reminder that this could end the moment he decides to reclaim control.

She sits up, hands pressing flat against his stomach, tucking under his t-shirt and smoothing over hair and warm skin as her fingertips curl into the fabric. She speeds up when she sees him watching her hands work, until she yanks the shirt up and over his head.

She tosses it aside as his eyes narrow. For a moment, it looks like he might flip her over, shut her up, but she restrains him once more. His muscles flex beneath her grip, coiled tight and ready to spring, but she keeps him there, her nails biting into his skin as if daring him to break free. The uneven rhythm of their breaths fills the tiny space between them. The room is too small, too hot, and the tension is making it all the more damn suffocating.

Suffice to say, Sam's had enough of the purgatory.

When he finally moves, it's sudden - violent almost - a flash of motion she doesn’t anticipate. His head snaps forward, and his lips crash against hers with enough force to steal her breath. It’s hardly a kiss; more of an attack, all teeth and heat and fury. She gasps into it, shocked, her body stiffening for a split second before the wave of intensity drags her under.

Her grip on his wrists loosens as his mouth claims hers, teeth scraping against her bottom lip hard enough to sting. The faint taste of copper blooms on her tongue, but the pain only fuels her, sending a jolt of heat through her spine. Bastard.

She collapses into him, matching his ferocity, her hands abandoning his wrists to thread into his hair. She tugs hard, earning a low, guttural sound from deep in his throat that vibrates against her lips. Her nails scrape against his scalp, and she feels him shudder beneath her as one of her hands flies down, scrambling for the metal of his zip. Her nail catches - it snaps. She hisses.

His hands move fast as she's momentarily distracted, one wrapping around the back of her neck, the other gripping her hip. The total one-eighty in power is instantaneous, his body surging up against hers as he pushes back, refusing to let her hold the reins any longer.

She doesn’t fight it. She lets him guide her into the chaos of it. His lips move against hers with bruising intensity, his tongue sweeping past her teeth in a way that makes her snarl back at him. Her nails rake down his shoulders, over the expanse of his bare chest, leaving faint red lines behind - the broken, jagged edge of the one she'd caught seconds ago scratching against his nipple.

He hisses against her mouth, his grip tightening as he shifts his weight. Then, with a sharp twist and a surge of strength, he flips her onto her back.

The mattress creaks as she lands, her breath knocked from her lungs. His body presses down against hers, pinning her in place as his mouth moves to her jaw, then her throat, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin there.

Her hands are on him immediately, roaming over his back, her nails digging into the hard lines of muscle as she arches up against him. Her heart pounds in her chest, adrenaline tangling into a volatile and all-consuming high.

His lips find her pulse, and she swears under her breath, the sound caught somewhere between outrage and need. She bucks her hips up against him, desperate to feel more, to take back some semblance of control.

But he doesn’t let her. He hovers above her. She whines, and it's embarrassing.

"Christ - someone's in heat, huh?" His tone is entirely too nonchalant given what they're doing.

She has half a mind to tell him to go fuck himself, but as the words form in her brain, the sensation of his hand snaking back into her shorts, scooping her underwear aside to stroke a line through her arousal only causes her to shudder. His mouth twists into an even deeper smirk at the atypical shake in her throat, taking it upon himself to make said shake worse by single-handedly shunting the waistband of her shorts down to mid-thigh.

She grunts, grabbing his face, pulling him back down to meet her, and this time, it’s her tongue that presses forward, demanding, devouring.

Teeth smack teeth and he mutters something about how wet she is - that his 'theory's got legs' - she calls him an insufferable cunt. He laughs, tracing circles everywhere but where she most needs it.

She bites his bottom lip, returning the favour from earlier, neither of them able to decipher whose blood they're tasting at this point. It's hard enough to make him pull back, his breath ragged as his eyes lock onto hers.

His patience snaps.

“Fucking animal,” he growls, his grip tightening on her waist.

Before she can call him a hypocrite, she’s flipped face-down on the bed, her arms crushed beneath her chest, as he presses himself down against her back.

Her breath leaves her in a startled rush.

Oh, shit.

Her thighs press together instinctively, and she thrashes, but it’s useless - he’s stronger, and he’s got her pinned. Hard.

She snarls into the sheets, writhing beneath him, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, his arm slides under her, curling around her stomach, palm pressing firm against the soft plane of her lower abdomen before moving lower still.

Heat licks up her spine, colliding messily with her frustration as she stiffens.He enjoys this - holding her down, feeling her succumb.

“Jesus, don’t tell me you’re getting comfortable,” he murmurs, his voice all mock sympathy, breath hot against her ear. His fingers flex, tightening his hold. “That’d be embarrassing.”

She lets out a sharp, breathy laugh, twisted against the sheets, her cheek pressed hard against the mattress. “Oh, please, do keep talking.” she spits, writhing against his grip.

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t give her the satisfaction of a response. Instead, he curls two fingers inside her, her body arching involuntarily into him, a curse slipping from her lips before she can stop it.

He smirks, his free hand sliding up her back, snapping apart the clasp on her bra, before snaking back up just below her throat, leaving her no time to retort. His thumb presses lightly against her windpipe, a warning, as his fingers continue their infuriatingly pleasant pace. She swallows hard as he speaks into the shell of her ear.

"Growing a bit compliant there, doll. Makin' me think this has been on your mind for a while."

With a grunt, she jostles herself up hard, trying to throw him off, trying to wrestle back the last bit of power she can. But he doesn’t budge. If anything, he only presses into her harder, his fingers hooking up in a way that makes her vision blur at the edges and a soft gasp fly out of her mouth.

Her lips part, her breath ragged, eyes locking with his over her shoulder. "You think… th-this means anything?" she spits, but her voice trembles, a touch of desperation creeping in.

He leans in closer, teeth grazing her bottom lip again, but this time softer, taunting. "Not sure." he replies, amused. "Ask me again when I've got my cock in you." He snorts at his own asinine remark. Her nostrils flare.

“Pig.” she manages to grit out, voice hoarse, teeth clenched.

His lips brush her ear, and he chuckles. "Pig? I'm not the one squealin'."

His wrist picks up the pace, causing her face to screw up, expression tightening as his thumb finally nudges her clit - her body seizes; she contracts unwillingly around his fingers, but he pries her back open with a third.

She can’t stop the moan that tears from her throat, her eyes squeezing shut as he watches her start to unravel beneath him with a sadistic grin.

Her body jerks against him as much as it can, the sharp edge of pleasure overtaking the defiance she's clung onto for the past few minutes as she tries to free her arms. She bites her lip hard, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her falling apart beneath him.

That is until she feels his hand pull away from between her thighs with a humiliating squelch, and she tries with all her might to hold back a defeated whimper at the sudden loss of sensation.

She tries to turn her head, impatience tightening her muscles, but he’s got her locked in place, every shift of her body met with an unyielding press of his weight. She can’t see him, can only feel - the absence of his fingers a cruel tease, leaving her thrumming with frustration.

Then she hears him sigh - quiet, almost contemplative. Then the slow drag of him sliding against her, gliding through the pool of slick he’s already drawn out.

Her breath stutters, thighs twitching in trepidation as the warm head of his cock nudges at her clit, pressing into her just enough to make her agonise for more. It’s humiliating, the involuntary clench of muscle, the way her arousal drips down onto the sheets. She hates it. Hates him.

Hates even more that every nerve in her body is screaming for him to keep going.

His chest is flush against her back, the unbearable heat of him sinking into her skin, searing, suffocating, branding, almost, in ways she refuses to acknowledge. She won't be forgetting this feeling for a long time. Neither will he.

His breath skates along the shell of her ear - ragged, smug. He knows. Of course, he fucking knows.

His hips shift, and then - fuck.

The first thrust knocks the air straight out of her lungs. He doesn’t ease in, doesn’t give her a second to adjust - just drives into her in one inexorable push, filling her so deep her fingers claw uselessly at the sheets.

She chokes on the moan that tries to escape, biting down hard on her lip until blood oozes back onto her tongue. She refuses to give him the satisfaction.

“Holy sh-” he grits out, adjusting his grip, one hand firm on her hip, thumb digging into the dip of her spine. “Wasn't expecting such a tight fit - Jesus.” His words cut through the haze as his other hand re-tightens around her throat.

Her eyes screw shut, her pulse hammering away. He shouldn’t feel this good. Given his big fucking mouth, she'd always assumed he was trying to compensate for something. More fool her.

Sam pulls back slowly, the stretch sending unbearable anticipatory pleasure sparking through her veins. Then he slams back in with a grunt, punching a breathless gasp out of her. He holds himself there for a second, feeling her stretch and squeeze around him.

“This really all it takes to get you to shut that whiny little mouth a'yours?"

Her hands fist into the sheets, wishing the same could be said about him, as numbness sets into her arms from being stuck under her own weight for so long, her jaw clenching as he sets a brutal rhythm, every snap of his hips forcing her forward, shunting her deeper into the uncomfortable mattress.

Her body gives in so easily, molten heat spiralling away in her stomach. Ugh, she wants to spit something back at him, but she can’t. He’s fucking the breath right out of her, and all sense of the disgusting room around her is fading, slipping into nothing.

In her attempt to keep quiet, she must make a sound - broken, subservient - damn near wrecked, because he laughs against her sweat-damp skin, pressing her down harder, cock driving deeper, with the intention to bruise - he wants her to remember this.

She groans, long and lewd, her forehead pressing into the mattress, her body traitorously growing more pliant under him. The pleasure is unbearable, tangled with resentment, with rage, with the utmost desire to wipe that smug tone out of his voice.

His hand around her throat scoops her upwards, and she whines through gritted teeth as her back is forcibly arched and her breathing is restricted. Every breath is laboured, his grip unrelenting, pushing her into a tight space between ecstasy and… well, suffocation, probably. Her vision blurs slightly at the edges, but a dull prickling sensation creeps through her arms. Pins and needles.

She feels the slow return of blood flow, the sluggish tingling that signals her strength coming back. The feeling shoots through her hands, all the way to her fingertips. Soon… very soon, she’ll have enough control to move. To shove him off, regain the upper hand, and wipe that smug expression off his face. Or… Or she can let him keep going. Let him use her, drive her deeper into this haze of loathing-stunted pleasure.

“Y’know,” oh what the hell does he want now? “I could stop-"

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she snaps, her voice rough from the pressure on her throat. His laugh vibrates against her back - he calls her a whore again. A cheap insult, but infuriatingly taunting nonetheless.

“Ugh,” she rasps, struggling for air, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re-”

He cuts her off with another brutal snap of his hips, his fingers tightening around her throat, making her clench her teeth around a particularly loud moan.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you.”

Her arms twitch beneath her, the prickling sensation turning into something more solid. She can feel the strength returning, knows she can move if she really wants to. But does she want to?

“So fucking full of yourself,” she manages to spit out between gasps, but even as the words leave her lips, she’s not sure if she believes them. She’s close - too close to care about pride right now. Her hands flex against the sheets, feeling the last vestiges of numbness fade. She knows she has a choice to make.

He lets out a low, breathy chuckle, somewhere between a smug exhale than a giggle, his thumb brushing possessively along her jaw. “God, I can think of a great retort for that one,” he murmurs, his focus now on the ripple of her flesh as he buries himself into her again and again. “Bit on the nose, though, even f’me - ha, fuck.”

And then she notices he’s losing it. Rhythm’s all over the shop. Messy. Sloppy. He’s lucky he’s got such a maddeningly nice dick because he’s barely holding it together. And the grip? He’s not pulling her up to control her anymore - he’s using her to hold himself up. Leaning on her, pressing his weight down into her and her shaky arms that are just about holding her up. Idiot.

Ooh, he's close.

He shifts slightly, just enough to adjust his grip on her, and that’s when she moves.

She bucks once more. As hard as she can. A violent twist of her hips, using the last of her strength to wrench herself sideways, unbalancing him just enough to make him swear under his breath as he slips out of her.

She almost mourns the loss… but she certainly won’t waste it.

Her knee plants against the mattress, her body surging with a reckless, desperate twist. He tries to grab her, but she’s already moving, shoving her shoulder into his side, using her full weight to knock him off balance.

And then they’re falling.

They hit the floor hard, tangled, his hand shooting out to grab at her, but she’s already moving.

A scramble, her knee grinding into his ribs. A sharp shove. Teeth gritted. His growl’s met with a vicious laugh.

He reaches for her wrist. Stupid move.

She twists his arm instead. Slams his chest to the floor. Limbs tangled, messy, but she’s got him now. Breathless, glowing with sweat. Arousal. Victory.

“Finally,” she exhales, shaking the hair from her face as she plants her weight against him. “You alright down there, champ?”

He’s seething. Muscles coiled tight - and he’s still fucking hard despite it all. God, he’s pissed, and she's more than aware that she's got limited time to wrangle full control, so she’s already moving, already fumbling for the closest thing-

His belt.

Perfect.

Leather snaps free from his jeans with a crisp thhhhk, click-clack, and Sam’s eyes go wide, rage and panic flickering. He’s still throbbing, still right there on the edge, but everything’s slipping out of his hands. Stone to sand. All power gone. Kaput.

“Nah - no, no, no, no. We’re not doin’ this," His voice breaks, a low growl, a shot of panic. "We’re not-“

His laugh comes out stilted, but it quickly morphs into a guttural growl of frustration as he tries to throw her off. She digs in - knee to his shoulder blade, boot to the small of his back. It’s enough to pin him, pain sharp, getting the job done.

His hands press to the floor in a last-ditch effort to push up. “You arrogant, goddamn- Agh-”

Her hand’s in his hair. Brutal. His face gets shoved to the floor, cheek grinding against the rough, dirty surface.

“Shhh.” The slimy little bitch’s voice is low, condescendingly soothing - all a stark comparison to the way she yanks his arm round to his back. “Quit being so dramatic. You’re gonna get us noise complaints.”

He spits curses, body jerking beneath her, but it’s all in vain. Leather loops once, twice, three times. Tight somewhere between his wrists and his elbows. Just out of reach of his fingers. The buckle clinks. Coffin nailed shut.

By the time he stops thrashing, his breathing’s ragged, face half-planted on the floor, arms bound behind his back.

He’s trapped. Tense. Furious. Fuck this.

"Up you get, big boy." With a grunt of effort, she grabs the fabric of his trousers near the waist and braces herself, leaning back slightly to use her weight. It's not graceful, but it's effective. He resists, of course – a deliberate shift of his shoulders, a tensing of his limbs that makes it harder than it needs to be. She growls in frustration, her fingers digging into his flesh as she pulls. He shifts begrudgingly, his body fighting her for every inch as she hauls him upright.

Another shift, a last-ditch effort to resist, but finally - finally - he’s on his knees, breathing hard, eyes glued to the floor as he fruitlessly tries to tug apart his arms.

She looks down at him, noting the anger in his expression, as he looks over his shoulders to assess the binding situation he's in. Then, she glances at the rigid set of his cock sticking out of his jeans. A grin tugs at the corner of her mouth as she mulls something over, sore lip pulled between her teeth.

“Show me your tongue.”

His head snaps in her direction, eyes shifting up towards her, but he remains silent.

“You heard me.”

The corner of Sam’s mouth twitches.

“You’ve lost your mind,” he mutters, his brows furrowing as he looks up at her with that familiar blend of defiance and derision, swallowing at the sight of her nudity.

She cocks her head, the very picture of patient amusement, and sighs theatrically, as if his resistance is nothing more than a mild inconvenience. “Always the hard way with you, isn’t it?”

Her fingers find his jaw, the pads of them tracing the gentle edge of bone with mock delicacy, dragging down to his stubbled chin and around to the nape of his neck. Her touch is deceptively gentle, lulling him into a brief moment of unease.

He doesn’t like the way it feels. Softness isn’t her weapon of choice; she’s more prone to acting like the human equivalent of barbed wire, so this tenderness sets his nerves on edge. His eyes flicker, skittering over her face as she kneels to his level.

“Ah, shit-”

The words break from him as her fingers knot into his hair, the tenderness of her touch abruptly morphing into a sharp yank that forces his head back. His throat bobs as he swallows, the motion starkly exposed in the taut column of his neck.

Sam tries to shift under her grip, angling his head in an attempt to take control of the movement, but she tightens her hold, keeping him off balance. It’s a deliberate cruelty, that refusal to let him get comfortable.

“Open your mouth,” she demands, her voice dropping. “And show me your fucking tongue, Sam.”

His eyes squint against the sharp tug of her grip, discomfort twisting his features as his teeth clench in defiance. For a moment, it looks like he’s going to push back, to spit some insult at her that will surely make her pull harder. She almost wants him to - any excuse to relish in this a little more.

But then her thumbnail skims over the head of his cock, fingers squeezing him gently, coaxing out a pretty bead of precum as her other hand digs fiercely into his scalp, sending a sharp pulse of debauched pain down his spine, and he realises - reluctantly - that there’s no winning this battle.

His lips part slightly, the smallest gesture of compliance, allowing a soft shudder of a gasp to slip. Enough to earn a triumphant quirk of her brow, nonetheless. Her smile sharpens, and he hates it. But still, he swallows his pride and lets his tongue dart out briefly as she pumps her hand tight around his slick shaft.

“There he is,” she murmurs, her tone laced with condescending approval. His eyes shut in an attempt to remove himself from the situation - just to focus on the feeling of being jerked off, and she watches him with parted lips of her own.

She exhales slowly, her hand loosening in his hair just enough for him to relax a fraction; her thumb hooks over his bottom lip, prying him open just a touch more, tip of it resting against his teeth.

It’s all a cruel mislead, of course - an opening for her next move. Her tongue rolls around the floor of her mouth, letting herself salivate for a moment as satisfaction rolls through her in waves.

With a sudden, fluid motion, she leans forward and spits. Directly onto his tongue. The wetness lands with an audible sound, catching him completely off guard. His body flinches instinctively, a mix of shock and disgust flashing across his face as his eyes snap open.

Sam recoils, twisting sharply in an attempt to pull away, but her hand tightens in his hair again, keeping him in place.

“Swallow it.”

He gawks at her, blinking, disbelief carving deep into his face. Then, defiant, just as she’s halfway to standing - he spits right back at her.

It lands on her thigh.

Her eyes track the slow slide of it, narrowing, sharp with intent.

"You're gonna clean that up."

It hits him sideways, enough to make him bark out a laugh and tell her she’s fucked in the head. He shifts, rocking back to stand, sick of it- but before he can get far, she’s got him. A sharp yank, fingers curling tight in his hair, dragging him between her thighs as she sits herself on the edge of the bed.

He fights. For a second. Maybe longer.

Jerks against her grip, muscles straining, breath sharp. A tangle of half-formed curses and gritted insults spill from his mouth. He bucks, twists, pushes back all sloppy and desperate. But it’s instinct more than anything.

She holds steady.

Unyielding. Even shushing him at one point, her harsh clawing at his hair turning into a patronising stroke.

Just a roll of her hips - grinding her cunt against his spit-slick lips. His breath stutters, his pulse a frantic hammer. He wants to pull back. He needs to, or he’ll never hear the end of this. But it’s already slipping - crumbling.

And she knows.

That faint, knowing smile. Just enough to gut him.

He loathes her. But right now, he's fucking powerless against the way she holds him, so he loathes himself just as much. The beauty of her contempt, the sight of her; swollen, dripping, so fucking pretty - it unravels him, inch by inch.

Lust coils around his willpower, thorned vines twisting, piercing, digging in deep, holding him there just as her thighs do. Every defiant twitch grows weaker. His fight crumbles, piece by piece, drowning under the weight of his own sickening want.

It’s like being stuck in a weird loop - one second clawing for control, the next watching it slip through his fingers. His mind spirals, blurring need with shame. Clawing for control. Losing it. Over and over again.

A shuddering sigh escapes him. Surrender. His mouth moves before his mind can catch up, tongue finding rhythm, following instinct. Thought dulls. Exhaustion takes hold.

She tastes incredible. Feels incredible. He lets her keep rubbing against his nose, his lips and tongue - hell, he even catches himself looking up at her to see how she reacts - if he’s doing a good job. And worst of all - he can feel his cock twitch as she damn-near suffocates him.

Fuck, he hates her. She sounds so goddamn pretty as she pants and mewls as she uses him like a toy, and he fucking hates her.

Her thighs tighten around his shoulders, boots digging into his back, tugging him in closer. He exhales, sharp, ragged. It fans over her clit and she laughs softly at his final act of dissent before it all caves in.

No words. No insults. Nothing.

Just her control.

And his capitulation.

She’s watching him. Half-lidded, eyes glazed, lips parted - lust-drunk.

Then, her head tilts and her eyes drop between his legs. She streams around his tongue when she sees how swollen he is, reminding herself of how he felt minutes ago.

A sharp tug - his hair burning against her grip as she pulls him away, just for a moment, just to drink in the sight of him - face slick, pupils blown, chest heaving. He barely has a second to catch his breath before she shifts, hands pressing against his shoulders, shoving him back.

He hits the ground with a ragged gasp, body thrumming, limbs heavy. The world tilts, his mind scrambling to keep up, but she’s already moving - crawling over him, her thighs bracketing his head, knees pressing firm into the floor.

His bound arms ache beneath him, shoulders burning, but it barely registers.

Sound, weight, scent - she drowns him in it, a force as consuming as the taste of her on his tongue. It suffocates, but he doesn’t fight it. No, he revels in it.

The pressure of her thighs, the slick heat against his mouth, the way she bears down with full intent - it dilutes the pain, the sheer humiliation, all eclipsed. And God, does he feast.

He laps over her, tracing the edge, tugging at her hardened clit, pulling a raspy cry from her, muffled by her thighs. He pushes his tongue just a little further, breaching and earning another gush as she braces her hands against the floor.

The sharp roll of his tongue, the relentless way he works her over - it’s almost too much. Her thighs twitch around his head, her breath coming in short, hitched gasps, and she knows she’s close. And she won’t give him that victory yet.

She moves because she wants to see his face - wants to see the mess she’s made of him. It’s not enough to feel him unravel beneath her; she needs to witness it. Needs to drink in the sight of him, sweat-damp and dazed, lips pink and slick, chest heaving from the effort of it all.

She lifts herself just enough to glance down, and - oh.

He’s a sight. Pupils dark and glassy, lips parted, jaw slack like he hasn’t quite remembered how to hold himself together. His shoulders twitch beneath the strain of being bound for so long, but he’s not focused on that.

Her legs feel unsteady as she moves, dragging herself up his body, heat still pulsing between her legs as she settles over his chest instead.

His face is slick with her, lips parted, gaze flickering between her eyes and the curve of her mouth, like he’s searching for something -defiance, permission, something he can twist back in his favour. But she doesn’t give him the satisfaction.

Instead, she just smirks, tapping a single finger against his jaw. “Arms hurt?”

His eyes track her, blinking through the mess, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. His lips part, like he wants to say something, but instead, he just watches her. There’s defiance, of course, and something almost like curiosity.

“Arms. Shoulders,” he mutters, still catching his breath, his eyes narrowing up at her, “you try being tied up by a total amateur.”

She laughs lightly, breathless herself. “Could’ve fooled me, you seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

He groans, rolling his eyes, but there’s a hint of something that might be a laugh in there. “Enjoyin’ mysel- Jesus, you really are… not right in the head.”

Her smile sharpens, and she leans down, foreheads touching as she mimics his cadence. "You really are… not handling this well, are you?"

His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his temple, but his voice comes out hoarse, lacking the bite. “I swear to God…”

She can’t help it - she laughs. Breathless and sooo giddy.

He shakes his head, hers still resting against his, a mix of frustration and something dangerously close to resignation. “I’m gonna break your damn neck in a min-“

She silences his cheapened fury in an instant - he doesn’t even realise she’s kissing him until she pulls away and his lazy threat slides back down his throat. She tilts her head, lips curving in that smug, infuriating way they always do.

“Get this shit off of me,” he grits, trying to hold onto something solid, cheeks warming despite his best efforts to keep it together.

Her grin spreads, slow and syrupy, and her fingers trace along his jaw, then down to the ink on his neck. Her hips press down, just enough to make him aware of the weight of her against him, soaked folds sliding over him.

“In a minute,” she chides.

He groans, a tongue pressing against his teeth, a mirthless huff of laughter escaping as he turns his head slightly. “Nope. Right now,” he mutters, but it’s more of a complaint than a command, his resolve fraying at the edges, worn thin under her touch.

She hums thoughtfully, as if actually considering it, before leaning closer, lips brushing his ear. "Do you want to finish?" Her tone is casual, light, like they’re talking about the weather.

Ugh. He rolls his neck, a sharp crack that makes her wince, but there’s no real venom left in him. Just frustration, heat, and a grudging acceptance of the situation.

“Thought so,” she murmurs with a grin, and she angles herself against his tip, he doesn’t have the energy to fight it.

She watches him with curious intensity as she sinks down, a soft laugh and long exhale pulled out of her when he winces. Her cunt swallows him whole, searing her in two, boiling his blood, all the heat and tension and rage and exhaustion of this seemingly endless ordeal of being stuck together for weeks on end - making them a mess of tangled limbs and ragged breaths, sounds pulled out of both of them, her moans caught between sharp inhales, his teeth clenched around groans that scrape up his throat.

“Mm-ff-fuck-” he stutters, teeth snagging against his lower lip as he can’t prevent himself from fucking up into her any longer. “Y’know you’re so much more- ha- more tolerable like this.”

“Woah - was- was that a compliment?” She slows, letting him take the reins for a moment.

He laughs, head tilted back into the carpet. “Fat chance.”

“Oof,” She scoffs, leaning back to brace her hands on his thighs. She sits up fully, enveloping to the hilt and he watches himself repeatedly disappear into her, lips parted, trying to maintain a semblance of control over his breathing. Fuck, she loves the way his eyes roam her body - hungry, devouring, darting from the ripple of her stomach to the bounce of her tits, lingering on the flush that spreads over her skin, the sweat-slick glow catching in the dim lamplight. “And to think I was about to give you some… jargon about how nice your cock feels.”

“Wouldn’t want it.” He lies, eyes shut as he smirks to himself. “Servile praise never really did much for me.”

“Hah, well your tongue was acting pretty servile a second ago… ugh, fuck.” She groans, shunted forwards, hands smacking onto his chest to stop her falling flat onto him. He swears as she accidentally pushes more pressure on his arms. His shoulders flex, trying to balance the ache beneath him with the overwhelming pleasure of her on top, the cruel mix of restraint and indulgence that keeps him teetering on the edge.

She should leave him like this. Should keep him right where he is. But when he shifts beneath her, just enough to drag a ragged groan from deep in his chest. Something about it makes her cave. Maybe it’s pity, maybe it’s power, maybe it’s just the fact that she wants to see what he’ll do with his hands freed.

She reaches behind him, fingers working the buckle loose, and the second the belt slips away, his arms fly forward. One hooks around her waist, dragging her down so fast the breath jolts out of her, the other fists into her hair, yanking her into a kiss - clumsy, messy, all teeth and heat and unspent frustration. It’s not tender, not sweet. It’s nothing but a last-ditch attempt to swallow down the sounds she’s already torn from him, to reclaim some semblance of control before she can smirk against his mouth and make him feel even more, as she’d rightly put it, fucking pathetic.

She’s embarrassed him enough. He’s got to keep something to himself. He fucking groans anyway when he feels her clench around him.

She pulls back just enough to smirk. “What was that?”

“Will you shut your fucking mouth?” He doesn’t give her time to answer. Just flips them, shoving her onto her back, thrusting into her with new, unrestrained fervour. She gasps, half-laughing, half-moaning, her nails digging into the back of his neck.

“I get it,” she breathes between ragged inhales. “You - oh, fuck - you’ve gotta hold on to what little dignity you have left.”

His jaw tightens, nostrils flaring. “Be quiet.”

It’s a half-hearted command, lost between a sharp exhale and the way his pace turns frantic, his restraint fraying at the edges.

But she’s not faring much better. Her moans rise in pitch as his hand pushes between them, recklessly rubbing against her clit again - no doubt she’ll have something smart to say about him coming first - she writhes, arching up unto him, tits crushed against him, her thighs twitching around his waist, her nails pressing deep enough to leave crescents in his skin.

She gasps, startled as he presses against her almost painfully, and he takes the opportunity to bite down on her lower lip, just to feel her jolt against him, just to make sure he’s still got some say in how this plays out. But she’s never been one to let him win easily - her fingers twist into his hair, pulling just enough to sting, her hips rolling up against his in a way that makes him groan despite himself. He curses into her mouth, swallowing it down just in time.

Her body tightens beneath him, trembling, and god - he knows she’s close.

So is he.

“Gonna- ah, shit, c- can I cum in you?”

She swallows before she can register what he’s said, eyes squeezing shut as a stuttered cry tumbles out of her mouth - then she’s pulsing - gushing around him. Nails dug into spade, heart, club, diamond, as he fucks her through her climax. Lucky is right.

She feels nothing short of transcendental around him - the only thing putting a stop to him mindlessly telling her this is his own building panic.

“P- shit- fuckin’ answer me.”

Oh, he’s seriously asking? Her thighs tremble as she falls limp under him, nodding into his shoulder as a cock-drunk flash of a smile plasters its way onto her lips.

His hand quickly tangles into her hair as a ragged, stuttering groan resonates in his chest; the jerky, force of his hips against her thighs bruises as he succumbs to his own release. She’s all-encompassed by a sudden warmth filling her up, the intensity of her heartbeat thrumming away in her ears.

He lets out a long huff of air, hand snatched from between them as he braces himself against the ground, breathing heavily.

For a moment, neither of them move, bodies buzzing with the mental and physical aftershock, chests rising and falling out of sync.

He eventually rolls off of her, rubbing a hand over his face.

“What... the hell was that?”

She huffs, staring at the ceiling. “Your poor anger management.”

He turns his head to glare at her, but there’s no real bite to it, just exhaustion and the ghost of humiliation he’s struggling to swallow. "Yeah, well, you’re not exactly a picture of restraint either.”

She shrugs, stretching her arms above her head as she sits up, cheeks flushed, hair matted. “You called me frigid. Had to prove you wrong.” He snorts, full of resentment.

A few more beats of silence, then- “What are you smiling about?”

She bites back the smug little grin threatening to spread wider, rising to her feet. “C-c-c-can I c-c-cum in you?” She stutters, blatantly ribbing, voice pitched in a terrible imitation of his desperation.

His jaw twitches, shuts his eyes, grits his teeth. Ugh. “Your presence is excruciating.”

She clicks her tongue, gesturing to the pearly liquid slowly dribbling down her inner thigh. “Sooo excruciating.”

He groans, shoving a hand through his hair, looking very much like a man questioning his life choices. “Fuck off.”

“I am.” She steps over him, standing on shaky limbs with an obnoxious head tilt as she goes for one of the poorly folded scratchy towels on the dresser. “I’m not leaking all over the floor. Even if you’re sleeping there. I have standards.” He makes a face, brows furrowing, mouth parting slightly like he wants to argue but just… can’t.

She watches the realisation dawn on him with no small amount of satisfaction.

“Jesus Christ.” He groans, flopping back onto the carpet, throwing an arm over his eyes. She laughs as she heads for the bathroom. His hand blindly grabs for his belt, launching it in her direction with an irked grunt.

It thuds against the door as she shuts it behind her. He exhales sharply, rubbing at his jaw. Stares at the ceiling. Fuck.

[astayinwonderland]

Do you think we are about to make a terrible mistake? | Zhong Chenle

pairing: chenle x f.reader

genre: besties to lovers | smut +18 MDNI

summary: chenle has been away for a while and you miss your best friend-- however, everything changes when you realise you might actually love him more than a friend

wc: 2.2k

warnings: mentions and use of alcohol, anxiety, consensual sex, unprotected sex (pls no), oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms-- lmk if I forgot anything

It’s 15 minutes past 11, where the fuck is he? 

You already texted him twice. You called. The party had already started and your friends wondered if you would make it. Hell, you were wondering if you should just go on your own. But no– you promised you would get there together for old-time’s sake. It’s been a little over a year since Chenle moved out of the country, your days of embracing nothingness together are gone, movie nights are just nostalgic memories, and maybe some words left unspoken. You missed your best friend dearly and even though you often called each other, it was not the same. Not at all. You missed more than his company. You missed his essence, aura, sparkly eyes, smile, and touch… 

Your heart suddenly ached. Were you truly in love or is it just the fact that this is the first time you will see him since he left? The thoughts that rudely invade your brain get interrupted by three loud knocks. Running to the door, you can feel the thundering beating of your heart ringing in your ears. 

“I know I’m late, I’m sorry…. Please don’t be upset–” 

You open the door abruptly and there he is. 

Zhong Chenle. 

Blue 3-piece suit. His hair graciously falls over his forehead, framing his beautiful face. He gives you the brightest of smiles, your heart skips a bit. 

“Don’t hate me. Come here!” he opens his arms to embrace you. 

“Shut up,” you throw your arms around him, and suddenly everything is fine. Time has not passed. 

His nose lowers to your head and he inhales your scent. This is home to him, he can’t believe he’s been away from you for so long. All he yearns is to keep you close, but doing so means having to accept the fact that he is irremediably in love with you. 

Smoke and bright lights danced around the place and the crowd made way for you and the man of the hour apparently. Everyone reaches out to Chenle. Hugs, high fives, praises, and kisses shower him. You can’t help but feel a tad bit jealous. This was supposed to be a fun night for you and your best friend… and your other friends as well. But Chenle is loved, popular, and missed, of course, people would be all over him. You feel silly for suggesting going to the party in the first place. 

You’re snapped back to reality when your body crashes into Chenle’s. His hand is possessively placed around your waist. Your audible gasp makes him laugh. 

“Where did your mind go, silly?” 

“Nowhere, I just wish we were somewhere else. This is not how I envisioned tonight, you know… after spending so much time apart,” you force a smile and feel his thumb caressing you softly. There was something up with him, but to your surprise, you couldn’t read him. 

Chenle closes the distance between you too. He's a little too close, his breath fanning on your face. Is he going to–

“Chenle!” 

Shiny hair, plump lips, white smile. Her manicured hand was already snaking its way to Chenle’s arm. She looks at you, scanning up and down as if she were trying to figure out who you are. 

“Oh, hey! Wh- what are you doing here?” Chenle replies. A kiss on her cheek makes your heart sink. 

Chenle’s eyes go from you to the girl and again to you. He is about to introduce you but you suddenly feel like your heart is going to burst out your chest, your palms are sweaty, your eyes getting watery and your ability to breathe fades as you try to fight the feeling. 

“I really need to go. Sorry– Nice to meet you,” you say politely. You try not to cry as you make your way out. Chenle watches as you leave, but he feels how his chest tightens more and more with each step you take away from him. 

After his third call, you get into the shower hoping that the pain would fade away with the hot water hitting your vulnerable skin. With tears streaming down your face and sobs that echo around your bathroom you finish your shower. You are too exhausted to do anything else but sleep, and your phone has long been forgotten in your purse. 

You think you just blinked but in reality, it is a little past 3 a.m. and the faintest sound coming from your door seems to wake you up. In a panic, you rush and open the door to find a sobering Chenle by your door. 

“...it was about fucking time you opened that door, silly, I’ve been knocking for hours I thought–” 

You cut him off, pulling him in. 

“Chenle what the fuck?” 

He smiles at your puzzled expression. His hair is a bit messy now, blue suit is wrinkled. You can’t help but wonder if anything happened with the girl in the club. 

“I’ve been waiting for hours… I followed you back here but you locked the door. I called you so many times… ” he frowns. 

You go to the kitchen and fetch him a water bottle. As he starts drinking it, you find his eyes searching yours…  Sparks. No. No. This is your best friend Chenle. Nothing can ever happen between you and your best friend. The one who taught you how to ride a bike, tie your shoelaces, and give the best hugs ever. 

“You look so pretty,” he finally says. 

“Drink your water, Chenle,” you sigh. 

“You do!” he insists. 

“Who has she?” and you can’t believe the words that leave your mouth. You weren’t supposed to ask. 

“We did a semester together abroad. She is a good classmate that’s all. I never meant to upset you– you are too important…” 

You weren’t sure where the conversation was going, but Chenle assumed he talked too much. He puts the water bottle down and makes his way to you. Now you find yourself between your best friend and your bedroom door. The hard wooden surface against your back reminds you that once you cross that threshold with him, your relationship will change forever. 

His hands touch your waist, not sure if he has permission to do so, but you welcome him as the drug you need. His lips inches from yours and you pray he will kiss you, but time stops. It’s really only you and him at last like you dreamt of so many restless nights. 

“I’ve been wanting to ask you something since the moment I came back…” 

“Yes?” your voice comes out as a breathless whisper. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

You can’t even wait to answer him when your lips are already on his. His tongue teases yours and your lips part. He tastes of expensive wine, lust, and love. Chenle moans into your mouth and that is it for you. You want every single inch of you to be consumed by him. You reach out to open the door to your room. 

“Please,” you ask. 

“How can I say no to you?” he smiles and kisses you once again. 

Each second you spend kissing him you feel your skin getting hotter, desire coursing through your veins making you dizzy, and then you feel him carry you. Bride style, his lips never leaving yours. He carefully lowers you onto the bed, his hands now exploring your clothed body, the feeling of sparks under his fingertips making the moment intense, and urgent. Little moans and cries escape you both as Chenle helps you to straddle him. Your delicate fingers move his hair away from his face. The most beautiful man is underneath you, eyes on yours, lips parted. His chest rises and falls, you contemplate him for a moment. He takes your hands into his, everything seems surreal, you have spent countless times in this bedroom but not like this—a new territory. 

“Do you think we are about to make a terrible mistake?” your voice is small, you may not want to know what he has to say. 

He shakes his head. His hand reaches your cheek. 

“Do you?” 

Now you shake your head. 

“Good. Then kiss me, silly, and don’t stop unless you don’t want to do this–” but you don’t let him finish his thought and your lips already found his. 

It is then that you finally understand that he needs you as much as you need him. The pieces of clothing now are forgotten somewhere on your bedroom floor. Every part of you reacting to Chenle’s heavenly but sinful touch. His fingers finally take the only item of clothing left, your panties. He lowers himself, eye level with your wet cunt. 

“So pretty,” he murmurs. 

His tongue licks your entrance, ending in your clit which he sucks and your soul seems to leave your body as your back arches for him. Your hands immediately reach your breasts increasing the sinful pleasure coursing through you. You feel one of his fingers slide in you with almost no resistance. That’s how aroused you are for him. You gasp and your hips move, making the feeling of his hot mouth on your cunt even better. With his tongue flat on your slit, Chenle’s hands squeeze your thighs, encouraging you to use his face as you please. Only stopping to spit on your throbbing core, he eats you out so deliciously your soft moans turning louder. Legs over his shoulders now, he adds two curling fingers in you. 

Again and again, he kicks your clit, his fingers working magic inside you, fogging your brain and heightening the urge to cum for him. 

“Fuck! I– I’m–” you can’t think, you can’t speak… and so your orgasm hits you with such intensity you are shaking under him. Your legs turn to jelly. The heavy breathing that follows your cries echo in your ears. Chenle plants one last kiss on your clit and your legs close from the overstimulation. 

He lets out a low-pitched chuckle and the vibration travels straight to your clit again. 

“You okay?” 

You look at him in between your legs. Did this just happen? Your head falls back once more to the pillow. An involuntary laugh escapes your lips. But Chenle knows you, sometimes better than he knows himself he thinks and to him, this moment is making his heart go a million miles an hour. What an honour to have you like this, all fucked out, and all for him. 

Little kisses are planted on your thighs, on your lower stomach, your hands, your breasts, until he reaches your face. You giggle in response. His eyes meet yours, and different from what you thought, you are not embarrassed. You want him more than ever, so you kiss him. 

“More than okay,” you finally replied. 

Reaching south of his body you find his erection already leaking for you. You stroke it slowly, the faintest of moans leaving Chenle’s lips. This is the greatest reward you can get. His breath hitches as your pace gets faster. 

“Aaahhh…” a long, whiny moan. 

“You like that?” 

He nods reassuring you. 

You bring his hips lower, aligning his tip with your entrance. In anticipation, your eyes shut but immediately your jaw falls open when Chenle’s cock begins to stretch your needy cunt. Inch after inch, pleasure builds on pleasure and you silently pray the moment never ends when he starts moving in but not completely out of you. Your nails digging into his biceps, loving the way he stretches you out. 

“Ch-chenle,” 

“I know, I got you,” and he wraps one of your legs around his waist, making his thrusts deeper, his cock dragging against your walls that clench tightly around him. 

“Feels so so good,” your hand goes to his head, grabbing a handful of hair and pulling slightly. 

“Say. That. Again,” he moans. 

“It feels so good”. 

Chenle buries his face in the crook of your neck. Mild sharp pain fades into pleasure when he bites your skin, licking the now sensitive spot to ease the harsh sensation. You pull his hair once more, this time to make him kiss you. And he does, so lost in passion, so lost in you. The kiss is sloppy, messy, perfect. His thumb presses circles on your clit acting as the perfect trigger for your orgasm. You feel climbing higher and higher, his cock twitching inside you, his hot breath fanning on your face, his lips curving into a smile. Fuck, he is everything. 

“Chenle! Fuck… ah!” you cum for him. 

“Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes,” he repeats as a broken record as he pulls out and cums letting out a high-pitched moan that you will remember for the rest of your life. 

Chenle kisses your face, your hands, and helps you clean up. However, you didn’t exchange a word then. Now, you find yourselves back in bed, still naked. His arm around your waist, your head on his chest. His heartbeat is a love poem itself. 

“You know,” he breaks the silence. “I don’t ever want to say hello or leave without kissing you… I guess what I’m trying to say is–” 

You kiss him. It’s a long kiss, your lips pressed against his. Everything feels just right like it’s meant to be. 

“I really like you, Chenle,” you whisper, somewhat scared of what he will say back. 

“I really really like you too, silly,” he smiles. 

————————————————————-

a/n: this is pure ✨fiction✨

I hope enjoyed this :3 ~ masterlist

[raguonmynieceandnephew]

"It's so unfair to the Rat Grinders that they are killed instantly and the Bad Kids get to roll death saves." SHUT UUUUUUUUUUUUP

THIS IS LONG, AND HONESTLY FOR MYSELF, SO YEAH READ IF YOU WANT

I swear to god, this discourse is going to fucking be the end of me. Idk what kind of mind boggling spell Brennan Lee Mulligan wove into the fabric of the universe that spread through the data center of Dropout in order to absolutely hijack y'all's brains when it comes to Cocklord Assgape and her ragtag of character foils but whatever it was has made you Rat Grinder stans INSUFFERABLE in this site.

The levels of treating fictional characters as if they were real people have reached a level I honestly have never anticipated, to the point of y'all actually being mad AT THE CAST for "mistreating" them and ACTUALLY QUESTION BRENNAN'S CAPACITY TO DM. Do you not get how fucking insane that is?

We can't make fun of Copperkettle, one of the most pathetic, petty and incompetent villains in D20 history anymore (even though she is masterfully written and developed to generate this reaction from us) anymore because it's bullying apparently. I saw an account flip the fuck out because someone compared her rivalry with Kristen to Drake and Kendrick's beef. KIPPERLILY IS NOT A REAL GIRL. SHE IS A MAKE BELIEVE CHARACTER IN AN IMPROV SHOW SPAWNED FROM THE BRAIN OF A 36 YEAR OLD MAN

And then what truly pissed me off the MOST about this whole hell is the fact that, being chronically online avid consumers of this goddamn show, I would think you would have but a grasp of the main cast of characters' characterization.

Why the uproar about Riz saying they should chop Oisin's head off? The same Riz who tortured that pixie from Freshman year by shooting off their finger one by one? The same Riz who murked a disarmed and unconscious Coach Daybreak without battin an eye? The same Riz who ATE THE CORPSE OF KALVAXUS?

And the whole Fabian vs Ivy debacle MY GOD, THE GIRL WAS RACIST TO HIS GIRLFRIEND AND USED HER LAST BREATH TO CALL MAZEY "OBJECTIVELY UGLY". And the funniest thing is that is not even the most unhinged shit he has ever said.

And finally, Death Save Gate: THE RAT GRINDERS ARE NOT PLAYER CHARACTERS. THEY ARE NPCS! THE RULES FOR EACH WORK DIFFERENTLY, ESPECIALLY THEM BEING BOSS ENCOUNTERS. Imagine having to still hit Ivy or Oisin 2 more times to kill them when there is 14 foot tall Porter throwing legendary actions left and right, with Jace, and other 3 spell casters + Mary Ann and KLCK up and running. It's called balancing the fucking game. Also, game masters are entitled to break, mold and make up any rules they want if they find necessary in order to service themselves and their players. IF YOU PLAY WITH ALL THESE RULES AS THEY COME, GOOD FOR YOU AND YOUR TABLE. THIS IS NOT YOUR TABLE.

Not only is Brennan DMing for his CLOSEST FRIENDS EVER, he is also shooting and producing an ENTIRE TV SHOW. So yeah, i think he knows wtf he is doing.

"But the Ratgrinders had no real development": True. But it wasn't for lack of trying from the players. Everytime they tried to know more, the dice didn't let them, so they decided to focus on the mystery. It simply do be like that sometimes.

"But they are just kids!": And so were Penelope, Dayne, Ragh, Zayn, the Bloodrush Players, Aelwyn and Biz. Why wasn't it a problem then? Because most of them were evil to some extent and were about to bring the fucking apocalypse to the world? Yeah, sounds familiar right? And the ones who were manipulated or had any sort of redemption worked their way into earning it, right? Yeah.

In conclusion, I fucking love the Rat Grinders, I truly do, and not unlike 90% of this website, i'm still holding on to hope that they have any sort of development and redemption in the last episode, because I agree, they ARE children and they WERE manipulated by Porter and Jace, but like, can we also agree that they are fucking assholes and had it fucking coming? Also, the BKs are children too y'know. SO STOP BEING FUCKING ANNOYING.

[blackenedsnow]

Can I ask you to write headcanons for the Dudes on their s/o being a cat person and having a lot of cats at home (probably in their 30s). Knowing how Dude treats cats in the games, I think it would be interesting to see their reactions.

the dudes having a cat person s/o with lots of cats ; headcanons

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Postal (1) Dude x Reader, Postal (2) Dude x Reader, Postal (3) Dude x Reader, Postal (4) Dude x Reader, Postal (BD) Dude x Reader, Postal (Movie) Dude x Reader

NOTE: EVERY SINGLE DUDE OKAY LETS GO

P1 DUDE

P1 isn’t the most expressive person, but when he first walks into your home filled with cats, he doesn’t seem bothered by it.

He’s got a soft spot for animals in his own way, especially considering how they’re often the only living things he doesn’t lash out at.

He’ll silently acknowledge them, maybe giving them a nod as if they understand each other.

The cats actually help calm him down.

P1 has a lot of internal turmoil, and being around your calm and curious cats is one of the few things that grounds him.

He finds their quiet presence soothing, even if he never says it out loud.

He won’t actively seek out the cats for affection, but if one comes over and curls up on him, he’ll stay still, letting it be.

Over time, you might catch him absentmindedly petting one of them while lost in thought.

It’s subtle, but it’s a sign of his trust in both you and the animals.

P2 DUDE

P2 has been through some weird stuff, so the idea of you having a house full of cats doesn’t exactly faze him.

In fact, he seems oddly cool with it.

But, at first he does NOT shut up about how dogs are better

He secretly loves your cats, and you’ll often catch him joking about how your house has become a “feline kingdom.”

He’s the type to start naming the cats ridiculous things like “Mr. Whiskers” or “Claws McGraw,” and you’ll often find him playing with them using improvised toys.

There’s something about the fun of having so many cats that just fits with his lifestyle, and he’ll probably end up forming a bond with a few of them.

You might find him using one of the cats as an improvised something again, but only when he’s in a pinch.

He’ll definitely give them a good pet afterward and make sure they’re okay.

It’s part of his strange way of showing love, and he’ll treat them like royalty when he’s not in survival mode.

P3 DUDE

P3 has a bit of a different energy.

When he walks into your cat-filled home, he’s not sure what the hell to do at first.

He’s unsure how to approach the situation, because usually he's kidnapping cats.

Over time, he gets used to the cats.

He might roughly try to pet one, in a loving way, looking to you for guidance on how to handle them.

P3 will eventually start trying to “win over” the cats, bringing treats or toys in an attempt to earn their approval.

You might catch him quietly whispering

“Hey, little guy, you like me, right? You like me more right? Way more?”

He’s got an endearing side to him when he’s trying hard to impress.

P4 DUDE

The moment P4 steps into your home and sees all of your cats lounging around, he’s thrilled.

“Damn, look at all these fluffy little guys!”

He’s immediately down on the floor, trying to pet as many as possible and get them to love him.

He’s the type to instantly form a connection with your cats.

You’ll often find him with a few of them on his lap or one draped over his shoulder while he's napping.

He probably has ongoing conversations with the cats, acting like they’re part of the family and sometimes even asking them for advice when you’re not around.

Because he's dumb and weird. Duh.

Expect him to start spoiling them, sneaking them treats when you’re not looking, and building elaborate little cat forts out of cardboard boxes.

BD DUDE

BD’s reaction is one of sheer confusion at first.

He walks in, sees all the cats, and probably stares at them for a long moment.

“Wait… how many cats are there again?”

His sense of reality might be a little warped, but he finds the whole thing odd.

He’ll likely try to communicate with the cats in strange ways, meowing at them or mimicking their movements.

It doesn’t always make sense, but the cats seem to tolerate him, and he finds their reactions endlessly entertaining.

Despite his strange behavior, he manages to coexist with your cats, and they oddly seem to flock to him.

Maybe it’s because they recognize the energy he gives off, but either way, you’ll often find him surrounded by a bunch of your cats, all of them staring at him like they understand something you don’t.

MOVIE DUDE

He's SO gentle when it comes to these little guys.

He respects cats in the same way he respects you—creatures that do what they want, on their terms.

He admires their independence and sharp instincts.

He’s extremely protective of your cats, much like he is with you.

If anything threatens them—whether it’s a stray dog or an intruder—he won’t hesitate to step in.

He’s oddly defensive about them, as if he sees them as part of his new, makeshift family.

Unlike some of the other Dudes, he’s quieter in his interactions with the cats.

You might find him sitting in the corner, watching them with a small smirk on his face as they go about their business.

He’s content just being around them, appreciating their quiet companionship.

He really, really wants them to like him.

But he also doesn't wanna be attacked

So he's stuck.

[rileysluvr]

fun fact i actually did write this on valentine’s day so just ignore how late it is and eat up ily all <3 könig nsfw!!

“So perfect,” he groaned deeply in your ear, though still with the desperation of a tired working man that drove you wild. Your body was slack against his brooding frame, on his lap and legs spread in front of you while he loomed behind you, supporting your exhausted, finger-fucked out form. With your head tucked under his chin, eyes closed, the side of your face on his chest like you were embracing the last man on Earth.

He remained fully clothed while you had abandoned all but your white and pink-accented panties of which his hand was down, the thin necklace that had a small, pink heart he had gotten you for Valentine’s Day resting so delicately on your collarbone. Your sundress was discarded somewhere on the floor near you, one of his favorites you wore to dinner. His other arm wrapped tightly around your waist, sleeves of his black dress shirt rolled up and palm massaging at your tits, and you had both hands clung to it in an attempt to fight the overwhelming sense of it all, nails digging into his exposed forearm in the way he loved most.

A tall mirror in front of you so you could watch yourself unravel, watch the man who was doing it to you. Who had suggested it in the first place was something you had already forgotten, but the words and excitement in his voice for you to finally be able to see, understand just how gorgeous you were when you made love, will forever be engraved in your brain. The flowers he surprised you with were visible on the nightstand in the back, as well as the box of chocolates you had already gotten into; it was cliche as hell, and he knew it, but you adored it more than anything. Floor-to-ceiling glass behind you overlooking the bright, lively city that contrasted with the pitched, starry night. Like a scene straight from a favorite romance film.

Your breathing was erratic, in and out through your agape mouth almost like you were deprived beforehand. His broad shoulders engulfed your smaller figure, consuming and guarding like a predator's freshly-caught prey, except the loving dynamic was nothing of the sort. He’d always protect you, he’d always keep you safe no matter the circumstances.

“You’re doing so good, my darling- scheisse, do you see yourself? Right there in the mirror? Such a beautiful sight, yes? It’s like you were made for me, Angel.”

Between his words, he brought his hand up under your chin to turn you, to fix your eyes on the mirror in front of you, before returning to your belly.

There was definitely something about it you couldn’t ignore, that made the experience all the more intimate. He would worship you like a goddess and treat you as such in every pathway of life, and while you didn’t quite understand the reasoning for his strong aptitude in it, you happily gave yourself to him every time nonetheless. Two fingers buried in your cunt while the heel of his palm provided friction to your clit in all the ways you needed the most, every once in a while your hips bucking up to chase his hand, though to no avail with the gentle strength and grip he had on you.

“König, baby—please, I’m gonna—…m’fuck fuck fuck!”

“It’s okay, my love, you don’t have to beg. You know I’ll give you anything you want. Can you do the same for me, Hase? Can you cum on my fingers for me?”

You bit down on your bottom lip and locked eyes with his through the mirror, glassy and big and his filled with lust and drunkenness. Nodding frantically before your lids were forced shut again, you did your best in relaxing your body, having not even noticed when you tried to push further back into his body. His big and dangerously comfortable, warm body that he graciously offered to you every night since you first met.

“That’s right, Hase. My best girl, always so perfect, so pretty like this. Let go, for me. Just like that…wunderschön, my love…it’s absolutely perfect. My little showstopper, eh, always so cute.”

You braced onto his arms and came hard with a long moan, followed by a string of swears directed at nothing and nobody. You grit your teeth as the pressure in your lower belly shot directly to your head and refused to dissipate. Breathing with long-lost rhythm, the skin on your face felt ten-times heavier, and you slumped back impossibly closer against his shoulder.

He cooed you through your high with continued, light pressure from his fingers and small praises against your scalp, peppering kisses between almost every word. You tried to catch your breath as he held you, then kissing every square inch of your hot neck and face. You’d be squirming and giggling in his arms, pushing him away and maybe even fighting back in a ticklish fit if you weren’t so fucked out and exhausted from his treatment. You almost did fall asleep in his hold, interrupted by his

“Did that feel good, my love? Can you do another for me, sweetheart? Please? Just one more and we can rest, I promise. We will sleep in as late as you like, and I will bring you breakfast in bed. I will make your favorite. Would you like that, meine Perle?”

He assigned you practically every petname in the book, and each gave you that all familiar fuzzy feeling in your heart and gut. You’d hope you never get used to it, because it’s just so sweet it’s damn-near tooth rotting.

“God, you…always take…such good care of me,” you managed to get out, smiling and turning your head to see him with doe eyes and without the help of the mirror. You took a hand and brought it to his farthest cheek, leaning up to kiss the bump of his jaw the best you could with the awkward angle and your weakened, trembling limbs you could only blame him for. “But I don't know if I’ve got another one in me, König... You said the same thing last time,” you breathily laughed.

He melted at your words, very noticeably so, and your smile drove him even further insane. He pulled you tighter to him, like how he does each time he makes a vow to never leave you hungry or broken for more.

“I know, I’m sorry, my love. I just can’t get enough of you.”

He thought you somehow became prettier with each time you came on his fingers, or his mouth or thigh. On his cock, even your own hand as he watched—with every second that passed of you being louder, whinier, and downright messy, he never wanted it to end. And you made him feel pretty, and worth something, just by being next to him, being on him. You lost in your pleasure, and him lost in yours as well. He got drunk off every moment he spent with you because—well, why him? What did he do to deserve you, your ravishing body and clever mind and beyond ethereal company? It spun his head around, and in the best possible way because your reassurance was all he lived for, and he wanted to be sure to return the gift in full.

“I mean—…what about you? I wanna make you feel good, too,” you pouted. You really mean it; you’ve been waiting all day for your chance. He looks at you with utter love and adoration, and you the same to him.

“Oh, trust me, my dear. You do plenty,” he returned with a gentle kiss to your temple, holding your gaze through the mirror. He spoke so nonchalantly for a man who just tore through you and turned your brain to thoughtless mush several times like it was nothing. Like it was just another activity, another hobby of his that granted him unending and radiating joy. “Your pleasure is mine.” He takes your hand in his, an overbearing difference in size having you dizzy once again, and he kisses your knuckles. “You know that, don’t you?”

You could never bring yourself to deny him or what he wants.

[inkedinfusions]

𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝 | geto suguru chapter 3

⊱𖤓⊰ | In which you, a thief, meet the lost prince of the kingdom.

── ��� ˙ ̟ . ⚜️ .ᐟ.ᐟ masterlist

⊰–prev next–⊱

𝟎𝟑 | 𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞

chapter word count: 3.5k

content warnings: normal warnings for the tangled movie lol

a/n: Only two chapters left after this one! Fun fact about this fic, I watched the Tangled movie easily like ten times in between rewinding the scenes and just me procrastinating writing but still wanting to feel productive.  

Thanks for reading!

“𝐎𝐎𝐔, 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓,” you say when the light of the lantern illuminates a skeleton pinned to the side of the tunnel.

“That’d be you if they left you hanging there,” Suguru jokes, only smiling wider when you turn to glare at him.

“Not funny.”

“It is a little,” he presses, chuckling when you turn away to avoid showing the grin that worms its way to your face. “So, Starlight, where did you come from?”

“Classified information, sorry princess” you immediately say. “I’d ask the same, but I don’t think you have an answer other than your tower.”

“You’d be correct.”

“And I’m not supposed to mention the hair, or the mother, or the frog.” You nod along with Suguru, who confirms each thing you won’t find out, only ever saying something different about his lizard.

“It's a chameleon, actually,” he corrects. 

“Uh actually—shut up, nerd,” you tease. “But changing the topic—if seeing the lanterns is like, your life’s desire or something, why haven’t you gone before?”

“That's because… well…” he says, trailing off when stray rocks fall from the ceiling above you. 

“Starlight—?” Suguru begins, tensing when a familiar neigh breaks the silence, light suddenly flooding the tunnel. 

“Oh shit,” you say when the guards appear from the corner, making the tunnel jostle. “Run!”

You both sprint through the tunnels until you come to the exit. But it is too soon to cry for victory, as there is only a ledge and a broken bridge greeting you on the other side. There are two tunnels below, but one gets crossed off your list when Jogo and Mahito—the Curses—burst through it. How the hell did they find you? You question when they glare up at you.

“Who’s that?” Suguru asks.

“They don’t like me,” you say, cursing your rotten luck. 

“Who’s that?” he repeats when the guards appear, surrounding you.

“They don’t like me either,” you answer. 

Then, to top it all off, the horse with a personal vendetta against you gallops out of the tunnel. 

“Who’s—” Suguru starts. 

“Let’s just assume nobody here likes me,” you retort, searching for alternative routes.

“Here,” he says, handing you his pan. 

You almost drop it, caught off guard, and you can only watch as he throws his hair like a rope, accomplishing getting it to wrap around one of the abandoned wooden structures the miners once relied on. 

“Hey—!” you shout at Suguru when he jumps, although your worry is short-lived as he swings in the air and safely lands on another platform of dirt below. Well, that's another way to solve the dilemma of escaping. 

You have no such tricks up your sleeve, so your eyes dart around the cliffs, rivers and abandoned tunnels, trying to piece together a plan, anything. The captain and the guards approach, swords at hand, and you have no choice but to swing the kitchen saucepan you had been left with. 

You clumsily attack the guards back, somehow managing to strike the captain straight in the face, knocking him out cold. The other three follow, each taken down by the weirdest weapon you’ve ever wielded. A hit to the side of the head, to the back of it, up their chin. And just like that, all four men lay to your feet. 

Their swords and armor clang as they hit the ground, and you allow yourself a moment to breathe, looking at the saucepan with appreciation. 

“Next thing I’m buying is definitely one of these,” you say with a grin, throwing it up in the air and catching it as it falls. “Maybe he’ll let me keep it—Whoa!”

You barely dodge a blade that is aimed at your chest, and a quick glance tells you that the horse with the gold colored eyes is responsible for your almost impalation. 

“What the hell—” you huff as you parry, getting dangerously close to the edge, “—is your problem?”

In an unfortunate set of events, the horse manages to send your weapon flinging down, pointing his own at your neck while you put your arms up in defeat. First the lizard—chameleon, rings Suguru’s voice—, and now the horse. Animals had to have something against you, this was getting ridiculous. 

“Another chance?” you ask the horse with a nervous smile, when a strand of black hair wraps itself around your hand. 

“Hang on!” you hear Suguru yell. 

You look at him, then at the horse with a triumphant grin. You salute him as you are pulled away, soaring through the air like a free bird. Not quite free yet, of course, but close enough to it you can taste it on the tip of your tongue. 

So you’re swinging now, to freedom—and oh shit, also directly at the Curses. 

“Careful!” you hear Suguru yell, like it's not something that should be obvious. Still, you narrowly avoid getting stabbed by their blades, somehow moving your body out of the way.

“Aha!” you shout, delirious with adrenaline. “You should see your stupid—!”

A sharp thud interrupts you just as your brain registers pain. Groggily, you try to make sense of the situation, your hands and legs thrown to your front with the momentum. Your torso, however, was stopped by an exposed beam, stealing all the breath on your lungs. 

That's not the end of it, because why would it be? You climb the aqueduct you landed on, taking note of the situation once more. The universe is clearly against you today, more so than it has been all your life.

“Come on!” you yell at Suguru when the horse starts kicking a beam, managing to form a makeshift bridge between them and Suguru. You grab his hair with all your might when he jumps, only just succeeding by the skin of your teeth. Jogo and Mahito start to run after him and you follow, sliding down the wooden pipeline like butter on warm toast. 

You jump off it when the beams that hold it up start to fail, tucking and rolling when you fall. You help Suguru with his enormous amount of hair—you really should do something about it, this can't be convenient—and start running towards the mine the Curses didn’t come out from. Foolish mistake on your part, but you won’t know this until much later. 

The Curses aren’t the only thing you have to run away from, because a resounding boom alerts you of the dam’s failing. Wood and nails fly away as it breaks, and water swallows everything and everyone on its path, even taking down a massive pillar of rock, which is set to fall right on top of Suguru and you. 

Miraculously, you step into the tunnel just as the pillar touches the ground, even grabbing the stray saucepan at the last moment. Your relief is once again short lived when water starts to fill the tunnel, and that is when the second bad news comes in; it's not actually a tunnel—or rather it was, but has since been blocked away by rocks. 

You frantically start to push the rocks blocking the way, hitting some with the pan when your efforts become clearly futile. Suguru, bless his heart, dives underwater to see if there are any loose rocks there. He comes back up as agitated as you, only pausing from his struggles when you hiss. 

Scarlet blood oozes out of your hand when a particularly sharp rock interrupts your search. You curse—now is not the time to get needlessly injured, and a look at Suguru’s helpless eyes as water begins to reach your shoulders tells you everything you need to know. 

You follow his example by diving too, but the lack of light makes it difficult to even see your hands in front of you, so you come back up, gasping for air. Suguru attempts to do it again, but you pull him back up before he can drown. Maybe you're only delaying the inevitable, but you’ll be damned if you let him die first. 

“There’s no point to it,” you say, as desperate as him. “It’s pitch black down there, I doubt even Satoru would be able to see.”

He stops flailing around, looking around with resignation. You look down at the murky water and sigh. Death by drowning was lame as hell. You always thought you’d go out in a cooler way, not trapped in a tunnel with no escape, where your body would probably never be found.

“...Who’s Satoru?” Suguru asks, his soft voice breaking the silence. 

“Who’s…?” you ask, dazed, before his words register in your mind. “Oh. The guy back at the tavern. That’s his name. Six Eyes is just an alias.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” 

He twitches. 

“I’m so, so, sorry about all of this,” Suguru apologizes, looking at you with his defeated, purple eyes. “Mother was right. I never should’ve done this.”

“It’s not like I’ve been nice all the way through. Maybe if I hadn’t hurried us into the tavern, none of this would've happened.”

It's clear that Suguru wants to argue against you, but falls silent at the look in your eyes. 

“Y/n,” you say after a beat.

“Y/n?”

“Y/n L/n. Starlight is, believe it or not, also just an alias.”

“Never would have guessed,” Suguru says, attempting to break the atmosphere with a joke. You respond with a weak smile, appreciating his effort. 

“I have magic hair that glows when I sing,” Suguru says immediately after. You do a double take, looking for any signs that he might be messing with you when his eyes widen in realization and he repeats, “I have magic hair that glows when I sing!”

Before you can ask him what he means, he begins to mumble something about a flower and shine, and to your utter surprise, his hair starts to light up. One thing is the way the sun hit his hair, turning threads of it golden. Now though, it is as if it’s completely made of gold, the light it emits being enough to illuminate the tunnel. 

You both inhale a deep breath when the water completely fills up the place, but thanks to Suguru’s magical, golden hair, you manage to find a loose rock. It's a chain reaction; with one rock out of the wall the rest follow, releasing you both into a nearby stream. You gasp for air as you grip the edge of the river, flabbergasted. 

“We are alive!” Suguru celebrates, jumping out of the stream at the first opportunity. 

“His hair glows when he sings,” is your reaction, dumbfounding and reality breaking. 

As you are having your well deserved breakdown, Suguru stands at a rock on the edge of the river, pulling out his hair from the flow of water. “Y/n!” he calls out, but you don’t answer, too busy with ranting at his lizard, who also got carried away by the same stream. 

“His hair glows when he sings,” you repeat to it, watching as he looks at you with a no duh expression. Are you losing your mind?

“Y/n-”

“Why does his hair glow?” you ask the small animal, frantic.

“Y/N!”

“What?” you snap back at Suguru.

“It doesn’t just glow,” he clarifies, a knowing smirk on his face. The chameleon sports an identical smile, a strange expression to see on a small creature. 

“Why is it looking at me like that?” you ask, agitated, totally nonchalant, not even bothered by it.

The sound of crackling wood fills the echo of the woods, accompanied by the song of crickets and the rustle of the leaves. Smoke rises up above, joining its whiter, fluffier cousins, the clouds, in the sky. You’re sitting next to Suguru on a log next to the fire, warming up after your daring escape. 

The stars light up the sky, aided by the bright moon, and with the help of the fire, the darkness of the woods is not so eerie. That is also not the slightest bit hindered by the fact that you’ve got company, and that said company apparently has magic hair, capable of lighting up even the darkest of situations. 

Suguru’s soft hands cradle your own calloused, injured one, wrapping a lock of ebony hair around it until it runs out. You want to question him, maybe look for the logistics of his god-like power, but you chose to stay silent, not wanting to disrupt the fragile peace you had achieved. 

But once a chatterbox, always a chatterbox, so you open your mouth anyway and begin spewing out whatever random crap you can think of. 

“This is totally not suspicious and I'm totally not freaking out right now,” you start. “Just another normal evening, with a normal person, with normal hair that glows. Mundane day.”

Suguru chuckles, losing focus for a moment and wrapping the hair too tightly against your wound, which you reward with a hiss. “Sorry,” he grumbles under his breath. “It’s been a strange day for me too.”

“You’re telling me you don’t usually get chased down by guards, found by old enemies and trapped inside a cave filled with water? Shocker.”

He smiles, looking down at your covered palm. “Just don’t… don’t freak out on me,” he says. 

You nod, already freaking out internally. But you make efforts not to show it, so you guess that must count for something. Suguru closes his eyes and starts reciting what you think he said at the cave earlier, the one with the flower and glow and shine, only this time it is a longer verse, and you watch fascinated as his hair lights up once again. 

It goes from ebony to golden in mere seconds, small strands of light flowing through it as though it is made of pure sun rays. He could tell you his hair was made by the sun itself and you would believe him, too blinded by its light to think otherwise. 

His verse ends moments after the strand in your palm lights up, sending a tingling sensation through it. You think maybe it's your imagination, but you can see it has fully healed by the time Suguru removes his hair from it. 

“Oh thats—” you clear your throat, “—that’s… nice, uh—”

“Don’t freak out?” he asks, sheepish. 

“I’m not!” you say with the biggest, fakest smile you can muster. “Why, are you? No, no, I’m so calm right now. Uh, by the way, since when have you done that? Or your hair—when has your hair done that…” you mumble, straightening up when you remember something from the morning. “Is that why you asked me what I wanted with your hair earlier? Does your mother know about this?”

“She’s the only other who knows, I think,” he answers, bringing a hand to his nape. “I mean, other than the ones that cut it when I was a baby.”

He pulls away a shorter strand at the base of his neck, showing it off to you. It stops past his shoulders, still long but no longer radiant the way his ebony hair is. Instead, it reminds you of ink as dark as a void or a moonless night, still beautiful but—

Beautiful?

“And that’s why I never left. Mother said it was too dangerous to even attempt, that the ruffians who cut it were still out there, somewhere,” Suguru continues, snapping you out of your second freak out. 

“Do you want to go back? After this, I mean.”

“I—Well—” Suguru sighs. “It's complicated.”

“...I get that.”

“Mhm. So,” he says, his eyes crinkling with the teasing smile that begins to appear, “Y/n L/n?”

You shrug. “It’s just my name. None of that ‘Starlight’ that is printed in my wanted posters.”

“How does a thief get stuck with such a… uh…,” Suguru trails off.

“Such a cheesy name?” you ask, one eyebrow raised. “Yeah, you can thank Satoru for that. But then again, I think ‘Six Eyes’ is the shorter end of the stick.”

“You named each other?”

“It wasn’t intentional, believe me,” you say. “We hit the same target once—some rich dude's house—and he started calling me ‘Starlight’ when I refused to give him my name as a way to annoy me. He then proceeded to trip over something and alert the guy, who then called the guards. I guess they heard us bickering or something, because next thing we know, there are wanted posters without likeness and those nicknames. But you know, such is the life of an orphan turned thief.”

“Oh,” Suguru says, something akin to sympathy in his eyes.

“Don’t—Don’t look at me like that,” you say, flustered. Satoru and you would usually gloss over the tragedy of both your stories with humor and jokes, and nobody else had actually cared since—well, never. 

He tilts his head to the side, confused. “Like what?”

“You—well—never mind,” you say, standing up abruptly, shattering whatever tension had been forming between you and him. “I’m going to find more firewood. Be back in a bit.”

“Sure,” he says, and you swear he sounds disappointed. But that only makes your ears heat up more, so you pick up your pace into the woods. 

About halfway through, when you almost collide with a tree, you realize the light of the full moon is not enough to see. So to avoid any more injuries—even if they can be healed by Mr Magic back there—you sit down on an exposed root to wait for your eyes to acclimatize themselves. 

With only the sounds of nature to accompany you, you reflect back on the day you’ve had so far. You stole the royal circlet, got chased in the woods, found a tower, got knocked out and ripped off by the tenant of said tower, got to know the dreams of ruffians and thugs, got chased again, almost died, and discovered Suguru’s magical powers.

All in all, it was a productive day. Of what exactly? Who knows. 

You twirl your hand around when you can see better in the dark of night, flexing and stretching your fingers, forming a fist and then letting go. It doesn’t hurt as much as it did when it was cut open—more accurately, it doesn't hurt at all. 

But old scars and calluses are still present in your skin, so you think that maybe this power only heals recent injuries, or that it focused solely on it for its urgency. Maybe then that power could be used for healing old injuries too, for erasing the marks that blemish your skin, unfitting of a lady. But you haven’t been a proper one in so long, so why start now?

As you trace your palm up and down, following the line of where a would should be, you think about the soft hands that held your own. The smoothness wasn’t a surprise—he never left the tower, for god’s sake—but the gentleness was. 

When was the last time someone held you delicately? 

You ponder on this question for the next few minutes while you scavenge for firewood, not quite finding an answer you like. The ladies at the orphanage never brought corporeal punishment down on any of the kids that resided there, but neither did they sing you lullabies at night. The guards aren't exactly nice when they arrest thieves, and the closest you had to family was Satoru, with whom playful punches and teasing words are plentiful.

But never had you felt that warmth, that feeling of safety, as when you sat on that log, contemplating the fire you had brought to life, and lent your hand to Suguru with no questions asked. 

You sigh, bringing a hand up to your face, so that maybe the coldness of it could help bring the heat of your cheeks down. This doesn’t make any sense—you need to get a grip, and quickly. You met this guy today and you would say goodbye tomorrow or shortly after it. You can’t afford to get attached, not to someone who deserves someone better, someone who is not a thief, someone with softer hands. 

You think of some stupid question on the way back, something to extinguish that tension that you had felt before, finally finding one when you catch a glimpse of the fire. 

“So—hey, princess!” you yell from the neck of the woods. “Is there a chance I am getting powers now? Since you used that magic on me or something—” you stop dead in your tracks, worry tightening your face when his back is to you, his shoulders tense. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” Suguru turns, dazed, like he hadn’t noticed you arrived. “Yeah, just… lost in thought,” he is quick to say. 

You stay silent for a moment, giving him time to explain should he want to, but when he doesn’t, you just shrug and drop some of the firewood into the fire, saving some for later. You then plop down and get comfortable in mother nature’s mattress: grass. 

“Night, Suguru,” you say.

“Good night, Y/n,” he answers, distracted.

[fandom-susceptible]

TDP Rewatch S1E4: Bloodthirsty

I like the way the intro voice changes, I wanna keep track of that now. Pilot was Aaravos, Callum was the second or third? I don't remember the other one though. Viren is the fourth.

Editing in: listen if you like Viren, you may not like my commentary on this episode. I have absolutely no judgment if you do, have fun, go wild, but I personally love to hate him. He is a fictional character. My opinions on him do not reflect my opinions of anyone in the fandom or even the writers. Actually, I think the writers who created him are brilliant - they've successfully created villains that some people will like, who are complex and make sense, but who you can also just absolutely despise! And that's well-done! Anyways yeah I'm coming for Viren this episode, embody the old fanfic rules, don't like don't read.

Rayla is so goddamn cute. I love her so much. Also, feral Moonshadow headcanons are being fed by her first solution being to chew on the binding, not USE A SPELL. Since it's a MAGICAL RIBBON. Darling, dear, sweetheart, baby, Rayla, moonberry I'm wheezing. BOTH OF YOUR DADS ARE MAGES. Why was magic not your first solution darling?

They're also just . . . such teenagers in season 1? Idk, I'm nostalgic now, she really feels like a 15 year old watching this. When I first watched it when I was barely older than she is I was wrapped up in the story, but watching it as an adult, I want to wrap her up in a blanket and tell her she did a good job.

Oh Rayla really does curl her lip like she's showing teeth at Bait when they have a little stare-off, my feral Moonshadow headcanons are LIVING for this.

I love how her clothing design at this point has that little like. Heart shape at her throat, too.

At some point maybe I'll stop gushing over Rayla and watch the rest of the episode.

I think it's neat that her eyes match the shade of her tattoos in nighttime scenes.

Can we talk about Harrow managing to set up a funeral procession for Harrow THE NIGHT AFTER HE WAS KILLED? Less than a day? Poor Soren too, he just says "long night", but this has got to be hell on the guy.

"in his final hours, Harrow called me . . . his brother." YOU FUCKING BITCH. Shut the fuck up Lord Viagra. Lord VILLAIN. HE'S NOT EVEN DEAD AND YOU KNOW IT.

Also holy shit oooh yeah "the princes are dead" yes okay lord villain is a bitch in this moment but I also think he said that in a panic because he somehow thought his Nat20 on the Deception check was gonna propel him through the entire funeral, unfortunately Opeli's player finally rolled a perception check above a 3 and realized that the princes weren't there and he had to cover his ass. This is why he sends Soren to kill them later. He done fucked up and then had to commit to the bit.

I also think that Viren refused to allow Harrow to have a proper funeral out of sheer guilt. He's still him at this point, he hasn't even discovered Aaravos yet. Like he's really just this much of an evil bastard to begin with, but he's a self-centered coward. He can't allow a proper funeral to be had for a BIRD. He knows it would all be fake. He has to minimize this and bluff past it before anyone realizes what he's done, because he's still on edge and nervous because his original plan has gone so far off the rails. Harrow didn't listen to him like he thought, now the princes have absconded with what Viren thinks is one of his most powerful weapons, he's told the country that they're dead, and now he's just improvising and he's super not great at that.

Very teenager moment with the kids, Rayla not even waiting 2 seconds before calling Callum's name again. I also think it's cute that she checked to make sure she got his name right.

I love the fact that they're both fucking nerds. Like Callum's obvious but Rayla couldn't remember the word for whetstone despite also using swords, but she's out here giving a full on info dump about Primal Sources and magic and how it works at the slightest provocation from Callum. She is aLSO a nerd. (I like to think she gets this from Runaan. We see him giving lectures in Bloodmoon Huntress, and he references obscure history facts that Ethari thinks are just stories too, so I imagine he's that one guy who can and will give a complete history of the Moonshadow Elves if given a single chance.)

Rayla claims sky magic requires at least a strong breeze to cast a spell, but we never see other sky mages requiring that. Could be a retcon, but I'm gonna mentally patch it as her just misunderstanding how sky magic works because that's not her arcanum/instinct set.

I love how Rayla gets hit in her own insecurities by Callum's speech, like the shared parallel.

Rayla's clenched fist and recoil when Callum assumes they're drinking blood. "Is that what humans think we are? Bloodthirsty monsters?" Rayla, you say that like that isn't also what Skywing elves think of you, per the ones you met when you were 8. Like it's not a common story in Xadia, to the point that YOUR PEOPLE TELL IT ABOUT THEMSELVES. Granted there's actual history behind it from your POV, but yk.

Man . . . when I first watched this Amaya just was my sexuality for like a week, and honestly, the introduction holds up. (also, all my affection for strawberry boy Gren, the Army Commander who does not carry a weapon)

Actually side note about Gren, lmao, he really just caught Amaya's helmet like tossing it over her shoulder is a thing she does all the time, and I want to imagine honestly that it is. That's why he just catches Callum's staff when the boy throws it after finding out Amaya's engaged. He's just used to this family throwing things around him.

I have complicated feelings about the portrayal of Amaya's disability in the show. I've seen a lot of people analyze it, and the general consensus appears to be that it's mostly really good, but there's a handful of things that don't. . . quite make sense, especially her early interactions with Janai with no interpreter present. I will say for me, I could not figure out if she was meant to be deaf or mute until I read an outside source. The more nuanced take deserves its own post, it just occurred to me again with how she reacts to the boys without them signing or her bothering to look at Gren.

Moment of appreciation for Gren's admirable relaying of Amaya's intended tone and inflection, which you can also see reflected in her face. Also her soft smile at Callum when she reminds him it doesn't help to yell is so cute.

I just needed to appreciate the mimicry down to her expression here, complete with putting his hands on his hips to portray the bit she can't because she's using her hands to talk

Amaya really didn't notice the sheer weight in Ezran's backpack huh?

"I skipped breakfast?" THESE BOYS KNOW HOW TO PLAY THEIR AUNT SO WELL I love them so much, it's adorable. Weapons-grade fucking baguette, lmao. Amaya, did you expect the children to be able to yank your whole sword out of the table?

Amaya having the opinion of Moonshadow elves being the worst kind is interesting, given most of her interactions have been with Sunfire elves, based on what we see later. Makes me wonder what exactly happened to shape that opinion. Many little things, specific events, just information? It'd be interesting to find out, especially in the context of Runaan also having Personal Opinions about humans (that they're all liars/can't be trusted). What if their opinions were based off a conflict with each other years before this? It's not canon and I don't think it ever will be, but it'd be a neat idea to play with in a fanfic.

The kids' sheer exasperation at the suggestion they build a dirt man was hilarious, especially when we follow it up by Amaya's soldiers just casually becoming a construction crew to fix the doors she levelled earlier. Does she do this often? Is working for her just an endless string of "she just kicked down a door again. Fuck, now she's put a hole in the table. DID SHE JUST LEVEL A PILLAR?" (all things she did in fact do in this episode, all in like a day)

Callum warning Ezran not to tell Amaya was something I didn't get as a kid, because I saw how Amaya was later and thought maybe if Ezran got to her first, told the whole story before she ever saw Rayla, maybe she would go for it. Watching it now, no, he's . . . unfortunately probably right.

Amaya looming behind Rayla in that scene was absolutely terrifying I love it. Also, seriously Rayla, did you think leaping up to come down like that on a SHIELD was a good idea? That didn't work for you on Runaan, why would it work on Amaya?

I love Rayla sassing the guards with her four fingers joke, but also holy shit the one guard got blinded and just immediately came at her swinging with the sword. This could have gotten so bloody if it wasn't a kids' show.

Yeah no, telling her AFTER she's fought with Rayla wouldn't work.

I would have paid to see a conversation between Amaya and Rayla after this moment, where they talk about what happened here and what Callum told them.

"Puttin' everyone's lives in danger" is such a loaded line after what happened with the other assassins.

I love what a little shit Soren is with his father. "Crown hour. Crown o' clock?"

Harrow being in the damn bird makes so much sense. I fucking knew it. He's caged and refusing to make noise now, and looks away when Viren taunts him, the same way Harrow did when Viren was annoying him before.

I love the one old lady in the crowd who just looks Mad after she hears about the princes' "death", where everyone else is looking sad.

Notice how Viren isn't claiming the title of king? Just Lord Protector? Bitch knows the truth and it's under his skin.

Opeli sometimes hits me in the religious trauma a bit but her grin when Amaya announces the princes are alive gives me life.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Prompt #15 with Megumi? Rivals to lovers with happy ending please ♥️

There you go, I'm so so sorry this took so long <3 I hope you still enjoy it, I find it quite hard to write enemies to lovers under 5000 words :D

Opposites attract

Pairing: Megumi x fem!reader

Word Count: 3,3k

Synopsis: Megumi hated you the moment you stepped into Jujutsu High for the first time. As time flies, he always sees himself confronted with you on missions. However, one of these missions makes him rethink his feelings towards you

Warnings: Megumi is an ass from time to time, language

„Why am I here, blindworm?“

There you sit, sloughing on your chair at the classroom, feet stretched out in front of you. Damn, you were taking the best nap of your life when your stupid sensei came storming in and woke you up rudely. He surely wants to send you on another mission – hopefully alone. If you have to work with one of these losers again, you break off.

Especially him.

God, you truly hated Megumi Fushiguro. His quiet way, tall figure and calculating personality. He is quite the opposite of your outspoken, confident and risky self. Maybe that’s why you two don’t get along at all. And maybe that’s the reason why you always end up together. Hopefully not today…

“As charming as ever, I like that. I have a mission for you, (y/n)!”, Gojo cries out in joy.

“Again? I just returned from one. Remember?”

“I remember that you wiped the floor with Megumi’s ass, even though that wasn’t exactly the task”, he replies dryly.

“Yeah, that was fun.”

Both you and Megumi are grade 2 sorcerers while being in your first school year, which means that you can basically carry out missions alone but are happily sent together by Gojo for more complicated matters – much to your chagrin and probably his. So whenever you get the chance to give Megumi a hard time you gladly seize the opportunity.

“Don’t be so rough, I know you have a sweet spot for charming boys like him.”

Oh, you know all too well that your sensei just wants to get on your nerves. But as soon as he mentions positive feelings towards a coward like Megumi, you can’t help but explode.

“Shut up, ew! I have no sweet spot for anybody!”

“Yeah, everyone here knows that”, Megumi’s low voice mumbles behind you.

“You.”

Your voice is shaking in venom while the vein on your forehead threatens to pop out any minute.

“What the hell is that loser doing here?”, you groan, face completely twisted in annoyance.

You just knew it. Seems like it’s Satoru’s favorite job to annoy the shit out of you by always putting the two of you together.

“Come on, give me Panda. Or what about Maki? Some girl-power would be nice. But not that”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

“God, you’re so full of yourself. Remember the last time when I saved your puny figure from getting eaten alive by that curse? You’re probably the worst and cruelest person I’ve ever met”, Megumi barks back in annoyance.

“I don’t mind being the villain in your story because you’re a clown in mine, Fushiguro.”

“That was the nicest conversation you two had in a long time, great! Now let’s get to work, I’m sure you’re doing just fine my children!”, Gojo interrupts while hugging you both.

Is there a way out of this madness? Maybe you can pretend you’re sick, too weak to go on a mission. But that’s not your standard and you know that. Giving Megumi the satisfaction of staying at home while he gets beaten up isn’t an option.

“Maybe I’m lucky and you die on me”, you mumble under your breath, storming out of the room faster than Megumi can follow past Yuji who just stares at you in awe.

God, Megumi hates you so much. How can a person be so full of herself? Yes, your abilities are quite outstanding, your curse technique is very good for being a first class student and to be honest you are actually pretty handsome, but the problem is that you are very aware of those facts. And you make no bones rubbing that into everyone’s face – especially his. His stolen glance is set on your back. You do have a really nice figure, feminine curves even though you train several hours a day. Yes, really attractive.

He shakes his head in disbelief. What the hell is he thinking? You are the crappiest person he knows, everything about you is disgusting, he hates you!

“Wow, they really hate each other”, Yuji comments, eyes following the two of you in disbelief.

“No, they don’t. Trust me, this is something completely different. And I love nothing more than teasing that out”, Gojo replies with a cheeky grin.

______________________________________________________________

“Stop breathing so loud, Fushiguro.”

Kiyotaka can’t help but glance at you in the rearview mirror, too stunned to speak by your nonsensical words. Why does Gojo keep sending the two of you on missions together? The air in the car is so thick that it could be sliced by a katana.

“Rot in hell, (y/n).”

He never heard such cruel words come out of Megumi’s mouth except when you are around.

“I’m already there, you’re here after all”, you bark back.

“Stop fighting you two, we’re almost there.”

Your gaze wanders around the rainy area. Somehow he’s right, you should focus on your mission. The fact that two of you were sent here can only mean that it’s going to get ugly. Once again it’s about a school, once again a lot of young people are dying. You need to stop this madness.

“There you are, I’ll create the curtain now. Good look you two.”

“Skilled people don’t need luck, but maybe it’ll help you Megumi.”

His blood boils in anger, just a glimpse into your stupid pretty faces challenges his self-control all over. Who do you think you are?

“What’s wrong with you? Can you just pull yourself together until we ended this mission? I hate you too, but now we have to work”, Megumi smacks into your direction.

“Always the good boy, such a role model! I want to puke in your face, it makes me fucking sick!”, you challenge him, watching as his facial expression darkens with every word.

“You.”

With a swift motion, you’re trapped against the wall by his body. Your sharp and fast breath hangs in the thick air between you two, the way he pins your wrists against the brick wall makes…sparks fly. You can’t help but notice his striking blue eyes when he glares down at you, the warmth that radiates from his body along with his delicious scent. Fuck, what is wrong with you? Why is your face heating up under his gaze, why does it feel so…good to feel his frame pressed against your own? His lips suddenly look so inviting, so warm and soft. But no, you hate him, you hate Megumi since you first met, he is everything you despise reincarnated in one person. God, he annoys you so badly, you need to get out of his grip, you need to-

“Stop it. I’m serious”, he gasps against your face, lips so close to your own that you can feel his breath brush against your now prickly skin.

Fuck, you see stars. His grip around your wrist tightens, his face is getting closer to yours. Will he…? No, that’s impossible, Megumi hates you with all his heart, he told you over and over again. And you hate him too since the moment you first laid your eyes on him. But why…why do you feel the urge to press your lips against his?

“Or what?”

Your voice is suddenly so soft and vulnerable. God, you look so adorable with that pink blush creeping up your cheeks, lips parted and doe eyes wide open. That desire, that urge to brush his lips against yours seems to become unbearable. Just once, just this one damn time. Just to prove to himself how disgusting you are.

Boom.

It happens faster than any of you can react. The wall behind you explodes and buries you under its rubble.

You are instantly greeted by scorching pain consuming your whole body. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Blood streams down your face like a waterfall, your right leg aches in the most disgusting way imaginable.

“Fuck, are you alright (y/n)?”, Megumi screams, eyes widen in horror.

So much blood. Your whole body seems to be covered in crimson. Even though you’re not screaming or even groaning, he can clearly see the shock creeping up your eyes when realization hits you. But he has to focus on that curse. Yes, he needs to take care of that before he can help you.

You desperately try to free yourself from the debris that threatens to crush your body while Megumi fights off the curse that seems to be responsible for all of this. As usual, his facial expression is dead serious while his little shikigami work for him.

“How bad is it?”, he questions, eyes focused on the monster in front of him.

Your leg feels like burning alive, a little glance at your body is enough for you to realize that you are not well. Maybe even so critical that time is running out for you.

“It’s bad”, you hiss back while pressing your trembling hand against the gash in your thigh.

A few broken ribs, a laceration on the head, here and there some open wounds and abrasions – nothing too serious, you’ll get over that. But the giant gash in your thigh is definitely something else. Your leg was almost completely pierced by an iron rod. Surely that wouldn’t be a problem either if the bar was still in you, but it isn’t. And that’s why you’re bleeding out at the moment.

Finally that curse is gone. Just a look at you is enough to make Megumi turn pale in an instant. You’re sitting in a pool of your own blood, lids hanging heavy in your eyes. His heart skips a beat when realization hits him like a wall. You could die right here if he doesn’t do anything.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here”, he mumbles, hands on their way to grab your body.

“I don’t need your help, Fushiguro”, you growl at him.

“Are you sure? Cause it sure does look like it”, Megumi replies dryly and begins to inspect your wounds.

“If even half of that blood is yours you need to get out of here right now. I’m calling Gojo-sensei.”

“Everything hurts”, you blur out.

The sight of your terrified eyes makes Megumi’s heart sink in his chest. He has never seen you like this. But what’s even worse is the fact that he is so damn worried about you, that the thought of losing you alone makes his breath hitch.

“Stay with me. Don’t close your eyes.”

His voice sounds so soft, echoes as sweet as honey in your ear.

“Megumi.”

His strong arms free you from the rest of the rubble above you and lift your numb body off the ground with ease. Your vision slowly but surely begins to get blurry, it gets so hard to keep your tired eyes open.

“What is it, (y/n)?”, he softly asks while maneuvering his shikigami around in order to find the other curses that have to be here.

“I don’t remember a moment where you were so kind to me”, you purr.

“Well, that’s because there wasn’t a single moment where you were so kind to me”, he remarks with a small smile.

“I h-have to say…That…That you’re not…t-that bad.”

Your words are a true mess, so quiet that he has to focus on your low voice in order to understand. But oh you look so lovely, wearing a soft smile on your lips and that tender gleam in your eyes makes his heart skip a beat. Over and over, he told himself that he truly hates you, that you are an evil person that doesn’t deserve his affection. Always keen to hide his stolen glances and the way your sight makes him hold his breath. Your body, your brain, your everything. But seeing you like this, vulnerable laying in his hands, he can’t help but admire you. Admire a woman this strong and independent, a woman who never fears anything.

“You’re pretty okay too I guess”, he replies, hands wrapped tighter around your sagging body.

“How about staying awake for a little longer? I bet you can’t make it until we’re back at Jujutsu High.”

“I bet I will, asshole.”

____________________________________________________________

“She kept bugging me about telling you that she stayed awake to the end. And that you’re a loser.”

“So she’s fine, that’s great!”, Gojo proclaims and pads Megumi’s shoulder.

It was a close call, he knows it. And that sweet seconds just before the wall behind your back shattered…What was that? Affection? No, no, no. That’s simply not possible. You are the worst person walking on this planet. The thought of you alone makes his gut twist in disgust and heats up his face. You drive him crazy like no other. And the fact that you almost died and were a decent person for one second won’t change that.

“Should have left her there. I’m leaving”, Megumi mumbles and turns away.

Why was he here anyway? Shoko already stitched him up a few hours ago, he has no business being in the hospital wing. “Didn’t you want to visit her, Megumi-chan?”

“I would rather train with you than seeing her. Why would I care about her well-being?”, he remarks quickly.

Gojo and Shoko watch him as he storms out.

“Do they really think they hate each other?”

“Yup”, Gojo confirms.

The fresh air of the evening hits his face with full force. Fuck, what the hell is wrong with him? Why is he feeling this way? He shouldn’t be worried about your well-being, he shouldn’t care at all about the fact that you are injured. After all, you put yourself in that situation. God, he just hates you so much. In his world, there’s no place for positive feelings towards you. But still… He stops in his tracks, eyes glued to the ground.

Why does he want to turn around, to let his feet carry him into the hospital room, to sit beside you? What is it that urges him to at least check on you? Pictures of you flood his mind. Your breathtaking smile, the stunning glimmer in your eyes, the confidence that’s dripping from your sweet voice. Why do you have to be so damn perfect and why the hell is his heart beating so fast by the thought of it alone?

As if in trance, he begins to walk back into the direction of the hospital wing, back where you are. He has to prove to himself how much he hates you just one more time. Just once…

He quietly sneaks past the room where he hears Shoko and Gojo still talking. If you have to stay for the night, you have to be down the corridor on the right. Over and over, he looks over his shoulder. If someone catches him sneaking up on you he might need to burry himself alive. All the jokes, the constant teasing from Gojo about you and him really get on his nerves. Why can’t they see that he fucking hates you?

There it is, the door to you. As noiseless as possible he opens it and gets immediately greeted by your gaze. You almost look surprised when he closes the door behind him again and awkwardly stands in the middle of the room, simply staring at you with his hands in his pockets.

“Didn’t expect you here”, you comment dryly.

“Yeah, I didn’t plan on coming either.”

“Did Shoko tell you that I stayed awake?”

“Sure.”

“And that you’re a loser?”

He gifts you with his most annoyed look.

“Yeah.”

“Good. Listen, there’s something I wanted to tell you in person…”, you begin while nervously fumbling with your fingers.

This catches Megumi off guard. You always know what to say or react. How is it possible that you are jumpy? And to top it off, because of him?

“Why did you save me, Megumi?”

What on earth is going on? He scratches the back of his head, too stunned to speak. Are you serious?

“Just because you think I’m the bad guy doesn’t mean I am a bad guy, y’know”, he mumbles.

You let his words sink in, gaze never leaving his face. The last hours really showed you that Megumi isn’t as bad as you always tried to make yourself believe. He saved you despite all the things you said to him without even blinking, risking his own life to save yours. Maybe…maybe it isn’t even hatred you feel towards him.

But something completely different.

“I will never say this again but…I think you’re my favorite enemy”, you confess quietly with a small smile.

Megumi’s heart stops beating for a second, your sweet words triggering feelings in him he tried so hard to avoid. God, how many nights did he tell himself that you are no good, that he just has to hate you with all his heart? But…Is he really hating you though?

“I can probably give that back”, he mumbles.

For once in his life, Megumi sees nothing but your striking beauty and brain when his gaze meets yours. Maybe, just maybe you aren’t as bad as he thought you are. But why does he feel so strongly towards you? What the hell is wrong with his heart?

“Let me kiss you. Just once. Just to prove myself that I hate you”, he blurts out.

You hold your breath, dopamine, adrenalin and who knows what other hormones pump through your veins and leave you dizzy for a second. You didn’t just hallucinate him saying that, right? The sincerity in his eyes tells you he’s dead serious.

“Sure”, you reply automatically.

With fast steps he crosses the room, now standing in front of you. And then he bends down to your bed, grabs your face and kisses you so passionately that you forget how to breathe for a moment. Your tongue intertwines with his, dancing in the most delicate way while you hold onto his strong shoulders for support. Is this really happening or are you dreaming again? Just a few hours ago, you spat venom at him like every other month before. But this…This feels so much better than constantly insulting him and to pretend that you hate him with all your heart. You realize with all clarity of your intense kiss that you probably never really hated him. No, this feeling his completely different from disgust.  

He breaks away from you, panting hard just like you. Your glossy eyes look up to him, hands still resting against his shoulders.

“Yes, I do. I absolutely hate you”, he breathes out.

“I hate you too”, you moan before pulling him close with all force for another passionate kiss.

Maybe, just maybe Megumi Fushiguro isn’t so bad after all.

But just maybe.

_____________________________________________________________

Bonus:

“Oh, (y/n)! Are you feeling any better?”, Yuji shouts at you while waving you over.

“OMG, are you seeing this. Am I dreaming?”, Nobara mutters next to him, completely mesmerized by the sight of you and Megumi.

Are those shikigami? Your hand is intertwined with Megumi’s, the both of you walking next to each other and…smile? Since when exactly are you smiling at Fushiguro?

“What do you mean?...Wait, when the hell did this happen?”

“Megumi, I thought you hate (y/n)!”

“Would you two mind to stop staring at us like that? (y/n) and I are kind of a thing now”, Megumi explains briefly while stopping in front of both of his friends.

“Did he force you into this, (y/n)?”, Nobara whispers in your ear.

You let out a heartfelt laughter, the confusion of your friends matching with your own.

“This might be the worst decision I ever made, but let’s see how it all works out.”

Megumi gives you a reproachful look and squeezes your hand firmer. Oh, even in a relationship, there will always be that small part of him that hates you.

Along with the much bigger part that loves you with all his heart.

[sadie-bug345]

the gang on a road trip :3

i love this request sm!! LETS GO👇

ponyboy:

i feel like he’d try to read but when they’re all in the stupid MINI VAN TOGETHER HE CANNOT GET PEACE

also like reading on a drive can kinda make you carsick

and pony seems the type to get carsick i’m sorry😭💀

BUT i myself get carsick so it’s not bullying🫶

anyways he’s probably chill until someone mentions playing some roadtrip game like I Spy or smth LMAO

he seems the type to get actually triggered and annoyed during that game cause people *cough* dally *cough* choose stupid stuff (more on this later🙏)

johnny:

probably sleep or smth low maintenance

i just feel like johnny doesn’t need constant attention to feel appreciated yk

anyways he’d also just seem the type to carry on a goofy convo throughout the drive

like just RANDOM and it lasts for like hours LMAOO

people probably voluntold him to sit in the middle seat 😔😭

sodapop:

he the type of kid to yell the most random stuff out of context in the back of the bus😭😭😭

so that kinda translates to this

his brain goes like a billion miles per hour so if you aren’t steve or two bit chances are you don’t even know what they’re doing at this point

finds ANY source of entertainment

usually bothers darry with steve LMAOO

darry:

darry drives cause no one else is trusted😔

maybe lets steve drive cause who else is gonna take over at night🧐

DALLY? AW HELL NAH

anyways he drives and definitely gives the annoyed dad

like

”if someone kicks my seat ONE MORE TIME IM TURNING THIS CAR RIGHT BACK AROUND”

and then everyone’s good til dal loses a game of travel uno and punches his seat out of anger

and everyone goes quiet like 😟

and darry’s tweaking but ITS OK THEY STILL MAKE IT

dally:

rides shotgun

just a menace honestly

i feel like he dislikes being cooped up and bc of that he just is even more of a jerk

like pony thought itd be fun to play i spy and dally’s like “what a stupid game 🙄”

and then says “i see something….blue”

and everyone’s like “uhh the sky”

and just guessing EVERYTHING and dals like

“nope😼”

eventually he says “it’s the blood in everyone’s veins rn😀because blood is actually blue before it hits the air and oxidizes and then it turns red🤷‍♂️🥰”

and everyone’s like 😐

and he is just like “well last week pony had a bio test and he wouldn’t SHUT UP ABOUT THAT FACT SO”

two-bit:

honestly just doesn’t stop. talking.

which is ok cause my guy is funny ASF

BUT for people on their last thread like darry he’s just like 😤

anyways two is just making fun of EVERYTHING

like isn’t it funny that pony’s seatbelt still has the child lock on it

and that dally is getting found out for actually caring about what people talk about (ie the random fact he remembers pony talking abt)

honestly a blast

he suggests a lot of games and lowk destroys

steve:

just goofs off w soda CONSTANTLY

which is really funny

i feel like we underestimate how funny they are together

probably talks abt cars the majority of the way there to no one in particular LMAO

it’s ok cause when the curtis car inevitably breaks down halfway there he goes into

MECHANIC MODE

and saves the day🫶🥰💞

TYSM FOR REQUESTING!! my requests are opennn🫶🫶

[sinsandsweetness]

Good morning beaut! 🧸🥺

I'm loving. your fics <3

Could I possibly have a stepdad! rick x plus size! female reader <3

I do have some more stepdad!rick in the works but here’s a little something for u in the meantime, my love <3

18+ under the cut

The wet kisses on your inner thighs send butterflies right to your core. Painted fingernails already tangled in his hickory curls. Your back arches off the bed as Rick’s lips make their way up and down your body. Kissing every inch of your tummy, your hips and your panties. Pretty, pink lace, hugging every curve so delicately, leaving very little to the imagination. And no matter how much you whine and beg, he refuses to take them off.

“They’re just so pretty, baby. Wouldn’t want to let ‘em go to waste, would you?” He mumbles into your thigh, eyes fluttering shut as he goes to suck a dark hickey into your flesh.

“Ugh,” you groan. The grip on his hair, tightening in frustration.

You don’t really care if they go to waste or not. You’re soaking through the damn fabric at this point. Every feather light touch is heightened from the hour of teasing you’re being forced to endure. Rick having taken full advantage of the fact he has you to himself for the weekend. Your mom is on a two day trip to Oceanside with a few other women from the community, some kind of self defense workshop that Rosita was putting on. Whatever. You didn’t care. Staying home with your stepdad sounded a hell of a lot more fun.

And in this moment, despite what feels like some kind of never ending torture, you’re absolutely right. It is fun. Rick mouthing at your cunt, over the lace of your panties, his tongue only further dampening the arousal coated lace in between your legs. He rarely gets to take his time with you, and though he feels like he’s savouring the moment by prolonging your orgasm, you want nothing more then for him to rip the lace off your body and eat you out until you scream his name.

You’re whines must be getting your hint across because he speeds up his pace a little. Which you make sure to thank him for with a drawn out moan of his name. It helps that his skilled tongue knows exactly where you’re sensitive bundle of nerves is pulsing for him. Begging for his attention. And you’re more than a little shocked at how fast your orgasm is actually building, given that fact that he still hasn’t taken the pretty panties off yet. The friction of the lace against your clit is different. Stimulating you in a way you aren’t familiar with. Wet lace rubbing up and down your cunt as he eats you out through your panties.

But before you know it, you’re legs are coming in on his head like a pair of earmuffs, head shooting off the bed as you gasp for air. He keeps going, nose grinding against your clit while his grip tightens around the fat of your thighs. Tummy twitching and legs shaking from the intensity of the climax.

When he comes up for a kiss, you can taste your cum on his lips. He pushes your legs open and positions himself between them. Hooking a finger under the soaking fabric, pulling them to the side and lining himself up. Immediately smirking when you start to whine,

“Really? Just take em’ off, Rick. Please.”

He chuckles, rolling his eyes at your attitude. His hand comes up and squishes your cheeks, forcing you to look right at him.

His voice is low, and his stormy eyes darken. Suddenly, you start to regret giving him any attitude.

“Maybe I should gag you with em’, huh. That’d quit your whining, wouldn’t it? Why can’t you just be grateful and take it like a good girl?”

Yeah, you definitely regret giving him that attitude. And unfortunately, you’re almost positive that no amount of “I’m sorry, daddy. I’ll be good, daddy,”s will be enough to dodge the bullet that you’re about to get hit with. But hey, it’s worth a shot, right?

[moose-muffin]

Lee Vox enthusiast? Aight bet.

The brain rot I have for this man is not even funny, he's so lee-coded I swear to god-

Probably the kind of lee that provokes their lers into wrecking them (both intentionally and unintentionally.) I.E refusing to let Velvette watch TV on him despite knowing full well she's feeling playful, or getting so worked up about Alastor people will do anything to make him shut up about it.

Height does not matter because he's way to easy to fluster, you could be twice as big or twice as small but the fact remains that he will crumble when his hips are targeted.

Definitely glitches out when he's being got good, might even get to see him flash through random channels if you can really get him going. Just be careful that he isn't too close to any electronics because he might fry them by mistake.

Accidentally caused a black out throughout half the Vee's building one time, it took a week to be fully repaired and Velvette still hasn't stopped making fun of him for it.

Spends 90% percent of his energy covering his face/stifling his laugh (and failing horribly)

I'd throw in some Radiostatic for flavor but I'm not sure how you feel about that pairing so I'll leave it at this for now lol-

Thanks for the excuse to ramble about the TV guy - 📽

ME CURRENTLY: 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

THESE HEADCANONS ARE MAKING MY BRAIN DO LIKE CARTWHEELS AND BACKFLIPS I AM SO GRATEFUL RIGHT NOW!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SHARING THESE WITH THE CLASS <3

YOU ARE RIGHT THAT HE’S LEE-CODED!!!!! He is so Lee it’s actually crazy! We saw him at the end of Stayed Gone. That man was stomping his feet.. you KNOW he does that when he gets tickled too LIKEEEE IMAGINE OH MY GOD

THIS PART SPECIFICALLY WAS SO ACCURATE AND I AM OBSESSED. THE FACT IT CAN BE UNINTENTIONAL AND ALSO VERY MUCH INTENTIONAL LIKE WITH VELVETTE WANTING TO WATCH TV ON HIMMMM AND THEN TICKLING HIM TO GET HER WAY!!!!!! THIS IS WHY SHES AN ICON AND ALSO WHY VOX IS LEE MOVING ON

THIS PART IS ADORABLE. BIG SCARY ALASTOR DEMON VERSION OR LIKE VELVETTE BEING A LITTLE SHIT BECAUSE ITS SO FUN FOR HER <3 DONT THINK I MISSED THE TICKLISH HIPS COMMENT. UR SPITTING BARS CURRENTLY

GIGGLING AT THIS ONE!!! THE Flipping THRU CHANNELS!!!!!! IMAGINE HE JUST GOES FROM LIKE SOME COOKING SHOW TO A SOAP OPERA TO LIKE IDK MTV TO LIKE IDK IF HELL HAS IMPRACTICAL JOKERS BUT I HOPE THEY DO OR AT LEAST SOMETHING ADJACENT, REGARDLESS ABSOLUTE TOTAL SILLINESS (please tease him about it oh my GOD he would get so flustered)

THIS IS FUCKINF CRAZY AND I LOVE IT ITS SO CANON. VELVETTE LOVES BRINGING IT UP OR TRYING TO GET HIM TO EXPLAIN IT TO PEOPLE. HE DOESNT TELL THEM AND SHE HAS TO OF COURSE TICKLE HIM TO PROVE JUST HOW TICKLISH HE IS AND THEN TELLS THE STORY. He’s MORTIFIED but also a little flustered and blushy <3 god he’s so gorgeous

oh my god please PLEASE IF YOU HAVE RADIOSTATIC HEADCANONS I WOULD LOVEEEEE TO HEAR THEM!!!! IM SLOWLY BECOMING A FAN OF THEM (not that I wasn’t before, I was just kinda like “haha that’s a funny concept” and now the vision is clearer and im feeling feelings)

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS ASK <3 GENUINELY SO KIND AND SWEET AND I ABSOLUTELY ADORED EVERY SECOND!!! YOU HAVE A GREAT STYLE OF WRITING ITS SO FUN AND JUST WORKSSSS

[pablitogaviobsessed]

Hii! I was wondering if you could write this little story idea I had? It’s about Gavi’s childhood bestfriend, who he has always been in love with, and one day they get into a big fight and he accidentally confesses his feelings for her. Feel free to change anything about this if you like!

Ps.: I love your writing! Looking forward to reading what you’ll do with this idea!💗

I'll tell you quickly: Englishisnotmyfirstlanguagethanksforunderstanding<3

warnings: swearing

Accidental confess

You and Gavi were childhood best friends. Back then the two of you played a lot, especially football. Gavi has always admired you and thought you are pretty. He even told you this accidentaly when the two of you were kicking the ball.

Back then

"Y/N! Catch the ball!" he kicked the ball towards you but you weren't ready and it hit your face. You started to cry. "Y/N!!" he ran to you. "I'm so sorry I don't wanted to kick your pretty face." and he started to caress your face to make the pain go away.

Well actually it was a cute idea but didn't help too much.

And now here you are, arguing with him because he doesn't want you to go on that date.

-"Please, I'm begging you, don't go on that date. Pedri and the guys know him and he's just using girls for only a one night stand." Gavi was trying to convince you for now at least 30 minutes. You were talking with this guy for a few weeks and he doesn't seem that kind of person to you.

"Pablo, we aren't kids anymore, you don't have to protect me I can make my own decisions. And anyway why do you even care about MY dates when you have tons of girls to choose? I think you should be worried about your love life." you were a bit jerk with Gavi. You didn't even understand why doesn't he dating any of those girls.

"I AM worried about my love life." he walked closer to you. "Look Y/N. Please, don't go." he puts his hands on your shoulders. "I just want the best for you and that guy won't give you any love. Please, cancelle it." he was now a bit more calm than earlier but you swept his hands off and turned around.

"I don't care about your opinion. I want to go on that date and I will go on that date." you said while you were walking towards the door.

"At least please change your clothes to something less revealing!" he grabbed your wrist.

"Oh so now you're saying I'm dressing like a whore?" you shouted at him.

"I'm not saying that, you're not a whore at all." he denied your statement.

"But you just said to me." you take off his hand.

"But you're still not a whore Y/N! Fuck! Why can't you just listen to me? I don't want you to go on that date because the guy is an asshole and he will hurt you for sure. I know him, Pedri knows him, Balde knows him even Ansu knows him and we all know that he is a fucking piece of shit. I want to protect you from him." he's got really angry at you. "I don't care, you're not going anywhere."

"Excuse me? Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?" you shouted at him again but now you were really angry. He should support you not being against you.

"I'm your childhood best friend and I'm the only one who know what you need and what you deserve." he walked to the door and locked it.

"Pablo what the he-" you started but he interupted you.

"Y/N shut up! I know that guy will hurt you and that's a fact." he put the keys into his pocket.

"Jesus, why are you even care so much about this date? Its not even yours." you crossed your hands in front of your chest.

"Because I love you, you idiot. I don't want to see you crying because of that dickhead and saying "I've told you". I just want the best for you and I want you to be loved not just used for a night. You don't deserve just a fun night, you deserve someone who will loves you for the rest of your life and be there for you no matter what. Someone who will treat you like a princess and gives you everything you want and I can do those thing for you." he told you but he didn't even realize what he said.

"You love me?" you asked him back, completely shocked.

"What?" he looked at you, confused.

"You just said you care about this date so much because you love me." he immediately blushed when you repeated his words.

"You know what, drop it. You can go if you want to. Feel free to do whatever you want to do." Pablo walked back to the door. "There you go." he opened the door. "Have a good date Y/N." he felt so horrible right now. He felt like he messed up his friendship with you. He shouldn't told you this. "Even if I accidentaly confessed to you it's not gonna change the fact that you're want to go on this date and you even like this guy. Then go. Call me if something bad happens." you walked to the door but you didn't go outside. You closed the door. Gavi gave you a confused look. "Now you don't want to go?" he asked with a little hope in his eyes.

"Look I need to be honest with you after this." you looked into his eyes. "I was in love with you and I think I'm still in love with you." you started to take off your earrings. "But you never gave me any signs of loving me back and since you're famous and all of the girls started to fall in love with you I didn't even think I have a chance with you anymore." you took off your shoes as well. "I just wanted to get rid of the fact that you're not interested in me, so I decided to distract myself with somebody else. But now I see it's a fucking bad idea." you walked closer to Gavi and gave him a hug. You felt his heart was racing like yours. "I don't want to go on that date. Now I know you love me and that's all that I need. I want to be with you tonight." he pulled away from the hug.

"Are you serious?" he wanted to stay calm but you saw his smile is growing.

"Yes, I'm serious. I want to spend this night with you." he was so happy right now, he couldn't hold back his smile anymore. "So, what about we stay at home and watch a movie? As a date."

"I would be the happiest in the world if we were do this." he tucked a piece of your hair behind your ears.

"Then it's settled." you gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. "I'm gonna change my dress for something comfortable, until you can choose a movie." you were about to go back to your room when he grabbed your wrist.

"Wait, I have something to do." he pulled you closer to him, grabbed your face and kissed your lips. When the two of you pulled away both of you were a blushing mess. "Now you can go."

"Thank you for letting me change." you laughed and walked back to you room to change your clothes. When you were finished you went to the living room and saw that Pablo already chose a movie. He even made popcorn.

"Are you ready?" he asked while you sit down next to him and cuddled him.

"I'm always ready to watch a movie." you said and he pressed the play button.

During the movie

"You know what I'm thinking about?" he looked at you.

"Are you even paying attention to the movie?" you asked him with your mouth filled with popcorn.

"I am but you know what I'm thinking about? you shook your head. "That I'm so lucky. I was the only one who saw you in that dress and even kissed you. I don't even know why did you think I would like those girls. You're much more beautiful then them" you blushed and turn your head back to the TV screen. "Looks like someone is blushing." he was about to kiss you but you turned his head back to the movie. He was a bit sad and you noticed it. His sad eyes was your weakness. You gave in so you turned back his head and gave him a quick kiss on his lips.

"Now really watch the movie." you said not knowing the consiquences of your action. He said a simple "no", stopped the movie and start to kiss you more and more.

"Only if you knew how much I waited for this. I'm not gonna watch that movie when I can kiss you all night." he grabbed your hands and start to kiss you again.

Well, let's say the movie stayed unfinished because Gavi was busy kissing your lips the whole night.

[santae-salt]

OG accessibility anon again for a completely different salt salt and then I'll get out of your hair.

People whining about there being events aka things to do is bonkers to me. You don't have to do them. If you're worried about missing out on rewards then buy them from people who don't want them.

Money is so easy to farm and that's coming from me.

The "disabled whiner", as I've so lovingly been called.

As I said prior, I've played almost all the heavy hitters since 2000, and the reason I like Santae is that there are actually things to DO.

In fact I wish there was more to do! My sister badly wants more games to play for instance! Like Black Jack or Snake or Tile Match! Heck you can even reuse assets for the last one just slap items tiles and there you go.

If you hate having a developer provide things to do on a browser game so badly, go back to Flight Rising.

There you can click a button on a static image ten times and you're done for the day and you'll never have to worry about Stormlight ever giving you anything immersive or fun to do ever! Just your speed! :3

Sorry for being so mean, but holy crap... I think some of you are so desperate to find things to be weirdly hostile about just for the sake of it when there are far more legitimate things to be blowing whistles on.

Like the AI art that the staff seems to pretend to not see the salt about...

There's these things called positive and negative reinforcement, and Criticism Oversaturation. It is a scientific fact that if all you do is get shitty and confrontational about every little thing it makes it psychologically impossible for the recipient of the criticism to be able to take valid criticism seriously.

Some of you need to learn the meaning of the phrase, "Pick your battles."

Am I saying kiss CJ and the others asses? Hell no!

But if you keep making mountains out of mole hills, then you are going to get less transparency, less willingness to take valid feedback, and eventually a complete severance of staff - community communication.

That's how this works.

Keep yelling about the ai, artist pay, accessibility, loot boxes, pet release cadence, and staff behavior.

Shut up about staff doing their damn jobs.

Exhale. Love you guys. Please be wise. xoxo

☁️