#this was quite hard to make and I don't know if I like it

[differenteagletragedy]

Part Eight of Simon Riley x Single Mother, they're really doing this thing <3

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven

By the time Emma’s first birthday rolls around, Simon has a ring in a box that lives in his nightstand back at his apartment. He keeps it there, safe and sound, instead of slipping it on your finger like he really wants to.

It’s not because he’s still thinking about it — he knows exactly where that ring belongs. It’s because, all told, it hasn’t been all that long since you got together. And while he wants nothing more than to lock this down, to breathe a little easier with the help of a sturdy gold band looped around his ring finger, he doesn’t want to scare you off. Wants to give it time to make sure that you’re in the same place he is.

So he waits. And every day he wants it a little more.

What pushes him to act, to move past his fear of rejection, is a close call during a mission gone wrong.

It's strange, he thinks, because he'd definitely been in worse predicaments. He didn't even get hurt, just felt the whizzing of bullets flying past him, a little too close for comfort, and he can't get it out of his head. If he'd been a little less aware, even if the wind had been off, he could have died, and while that never bothered him before, it's unsettling now.

The thought of you on your own again, of Charlie and Emma wanting for anything, forgetting him ... it aches. It keeps him up at night, even when he's laying in your bed, your warm, solid weight resting against him.

He tries to sleep, but it's no use. It's his third day back after coming home, and he's exhausted, but he can't rest like this. He finds his fingers running lightly your arm, up and down and back again, and before long you're stirring, turning slowly to face him.

"Simon?" you ask, your eyes still closed. "Everything ok?"

On one hand, everything is ok -- more than ok. Everything is beautiful. He can hear a faint stream of white noise coming through the baby monitor by the bed, telling him that Emma and Charlie are fast asleep in their room. You're in his arms, too, and it's perfection.

But tonight, just like last night and the night before, it feels too fleeting.

He clenches his jaw, struggling to find the words, and at his silence you open your eyes, sleepy concern etched on your face. He lifts a finger to smooth out the crease in your forehead, then trails it down your temple and towards your jaw.

You're so delicate. Strong too, he knows that, but now ...

"Marry me."

It's not a question, but a plea. Your eyebrows shoot up, and he puts his hand on the back of your neck, keeping you close.

"I ... really?" you ask. "You're really asking me to marry you?"

"Begging, love," he admits quietly. "Please."

He got the ring months ago at this point, and in all that time, he'd never landed on just how he wanted to propose. He never imagined this specific scenario. You deserve better -- than this, than him -- but he's desperate.

"... You sure?"

"Got a ring back at mine," he tells you. "Got it ages ago, never been more sure of anything."

It's hard to put into words how much this means to him, so he keeps his gaze steady, hoping you can, in that special way you always do, see it in his eyes.

And you do.

In a flash, you're pressing yourself against him, kissing him deeply. He pulls you closer, indulging you, but still, he needs words.

"If this is a 'yes,' I need to hear it," he says.

"Yes, Simon, of course ... yes."

That night, he sleeps better than he had in recent memory, and in the quiet of the morning, he slips away, just long enough to retrieve the ring from his place before you and the kids start stirring. When he's back, he slips into bed beside you, gently takes your hand and slides the ring on your finger.

It's a weight off his shoulders. He can't imagine how good it will feel watching you sign the marriage certificate.

This time, you don't quite wake up, you just snuggle up against him. But before long, he starts hearing soft sounds playing through the baby monitor: Charlie muttering what he knows are good morning rambles to his little sister. There's some rustling, and soon he hears two sets of little footsteps coming through the hall, then your bedroom door opens and Charlie and Emma are there, hand in hand, ready to start the day.

"Come on then," you mutter, still nestled against Simon.

The two children scramble up into the bed quickly. Emma tucks herself against your side, still sleepy herself, but Charlie is characteristically alert and energetic, and he throws himself across you and Simon, burrowing himself in the middle.

It's the morning routine now. The four of you stay in bed, slowly (or in Charlie's case, with minimal patience) waking up together. After a few moments, you finally notice the ring newly placed on your finger, and you smile, holding your hand up to get a good look at it.

"What's that?" Charlie asks.

"A present from Simon," you answer.

"But it's not your birthday or Christmas or anything."

"Doesn't have to be a holiday to get a present," Simon points out, and Charlie swiftly turns to look at him.

"Do I get a present too?"

You laugh, warm and happy, and tell him, "In a way."

Simon wants to do it all, and he wants to do it right. Marry you, then work on adopting Charlie and Emma. Sort out everything for all three of you, make it so that you're safe and taken care of, while he's here and, if anything ever happens to him, when he's gone.

But for now, this sleepy Sunday morning will definitely do.

[cherrychilli]

18+ Eddie Munson x f! reader, pervy! Eddie, pervy! reader, friends to lovers, idiots in love, masturbation(m), mentions of sex toys WC:2.1K

Summary: You find Eddie stuck in a compromising position. In your efforts to help free him, you find yourself stuck in one too.

This just might be the dumbest thing he's ever done in a long and varied history of dumb things he's done.

The sound of you pulling up to the trailer has Eddie sweating all over again, his breathing turning choppy when your footsteps draw nearer and nearer, the handle on his bedroom door starting to jiggle and swing open.

"Okay, what could possibly be so important that you couldn't tell me over the pho-"

You suck in a quick breath of air when your eyes land on Eddie, the poor boy looking equal parts embarrassed and helpless. Not to mention naked, save for the pillow he's planted over his crotch.

Your eyes rake over him very carefully, following the length of his left arm until you're able to figure out exactly why you've been summoned.

"Eds, why'd you cuff yourself to the bed?"

He looks at you with tired eyes, letting out a sigh so deep and defeated, like that of a man whose spirit is beginning to splinter.

"I was...you know... and I wanted to try something new...", he admits reluctantly.

You can't help it.

You try your best but you can't quite hold back the little giggle that overcomes you, clamping a hand over your mouth but all that does is make it worse when you snort out loud instead.

"C'mon. You can make fun of me after I'm uncuffed", he tells you, the words sour on his tongue. Please, the key's under the bed. Could you?"

Jokes aside, you stall for a moment to take this all in.

It might not be the best time to think so but the longer you look at him you realize that there's something about seeing Eddie like this that makes him look picture perfect.

The poor boy's nervous sweat makes his pale skin dewy and glow. His bedhead looks more effortlessly tousled than frizzy and wild like it usually is, and his big brown imploring eyes look like they're crying out to you like you're the only one who could possibly help him.

It's all so alluring and he doesn't even know it. You just wished you had a camera so you could save a snapshot for yourself. Especially if he'd let you pluck that pillow right off his lap. But you decide to keep that little detail to yourself for now.

Composing yourself, you remember what it is that you came here to do, giving Eddie a nod before you get down to kneel and peer under his bed and locate the key. As expected, based on the state of the rest of his room, there's a cornucopia of forgotten items strewn about in front of you.

What you see first are a few dirty magazines. No surprise there. Then a stray guitar pick, a few polaroid photos messily fanned out face down, a couple of dusty cassette tapes, a suspicious looking balled up tissue, three quarters and a crumpled, empty pack of cigarettes before you manage to eye what you're looking for.

It's a little further away than you had hoped for as you stretch out your arm, just an inch or two from your finger tips.

While concentrating hard on the task, you don't realize how the lower half of your body must look like right now but a blushing Eddie sure does.

Despite having called you over to help free him, he's starting to hope that you never find the key after all, staring at how your denim shorts stretch over your ass and ride up high, hips moving side to side as you try to wiggle your way under his bed a little more until....

You're able to successfully wrap your fingers around the little silver key, cold to the touch in your grasp as you huff a sigh of relief, pulling your arm back to you. But that calm is short-lived when you get ready to pull yourself back out from under Eddie's bed.

You're in up to your waist, the chipped slats above you scratching against your back because the top half of your body is unable to budge no matter how much you try to maneuver yourself or try to push yourself out by using your arms. Slowly, it dawns on you that you might just be trapped beneath the bedframe.

"Everything okay under there?", Eddie asks when you hears you begin to struggle.

You gulp, sweat dotting the nape of your neck.

"Eddie...I think I'm stuck".

He doesn't mean to, he really doesn't but his mind goes there immediately -- all those tapes of barely clad women finding themselves wedged in tight spaces. All of them at the mercy of their would be rescuers, more than willing but not showing it until they're being pleasured.

"Shit- are you okay?", he manages to shove the thought aside, biting down the bitter guilt of knowing the way it made his dick twitch against his pillow.

"Yeah. I've got the key too but how do I get it to you like this?"

Even now he can't help but ogle you, your thighs and your ass perfectly on display while you're on your knees. Eddie ponders briefly on how much better it is to see the real thing compared to how he'd been picturing you when he'd inadvertently caused this whole mess in the first place -- slicking his cock up and down with a palm full of spit to the thought of you, accidentally elbowing the key off the bed and out of reach.

"How about you try pushing it out with your arm? aim for the bedside table and I should be able to pick it up"

"How?"

"I'll use my feet", he offers.

You scrunch your brow but you suppose it could work, at a loss for any other suggestions.

"Yeah, okay. Let's try that."

With that you turn your head to the side and press your cheek to the floor, looking over your shoulder to eye where you're supposed to slide it.

Key in hand, hope in your veins, you carefully flick it out from under the bed until it clinks against Eddie's bedside table. Exactly where you were aiming for.

"Fuck, good job sweetheart", his heels thump down on the floor and you feel it pulse against your cheek. Then you hear him shuffle the key between his feet until he can manage to squeeze it between his toes securely.

Carefully, Eddie's able to pick it up as planned and drops it onto the bed within reach of his free hand. Next, you hear the metallic click of the handcuffs coming undone and him hissing as he rubs at his sore wrist.

"Alright. Let's get you out of there", he says, completely forgetting one crucial detail -- that he's yet to clothe himself.

You haven't forgotten about that fact however.

"Eds? are you still naked?"

Eddie freezes in place, looking down at his bare inked skin and his cock, still very much hard between his legs like it's the first time he's ever taken a look at himself.

The realization makes him smack the heel of his palm against his forehead in frustration, cursing himself for being such an idiot as the skin there begins to redden behind his bangs.

"Shit. Yeah, just give me a sec an-"

"No, wait"

"Huh?", he turns back around, afraid he might have done something stupid again already. That'd be a personal record for him.

"Maybe you can... I don't know. Maybe you can unstick me some other way?"

Oh no.

He knows that question well, having heard it in many a dirty movie with actors placed in situations not unlike the one the two of you are in right now.

So for a while, all Eddie can do is stare, half convinced he must have imagined you saying it because he knows what's supposed to come next and there's just no way that you'd ask that of him.

Right?

"Um, I'm not sure what you mean" he replies slowly. Playing it safe.

This time, the way you wiggle your ass for him in entirely intentional and watching it makes his cock ache all over again.

You couldn't quite put your finger on it but finding Eddie the way you did made you feel a certain type of way. Something arousing. Something exciting. Something new. And now you wanted to act on that feeling as it grows its roots in you, making a permanent space for itself there.

You know Eddie must have felt it too amongst the car wreck of emotions inside him when you set foot in his room and found him in such a vulnerable state.

"C'mon Eddie. Do I need to spell it out for you?"

His eye twitches, feeling like he's ventured onto thin ice.

"No but, why would you think I'd want to ?", he blurts out all panic stricken and overly cautious, not one to act well under pressure. He's just trying to cover his ass in case you might be trying to play some kind of cruel joke on him.

What follows is a pause that you purposely let drag on a little longer than necessary just so your next few words will land much harder.

"Because the polaroid's of me under your bed are all sticky".

Frigid cold like he's never felt before avalanches down his body. Every breath he takes feels like needles in his lungs, his legs beginning to tremble like they might give out from under him at any moment.

It happened at Steve's last BBQ pool party. You'd been walking around in your new bathing suit so casually and entirely unaware of the effect you were having on Eddie.

Being caught with a boner was no where on his list so he slipped into the nearest bathroom without drawing any attention to take care of the situation in his swim trunks.

It happened sooner than he's used to, something about knowing how closeby you were, just a couple of feet away and soaking wet that made his toes curl and spine tingle.

Afterwards, he flushed the cloudy, floating spurts of cum down the toilet, watching them spiral down the drain before he scrubbed his hands like Mrs. Harrington's nice soap and hand towels might be able to erase what he's just done.

It wasn't over yet.

Eddie wasn't even sure whose camera it was, only that everyone had a go by picking it up and posing for pictures with all the other guests, tossing the snapshots into a pile on a table inside to be sorted later.

He couldn't let an opportunity like that just slip away.

So Eddie made sure to be quick when no one else was looking, selecting a few photos of you which he held on to, taking them home where he could do with them as he pleased.

And he certainly did.

Until one day when he had to kick the small stack of pictures under his bed in a panic when Wayne came in to his room to have yet another word with him about leaving the empty milk cartons in the fridge instead of replacing them.

"Oh Christ- I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"Eddie", you call out loud enough to stop him from rambling.

"I'm not mad. Not at all. Being like this... I don't know, it's kind of exciting"

"Oh?", his ears perk up.

"Yeah. I like being vulnerable like this. And I think it's because I trust you".

That makes him smile like the sweet goon that he is, filling his chest with sunshine just to know you thought of him that way.

"You're sure? you're really really sure?", he checks excitedly.

Not one for repeating yourself, you puff out a playful scoff, rolling your eyes and though he can't see it, he just knows you're trying to sass him a bit.

"Alright then, sweet stuff", Eddie reaches for you, running his hands over the curves of your body, working his way up to hook his fingers through the belt loops of your shorts to begin tugging them down.

"This is so much better than anything I've imagined us doing" he tells you as he gets to reveal more and more of your skin, no longer a trembling mess. No longer ashamed. Not when you make him feel so understood and accepted.

"Yeah? you think of me a lot?", you work in a little flirtatious riff, humming as you lean further into Eddie's touch as he spreads your folds apart with his thumbs to watch you drip. He thinks he'll try to catch some of it on his tongue first.

"Only all the time", he confesses with an airy laugh.

You smile.

More than the excitement of being stuck and giving yourself to him like this, the whole thing feels a little unusual but right. Weird but good. Unexpected but intriguing. And just so fucking sexy, enough to make you want to do it with no doubts in your mind. And it all feels so much sweeter getting to explore it all with the person who means the most to you.

"I like thinking about you too", you admit with a quiver, your shorts and your sticky panties coming down to bunch at your sore knees.

"Can't believe I finally get to feel you now too".

[firestorm09890]

The problem with Meursault is I feel like you either have a sympathetic reading or you have him firmly in "terrible person" territory and it's hard to see him as what he really is, which is somewhere in the middle. I say this as someone who is overly sympathetic of him (I saw autistic traits in him from the very start and could not stop it). It's an interesting element of his character (that being the part about how people tend to either love or hate him rather than just thinking of him neutrally, not the autism part) I've kind of talked about before in regards to his Limbus Company counterpart but it also means discussions of him can be excruciating.

tl;dr of this post is that Meursault is very apathetic, does not understand his own feelings or care, and for the most part lets things happen around him that he reacts to, and that the replies pictured do some really nasty cherrypicking

This is one of the things that makes me read it as "unable to say no". Meursault doesn't say anything when Raymond wants advice (man-to-man and then we can be friends). It's either an overly literal reading on Meursault's part (Raymond didn't actually ask anything yet, he just stated something, why should Meursault answer) or it's because he doesn't actually want to. Meursault doesn't tell us. Really, it's not this one instance, but the fact that it constantly happens with Raymond makes me think Meursault isn't actually enjoying himself very much, except for rare instances.

He's not "quite literally just a bad person", he's amoral, which you might think is the same thing but it's not. His moral compass might as well not exist- he judges information on a case-by-case basis instead of having any consistent code, and why shouldn't the people he's talking to give him the story as objectively as possible? It's what he would do. This is what he says after Raymond infodumps his entire girlfriend situation

He doesn't think much of it at all. Based on Raymond's account, the girlfriend was probably cheating. "You can't ever be sure, but I get why you'd want to" is not "Yes I think your wife should be punished". It does still beget harm either way because Raymond takes it as an enthusiastic yes (and all Raymond needs is a single person to say "yes" for him to do what he wants) but he only gives his opinion ("opinion") when Raymond asks him to. He is a yes man. This is what I meant when I said

He'll give everything he has to people who aren't worth it- because he doesn't care? Or because he doesn't recognize they're not worth it?

He also happened to be drunk in this instance- probably, I assume a liter of wine and a headache means he's drunk but I don't know. There's probably something to be said about how he's drunk here and overwhelmed by the sun when he commits murder...

actually I want to talk about that too

Meursault doesn't tell us why he wants to go out with Raymond. You could say it's because he assumed Raymond was going back out for revenge and he wanted to be in on it. However, you could also say that he wanted to be there to make Raymond keep his cool.

I think he was. At the time he says this, I think his intention for taking the gun was to stop Raymond from shooting.

when he goes back out on the beach, he didn't expect anyone to be there at all. rereading, it truly was an instantaneous and senseless decision to pull the trigger.

astonishingly, rereading this chapter gave Meursault an extra point in favor of having some goodness inside of him- enough to know that killing is bad, or at least has consequences. anyway back to his forming "friendship" with Raymond

The scene continues

Meursault doesn't give Raymond the idea, Raymond tells him, and there's another case of "Raymond doesn't explicitly ask Meursault a question so Meursault ignores it until Raymond asks again".

Here's where "why should he?" comes in. He doesn't refuse because he sees no reason not to.

You can read whatever you want out of this and one of those ways to read it is as Meursault deciding it's a waste of his energy to disagree.

This is where his night with Raymond ends. In true Meursault fashion he leaves it up to us to interpret how he feels about it. Maybe what he feels is the warmth of a new bond. Maybe what he feels is disgusted and sick. Or maybe all he feels is a headache and nothing about Raymond at all.

Addressing the other mentioned scenes...

We don't know if Meursault wanted to stop Raymond or not, he said he didn't get the cops because he didn't like cops, and, in this day and age and on this website, I don't think "I don't like cops" can be used as a good judge of anyone's morals.

Here's what happens immediately after the police arrive when Raymond beats his wife: an indication that Meursault straight up does not care. He is hungry, he will make lunch and eat lunch and forget about it.

More Meursault having opinionless opinions. Why shouldn't he act as a witness for Raymond? He did see it. And Raymond told him that the girl cheated. That's all he needs to say.

Turns out Meursault does have a boundary. It's this.

haha meursault noooo

The part in the reply about the dog is pretty accurate, but still cherrypicking. Celeste calls Salamano and his dog's routine pitiful (dog pulls Salamano too far, Salamano beats dog, dog gets scared, Salamano doesn't give dog enough time to pee, dog pees on floor, Salamano beats dog) and Meursault's opinion on it is "who's to say?" but here's the whole page where Meursault tells him how to get his dog back because I think it really captures that there's something else wrong with Meursault than just being a bad person

Not that he has any idea what he's really feeling. He does care, in a way- he thinks of his late mother and loses his appetite- but he doesn't know how or why and we won't know either. Which adds the dimension that even though Meursault is very explicit and objective about what he is physically observing, emotionally he is such an incredibly unreliable narrator. Here's what the translator has to say about him though

So maybe Meursault sees the man and his dog as inseparable as a married couple. You don't separate even when bad things happen; that's how people used to see it. I don't know what he's really thinking, but sometimes the option humanizing him is equally as likely as the option seeing him as a terrible person.

There is nothing saying you can't both be a bad person and have traits that make you easier to abuse at the same time. You can do bad things without comprehending why it's bad. I never said any of this made him a good person, but he's not "quite literally just" a bad person either. It's kind of fascinating that so many people take that away from the book that has the court say Meursault is ontologically evil and wants you to think that was unreasonable.

That's the thing about humans, y'see, they have multiple dimensions and aaaaall this just makes me think LCB Meursault's going to have that discussion of what it means to be human even more.

I hoped it was obvious that him being unable to say no doesn't have to do with anxiety or anything, but a combination of apathy and a lack of understanding, but I guess I should have said so more explicitly.

I think about Rosespanner Meursault a lot

He isn't overworked because this is a workshop that overworks its employees, he's overworked because other employees are pushing their own jobs onto him, and he doesn't know how to say no.

That's perhaps his biggest problem in The Stranger. He can't say no to anyone- why should he? It's why unsavory types are drawn to him. He sits and listens to the old man who abuses his dog and so the old man likes him, and then he lets Raymond (the wooooorst) draw him into his bullshit and that's the only reason he has a gun on the beach at all. Limbus Meursault might be better at it at this point in the story (or maybe he isn't, and it's just that the contract with LCB is keeping us from seeing it) but he'll give everything he has to people who aren't worth it- because he doesn't care? Or because he doesn't recognize they're not worth it?

And I also think about Electric Screaming in conjunction with this, specifically the Awakening line.

Is he only able to set a boundary when resonating with the sheep that screams and tries to gore you when you take its power? Did he metaphorically let them plug those wires in to siphon the electricity, and only changed his mind when he realized nothing would be left of him? Does he even know who he is outside of what he can offer to others?

[itelya]

pervert. nerd bf! gojo satoru x fem! reader (+18)

You're sitting in the study hall with Gojo, your boyfriend, studying for next week's exams. The atmosphere is studious, or at least it was until he asks you to re-explain a concept he didn't quite grasp. You begin to explain, focused, patiently detailing each point, but very quickly, you notice that he's not really listening to you.

You turn your head towards him, intrigued, and see his face red, his breath short. "Gojo? What's—" You stop abruptly, looking down.

You see him. His hand, slowly sliding over his straining cock, barely hidden under the table. Your eyes widen in surprise. "Bro, what the hell? Are you serious?"

He nods slowly, visibly embarrassed but unable to stop himself. You know he gets turned on easily, but this time, you're shocked. He's a pervert, but it makes you laugh.

"What put you in this state?" you ask, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

He looks at you, feverish, his cheeks flushed with desire, his glasses sliding slightly down his nose, and his lips parted, as if he's struggling to breathe.

"Your voice... You. Just you. I need you, baby... please..." His voice is low and raspy, filled with desire for you. He's so needy for you.

How could you say no when he's begging you with a face like that? You slide your hand under the table, down to his crotch, and the heat emanating from it makes you shiver. His cock is hard, swollen, the head reddened and already glistening with precum. You laugh softly, your hand molding to his shape.

"You dirty nerd pervert..." you whisper, moving closer to his ear. You feel his cock throb beneath your palm. Your hand continues its slow strokes along his hot length.

You feel him shudder beneath your touch, his fingers clenched on the edge of the table, as if he's fighting not to moan too loudly. The room is deserted, but the slightest noise could attract attention... and that's perhaps what makes the scene even more exciting. The thought of possibly getting caught excites you.

"You really have no self-control, Gojo... This is a study room, pervert," you breathe with a mocking smile. He doesn't say anything, barely moans, his pleading eyes fixed on yours. His hips lift slightly, seeking more contact.

"Fuck... your hand is so soft..."

You stroke him slowly, savoring his expression, his cheeks reddening and reddening, his breathing quickening with each stroke of your palm.

"Are you turned on just by my voice? I didn't think you were like that, gojo."

"It's... it's stronger than I can help. You're talking and I just want to take you against the table..."

He moans at the same time without holding back, his words making you shiver, and yet you maintain control. He's the one losing it, not you. At least, not yet.

"Shh..." you say, placing a finger on his lips. "You don't want anyone to hear us, do you?"

You pick up the pace a little, and he bites his lip, holding back a deep moan. You feel his thighs tense, his stomach tightening with the effort of containing himself.

"Are you going to come for me right now? Just like that?" you whisper, your eyes shining with desire. "You're such a naughty boy, Gojo..."

"I... I'm going to..." His words get tangled in his throat, feeling his release coming, but you abruptly pull your hand away. He looks at you, stunned, panting, his dick swollen and twitching in the open air.

"Did you think I'd let you come that easily?" you whisper with a small laugh. You stand up slowly, walk around the table, and kneel in front of him, looking up at him.

"Do you want me to make you come? Ask nicely... Be good for me."

You look up at him from the floor, your knees barely touching the cold wooden floor of the study room. Your hands on his thighs, your head slightly tilted, and that look, the one that drives him crazy. Gojo struggles to speak, breathless, his face half hidden by his crooked glasses.

"Please..." he murmurs, his voice almost breaking.

"Please what?" you whisper with a slow smile.

"Keep going... I can't take it anymore. I want to come. Please baby... please."

You let him stew for a second longer before leaning in. Your mouth just brushes the tip of his cock, barely grazing the hot, taut skin. He moans, almost too loudly, and you lift a finger to your lips.

"Shh... we're supposed to be studying, aren't we?"

You don't torture him any longer. You place a kiss on the glistening tip, then another lower down, before slowly sliding your tongue along its length, savoring his reaction. He tilts his head back, his hips shaking slightly. You swallow him slowly, with your usual gentle, sensual way.

He murmurs your name like a prayer, his fingers finding refuge in your hair, never forcing you, but pleading in their own way. You vary the rhythm, sometimes slow, deep, then faster, hungrier. He's on the verge of exploding. You can feel it. His whole body trembles beneath you.

"I'm going to... baby- ngh..." he begins in a broken breath. You don't stop him. You go with him all the way, welcoming him completely, without blinking. His body tenses, his thighs contract, and he spills into you with a stifled moan.

You stay there while he comes back down, before slowly rising again. You swallow hard because he's come so much and wipe the corners of your lips with a playful smile.

"There. A good break between two studies, right?"

He looks at you, still catching his breath, then laughs softly, still flushed with pleasure. He straightens his clothes and looks at your entire body.

"You're lucky there are people around." His voice is low and still hoarse. You shrug as you sit down next to him again, grabbing a sheet of notes.

"I'm always lucky. Can I repeat my explanation?"

"Of course, my love." He smiles at you and adjusts his glasses before focusing. On you. Obviously.

a/n: first smut of the series yummyyy 🤭 tysm for +400 followers ilysmm💗🥹

nerd gojo series - masterlist

[sgiandubh]

Games people play

An ephemeral (and now quickly deactivated) account went rogue and sent a prominent shipper blog a whole load of conversations between that person, who played friendly to the Other Side, and Caitony. You know, the staunch stalwart of the Remarkable Week-end Saga, who consistently insulted shippers in the most revolting fashion one can imagine. 'Crazy' and 'stupid' being almost terms of endearment, of course.

I shall not repost the six conversations that have been meticulously screen capped and posted. You can read them here, starting with this post, where the Rogue Operator explains her choice of releasing them: https://www.tumblr.com/auburncurlslass/781073024919207936/hello-shipper-this-message-is-not-about-me-sam?source=share

But a couple of lines from that scrambled dialogue of sorts gave me pause, and I have thoughts and questions, as always.

'Beijos em tenda'/'Kisses in the tent'. I know what I saw, that night, while dissecting that Taylor Swift concert episode frame by frame. Many shippers were doubtful, perhaps because almost twelve years of brutality made many wary of the consequences of being too open or too readily accepting. A culture of paranoia and permanent second-guessing was the necessarily logical consequence of collective bullying. Now one of the most revolting people on the other side confesses she saw exactly the same thing and that it annoyed the shit out of her. Understandable: Those Two Kissed. Not on the cheek.

So, here you have it: Caitony knows that very well. Is she the only one? Doubtful: many, if not all of them, know the same thing, for you can be sure conversations happened in those DM boxes, too,

Shipper Mom just confirmed: in the above context, a 'beijo' is virtually never on the cheek. Otherwise, it would have been an 'abraço' - just a hug, so to speak, which wouldn't have scandalized Caitony. Yet, this one seems to have traumatized her so much, that she felt the urge to remind her 'friend', in a different conversation, one of the arguments used by Mordor to explain C's questionable behavior, including (but not only) that night. Albeit, on a more ominous tone:

C is, according to Caitony, 'doida'/crazy and 'bebe muito'/drinks a lot'. Yes, this is in the context Caitony finally spills the tea about her very seriously shipping C and Tobias Menzies, which is amusing, to say the least. Later on, she even speculates on Blonde Bambino being Tobias' son: ugh, nobody seems to like McGill, or what?

I have always known the entire Greek Chorus of sopranos, minions and clones were always spinning the same two arguments in a gradual miscellanea of insults and fighting words because what I post often made them feel uneasy (a #silly understatement). But now, here is evidence:

You know, they love and respect her so much, that they are readily throwing her under the bus the very moment she does not conform to their scenario. It's 'exclusivamente culpa dela'/'exclusively her fault', because you are just a sad and lonely woman, who has a parasocial relationship with a perfect, lionized stranger. And wow, how hard must reality sometimes bite, to make you veer dangerously close to our shores: 'tem horas que acho Tony um verdadeiro fantoche'/'at times, I think Tony is a real puppet'. You don't say, darling...

Of course, S is (according to Caitony) a gay man whose partner is Norouzi, which doesn't really come as a surprise, since this is what the Screeching Banshees have been insinuating for years, now. I have debunked enough of it, even showing how they tinkered with Wikipedia, to insist on this nonsense.

What is really interesting, though, is this very recent convo with Caitony, where she touches a very sensitive issue, all the while telling her 'friend' she was disillusioned and quitting this toxic madness:

Fucking fun, too, to read her defining C's marriage as a 'farca necessaria'/a necessary sham (but is this the same woman seeing McGill in Dublin, recently? Oh...) and openly mentioning 'divorcio'/divorce. Not once, but at least twice:

She even expects it to happen (really?), but thinks it's not the case, yet. How peculiar, really!

And, perhaps the most telling of everything, here is what she really, honestly wants for C's new movie, just because she thinks C needs the money and this is why she lies to her true fans:

'Quero que ela flope esse filme'/I want her film to be a flop'.

Not a fucking ounce of fucking shame. A cara nem treme.

I am not sorry for the length. Credits given accordingly, with the amendment the informer deactivated her blog, supposedly because she was afraid of Caitony going after her. I can also tell you that this informer followed my page for an hour, before changing her mind and choosing to post elsewhere. I am glad she did spill the tea.

'No boundaries. No respect. No class.'

In the meanwhile, we are preparing our trip to Paris, where we will make sure to tell C how good she is at what she does. I am not going for her. I am going because I want to hug and talk to all the people who will join our merry company. Because this is what a fandom is for: a facilitator for like-minded people to meet and become friends, not a cesspool of madness. I'll give Caitony that involuntary honesty.

[grahstumhurts]

𝙍𝙪𝙜𝙗𝙮 𝙋𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙧! 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙭 𝙆𝙖𝙩𝙨𝙚𝙮𝙚

𝖧𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌

ᴷᵃᵗˢᵉʸᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ʳᵘᵍᵇʸ ᵖˡᵃʸᵉʳ ᵖᵃʳᵗⁿᵉʳ.

CW : Mentions of injuries, Suicide mentions

I decided not to include Yoonchae because these half-shots kinda have darker under tones and i dont exactly feel comfortable writing for her with a darker light.

ᴍᴀɴᴏɴ - ꜰᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ (ʜᴏᴏᴋᴇʀ) - ᴴᵉʳᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵉˢ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵐᵃⁿ ᴮʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖⁱˣⁱᵉˢ

The first time Manon had ever watched a rugby game had been when Megan took Katseye to Hong Kong to visit her family. Hookers have the largest impact on the scrum, They have to guide the ball out of the scrum and out to the scrum half. This has to be perfected as one wrong move and the ball will be stolen by the other hooker or will be kicked out too hard. This perfectionism is what drew Manon to you as she watched you on the Pitch, Your props pushing the other team back as much as they could as your leg nudged the ball out of the scrum for your teammate to pick up. Your attention to detail isn't only on the pitch but in lots of other aspects of your life, Manon admires your organized schedules. In her usual life, Her room stays messy until she finds the motivation to clean it. With being a hooker comes lots of hip flexibility which she is glad to help with, Stretching and a post practice routine is how you’ve maintained the flexibility to hold your own on the pitch. Though being smaller than Manon, Your muscles are quite a lot larger than hers, Especially in your legs. She loves watching your games, cheering you on at the side lines as you make tackles. She worries a lot about injuries, Physical and mental ones, Pushing you to go to physical therapy and talking therapy when you need it. The one time you don't listen to her and skip your physical therapy appointment, The next game you dislocate your shoulder. One moment you're running, pushing back defenders with a stiff arm, The next you're on the ground with the wind knocked out of you as your shoulder burns with pain. Your writhing on the ground as the referee stops the game to assess you. As you're being taken off the pitch. Manon runs down from the stands, holding your hand as they guide you into the medical room. During your recovery period, You two would just cruise around in Manon’s car, Singing any song that came on in your shared playlist. The contrast between the old rock style music and Manon’s more modern pop music makes the playlist more diverse as the two of you influence each other. 

ꜱᴏᴘʜɪᴀ - ʙᴀᴄᴋ (ꜱᴄʀᴜᴍ ʜᴀʟꜰ) - ᶜʳᵘⁱˢᵉ ᵇʸ ᶠˡᵒʳᵈⁱᵃ ᴳᵉᵒʳᵍⁱᵃ ᴸⁱⁿᵉ

You had grown up as a country kid, Raised in the rural areas doing farm work and playing American Football. Only when you found rugby did you feel like you really belonged in sports, Being the more masculine kind of person only really made you stand out more when you got into high school. Your true passion was always rugby. As a scrum half, you control the ball going into the scrum, which means that you need to be quick on your feet to receive it. Your agility keeps Sophia mesmerized while she watches your games, you navigate the defense with ease. With your play style of unselfish playing, passing off to your teammates whenever the opportunity is open, It's uncommon that you score a try. But whenever you do, Sophia is always there to celebrate after the matter. She’s always there to help you with your pregame and post game routine, Her “Mother-ly” status in Katseye makes it easy for her to fall into the routine of helping you cook food. In return, you make sure to buy her flowers whenever coming home from a game and that she knows that every try you score is for her. On game days, She would always text you “good luck” with a heart emoji. This game had been quite a normal one, when a scrum occurred. You rolled the ball through your teammates legs and picked it up, tossing it to your teammate who were already aligned for your team's attack. The scrum broke off as your Fly half runs up into the defense, passing it back down to you who was running at pace. You quickly pivot, your foot planted for a side step to quickly change directions as you felt a pop in your knee. You immediately felt a searing pain as you collapsed onto the pitch. After you were taken to the hospital by the team medics, You were ambushed by a petrified Sophia who had heard from your teammates that you were at the hospital. After finding out that you had torn your ACL, Sophia promised the doctors she would take care of you. You two spend your time together cooking, going to the beach, and hanging out with the other members. You can't take showers without your country music playlist in the background, as much as Sophia pretends to abhor your music taste she can't deny that slow dancing to Chris Stapleton and Luke Combs is something she misses while she's away during Katseye’s comebacks.

ᴅᴀɴɪᴇʟᴀ - ꜰᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ (ᴘʀᴏᴘ) - ᴶᵃᵖᵃⁿᵉˢᵉ ᴰᵉⁿⁱᵐ ᵇʸ ᴰᵃⁿⁱᵉˡ ᶜᵃᵉˢᵃʳ

Your larger frame intimidated Dani at first. Once she saw past the facade she realized you were more of a gentle giant. Props are the main source of power in a scrum and are majorly important in securing the ball during it. You pour a lot of your energy and anger into rugby as its your way of “destressing” in a way, The physicality of the sport to you is what drew you into it. From the moment you played your first match you knew you were made to play rugby, Especially growing up in a rugby household. Your family watched the 7s yearly back home in LA, so it felt right when you joined the USA 7s team and made your debut in LA where Dani first met you. She was enamored by your soft spoken “gentlewoman” attitude, Her more extraverted self felt drawn to your down to earth personality. Dani definitely tries to tackle you any chance she gets when you're standing near the couch in the Katseye house. The other members sigh as you two play fight, They have to pull you two off each other when it goes on for at least two minutes. Your on pitch demeanor in contrast to your off-pitch personality is like watching two different people in the same body. On pitch you lead by example, making the tough tackles that bring down the offense, clearing space for your backs to gain momentum, and following the plays of your scrum half. Off pitch, you're a tired teddy bear, Cuddling with Dani any free moment. Whining and pouting when you have to move, You're her muscle when she needs to move some furniture or when she's out and about to scare some pushy guy off. Only when you come home from a tough match, to see her already sitting on your apartment's couch. She watches you limp to the bedroom and hop into the shower. She doesn't prod, or push. She lets you cool off in the shower, allowing you to come to her when the time is right. When you’ve cooled off, you collapse into her arms. A mess of limbs and curls wrapped around you as you vent about your match. What had occurred was when you were pushing through the scrum, your quad started to burn as you broke out and off your hooker. You tried to brush it off, running head first into the offense. Trying to clear off some players for your team. Your coach had noticed the slight limp in your run and immediately pulled you off, Your pitch side medic told you that you had acquired a muscle strain in your hip flexor. Dani consoled you, scratching your scalp in all the right places, Kissing your forehead when you paused sentences. Showing she cared, without saying anything. The next morning she had already texted Sophia to ask for advice on what to do, and had made up her mind that she was going to take you to your physio appointment. She held your hand as you were poked with needles and wires, Instruments and stretches you were made to take home. She set up a checklist on your phone that linked to her phone as well to make sure you were doing your necessary treatments and exercises. She didn't need to say anything to you, but she took care of you. You two bond over your shared taste in RnB, You two laze in bed when both of you have a day off. Just listening to your shared playlists. Back hugs while she cooks you two brunch is what makes these off days special for her. 

ʟᴀʀᴀ- ʙᴀᴄᴋ (ᴡɪɴɢᴇʀ) - ² ʰᵃⁿᵈˢ ᴮʸ ᵀᵃᵗᵉ ᴹᶜʳᵃᵉ

Score the most tries, is what you’ve been told throughout your professional career. You’ve held trophies of being the tournament MVP, But nothing could still fill that void in your heart. You longed for something deeper than tries and conversions. That something was Lara Raj, She came into your life when you least expected it. While you were in recovery from a Suicide attempt, She marched straight into your life and brought color back into a once gray field. The love for the sport you’d been playing most of your life had come back as Lara spread the different shades of Crimson red, Coral orange, Cobalt blue, Periwinkle purple, Sage green, back into your life. You two had met through an unexpected mutual, Her high school friend had coincidentally been also your college friend. From the moment you two locked eyes you hit it off, You're as obsessed with her as she is with you, The amount of admiration the both of you have for each other can be felt in the spaces you share. Her side of the shared bedroom in the Katseye is filled with photos of you two, faces flushed, Cheek kisses, Lipstick stains. Your hoodies intermix in her regular rotation of pajamas. Your apartment holds her favorite flowers in vases she specifically bought for you, Her hair ties on the nightstand next to the bed you two share. Matching phone lockscreens, all the couple stuff that makes people automatically know how much she means to you. You listen to her music when she needs a second ear, play the drums when she just “Needs” the acoustic drum sounds. She sits on your lap as she writes lyrics in her book, while you scroll lazily on your phone. But on pitch, your cleats have an engraved L.R in a heart on the side. She knows every try you score and convert is for her, In a way that is unique to the both of you. The field is your second home in a way, You sprint through the defense using all the energy you can to make it through on your feet. The ball safely tucked under your arm as you weave through defenders that you push off strongly to reach the try line. You dive onto the ground as the line is pushed behind your feet, The ball roughly jammed into the pitch as another 5 points is awarded for your efforts. But you know when you walk off that pitch and into the tunnel, a bigger reward awaits you with her arms open, Her hair smelling of cinnamon and coconut.

ᴍᴇɢᴀɴ - ꜰᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ (ᴘʀᴏᴘ) - ˢᵘᵐᵐᵉʳ ᴮʸ ᴷᵉˢʰⁱ

You grew up in the coastal city of Hong Kong, Yours and Megan's parents had actually been friends in college before your parents decided to move back to Hong Kong to have kids. You had been enamored by the beauty of rugby from a young age, its ruthless physicality and brute strength. When you had the opportunity to join the Hong Kong 7s team, you immediately accepted. Megan at the time had just debuted with Katseye, Her press conferences and performances had taken over her life. By the time the 2025 7s season rolled around you had been promoted to a starter. Katseye’s activities had died off and the members went their separate ways for a break, Megan had gone home to Hawaii. Your parents had invited her and her family to come to Hong Kong to watch you play, something they could not pass up since your parents and her parents had only seen each other once since they had moved. The way you hustled on the pitch, A smile permanently plastered on your face, had a warming feeling for Megan. She had seen clips, Heard her parents talk about your amazing skills, But to see them in person. That was different. It was as if she could feel the excitement and happiness for the sport you loved off your body as you sprinted up and down. A reunion dinner for both families, The Skiendiel's and L/n’s, had been long overdue. You and Megan’s personalities matched each other, Bouncing off lame brain rot jokes like a ping pong game. The Katseye members refer to your relationship as a Golden retriever and an Orange cat. You two clicked like two Lego pieces, as if you were made for each other in a sweet, comforting, kind of way. She tries to teach you how to dance, watching you flail your limbs trying to copy her instructions. While you try to teach her how to spin pass a rugby ball, Unsuccessful but it was worth a try. She's the rock in your life, Keeping you grounded when you float off into imaginary land. On the pitch, your largeness had earned you the position of Prop. You harness your brute strength each time a scrum is called, Pushing against the shoulders of the opposing team. Scrums had to be your favorite moments each game, Making jokes with your other teammates and even sometimes the other team. Your goofiness is known worldwide on and off the field,  You pour your heart into what you love and that was what drew her to you. Your personality on the pitch and off the pitch had been a siren song of sorts to her. When your already short season had been cut even shorter due to a serious knee dislocation, it had taken a large toll on you. After your surgery, you had already decided on visiting Megan in the US. She had come to the airport, in her disguise, waiting patiently. Sign in hand as you were wheeled to the exit by staff. The weeks you two spent together let your relationship flourish, She drove you to your appointments, While you cooked her dishes from home to reminisce. The Kats were grateful she had someone who could “Match her freak”, In the sense that you two complement each other in every way. 

[ooooo-mcyt]

I love Pearl so much, she's such an interesting character.

I feel like Pearl is someone who is constantly in conflict with herself, always torn between what she wants, what she think she 'should' do, what's expected of her, and what she's capable of.

Pearl wants companionship, she wants friends, she wants to relax and have fun. Pearl can be a very friendly, fun, and chill person. She's honorable and most of the time loyal. Pearl is most comfortable during peace times, or, barring that, when she's fighting beside someone.

She tries to drop the anger and hurt of her past too. Pearl wants to forgive, wants to feel better, wants to rebuild bridges with the people who hurt her, and the people she hurt.

But there's always the spectre of 'Scarlet Pearl'.

Part of it is the expectation of other people. Everyone still remembers her victory, the blood on her hands, looking at her and seeing a threat, or a weapon. Ironically, though, the person who wasn't present for Double Life is somehow the worst. And Pearl wants to do right by Gem, wants to give Gem what she needs from her, so she tries to fall back into that persona, covers herself in red and promises to fight beside Gem, but it never quite works, Pearl can never quite meet the expectation of violence people have for her.

But it's not all about other people, is it? That would be too simplistic, to say Pearl is only what other people make her into. I've never thought of Pearl as particularly weak willed, the expectations of other people is a factor, but Pearl has her own reasons for always glancing back at that persona that never quite fit.

For starters, there's an empowerment to it. A safety in feeling yourself covered in blood and gore, in knowing you're capable of painfully clawing your way to victory. Pearl doesn't want to be 'Scarlet Pearl'- never wanted to be, not really- but there's something comforting, I'm sure, about the concept, the myth, of what she's capable of, something that's hard not to want to recapture, at least a little bit.

I also think there's an aspect of guilt repression. It's something Pearl struggled with a lot in Double Life, in a lot of things, but especially when it came to Scott. Because Pearl did hurt him, and I don't think she ever fully convinced herself he deserved it. You see in Double Life, over and over, the way Pearl will falter or even backtrack sometimes, just to convince herself she doesn't care if she's hurting people. I suspect it's still a relief to have the 'Scarlet Pearl' persona to lean into sometimes, this image of someone who doesn't feel remorse (even if that was never really true), something Pearl herself utilizes when topics come up that she doesn't want to think about, wants buried, this version of herself she likes to think never regretted a thing.

I honestly think Pearl is far too attached to the idea people have of what 'Scarlet Pearl' was, even if it's just a mythologized version of a hollow persona built as a defense mechanism.

People- including Pearl herself- keep digging up the bones of the myth of who Pearl was during Double Life, and even if it's not good for Pearl, even if she doesn't want to be that person, never wanted to be that person, can't be that person. It's an impossible expectation, one Pearl struggles to meet, and I don't think she'd be happy if she did meet it. But it's also comforting in some ways, easy to put on, even though the cracks seem to grow every time the mask is worn.

I'm just obsessed with Pearl guys.

[penguinly]

Thank you @i-love-zelda-16 for the tag!

1. If you could choose any animal, which one would you choose to be?

Penguin. Either an emperor or chinstrap penguin to be exact. Emperor penguins get to live in Antarctica (they're the only species to live there year-round so that's cool) so that's already cool as hell and chinstrap penguins can take 2,000 naps a day for about 2 seconds each instead of actually sleeping but they're also just interesting. I fricking love penguins. In case you couldn't tell by my pfp. Or my username. Or any time I've used my blog to spread penguin propaganda (I should do that more).

2. What would you choose if you’re in a hurry and have nothing to wear?

Throw a hoodie on top of it. I've been wearing this really comfortable one all winter that's synthetic (kind of like quick-dry shorts material but softer) on the inside and really baggy and I fricking love it. Like I just throw it on and zip it up and no one ever needs to know that I wear the same 3 shirts on rotation basically all year round. This strategy probably doesn't work as well in the winter or summer since I wear shorts at home all the time even when it's really cold outside and hoodies and summer don't really go together but I'll do it anyway.

3. Are you a witch, vampire, fairy, dryad, siren, or mermaid and why do you think so?

Ooh I'll pick fairy because wings. I used to be able to lucid dream sometimes (I just drop dead asleep nowadays so no more controlling my dreams for me) and my favorite ones were the ones with flying. I also like to make height jokes at my own expense because I think it's funny so hey, I'm not really losing much by becoming 6 inches tall. I don't even care what powers I may or may not have with being a fairy I just wanna fly and be tiny lol.

4. What is your style?

Ok so this has changed a LOT in the past year or so. I used to wear basically all neutral boring colors and stuff for some reason. I HATED the idea of being perceived. Then I had the revelation that I didn't give a shit what people thought so I stole my brother's Zelda shirt (Tears of the Kingdom picture on the back and I wear it proudly) and got around to dying my hair with vaguely blue and then neon red streaks because I love making premeditated impulsive decisions. I'm still kind of limited in terms of pants because I literally have 3 pairs of the same pants I wear all winter and 3 pairs of the same shorts I wear all summer due to sensory issues. I'm trying to find more fun colored shirts and stuff because I'm quite honestly too tired to care what people think anymore and I may as well wear cool stuff.

5. Regular milk or plant based milk?

Regular milk. Partially because I ended up forcing myself to drink a lot of plant based milk at one point in my life and I hated it so I'll probably still hate it for another long while.

6. Which do you put first, milk or cereal?

There is only one right answer to this. You put the fricking cereal in first. If you put the milk in first then the cereal's going to float on top when it's poured in so you're going to have way too much milk and way too little cereal. And then at the end you have to drink the entire bowl's worth of lukewarm milk. Even worse if it's one of those more crumbly cereals that just dissolves when you get it wet and it's a disgusting texture at the bottom. Pouring the cereal first means you get the right cereal to milk ratio AND if you do it right most of the cereal's going to have a little bit of milk in it so none of it's just straight up dry and crunchy. Yes, I'm very passionate about this.

7. Fav way to kill someone?

This one's kinda hard. Personally haven't killed anyone (as far as I know) but if we're talking about writing character deaths you can't go wrong with a good old time loop. I haven't written one yet but this is on my bucket list of things to do. One of these days I'm going to start a time loop longfic. My top three favorite time loop death tropes are as follows in no particular order:

dying when really close to or appearing to have ended the loop

dying to reset the loop when someone gets hurt

dying in a loved one's arms while telling them about the loop

Note that you could technically do all three of these at the same time if you really wanted. But yeah time loop angst just hits different sometimes. I'd like to give an honorable mention to 'having a breakdown when explaining the loop to someone' but it didn't necessarily have dying involved so I turned it into bullet point 3.

Yeah, I've rambled enough so I'm going to pass this on to my moots and anyone else who wants to join in! Not going to tag anyone because I feel bad for spamming people with these oops :|

thankyou for the tag @preposterousray 🖤

get to know your mutuals♡

if you could be any animal which one would you choose to be? (can be fictional) (and you can explain why if you want to) I think I would choose to be a bengal tiger because I have always resonated with them 🐅 <3

what would you choose when you're in a hurry and have nothing to wear?

hm, a black singlet top, fishnet tights and black denim shorts with lace, hair in two spiky buns, eyeshadow and lipgloss, some bracelets and obviously my scoliosis brace but that is a mobility aid lol

are you a witch, vampire, fairy, dryad, siren or a mermaid and why do you think so?

I think either a witch (darkness, chaos, magic, freedom, and power, and animals, besides I’m already into witchery) and a vampire (turning into a bat, flying, supernatural powers, macabre)

what is your style?

idk man I love and admire both gothic fashion and punk-rock fashion. diy, scraps, lace, patches, studs, spikes, fishnets, jewellery, mesh, paint, safety pins, stockings, short skirts and shorts, crop tops, weird hairstyles and makeup, expressing individuality and rebellion and the macabre and unusual — and if I’m being formal then thrifted suit jackets and vampy curly updos ✨

regular milk or plant based milk?

regular milk 🥛

which one do you put first milk or cereal?

milk because I am a psychopath

nah I’m actually kidding I obviously put cereal first I just wanted to annoy whoever was reading this

fav way to kill someone? (idgaf if you never thought of it now you have to think of something and make it at least a bit cool I'm begging)

pull one of their eyes out with my fingers, shove a handkerchief into their eye socket, and then throw them the fuck overboard a ship to drown in the unforgiving sea kaz brekker style

tagging @vilecemetery @rottingangel9 @mossterious @urlocalbone @butterflypython @ball-of-insecurities @sandmoondooh @calder-a @sparklykat-hideoutenthusiast and anyone else who wants to join

[ddejavvu]

hiccup and casual dominance perhaps?? I always think about when he turned astrids jaw with his hand… but like him pulling you by the belt loops, or just him pulling/pushing you around in general (like the waist thing he did w astrid hehe)

the jaw thing 🙂‍↕️ the waist pull 🙂‍↕️ anon we watch the same clips on repeat don't we.

if you're an absent-minded or clumsy person- first of all, so is he. but he starts looking out for you after the third time that you trip over a tree root on your way through the forest, and by the fifth time he's snagged the back of your shirt and successfully redirected you. The time before that was practice, he swears.

Now he's a master at it; you're talking, distracted, and he really is listening, but he notices that you're about to step right onto a rock that'll twist your ankle. He nudges you to the side with his shoulder, steps over the rock himself, and offers insight into whatever you'd been saying. crisis averted.

maybe you have a tendency to trail after him. you're always a half-step behind, and he finds it endearing every time the warmth of your body runs into his and squishes him briefly. You're always mumbling out an, 'oop, sorry!' and stepping back, but he more often than not grabs your hand/arm to maneuver you beside him. He loves it when you trail after him, it makes him feel special, but he wants to walk with you, too.

if he brings back a new species of dragon that has you a little nervous- maybe they're bigger than you're used to interacting with, maybe their face isn't easily puzzled out (where do you scratch, sharp nose or spiked chin?), maybe they're uneasy themselves and are showing signs of anxiety-based aggression. He'll take your hand in his and calm them through you, holding your hand up against the dragon's maw or directing you to its soft sides instead. Even if the dragon seems unpredictable, you know you can trust Hiccup, and you're calm if he's guiding you. It works every time, and you let him pose you however he thinks is best.

Though Toothless is perfectly capable of scooping you onto his back beneath your legs, one disastrous incident where you'd then fallen headfirst back to the ground has ruled that out as a method of mounting the dragon. Going for joint rides is mandatory, though, and sometimes it's hard for you to hoist yourself up onto the saddle. Now Hiccup isn't quite as muscular as his dad, but he keeps himself built specifically enough so that he can carry you. He gives you a boost, whether it's lifting you by the waist, or letting you step on his thigh like a staircase as he kneels beside his dragon. Sometimes, if he's feeling extra cheeky, he'll let you climb up yourself and then push you up by the butt, laughing as you squeal and right yourself on Toothless's saddle.

Also during flights, he has you sitting up front. He's still in control, but he feels so detached from you when you're behind him. He likes feeling you nestle back into him, settling there like the shape of your body was meant for the shape of his. He reaches around you to guide Toothless through the air, and keeps you nestled into his chest.

When you finally land, he slides off first, and helps you dismount by offering you a hand to hold onto. You land at his feet, bounce slightly on the ground, and he keeps your hand in his as he leads you back home.

[nightscythe]

I didn’t realize I’m not the only person on the planet who wants to bone big men in power armor. That said, we all know Big E totally didn’t do anything weird with their genes, right? Right? Leman and Horus have a knot and no one can tell me otherwise.

i gaslighted myself for over a year into thinking no one else wanted to bone the large space men. don't worry. i thought about this in far to much detail. now seems like an opportune time to say i have never ever written about knotting before. but a friend of mine used to talk about it everyday when we were in sixth form. she was obsessed, so hopefully i captured her spirit

nsfw 18+, pre-heresy, unprotected sex // i threw another one into the mix. emps never would do anything weird, especially not to his sons

leman

he didn't mean to. but, throne, he loves you so much. his usual composure is lost when you're around, he's so desperate to be around you, with you, in you, that it's evitable. when he's got you undressed, when he's trying to be gentle, his hands are trembling and his body burns, your scent fills every one of his senses and refuses to let him go. his fingers sink into your flesh so easily, you fit against him perfectly - it was a match made by fate itself, wasn't it? it would never take long. he's behind you, your back arched, knees apart like the good little thing you are. you'd barely have time to adjust to his size before he starts to swell inside of you, your soft, velvety walls coaxing him into more. he snarls, shakes, growls as he feels it. i can't... his voice breaks as pushes his swollen cock inside of you. he's gasping. he's thinking of nothing other than you, how he needs you every day, in every way so fucking badly. i need... fuck... you're so... his growls turn soft. he whimpers, wounded, unravelling. his words are a mess and voice is barely considered a breath. love you, he croaks, his weight becoming apparent above you. fuck, i love you. he's so affectionate when he's a panting mess. he's so enamoured by you it may be hard to believe. fucking you is so much more to him than sex. so when it locks, when he's whining and groaning as he fills you, he's already thinking about more. he's above you, you're still full, but he's still aching for more. one slow thrust forward, sinking his knot deeper inside. his arms are around you, his breath is hot on your shoulder and you can feel his body twitching. one more? he pleads, begs, enthralled by how you milk him, never quite believing that you wanted him half as much as he needed you. i can't let you go. he means it. he's so drunk on the feeling, he thinks he'll lose you forever if he does.

horus

he's obsessed with you. possessive. utterly devoted. it's rough with him; always intimate, like you're drowning in him. he's so stuck on the idea of you being only his that sex is a ritual. so knotting? it's the next step. its something he plans, trains you for. makes you need it just as much as he does, crave the feeling of his knot swelling inside of you to the point you're begging him for it. for weeks. waits until your body aches for him, until you're laid out before him, sobbing and and pleading on your knees. all for him. one hand is around your throat. the other holds your hip. he fucks you like he's not had you with him for months, rocking his hips into you with a hunger that went further that just feeling. mine, he mutters, over and over. his hips stutter when he starts to feel it. he forces himself to stop so he can hear you say it. say you need to feel it. say you need to be knotted like a good little pet. when you do, he grins. he growls. holds you down as he fucks you harder. you take me so well. he can't take his hands off you. his teeth graze your soft flesh, his lips kiss you like its worship. for a second, he's vulnerable, his head dipping so his forehead rests against you as he prays that the universe would be so kind to let him have this forever. ruins you with his cock like it was his sole purpose. he's so absorbed in the feeling, in having you come again and again around him, that he doesn't even realise he's close until the last second. his body holds you down as he comes. its the only time you will ever hear him moan, his gruff and masculine exterior taken for just a second. no one else, he breathes, ragged and exhausted. no one other than me, yeah? he holds you after. he's so sensitive, he squeezes his eyes shut every time he feels you squirm, exhales sharply when he realises you're a complete mess over him. he commits the image to memory. it will get him through the worst of times, knowing he'd have you sitting here so patiently waiting for him. mine forever, aren't you? it's not a question. he tells you how perfect you are, how no one could ever make him feel like this other than you. no one had him other than you. he'd do anything to feel this at the end of every agonising day. don't leave me. ever. don't even think about it.

angron

he's never slow. yet when it came to you, he'd hesitate. especially with your heart. he struggled to come to terms with your feelings for him, let alone his own. the way you look at him is always what sets him off, those innocent eyes that search for him, the way your lips curl into a smile when you find him and you always tell him you love him. but there's another step after that, an entirely new stage. one where you look at him with the silent beg of how badly you want him, because you're his and always will be, because nothing will ever compared to him, and that's something he can never come back from. he holds you. your body's pressed against the nearest wall, one of his hands grasping both of yours as the other spreads your legs. he'd stop to appreciate them if he hadn't lost all sense of discipline. do you know what you do to me? he questions, words hissed. you can feel the way his hands start to shake, but he never lets go. how you make me want to ruin this precious body of yours? he's panting as his cock slips into you, hips stuttering, his teeth sinking into you and just scratching the surface of drawing blood. he leaves no part of you untouched. so good for me, aren't you? you can feel his cock in your throat. he's everywhere. no control, no sense, just the feeling of you embracing every one of his senses as he groans, roars, leaves the sound reverberating in your ribs. made for me, he growls, ready for me to break every time. the hand that isn't restricting you is teasing you. pleasuring you, wherever he knew you liked it best. he always remembered. you can give me more. i know you can. cry for me. let me see it. your sounds break him, send him down a spiral there's no return from. he shudders when it locks, holds onto you like you were the last thing keeping him alive. he's seething as he fills you. his cock, aching swollen, throbs, his body shakes, he holds you in place and never wants to let go of you. don't leave, he plead, never meaning just this moment. tell me you're mine, always. he keeps his arms around you, your back pressed against his chest, but he's a touch softer. say it, he continues, eyes closed as he listens to you breathe, say you're mine. hearing those words never gets old to him. he starts to feel the metallic taste on his lips, the tears threatening to spill, and he's reminded that salvation only comes from death, or from you.

wanted to post this earlier but i was ambushed by a wasp. neighbour has a nest directly opposite to my window. very fun. anyway, this hurt me in a good way

[slaaverin]

Let me spell this out, cause when you sit an actually think about this, it is mind blowing. BTS have known each other for like 15 years. Worked together, lived together as a group for years. Jimin and JK are the only two members who have spent 494 days apart from the rest of the boys with only each other. Let that really sink in. Jikook have spent almost 18 months together, every single day, just the two of them apart from their group. That is freaking WILD. And when you look at it outside of BTS, they're the only idols to do this from any group too so far. There aren't two other idols spending 2 years away from their group together, let alone in the military. And this fandom "pretends" its not a big deal to cope. It's a major deal. As a jikook bias/jikook supporter this doesn't even feel real to me sometimes, so I can't imagine how antis truly feel inside, when they aren't lying to themselves to cope. They probably still wake up so confused, sulky and angry and dumbfounded cause they got slapped hard with reality, cause they know they will never in this life, be able to say their biases did this. It really feels like a fever dream when you think about it. Only after BTS could they pray for their favs to spend 2 years together every day apart from other members, cause right now, that's not gonna happen. Maybe one day, but I don't see how since Jk said he wants 50 years of togetherness & AYS with Jimin. And Jikook aren't even tired of each other either, after 494 days. Just WOW.

I agree anon it's absolutely wild when you think about it

Even before enlisting (except for a brief moment in 2023) they've always been glued together.

Enlisting together was quite the commitment to make.

And in Jimin's letter you can read between the lines that they plan on staying intertwined in the future still.

This is mind-blowing.

That doesn't happen for most relationships out there. It shows once again how incredibly special and rare their relationship is. It's crazy and beautiful and so precious 🥹💜

Haters can't really cope well with this bcs anything they might say is simply nothing compared to the real evidence of jikook enlisting and the weight that it carries so I guess they simply block the information entirely in their minds lol it's pretty hilarious

But jikook share pure love and they've showed it time and time again.

Anything anyone might say is invalid (even more than before) because there is simply nothing to prove anymore.

Jikook are the closest in the group, always has been and probably always will be.

Anyone not willing to admit it is in bad faith and I can't take them seriously

Those who know, know.

I can't wait to see what the future holds for jikook it is all so incredibly exciting 💜

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

U don't gotta do this ask, but like this is just an AU for WB!reader that i think is really funny.

Like imagine this:

Let's say WB!reader is an African. Like born and raised (I'm an African myself) and like when him and his ma move back to America and end up back with the Batfam gets flabbergasted by the culture differences.

Like calling ur parents/guardian by their actual name (cuz in Africa you'd be dead before u even say anything)

That most food that is considered savory is actually sweet?? (where I come from pies are mostly savory rather than sweet)

Openly cursing/disobeying infront of elders and not getting ur shit rocked

Struggling with English sometimes since it's not their first language/ cursing them out in said language

It's just some funny things I thought about but u don't need to do it if u don't wanna.

(My English isn't englishing I'm sorry 🥲)

- 🦙 anon

SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG TO ANSWER BUT I GOT IT!!!!

I feel like this is literally vodou!reader!!!

The culture shock Voodoo reader experiences coming to Gotham is absolutely insane. It feels like she came straight from the island into an American city, and it's kind of hard to deal with. When she was picked up from the airport and put into the longest limo known to man, she was confused as to why there wasn't a motorcycle or a van waiting for her—usually, that's the transportation back home. Now that she has realized the only things available to her are taxis and Ubers, she finds it quite confusing. I mean, you can call a motorcycle man on the fly, but now you have to get an app for transportation, and she really doesn't know what's going on.

Another thing that absolutely confused her is the butler. I mean, yes, of course, they did have maids back in Haiti, but the reader and her mother didn't own one, so she has no clue how a butler works either. When dinner was finished, she was confused why everybody left their plates on the table and didn’t take them to Alfred to help him clean up the dishes. She's puzzled as to why no one is helping Alfred clean—like nobody! Bruce tells her it's his job, but there's no way this family is letting this feeble old man manage this mansion, I mean manor, from top to bottom. She starts helping whether they like it or not. Alfred tries to tell her that it's his job, but the girl has potatoes in her ears because she is not listening.

The thing is, she does not understand American metaphors. One time Dick said, "The devil is beating his wife," when it started raining, and she audibly gasped and hit him on the shoulder. Jason is getting road rage, yelling, "Did you see that? He just flipped me the bird!" Obviously confused, she wonders why someone would throw a bird at Jason. What shocks her even more is how they say Bruce's name out loud. If she ever called her mom by her name, the reader would have a gravestone over her head. When she comes from Dick, then Jason, then Tim, then almost everybody in the house, she's completely lost. Yes, they're adopted, but still, they should chill some! Only Damian calls Bruce "father," and even then, if the boy gets too mad, he's going straight to "Mr. Wayne." This is enough to put the reader in cardiac arrest, even if it wasn't said to her.

That's just the beginning. The boys are foul-mouthed. When she heard Duke and Tim cursing each other out while Bruce was in the same room, she wondered why the old man didn't take off his shoe and beat them yet. Jason is yelling and cursing at Bruce on the fly—do these kids have no discipline? She remembers letting one curse slip in front of her mother, and she had to go outside and pick a branch from a bush as punishment. All Bruce says is "language," as if they listen, and the reader almost faints. Cursing at the dinner table in front of Bruce? There are so many things that the bats don't do that the reader does, and the reader knows that the bats don't know about a washcloth. The reader makes an entire presentation about how washcloths are important—it's essential in every bathroom.

Once every Sunday, the reader likes to wake up early in the morning and clean. This is a Haitian ritual and routine: waking up to the sound of gospel music blaring in their ears as the reader cleans up the manor from head to toe. Before they can have breakfast, those boys better grab a mop and a broom and start cleaning now!

[chiefofsmut]

𝐉𝐨𝐚𝐧 𝐈𝐧 𝐈𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐲

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂: Joan enoys a walk with her new acquaintance. But things quickly take a turn.

𝔀𝓬: 3k — chapter 2/3

𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓼: slight trigger warning for internalized homophobia, religious guilt, repressed/closeted character, top!reader

𝓪𝓸3

｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ +:｡.｡:+ ﾟ ゜ﾟ +:｡.｡.｡:+ﾟ ゜ﾟ +:｡.｡:+ﾟ｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ +:｡.｡:+ ﾟ

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 2

You chuckle softly. "Because you're beautiful. I like you."

Joan chuckles too, thinking you're complimenting her in a platonic way, but you simply keep smiling at her, so sweetly it makes her core tighten. The corners of her mouth drop when she realizes you're serious, that you're genuinely interested in her. And not just as a friend.

"You hardly even know me," Joan mutters.

"I still think you're attractive," you say and shrug your shoulders.

"Attractive?" she repeats after you, clearly finding it hard to believe you. Like she couldn't understand it.

Nodding, you keep the slow pace, guiding Joan along the street. Walking into a part of town with less people she knows she should be scared, but your presence somehow is protective. The sun has dipped lower and the temperature doesn't show any mercy, but it's bearable in the shade.

Joan stays silent for a beat, eyes everywhere but on you.

"You don't believe me, do you?" you ask.

"I'm not that special," Joan says quietly, a self-deprecating edge to her tone. It is evident in the way she speaks that she actually believes the world sees her that way.

"I beg to differ," you furrow your brows. "You're quite… intriguing."

Your words wash over Joan in a wave of heat, almost drowning her. How could someone find her interesting—a widow and single mother? She thought of herself as plain, ordinary even. Yet here she was, attracting a young stranger she knew nothing about. And she liked it.

"You never told me your name," Joan says, her cheeks pinkish when she looks up at you.

You tell her your name and Joan echoes it as if trying to find out how it sounds from her lips, then you ask. "And yours?"

"Joan," she answers, voice thin.

While you walk in silence you keep stealing glances at Joan. Her shoulders are tense and her hands clasping the strap of her purse tightly, adjusting it on her collarbone.

"Do I make you nervous?"

Joan holds her breath and swallows hard, trying to find her voice, but it comes out in a soft whisper. "Yes."

𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓾𝓮 𝓸𝓷 𝓪𝓸3

[sissylittlefeather]

Kink Madness: Round 1!

Overstimulation vs Sensory Deprivation

Two fics enter, one fic leaves. I'll post them both below with a poll at the bottom. Read them and vote!

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, obviously smut, overstimulation and sensory deprivation (blindfold), also blowjob in one, reader cries in one.

Overstimulation: 50s Elvis

You'd never heard of Elvis Presley when he stepped on stage at the Louisiana Hayride and wiggled his hips so hard you damn near came right there in the audience. It wasn't a stretch for you to decide to track him down after the show. You're older than he is by several years, and obviously more experienced, but that doesn't seem to bother him too much when you're in his hotel room kissing and petting him.

He whimpers against your lips and pulls back, gasping.

“N-now slow down, darlin’. I'm liable to– oh god.” You lean in and kiss his neck, your hand trailing down the front of his unbuttoned lace shirt to the place where his hardness is straining against his pants. This ain't your first rodeo and you've been ready for this ride since he opened his mouth and stuttered into the microphone. He makes some kind of strangled noise between a whimper and a groan as you squeeze him gently. “Fuck.”

“You want me to stop?” You whisper into his collarbone and he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth.

“No, I-I-I just don't wanna– shit. Fuck!” His hips buck into your hand and you look down in shock as you feel the warmth spread onto your palm. “Goddamnit!”

He pulls away from you and crosses his arms, looking up at the ceiling as a slight blush creeps across his cheeks.

“Elvis…”

“You can go if ya want.” You click your tongue and he looks at you, eyes wide and wet with embarrassment.

“Why would I wanna do that? We ain't finished here.”

“I am.” You shake your head and crawl up next to him.

“You really think that? Honey, you should have a little more faith in me.” He meets your eyes with a look of genuine curiosity.

“How…?” And then you're leaned over, pressing your lips to his stomach. You keep working your way down and unzip his pants. He lifts his hips to help you pull his pants down, revealing his sticky mess. You moan softly when you see it and then look up at him sitting there with his lips slightly parted. When you bow down and start to clean him up with your mouth, he gasps again. The sensation of your warm little tongue pressing kitten licks to his soft cock and the surrounding skin is so overwhelming he has to bite his lip to keep from screaming. He's so sensitive and the feeling is so intense he almost cries.

“God, baby, please, s’too much!” You pull back and look up at him, lifting your hand to caress his cheek.

“No it isn't. You can do it. Just close your eyes and feel it.” He nods and then does as he's told, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. You go back to working him gently, pulling his half-hard dick into your mouth as he groans.

“Fuck.” You suppress a smile and continue bobbing on him until he's hard as a rock again. “Wow.”

He opens his eyes and looks at you surprised as you pump him gently with your hand. He's still unbelievably sensitive, but he looks at you with reverence as you stroke him.

“Nobody's ever stayed past when I… well…”

“You deserve care like this, honey. You shouldn't be ashamed when you cum fast. I take it as a compliment. And I know you can do it again.” He smiles and lifts his hand to your face, running his thumb across your cheek.

“Thank you, baby.” You smile and nod and then lean over and pull him deep into your throat. His hand automatically takes a fistful of your hair and his head drops back against the headboard.

You pull out every trick in the book, licking and sucking and pumping him, taking him so deep that your nose presses into the patch of sandy brown hair at the base of him. He lets himself be worshipped and revels in the feeling of it being almost too much, but not quite. Instead, it's just enough and he moans loudly, tapping on the back of your head frantically.

“Gonna cum again sweetheart– oh god!” You don't move, though. Instead, you suck hard and pull his orgasm from him, swallowing everything he gives you and he bites his fist to keep from screaming. He's never had a girl swallow him before. It doesn't take long for it to be overwhelming again and he whimpers and pats on you. You kiss his tip one last time, making his hips jump, and then sit up, wiping your lips with the back of your hand.

“How was th–” You don't get the question out though before he tackles you onto the bed, his hand sliding fast up your skirt to your center, lips pressed to yours hard. He finds your clit and goes to work, mumbling against your mouth.

“That was incredible.” You giggle and pull back to look up at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, I owe ya at least two, don't I?” You moan and arch into his hand as he slips two fingers into your wetness, pumping them in and out.

He doesn't stop at two.

******

Sensory Deprivation: Army Elvis

Elvis is on leave before he ships out to Germany and you're hellbent on making sure he remembers you. You end up asking the sluttiest girl you know for advice and she just smiles knowingly and whispers in your ear. You nod along, gulping, but determined to try.

That's how you end up here, in his hotel room in Nashville with your scarf tied around his eyes as he sits on the bed naked.

“Honey, I'm intrigued, but I need to know where your head’s at. What are we doin’?” You quickly remove all of your clothes and slink onto the bed.

“Just relax, baby. I'm gonna take real good care a’ya.” Your voice shakes, but you're insistent that you can pull this off. You've had sex with him before, plenty of times, but this is different. You have to give him some way to remember you when he's overseas.

Your hands tremble, but you scoot up next to him on his right side and drag your fingertips along the skin of his thigh. He shivers a bit and turns toward where he thinks you are.

“Honey?” He reaches for you and you push his hands away.

“Just sit still.” He purses his lips.

“I can't touch ya? You're naked aren't ya?” You nod at first and then realize he can't see you.

“I might be. But I'm gonna touch you first.” He makes a quiet “hm” sound and then settles into the bed. You try to run your hands over him softly, barely grazing the part of him that is obviously aching for him.

“Goddamn, baby.” He whispers as you press your lips to his skin. Without being able to see you, every touch is a surprise.

Then, you crawl between his knees and try to figure out how to do what that girl told you to do. You push your boobs together and look down at his throbbing cock, standing at full attention with a bead of precum leaking from the tip. This doesn't seem possible, but you lean forward and try it anyway.

You arrange yourself to be at the best angle possible and slip his dick between your breasts.

“Fuck, baby! What are you doin’?!” His hips buck and you try to keep yourself moving on him. But the angle is weird and it hurts a little and your boobs don't go all the way around him and it's just not right. You try to keep it up for a bit, but he suppresses a smile at the sound of your frustrated little grunts. Finally, you sit back on your heels and sniffle. For a second, you look at him with your scarf around his eyes and try not to cry.

“Honey?” He asks tentatively. He can't feel you anywhere and he starts to worry that you've disappeared. When he finally reaches up to move the blindfold a bit, he's shocked to see you at the end of the bed, naked and crying softly. “Baby, what's wrong?”

He crawls towards you on the bed and tries to pull you into his lap, but you push back against him.

“No. I'm embarrassed. I couldn't even do this right. I won't even be surprised when you cheat on me in Germany.” His eyes soften and he laughs out loud.

“Is that what this is all about?” You rub your nose and sniffle.

“Yeah. Don't laugh at me.” He stops and pulls you into his lap.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart. Do you think I could ever forget you? Even halfway across the world?”

“Well… yeah… and Susan said if I–”

“Susan doesn't know what she's talkin’ about. I don't need fancy stuff from you. I just need you, warm and soft and mine.” He wraps you up in his arms and holds you tight against his body. Then he looks down and tips your chin up to meet his eyes. “Mine.”

He leans in and kisses you so deep it's like your heart stops beating and you survive on his energy alone. You whimper as he lays you down on the bed.

“Close your eyes, honey.” You don't think twice before obeying his command. And then he does something you never expected. He moves his mouth around your body, grazing his lips on your neck, flicking his tongue against your nipple, pressing a hard kiss to your clit. You gasp and moan as he moves from place to place, nibbling on your breast, pushing his tongue into your slit, blowing warm air in your ear. He moves the sensations around so that it's impossible to predict and within seconds, you're absolutely dripping for him.

“Elvis…” You whimper as he sucks on your earlobe and then pushes a finger into you.

“Yeah, baby?”

“You really love me?” You feel him move to settle between your thighs and he whispers.

“Open your eyes.” You blink a few times and look up at him as he drags the tip of his cock over your clit. “I love you like the waves love the sand. I'll always come back to you.”

With that, he pushes into you in one smooth motion and you gasp.

“Always?”

“Always, baby.” He grunts, pumping into you like his life depends on it. You roll your hips forward to meet his and wrap your legs around his waist.

“Oh fuck, Elvis!” You moan loudly as your climax builds and then washes over you. He follows close behind, pulling out at the last second to paint your belly white. You lay there for a bit, both of you panting hard and sweating. He pulls you against his chest and kisses your forehead.

“Can't wait til I'm home and we can get married and I won't have to pull out.” You look up at him from your place on his chest.

“You mean that?” He kisses the tip of your nose and nods.

“With both eyes wide open, yes.”

******

Make sure your voice is heard! Reblog to help us find a champion!

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Anybody else wanna tag for the rest of this?!

[scribblestatic]

More Spider Yuan for the masses uwu

Spider Yuan on AO3

Prev Masterpost Next

---

Night had fallen in Xiaoshan Village, family that was in the community gathered together in the main room. Han Miyun cooked for their guests with the help of one of their children as the others discussed what to do about Fan Ruoxing's ailing health.

Of course, Meixiu couldn't come down the mountain, so it was Qinglian, Jiahao, Shurong (淑荣 - Shūróng), Mingwu (明务 - Míngwù), and members of their families.

Although they all heard what Fan Zhenzhen had said not too long ago, the idea seemed too risky.

"If we try to take her up now, she probably... I know Nǎinai is strong, but she didn't get out of bed today, right? Not even into the wheeled chair."

"It'd be cruel to try to carry her all the way there."

"I wouldn't call it cruel... But I do think it probably wouldn't work well."

"She's only grown more frail since this morning. If we try now—"

Ruoxing held up his hand, silencing his children and their spouses.

"...She's said what she wants. Our job is not to judge her wishes for how viable they are. Our job is to find the best way to make it work."

"But, A-diē, we can't go up the mountain tonight. And...I don't know if she will make it til morning." He hurriedly continued when his father closed his eyes. "I really mean no harm in saying this, truly. It's just that...to try speaking with Lulin Zhizhu now..."

"If she'd told us earlier today, perhaps we could've made it happen. But it's night now. Even with Lulin Zhizhu's webs, we can't guarantee we'll be completely safe. What if someone trips or falls? What if someone gets lost in the night?"

Indeed, Fan Zhenzhen expressed her desire to see her god again, but it was already evening when she said so. And, as they'd said, she had been rather down, even absentminded and airy. Like she wasn't completely there anymore, slowly fading and loosening her hold on her mortal body.

They were running out of time, and her final wish...it looked like it would go unfulfilled.

"Nainai never asked for much, and it's disappointing to not be able to help. Surely we can figure something out?"

"She's not well enough to leave her bed anymore, Mingwu."

"But, she's worked hard her whole life. Isn't there something we can do? Can't we think of something?"

Ruoxing didn't want to argue with his children, watching them argue tensely amongst themselves. He sighed deeply, knowing it had been quite a long time since they last saw the giant spider. He, too, found himself missing his presence.

If push came to shove, then he would carry his mother on his back up the mountain in the morning, perhaps before any of the others woke up. He had already thought of how to do it, and since the others did not seem able to help—some even seeming unwilling to—then he'd have to do what he could by himself.

As he thought this, there was a knock on the door.

With most of the children still arguing, Qinglian's wife, Yinuo (依诺 - Yīnuò), bowed her head lightly toward him before heading over to the door. She eased it open slightly, her body blocking whomever she spoke with. Deciding it probably wasn't so important, he went to close his eyes again so he could tune out the noise around him.

But then, Yinuo shrieked.

All the others startled, turning toward the door, where Yinuo sat on the ground, shocked and shaking.

Mishu-zhang stared at the woman, blinking briefly, before her gaze snapped up to him.

"Oh, Fan Ruoxing. It's a pleasure. Where is Fan Zhenzhen?"

"Ah, Mishu-zhang! My apologies, this old servant didn't know you were coming."

He quickly got up and headed over, the others also paying their respects. Qinglian scolded her lightly as he helped her get up, saying something before he looked to where she was pointing.

Ruoxing paid little attention to this, instead looking down at the family's visitor with kind, yet tired eyes.

"Right now... Right now, it's a little rough. A-niang is feeling unwell, so she's in the bedroom. If you still wish to see her..."

"Ah, excuse me. It is Lulin Zhizhu who wishes to see her. May we come in?"

"...'We'?"

He then realized that the darkness behind her was not the black of night.

That the darkness behind her shifted.

It was hair.

He locked onto the strands, and then followed them up...

And up...

And up...

The pale threads of a previously unnoticed weimao made itself known, as though fading into his consciousness. The veil seemed to become more opaque the higher up it went. He couldn't see where it connected from behind the top of their front door.

Even so, a familiar, whispery voice called out.

"Fan Ruoxing, it has been long."

Immediately, a pressure filled the house, one unlike anything before. The sudden, heavy weight of it almost made him kneel. Some of his children behind him already did.

"...Zhizhu?"

Mishu-zhang moved to the side, not yet entering, and bowed to her lord.

His clothes were now more visible, curtained by black hair. Although he couldn't see it all, he assumed the god to be wearing a pale green daopao with simple designs that shimmered from the light of the fire within their home. He tied simply around the waist with a corded, pink-beaded rope, one he recognized to be made of spider silk.

Looking down, he couldn't see the tips of his boots, feet completely concealed under his clothes.

"Has this spider come at a bad time?"

"N-No. Excuse me for my rudeness. Come in."

He quickly stepped out of the way.

"Mm, then..."

His wide sleeves moved, revealing a pale, segmented hand, much like Mishu-zhang's hands. However, the fingers were long, changing from white to yellow, then to black at their very sharp tips. From pinkie to thumb, the nails on his fingertips quietly gripped against the wood of the doorframe before he bent down to enter.

His feet, his clothes, his tan weimao...not even the floorboards made a sound despite his size and overwhelming presence.

Perhaps Fan Ruoxing never felt this pressure because Lulin Zhizhu usually stayed outside, in the forest, in the open. Now, it felt like it was condensed, saturating the very air he breathed with the smell of mist and fog.

Is... Is this the same spider he spent his childhood talking to? The same one who helped him come up with a present for his wife? The one who blessed his mother, him, and each of his children? The reason Xiaoshan Village is as prosperous as it is, merely because his mother told him a story?

...So this is a god.

He let out a shuddering wheeze and felt the tall tall tall being look at him.

"Oh my. This spider has been discourteous. He assumed he'd pulled in his qi quite well, but it is not well enough."

Then, the pressure lightens, and several members of his family gasp for breath.

Mishu-zhang entered after the lord of the forest, closing their door.

"Then, excuse me."

Without being directed, the spider floated forward—he saw what looked to be legs moving, but there were no steps, no shoes, no sound—the weimao's veil fluttering slightly behind him.

Without help, he stopped in front of the bedroom where his mother lay. He paused, back curled because the house could not accommodate his height.

He raised his fist...

And knocked lightly. Two little raps against the door.

Silence...

"...Zhizhu?" his mother strained from inside.

Although Fan Ruoxing couldn't see the spider's face, he felt a warmth ripple through the room, making his heart flutter.

"May this one enter, Zhenzhen?"

"...Please do...my lord..."

That door, so often creaking until they oiled it, made nary a sound as he slid right inside and shut it behind him.

Fan Ruoxing stared down the hall to his mother's bedroom, then slowly turned toward the others. All the humans were frozen in shock, awe, and fear. Mishu-zhang simply stood politely with a small smile on her face.

"Ah, while Lulin Zhizhu is busy, does anyone have a story they would like to tell me?"

--

"Aiyah, look at Zhenzhen. Does this family no any good sense?"

It was easy for him, he found, to slide right into talking with her like they did before.

She's pale, wrinkled, and weaker, bundled up in bed. When did her hair get so light? When did she develop those crows feet?

But her eyes are bright and shining at him as she smiles, laughing when he starts fluffing her bed and tucking her blankets tighter around her. Thank goodness they gave her pillows filled with duck down and wool and not those senseless, useless porcelain offenses to nature.

"My lord...has come down the mountain..."

"Of course this one has. How could he not to come see you?"

"...For...me?"

"Yes. This spider noticed that Village Elder became quite occupied. This one takes no offense, worry not. The lives of humans simply...pass faster than remembered."

"Hmm... Perhaps my lord...heard my wish..."

"Elder's wish, hmm?

"Yes..." She breathed in deeply, then sighed. "This servant...will leave tonight."

Yeah.

He knew.

He could feel her flickering, strong as she clung on.

"On a long journey, yes. This lord felt it would be wrong to not send you off properly."

The smile she gave him made his pedipalps shudder against his cheeks.

"My lord..."

"Mm?"

"Would you be...willing to show me...your face?"

He considered it for a moment.

He quite liked his face, really. Looked at it in a bronze mirror as he figured out how to put his clothes on. Perhaps it wasn't one a human would appreciate, but he wasn't human, and he had no obligation to appease them.

If she wanted to see his face, so be it. Besides, she was the woman who, for many years, spoke regularly to a large spider that once threatened to eat her.

Without answering verbally, he pulled the veil up, folding it on top of his weimao before removing it altogether. He set it aside and leaned closer in.

He didn't do much with his hair—just pulled a scant bit of it into a loose ball at the back of his head. It had been a bit of a ragtag job, since he could see just fine whether his hair was over his eyes or not. Still, with Zhizu's guidance, he at least framed his face with his hair nicely.

Fan Zhenzhen gazed at him for a long moment without saying anything.

He tilted his head. "What does Miss Elder think? Be honest."

She chuckled.

"It's unnatural... Even...frighteningly beautiful... Most humans will not...understand. But your many eyes...hold kindness and trust... That doesn't change, even...even in this form."

"This spider will say, having eyelids is indeed quite the experience." He blinked his main eyes, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. "With my eyecaps, they really are not needed. However, they formed naturally."

She let out a little laugh again, though it ended with a wheeze that caused him to fuss over her again.

"...Is there anything this spider can give you for your trip?"

"Mmm... Well. If it is...not blasphemous..." She turned his head toward him. "Would my lord...tell me a story?"

"A story, hmm? Let's see... This one tends to be longwinded, though Miss Elder knows this. Fault this one not if it lasts even into the afterlife."

"Hah...this servant...shall not."

He mulled over it a little longer. Then...

--

This one still remembers some things from when he first became aware of himself.

A small spider, barely the size of your finger. Really! The males of the species of spider I was were much smaller than the females. This lord was truly tiny.

When he first became aware that it was mating season, he found he had no interest in it. Even till this day... Ah, the spiders who serve this lord came of their own accord. They are not his children.

But yes, he was not interested in procreating. Perhaps it was because he cultivated from an early age. Though, it had to have happened quite quickly. A normal spider barely lives beyond a year or two.

Regardless, without the interest in passing on any genes, he instead sought comfort.

Did you know that plants are quite different when you're smaller? Even the tiniest bumps and chemicals can be quite the hassle...hm? Chemicals? Oh, they are...hm... It's a little difficult to explain, but a chemical is, like, a building block. If you put enough of the blocks together, you build something out of it.

For example, these bodies are all made of different chemicals.

Really!

--

And then, he had the audacity to demand this spider to give up his property! As though this one hadn't spent many an hour building the perfect web in the perfect spot he found!

It was in a nice little sunny spot. After a good rain, the sun would hit the water droplets just right... True beauty. This spider has always been quite the weaver and architect. And this hooligan decided to try stealing from his hard work!

He was smaller back then, and this spider was of a different species. A bigger species. So, in theory, this one should have fled.

However, as Miss Elder may have picked up, he is quite petty. Yes, he's mature enough to admit that he can be exceptionally petty. Cruel even. He appreciates these things about himself, though, as they were instrumental to his survival. One should always love and care for themselves, then they can care about others even better...

Ah, right, the topic. Ahem. Well, the villain started to raise his arms at this spider, trying to make himself look bigger. Hah! How elementary, honestly.

He let the little idiot dance at him until he broke the strand setting off the Rube Goldberg mechanism, and after just a few seconds, smash! The idiot was flattened by a pre-prepared rock! Which, honestly, the sister spider should consider what this one did to be a favor...

Well, that is, if he hadn't already given her sperm to use later. Otherwise, this one perhaps caused her to worry for the generation that will come from him.

...Hmm? Oh a Rube Goldberg mechanism...huh. Well. It's, like...hm. It's a way someone can visualize karma. One action causes a reaction, then another reaction, and another reaction, until you get to the result.

In this case, I built a process using my webs to cause various reactions in my surroundings, leading to the rock falling on perpetrators that tried to come for me.

Rube Goldberg seems to be a name of some sort. Though, to be quite honest, I don't remember too much else about it. Lost with time, perhaps.

--

There are so many sex plants in this world.

Too many, if someone was to ask this spider.

What's the purpose of so many plants, animals, and parts to induce sexual intercourse? Perhaps there was a point in time where procreation was at a minimum, and some freak gods decided to get mortals horny to keep life going.

Blasphemous? Yes, it is. I'm fully aware. I imagine I'm not liked by many a god.

However, they can sniff one of those sex plants they love so much so they have enough oomf in their system to go fuck themselves.

...Oh, goodness, don't laugh that hard.

--

This one has dreams sometimes.

Although he doesn't sleep exceptionally often, he does indulge in rest when desired. For as long as he can remain awake, the mind requires a reset, like washing a bowl that has grown dirty with constant use.

During such times, he sees a human made of candy floss.

A human male. Pale as silk, eyelids shadowed with exhaustion and sleeplessness. His limbs do not move like he wants them to, and he has to use supports to move around. Like extra appendages. He's where this one got the idea for a wheelchair.

But, this human male I see in that dream... He has a family. Two older brothers and a younger sister. Even though he is slow, cumbersome, and sickly, they still care for him. He's worn down at the peak of his youth, but they visit him, talk to him, and truly worry about him.

Perhaps it was somewhat patronizing at times, but it was well-meant. That's what happens with families a lot, isn't it? Love doesn't mean people don't annoy each other, but it means they can deal with their faults.

He had many faults. But he also had many blessings, and he gave some blessings, too.

He would knit for his sister, that man. He would knit and sew whatever she wanted. Anything for his meimei. Perhaps she became a bit spoiled with it, but in return, she would visit him the most.

She could always tell when he was getting lonely, too. Or isolating himself in his own self-pity. Perhaps spending too much time focused on reading to take care of himself, haha.

...For some reason, despite the differences...

Zhenzhen reminds me of that little meimei.

Isn't that strange?

--

Cultivators can be as cruel as demons. Sometimes, even more so. That's why, what Luo Binghe experienced, I can't really say is something he caused. Well, up until a point. Then, he started to rebuild the cycle of abuse and inflict it on those around him.

But if anything, I don't think his demonic heritage made him more cruel on principle. More impulsive, maybe. More prone to following his desires and being less focused on human commonalities. I'm not sure, but he wasn't a bad person.

I think humans and demons have similar origins. It's just that different beings use different types of energy. Sure, it means humans may have some predators, but it's not as though coexistence is impossible.

Look at us, right? I'm sure I have some demonic energy in me. One day, I may have more, or I may have less. It varies. I'm not picky about the qi I consume. Food is food, and energy is energy.

Even so, you and I, we built this place up quite nicely, haven't we?

Well, you mostly. I just enjoyed my time cultivating in the mountains, building my strength and collecting stories.

I'm thinking about going to collect some more some time. Expand my horizons. That's another reason I made this body. To make traveling from place to place easier on myself.

We all have places to go...

...Places to be.

Yeah...

Just like you.

...

Good night, meimei. Say hi to Gao Cheng for me.

[butmakeitgayblog]

cruel intentions anon here 🥹 can u share something with us? like a small snippet or a scene you've scraped or idk just some ideas? I've read the fic twice but I fear I'm fr addicted to them 😭

Well I'll admit I don't have too much since I've started focusing on only one project at a time, but I have a bit of a oneshot that goes with this pic

Set a few weeks after the, ahem, conclusion of The Bet. Nothing smutty posted here unfortunately, but it will be. Oh it will be smutty. Clarke does not leave Lexa looking like that for no reason 😌

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You're whistling.

Honest to God, actually whistling. 

A jaunty little tune devoid of melody and structure. Nothing more than a slow sling of notes that doesn't really have any direction in particular, because the point isn't the song itself. 

It's the mood.

And that mood is… happy.

So, so fucking happy. 

Terrifyingly, unmitigatedly, euphorically fucking happy.

It's weird and you hate it, and it's embarrassing to even think about, but you wouldn't trade this feeling for anything. 

And really, who could blame you. Not when life has never been this good. All rose colored glasses and kiss-filled memories that dance like bubbly champagne around the empty space in your head.

You genuinely don't think anyone has ever been as blissful in the existence of the world as you are right now when the doors of the elevator slide open, and you swagger your exceptional ass into your penthouse's bottom floor. 

You drop your purse on the bench and toss your keys on the countertop, praying it leaves a scratch for your stepmother to have a stroke over. Just for the hell of it. You undo the clip and feel your hair untwist in tousled ringlets draped sensually across your shoulders. 

You whistle a few more notes, and contemplate grabbing something to eat, before deciding there's nothing else in the world that you need.

Because you're in love. 

And it's that love that keeps you smiling as you walk down the hall, adding an extra click in your steps just to hear the crispness reverberate off the walls you don't pay for. It's that same love that makes your heart race as you slam the antique handles down and throw open the parlor doors with a flourish, lightheaded and so goddamn euphoric you would fucking hate the chipperness for them if it were anyone else.

It's that love that makes you so stupid that you don't even bother to look around before your eyes land on her. Beautiful and formidable as she stands behind the bar. Her lips purse at the shotgun bang of the doors, but she doesn't even jump, and her control next to your chaos makes you love her even more.

“Miss me?” you burst in with a deep chested purr.

Because you're in love and you love her and you absolutely want her to know it.

You just… don't know how to fucking say it.

Not yet.

Grey-green eyes widen like a warning shot, darting from you to the corner of the room and right back again, so quickly you would've missed it if you hadn't been staring quite so hard.

“Not particularly, no,” she snips in that contemptuous drawl of hers without missing a beat, and pops the cork back on a bottle of gin that costs more than your semester's tuition. 

You, belatedly, follow her eyes to the corner of the room and see your housemaid diligently running a duster across the frame of your great-grandfather's portrait. 

Fuck.

Your heart drops right down to your asshole, but you send up a silent prayer of thanks because at least you hadn't tacked on the pet name ‘lover’ like you'd been using so much as of late. 

That's been the closest you could get.

But Sherri doesn't seem to have heard you. Or at least she doesn't pay you any mind, not having paused from her work for even a fraction of a second at your grand entrance and social faux pas.

You stand frozen, staring at Lexa still working her magic behind the bar, adding a splash of something red to a drink before taking a sip and grimacing at its taste.

She smacks her lips and shakes her head and sets the drink back down like it's personally offended her. 

You frown at the whole display because you know she's not even a gin girl.

“Sherri,” she calls in that sweet little voice she reserves for the people she actually cares if they like her. 

“Yes, Miss Lexa,” your faithful maid answers, immediately stopping to look over.

Huh.

Apparently her hearing is just fine.

Delicate fingers discreetly land on your stomach as she passes, trailing down to your hips and snagging the bottom hem of your sweater, yanking just so to send you stumbling several feet away from the door and out of the way.

“You should take the evening off,” Lexa says once she's left you off-balance in her wake. “Go enjoy life for a change.”

“Oh, I don't think—” Sherry starts but cuts off at the soft tisk from Lexa's lips. 

“No. No. Now, there is simply nothing to think about, because that was not a suggestion, my chérie.”

You smile at the lilt of her teasing. Always in awe, because for the life of you, you'll never understand how she manages to be such a condescending bitch while still sounding so innocent. So warm and pleasant. 

And to be fair, it really hadn't been a suggestion. 

You stand forgotten in the late afternoon shadows and watch as she closes in on your maid like a huntress. All sculpted calves and four inch heels. Hands tucked daintily behind her back.

“But your mother—”

“Will never know,” Lexa whispers, bringing one long, sexy finger up to press against the pout of her smile. “I can keep a secret if you can…”

Sherri sighs in her defeat and shakes her head with the fondness of an exasperated mother, and you wonder if there's anyone this girl can't charm off their feet.

Lexa preens.

“Good. Now, a little birdy told me it was your birthday this weekend.” She pauses just long enough for your maid to nod in surprise. “And, well… I guess I just couldn't help myself.”

You cross your arms and make yourself comfy by settling a shoulder against the wall. More than thrilled to just sit back and take in the show as this fucking magician pulls out a bracelet from goddamn nowhere. 

She hushes the woman's flustered coughs, ignores hands slipping through greying red hair and automatic dismissals of, “no, Miss Lexa, this is—I couldn't possibly.” She soothes it all with honeyed words of reliability and sacrifice and devotion to our comfort, all while clasping the understated but opulent chain to an overworked wrist, connected to a woman who doesn't seem to quite know what to do with herself. Nimble fingers twist and turn the apparently well-thought-out gift so it lays perfectly in place, admiring her own exquisite taste in jewelry more than anything, you already know.

You wonder when the hell she got so thoughtful. 

She ushers the woman out with a firm, guiding hand to her back, mouth tipped in a demure smile as she assures her, this is exactly what she wants. 

The parlor doors close much more gently than when you'd entered through them, and she spins gracefully on her heel, looking so fucking pleased with herself.

You hold her eyes. 

Uncross your arms.

And slowly, loudly, begin to clap.

“Well aren't you made of sugar and spice and everything nice, Miss Lexa.”

She pinches the sides of her skirt and fans them out, dipping into a mere suggestion of a curtsey.

You move as though to reach for her because it's been six hours too long since you've had your hands on that body, but her pleasantries drop away as she sends you a scowl and slips just out of reach. 

“Next time, have a touch more decorum when entering a room,” she sighs over the authoritative clack-clack of her heels. “I had just gotten that bracelet. Didn't even have a chance to wear it out yet.”

Ah.

Now that makes more sense.

Fuck, you love how good she is at thinking on her feet.

“No one told you to kiss her ass with jewelry, for fucks sake,” you mutter despite the efficacy of her brilliance because really, she always had to be so damn extra about everything. 

“It was all I had, and thanks to someone,” she says with a pointed edge, “I didn't exactly have time to figure out another distraction. And since I'm fairly certain she at least already knows we're sleeping together, I'd much rather stay in her good graces. I can handle losing a bracelet in exchange for…”

She trails off and vaguely gestures to the air between you. 

The thought alone of someone else knowing makes you want to vomit. 

You cross your arms tighter. 

“Why do you think that she knows?”

That evil fucking brow of her flits up when she looks at you like you're an idiot.

“Because you're not quiet, and she's not stupid, and half of Greenwich knows what you sound like when you come.”

You grit your teeth and wonder if it's worth reminding her who came on your fingers while loudly calling your name last night, but when she struts her perfectly bubble shaped ass back over to the bar, you ultimately decide that, no, it is in fact not worth it.

Apparently done with the minor complication of your eagerness and the conversion as a whole, she picks up the drink you'd all but forgotten and holds it out at arm's length, letting it dangle from the mere tips of her elegant fingers. 

“For you, my darling.”

You still haven't figured out exactly what she's playing at when she calls you that, because you know she is never sweet for nothing. You know there has to be a barb in there somewhere. Some sort of slight on your character or something. She shouldn't just call you ‘darling’ for no reason… But for the life of you, when she looks at you like this - like you're the only thing that matters in her broad and expansive world - you can't figure what it could possibly be.

“Gin and… cherries?” you ask when you take the glass and give a tiny sniff of the drink. 

She smiles indulgently and twists away to retake her place behind the bar, and suddenly her grimace from her sip before makes sense.

She hates sweet drinks.

Well.

Unless she's kissing the taste of them from your lips. 

“So is this what we're doing now?” You examine your drink closer. It doesn't look poisoned anyway. “It's this what we've become?”

She hums in question as she picks up a second shaker and stirs the contents. You watch her grab a martini glass and begin to pour her own crystal clear drink and, yes, that's much more her style.

You truly are fucking a master mixologist. Which you suppose is bound to happen considering she's been making drinks for one person or another since the tender age of thirteen…

“My kingdom for some context, darling,” she murmurs when you're too enamored to answer, popping an olive into her glass and taking a healthy sized pull, moaning at the taste.

You down half your bramble in one go and traipse yourself around the back of the bar.

Setting the drink down at her side, you put your empty hands to much better use. Drift your fingers across the soft dip of her back and trace her hips, holding her steady as you press in and drape yourself along the length of her.

“Acting like a vintage married couple,” you clarify in a whisper. You reach up and pull her hair aside to expose the delicious expanse of her neck, and you wonder in what lifetime you actually managed to do something good enough to deserve the way she tips her head to the side to give you more access. 

You mouth slow, wet kisses along the sensitive spot just behind her ear as she sighs, “Is that what this is?”

“You tell me, pretty girl.” You smile against her skin when she shudders at the name. “Waiting for me to come home to you. Having a drink ready. Did you make me a special little dinner to eat as well?”

And you're still getting used to this.

This thing with her you've been playing at for the last couple of weeks. This truce or whatever it is that leaves you so off balance you never know which end is up.

Because you've never had something like this. 

Because where you expect a scoff and a rebuff of your entire charade, she only presses harder into you with a sensual groan. Where you expect her to fling your hands away and shove you off of her entirely as she would have before, she merely sets down her glass, and kisses your lips, and covers your hands with her own.

"Not in your wildest dreams, my love," she whispers with an adoring grin, and kisses you deeper again.