#this way its just 3 out of 4 what do i do with the empty space??? smh starship

[bloomingbluebell]

man... rhoam's "redemption" in aoc really sucked, huh?

like botw SHOWED us, several times, how much pressure rhoam put on zelda to unlock her powers, despite her telling him, several times, that it wasn't working. he got angry and banned her from doing not only something she saw as useful, but something that she was clearly very interested in and passionate about because she "wasn't dedicating enough time to her prayers." yes, his diary expresses regret for it, but at the end of the day, if zelda saw that it wouldn't mean much to her. the actions rhoam took, and the way zelda grew up under so much pressure that she nearly died as a child in one of the springs (this is in urbosa's diary, iirc) mean so much more than his regrets and his intentions. it took him nearly 10 years to realize that he fucked up, and by that point it was too late. the calamity had returned, and rhoam had lost any chance he had at making things right with zelda.

meanwhile, in aoc, all that's there is some half-hearted scene in the temple of time that's supposed to make everything better? yes, aoc had a very different and arguably better outcome than the calamity that led to botw, but the damage was still done by rhoam. it's still the same hurts and abuse and trauma that he put his daughter through all because of the prophesized calamity.

[13eyond13]

.

[nomairuins]

also its so dumb that one of the arguments ppl have against a sims 5 is that theyve already invested too much money into ea. like yes its fucking scummy that ea charges so much for dlc and its Ludicrous the amt sims 4 costs if you have all the cc and its going to keep getting more and more expensive but . to be honest . why are you paying for sims packs. im sry

[incognit0slut]

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

Behind Closed Doors

Your admiration of his vest leads you to an empty office with his face buried between your thighs—and an urgent Emily demanding your whereabouts.

Warnings: (18+ MDNI) soft!dom spence (are we even surprised), fingering, oral sex (f), semi-public, slight overstimulation, and Emily kind of overhears because she calls Reader in the middle of the deed (oops). 5k words

A/n: I don’t have any excuse for this one, I just wanted to rewrite this scene of him because looking at it is not enough

You heard him before you saw him. It wasn't his voice per se, but the distinct sound of rapid shots cutting through the air. The noise seemed to intensify as you stepped into the control room, almost overbearing, but you'd long since grown used to its piercing sound.

"Is that Reid?" You asked, your polished boots echoing into the confined space. The officer monitoring him through the surveillance camera glanced over at you, and even though her expression didn't betray outright displeasure, you could hear a subtle edge in her voice.

"Agent Y/L/N," she greeted, her eyes darting between the rows of monitors, then to you, and finally settling on the clipboard in her hand. "You're not supposed to be here."

"Actually, I am. It’s Tuesday, my usual training day.”

"Not for another hour."

"I know," you countered, holding up your wrist to check your watch. "But I have some spare time, thought I’d come by early."

“I’m afraid it’s occupied right now. Agent Reid is still in the middle of his test."

This caught your attention. "What test?"

She glanced at you, her expression conflicted. "It's just a routine evaluation."

"He's currently not an active agent," you pointed out. It hadn’t been too long since his release from prison. It didn’t make any sense for him to go through an evaluation, not when he was behind bars for the past few weeks. Then recognition dawned on your face. "He's being evaluated to rejoin the team, isn't he?"

"I... I'm not at liberty to discuss that," she replied. Her gaze faltered momentarily before she nodded slowly, confirming your suspicions. "But yes, it's standard procedure for agents returning from extended leave."

"Oh wow—okay," you responded, absorbing the information. Your eyes flickered towards the monitor. "How's he doing?"

Her lips formed a thoughtful line before she answered, "Like the second coming of Wyatt Earp."

You let out a laugh, finding the comparison amusing. You'd known Spencer for what, three, four years? While he wasn't bad with firearms, comparing him to a historical figure like Wyatt Earp seemed a bit exaggerated. However, as you watched him through the monitors, despite your initial skepticism, you couldn't deny the truth in her words.

You had witnessed him handle a gun countless times, but always in situations where there was a real threat, where you both had to be on high alert. Yet as you observed him now from a different perspective, it was hard to tear your eyes away. It was as if he was in his element, and Spencer Reid in his element never looked so... attractive?

Now that wasn't an exaggeration. Although you had never admitted this to anyone—god forbid what your teammates would say—there was an undeniable charm to the confidence he exuded. While Spencer had always been attractive, there was something different about the way he handled the gun.

You were sure it had something to do with his time in prison. After all, who wouldn't be affected by such a daunting place, especially when you weren’t supposed to be there in the first place? Yet, surprisingly, Spencer seemed to be coping better than you expected. Despite the toll it must have taken on him, it was evident that his experiences had shaped him, perhaps more than he let on.

Although he was still the same sweet, adorable guy you considered one of your closest friends. But you weren't sure your current observation of him fitted the typical definition of friendship… because there was nothing remotely friendly about the thoughts running in your head right now.

Not only was it not friendly, but it wasn't exactly innocent. Because look at him. Look at the way he was gripping the gun, his arms defined beneath his rolled-up sleeves. Look at the way his protective glasses covered his face, the black-rimmed frames accentuating his handsome features. And even though you had seen him wear the uniform vest countless times, somehow it was undeniably distracting the way it hugged his chest. 

Yep—there was nothing remotely friendly about how you wanted to climb up the man.

A sudden buzz echoed in the room, snapping you to reality. You glanced up and noticed the officer you were talking to entering the monitor screen and it dawned on you that you had been so distracted by your thoughts that you hadn't realized she had left the control room.

"I'll send the results to the review board this evening," the officer's voice resonated from the screen.

"Did I do okay?" His voice came through.

"Like the second coming of Wyatt Earp," she replied, echoing her earlier assessment. Her gaze shifted to the printed cardboard image of a man, supposedly representing the Unsub, which was shredded right around the face. "Or... Al Capone, maybe."

You observed Spencer's slight nod as she turned and walked out of the screen. Quickly, you exited the control room and met her in the hallway.

"Agent Y/L/N," she called out as she spotted you. "You can have the room in five minutes—"

"I need to reschedule."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Reschedule?"

"Uh... yes, something urgent came up," you replied, trying to keep your tone casual.

She regarded you for a moment before nodding. "Alright, just let me know when you want to reschedule."

"I will, thank you," you said quickly. Sensing her lingering gaze, you added, "Oh, I'm just waiting for Reid. I need his help on... something."

A faint smile played on her lips, though she didn't press further. "Of course, I'll leave you to it then." 

With a nod, she turned and walked away just as the door at the end of the hallway opened, revealing Spencer emerging from the room. His eyes met yours in confusion, and you could sense his curiosity as he approached you.

"Hey," he greeted. "What are you doing here?"

You cocked your head to the side.

What were you doing here? 

You took a moment to gather your thoughts before offering a shrug. "Just passing by, I guess."

His brow furrowed slightly as if he sensed there was more to your answer than you were letting on. "Alright," he said, though his curiosity lingered in his gaze.

You shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, suddenly feeling the need to change the subject. "So, how did the evaluation go?"

"So you've heard.”

"Yeah," you confirmed, starting to walk down the hallway as he stepped in pace beside you. "I can't wait for you to be back on the team. Officially, that is."

"If they let me back on the team."

"Of course they will," you reassured him, your hand finding its place on his shoulder, offering support. "You're more than qualified."

He sighed, and you tried not to notice the subtle movement of his vest across his chest, or how it shifted under your touch. "You think so?"

"I know so," you affirmed, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Trust me, they'll definitely bring you back."

He stopped his pace, and so did you, before his eyes flickered towards your hand on his shoulder. He must've sensed something different, considering you weren't exactly the type of person who liked physical contact. Neither of you were, actually. While Spencer was known for his aversion to germs, you simply preferred maintaining a certain level of personal space.

"Seriously," he wondered, his tone laced with curiosity. "What are you doing down here?"

You cleared your throat. "I told you, I was just passing by."

"Really? Is that why you're talking to me instead of going through your usual training?" he pressed on. "It's Tuesday. I'm well aware of your schedule."

Damn him and his eidetic memory. You shifted away from his gaze. "Can't a girl just choose to have a chat with a friend?"

"You chose me over your scheduled routine?” his lips curved into a subtle smile. “Am I that much of a distraction?”

Yes, that damn vest is distracting me.

"Distraction might be a bit strong,” you replied, the lie sounding feeble even to your own ears.

"So you’re admitting I’m slightly distracting?"

"I never said that.”

Spencer leaned in and you felt the heat of his proximity radiating from his body. "But you didn't deny it either.”

You felt a faint blush creep onto your cheeks as you realized the shift in his tone. Dare you say he was... flirting with you? Or was it just your imagination running wild? From the corner of your eye, you caught the subtle way he licked his lips, and without meaning to, your own gaze was drawn to the movement.

It was a habit of his, one you'd observed countless times before whether it was out of concentration or a mere reflex. But seeing it up close now, the way his tongue traced the curve of his bottom lip, was driving you insane.

You swallowed hard. This was not friendly behavior. A friend wouldn't be imagining what it would feel like to have his tongue on your lips instead.

"Y/N?"

Your face felt hot as you met his gaze. "I..."

Before you could respond, the sound of laughter and chatter from down the hallway reached your ears. You heard Penelope's unmistakable giggle with JJ's animated voice, and suddenly your instinct took over. Without a second thought, you reached out and grabbed Spencer’s arm, pulling him into an empty office nearby. 

The door shut with a soft thud, and you frowned, suddenly feeling embarrassed. You didn't want to be caught in a state of flustered panic like some nervous school girl talking to her crush, but as Spencer stood behind you, you realized you were overreacting. The more you dwelled on it, the more absurd it seemed to hide away when there was no reason to.

With a sigh, you turned to face him. "Sorry about that, I didn't mean to..."

But as your gaze met him, your words faltered because he was standing closer than you expected. Close enough that the color of his eyes seemed to intensify under the soft light filtering through the window—a rich brown, like warm chocolate, with specks of gold that danced in the sunlight.

Your eyes involuntarily traced downwards, from the sharp lines of his nose to the curve of his lips, lingering on the stubble lining his jawline. Your mind wandered, and now you couldn't help but wonder how it would feel having it against your skin. Or how it would feel pressed against your thigh.

Your face grew hotter at the thought.

"Y/N? Are you alright?" he asked, taking a step forward. You squeaked in surprise, an actual high-pitched sound leaving your lips, as you felt the hard surface of his vest pressing against your chest.

"It's just..." You hesitated, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks. "You're standing really close..."

He glanced down at you, his eyes resting on your lips. "Do you want me to move?"

"I... uh..."

His eyes flickered back up to meet yours. "I'll take that as a no."

Before you could process his words, his hand reached up, fingers gently gripping your waist. You felt a rush of heat spread through you at his touch, the sensation seeping through your shirt and you found yourself leaning into him, your breath catching in your throat as his face hovered closely above yours.

It was happening. Your heart pounded in your chest as his lips drew closer. You couldn’t believe it, he was going to kiss you—Spencer-fucking-Reid was going to kiss you.

But just as his lips hovered dangerously close against yours, he suddenly stopped.

"Just to make this clear," he began, running a thumb along your side. "I respect you, both as a friend and a colleague. I don't want to force you into anything you're not comfortable with, so if you think this is pushing any boundaries then—"

"Spencer," you cut in. "Just kiss me already."

With a hint of relief and a small smile playing on his lips, he finally closed the gap between you.

You never imagined his lips could be so soft. He had the softest lips that moved against your own with a hint of coffee and something undeniably sweet. Those soft, soft lips parted away from yours for a moment before he leaned back in, more desperate, more needy. And when he swiped your bottom lip with his tongue, seeking entrance, you couldn't help but welcome him with a soft moan of pleasure.

He devoured you then, his tongue pushing eagerly into your mouth, his lips enveloping you with a hunger that left you breathless as he pressed himself against you. Before you could fully grasp what was happening, you were walking backward until your back collided with the solid surface of the desk. 

With strength you didn’t know he possessed, he effortlessly lifted you and perched you on top of it, prompting a surprised squeal to escape your lips. He laughed in response but you were too caught up in the moment to worry about whether he found you amusing. 

Your hands eagerly roamed over his chest, fingers curling around the strap of his vest as you pulled him closer. He slipped between your parted legs with ease and when he pressed his evident bulge against your core, you both gasped in pleasure.

"We should... we should probably stop, right?" he murmured, his voice muffled against your lips. Despite his words, his actions betrayed his self-control as he began to roll his hips against you.

“We're at work, someone might—” He groaned. “Someone might… hear us..."

He was right, but you found yourself unable to care about anything else but the sensation of his hard cock pressing against your heat.

"We could stop, or..." you found yourself saying without thinking. Your hands moved with a mind of their own, finding their way between you as you started to unbutton your shirt, the fabric slipping away to reveal more of your skin. 

"Or..." He prompted, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip yet again, his breath coming out in shallow, ragged bursts.

"Or..." you repeated, pushing the front of your shirt open. "We could be quiet."

"We could be quiet," he agreed all too quickly. "We could definitely be quiet."

You let out an amused laugh. "We’re going to get in trouble if anyone finds us."

“Then you shouldn’t make a sound.”

“Me? What about—oh.”

His lips were already trailing down your body, leaving soft kisses as they lingered on your neck, across your collarbone, and then he moved lower, sucking lightly on the swell of your breasts. A whimper of his name escaped your lips, your fingers entwining in his hair.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes drinking at the sight of your breast pushed up against your bra, a glistening sheen of his saliva coating your skin.

“You are stunning,” he murmured, before leaning back in to place a tender kiss on the spot where your collarbone met your shoulder. “How far do you want to take this?”

You blinked, trying to ground yourself into the moment between the lust fogging your brain. “What do you mean?”

“This,” he muttered as he rutted his hips against yours, drawing a needy moan from you. “How far are you willing to go?”

“If you’re asking whether I want to have sex with you, the answer is a hundred percent yes.”

You could practically feel his smile on your skin as he buried himself in the crook of your neck.

“That’s good to know,” he whispered, causing you to arch your back as your chest pressed against the hard material of his vest. “But I don’t think we can do much considering we’re supposed to be working. Well, you at least.”

You grasped his shoulders, pushing him away to meet his gaze. “I thought we agreed to keep quiet.”

“We can keep quiet,” he assured you, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. “But I can’t rush my time with you. Besides, you deserve a much better setting than an unoccupied office full of dust.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers trailing lightly along your jawline. “Maybe, but it’s more about time, really. I just want to take—” His lips brushed against your cheek. “My time—” A peck on your lips. “With you.”

You melted right there and then. You could’ve sworn you were nothing but a puddle mess. If he wasn’t holding you for support you were sure you could fall right back to the floor.

“Alright then,” you finally said, reaching for the buttons of your shirt with trembling hands only to be stopped as his fingers curled around your wrist.

“What are you doing?”

You shot him a puzzled look. “I thought you didn’t want to have sex right now.”

“I didn’t say anything about stopping,” he replied, releasing your hand before his palms slid up your thighs. “There are plenty of other things we can do.”

You felt the heat rising in your cheeks. “Like what?”

“Well, I guess we'll just have to get creative.”

Your breath hitched when his fingers hovered over the button on your pants. You watched with a mix of excitement and disbelief as he started to undo them, your mind turning into a mushy mess. It was as if every neuron in your brain had decided to stop working.

“Lift your hips for me.”

You met his gaze, trying to summon up your composure but you couldn’t help the nervous twitch of your lips. He smiled at you.

“Come on, pretty girl, we don’t have all day.”

Not only were you melting, but you were practically liquid by now. Your body moved on its own accord—your hands gripping his shoulders as you lifted your hips, synchronizing perfectly with his gentle movements to slide the material over your hips and down your legs.

He placed your pants on the empty space beside you while his eyes never left your body. His gaze lingered on the rise and fall of your chest, and he leaned in, his fingers trailing over your skin before settling on the hem of your panties. His thumb slid to the front, brushing along the delicate material. Your hips bucked as he continued to run his thumb up and down as if he were trying to map out your slick folds over the fabric.

“Look at you dripping,” he mused, his eyes fixated on the way his thumb slid over to your clit. “Are you always this wet?”

Your cheeks heated at the question. He wasn’t even trying to make it come off as dirty talk; he asked it like a normal question, as if he were simply wondering about what you ate for breakfast. But the question alone had your face burning because you did not expect it to come from him.

“I… I guess so.”

“You guess so?” he asked, his tone amused. He hooked his fingers into the material of your panties before pushing it to the side.

“I-I don’t know.” You let out a breathless moan when his fingers grazed your slit. “Whenever I’m turned on, I don’t... I don’t exactly touch myself just to check how wet I am.”

Spencer chuckled softly, angling his hand between your thighs before gently pushing his middle finger into your entrance. You gasped at the sudden stretch, brows furrowing as he pressed further, and your hand instinctively gripped onto his arm.

“Do you often touch yourself?”

Your head fell back as he started to move.

“M-Maybe,” you managed to stutter out.

"What do you think of when you do?" he asked slowly, his own breath starting to grow shallow as he watched your face contort in pleasure. He observed the way your mouth fell open, your tongue slightly slipping out in the corner, and the way your eyes shut closed. He was fascinated by the effect he had on you, on how just a simple touch had you squirming.

“A… a lot of things,” you managed to reply.

“Have you ever thought of me?”

Whoa.

The question caught you off guard, and you blinked, momentarily stunned.

This was dangerous territory, but then again, nothing seemed quite as risky as being fingered by your coworker on a Tuesday afternoon. So what harm could it be if you admitted that yes, in fact, he had crossed your mind when you touched yourself wishing it was his fingers instead?

A lot of harm, actually. One, it seemed like an inappropriate confession given your friendship. Friends don't usually imagine each other in sexual scenarios. And two, you could die of embarrassment.

"No," you replied, hoping your voice sounded more confident than you felt.

He hummed skeptically. “I thought we were past the point of lying between profilers.” With a pause, he added another finger inside you, causing you to bite down on your lip to stifle a moan. “Is this how you imagined it in your fantasies?”

What was the point of lying now? You swallowed hard, trying to think of a witty response to distract from the intense pleasure coursing through your body.

“Uh… This is slightly better.”

“Slightly? I’m hurt.” He pressed his thumb onto your clit. “What else did you think of then?”

Your cheeks flushed even more. “You… well, um, you also used your tongue.”

The airy laugh he let out sent a shiver down your spine. “Really? And how did that fantasy play out?"

Your heart raced as you tried to find the right words. "Let's just say it involved a lot more tongue action and a lot less talking."

His smile widened, and he leaned in closer, his warm breath brushing against your ear. “Then let’s reenact it.” He gently pulled his fingers out of you. “Lay on your back.”

With a shaky breath, you complied, sprawling out on the desk, a mix of nerves and excitement coursing through you. When he reached for the waistband of your panties, you couldn't help but crack a joke. "If I knew this was the direction this day was heading, I would've worn my fanciest underwear."

Spencer shook his head. “Trust me, you don't need fancy underwear to drive me crazy."

He then deftly removed your panties, his movements confident yet tender, like he was unwrapping a precious gift. When the fabric pooled at your ankle, he got down on his knees and parted your legs wider, positioning himself between them.

You watched, anticipation building, as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your inner thigh. Then, with a teasing glance, he pressed his lips to your skin, planting soft kisses along the trail of your inner thigh, inching closer to your core.

You shivered at the sensation and your heart raced with every kiss. His hands roamed over your thighs, tracing delicate patterns while his mouth brushed closer to where you craved him the most. You bit down your bottom lip, unable to contain the moan that escaped as his tongue flicked out, grazing your sensitive flesh.

This was definitely better than your fantasies, the ones you'd harbored in secret, too taboo to admit even to yourself. But here you were, living out those desires in the most deliciously real way possible.

You gasped as his tongue lavished your slit, tasting every inch, mixing your arousal that was beginning to drip from your core with his saliva. Your back arched off the desk, thighs trembling and when they threatened to close, he made sure two heavy palms kept them open long enough for his tongue to drag over your clit.

You couldn’t believe this was happening. Somehow it felt like a dream, but everything was real. His face was right between your thighs; his mouth pressed against your cunt, his tongue lapping through your wet folds. And it wasn’t as simple as tasting you, he was eating you, devouring you, swallowing every drop of your arousal as if he couldn’t get enough of your taste.

You started to lose control of your mind, your body, your actions. Your hips bucked to meet his tongue, your jaw slackening as stifled moans spilled from your lips. And that was when you felt it—a faint vibration against your thigh. At first, you thought it was just the sensation of his touch, but then the loud, unmistakable loud ringtone of your phone shattered the moment.

"Shit!" You squealed, scrambling to grab your phone from your discarded pants. The last thing you needed was for someone to discover you in this compromising position.

"It's Emily—“ You pushed his head away, trying to hide your flushed face as he looked at you with surprise. His lips were glistened with your arousal and his hair seemed messier. God, he looked so pretty.

"Don't answer it."

"It might be important." With a pointed look, you silently urged him to keep quiet as you brought the phone to your ear with trembling fingers. “H-Hey... what's up?"

Emily's voice came through the line, slightly muffled by the sounds of commotion in the background. “Hey, I need you to review the report you submitted yesterday, you left a few details about the Unsub.”

Spencer's lips brushed against your inner thigh, sending a shiver down your spine, and you had to bite back a moan. You shot him a warning glare, mouthing ‘stop’ before turning your attention back to the call.

“Y/N? Are you listening?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out. “So… um, which report?”

"The case in Florida," your boss explained. "You mentioned that the Unsub was targeting women between the ages of 25 and 35…”

You were trying to listen, you really were, but it was hard when you felt his fingers ease into your cunt, your juices dripping out, coating his flesh as he curled them inside. You almost let out a whine as his thumb pressed to your clit, caressing in circular motions. 

“…he's also been stalking younger women."

Your eyes screwed shut as he sped up his pace. His touch was driving you crazy, and you could barely register the conversation over the sounds of your own arousal echoing in the room.

“Y/N.”

You snapped your eyes open, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks as you tried to concentrate on the call. "Uh, yeah, go on," you managed to stammer, hoping she didn't notice your wavering tone.

“Are you okay? You sound... off," Emily's voice cut through the haze of pleasure. You shot Spencer another pleading look, but he simply smiled at you with a hand still between your thighs and the other slipping underneath your bra.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, fighting against the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. "Uh, yeah, I… I-I’m doing my training.”

You mentally cursed yourself for the terrible excuse. Emily didn't seem entirely convinced. "Training?"

"Yeah, you know, the uh... firearm training? I-It’s Tuesday.”

There was a pause on the other end before she spoke again. “Are you sure you’re okay? You sound like you're in pain."

You bit your lip, trying to stifle a moan as his fingers curled inside of you. "No, no, I'm fine. Just... a little out of breath from all the… shooting."

Spencer let out an incredulous scoff, and you shot him a pointed glare.

“Are you with someone?”

You hesitated, racking your brain for a believable excuse, but all you could muster was a feeble, "Uh, nope.”

There was a pause on the other end, and the tension in the air seemed to thicken as your body flushed with heat. Meanwhile, Spencer seemed intent on torturing you, never stopping his pace. If anything, it seemed like his movements were increasing. Just when you thought you couldn't feel more exposed, another scoff echoed through your ear, this time from Emily.

“Alright, where are you really?” she pressed, her tone indicating she wasn't buying your flimsy excuse.

“I told you I-I’m doing my training.”

She laughed. “Y/N, we profile people as a job. I can sense your lie even through the phone.”

You stopped yourself from rolling your eyes. What was up with these profilers and their knack for sniffing out lies? You were one yourself, but apparently, you were no match for their scrutiny.

“I’m not—“ your words were cut short when he stood up, hovering above you. You looked up at him, smiling at you innocently as his fingers continued to curl deep inside you. You clutched his forearm with your free hand, attempting to steady yourself.

"I'm not lying," you managed to squeak out.

"Mhm," came Emily's voice from the other end. “Just come by my office and grab the report, okay?”

Your breath hitched as his fingertips delved deeper, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the sight of his hand moving between your legs, coated in your arousal with each thrust. You could feel your orgasm edging closer. Your hips moved in sync with his motions as the pressure built, the tension coiling tighter in your stomach and—

“Y/N!”

“Y-Yes, I’m… I’m coming.” Spencer's low chuckle filled your ears, and you realized what you'd unintentionally implied. Your eyes widened in embarrassment. “I mean, I-I’ll be there soon, okay, bye!”

You quickly slammed your phone down on the desk, ending the call with a thud. But before you could even take a breath, Spencer's fingers were back to their rapid pace, driving you to the edge of sanity. Your body staggered under his touch, your hips moving in sync with his relentless rhythm, the world outside the room fading away into a blur of pleasure.

"A-Ah—w-wait, fuck—"

You barely managed to utter a protest before his hand covered your mouth, muffling your cries of pleasure. Your back arched, your head thrown back as you tightened your grip on his wrist, your body writhing beneath him as your orgasm consumed you.

It lasted longer than you expected and Spencer seemed determined to push you over the edge as he shifted his attention from your cunt to your sensitive clit. His fingers withdrew momentarily, only to return with a renewed intensity, applying just the right amount of pressure.

Your senses were on overload as you moaned into his hand, the sound muffled but still audible. He worked you, over and over, and you didn't even know your body could take so much. Every stroke, every caress sent sparks of pleasure coursing through you, building up to an intensity that bordered on overwhelming.

Your legs shook uncontrollably as the sensations reached a fever pitch. It was all too much, too intense, and in a moment of desperation, you pushed his hand away. When the last tremors of your orgasm finally faded away, you collapsed back onto the desk, panting heavily, your limbs feeling like jelly. 

Spencer removed his hand from your mouth, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he watched you catch your breath. “Are you okay?" 

You nodded weakly. “Yeah, just… that was intense.”

“Good intense?”

“Really good intense,” you replied with a sheepish grin, which only made him smile. With shaky hands, you pushed yourself up from the desk, feeling a wave of satisfaction wash over you. As you began to dress yourself, you couldn't help but steal a glance at him—or rather, the evident bulge underneath his pants.

“That… that doesn’t look comfortable,” you remarked.

Spencer waved off your worry with a dismissive chuckle. “Don’t worry about me, I can take care of it myself.”

“Here? At work?” Your eyes widened at the implication. “I didn't know you had it in you.”

He cocked his head to the side. “That’s not what I meant. It’ll eventually go away if I ignore—stop staring at it,” he added with a laugh. “You’re not helping.”

Your gaze lingered a moment too long on his bulge. "I can think of another way to help.”

Spencer's breath caught in his throat, his imagination running wild with possibilities, but he quickly regained his composure. "Go," he said, gently nudging you towards the door once you were properly dressed. "Emily's waiting for you."

Your eyes swept over him and a wave of awkwardness suddenly washed over you. What was the protocol after experiencing the most intense orgasm of your life? Shake his hand? Give him a high-five? You couldn't help but stifle a nervous laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

After a brief moment of contemplation, you decided to trust your instincts. With a hint of hesitation, you stepped closer and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. He blinked in surprise, but before he could respond, you were already rushing to the door.

He couldn't help but smile as he watched you leave, a tingling sensation lingering on his cheek where your lips had briefly touched. But as he licked his lips absentmindedly, he couldn't shake the taste of your arousal that lingered there.

Groaning softly, he shifted uncomfortably as his mind filled with vivid images of you squirming under him; your mouth agape, eyes half-closed, your pretty legs spread apart. The memory of your moans echoed in his ears and his cock stirred in his pants. 

He sighed, realizing he was in for a long day if he didn't do something about it. With a slight grimace—and the embarrassment gnawing at him for what he was about to do—he let his feet carry him to the nearest bathroom.

[runningwithscizzorz]

(1)Learn the rules before you break them + Gather proper references

(2) Understand what you want to break and how

(3) Can't do it? Find someone who can

(4) It's going to look really bad for a while

(5) Have fun with it!

(1) -Yes, I am that kind of artist. Yet, not in the conventional way. I encourage people to go in guns blazing when it comes to drawing something new, then coming out analyzing what they know, and what they need to learn more of right away.

-Here, I broke down the anatomical pieces of Nour and Narinder's face with the same labels so you guys can understand this weird invisible pattern that I follow in my work. Doing this with any animal you're attempting to draw greatly improves your line confidence when drawing different face shapes. Also understanding the biological function for why animals look a certain way helps you keep consistency.

(3) Time to throw any artistic guilt you have for heavily referencing people's art OUT THE WINDOW and start ANALYZING PEOPLE'S WORK YOU WANT TO BE LIKE✨ I've always done this, having a reference of someone else's amazing work right next to my own drawing so I can try and understand how they make their magic work! No shame, no embarrassment, nada. Pure, unadulterated will and spite that I would be just as good as the artist who made me so motivated and happy with their work! I couldn't figure out how to make Nour's face both sheep-like, and humanly expressive, so I looked at a LOT of Zootopia and old Disney art for help!

(2) With how I draw narilamb, I'm still working on it (as you can see) but I wanted to break Narinder's face to be fluffier and slimmer, while Nour's face would be shorter and flatter. If you look at it for too long, it's absolutely going to look weird, in the way that if you look at Anna from Frozen for too long she starts looking really weird. The anatomy isn't meant to be correct or consistent, it's meant to convey the emotion and energy I want out of the characters in that moment. If you're able to properly get that across, then you don't need to think about how broken something looks, as long as your eye is happy enough to trick your brain into thinking what you're seeing is canny.

(4) Yeah, I hate this part too. It's going to look like shit at first. I can't even look at my art from a few months ago when I was figuring out their designs... God, so fucking ugly. If it weren't for the shittiness of those drawings, I would have never gotten here! Wading through the "trust the process" stage always really sucks, but it's absolutely worth the relief of when you finally get something to look right.

(5) Art is work, yes. It's stressful, it's long, it's straining, its draining, it's exclaiming, blah blah blah. But, I try to keep my art FUN. If I find my artwork becoming slow as I depressingly drag my pen over my tablet, I'm failing. You MUST keep spirit and life in your work. The spirit of emptiness or the life of sadness can have a very meaningful place in art, but those can only exist with keeping work light, easy, and fun! If you're stressing how a specific thing looks or how you can't get something to look right no matter what, FUCK IT. Draw something to bring the flavor back in your work! I'm kind of rambling, but just, HAVE FUN!✨️ Be messy, scream, laugh, slash canvases, throw paint, smash sculptures, tear apart books, GO CRAZY

[moonstruckme]

summary: when James moves into your apartment, you need a bit of an adjustment period

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1k words

You go downstairs the way a meerkat pokes its head out of its burrow. Cautious, watchful. When you spot James standing over a sizzling pan in the kitchen, it’s a bit of effort not to sigh, but you go anyway, hunger temporarily taking priority over solitude. It’s just going to have to be another quick meal.

“Hey.” James looks up from a recipe he’s reading on his phone, grinning at you. 

You press your lips together in a smile of response. The girl who’d occupied James’ room before him wouldn’t have bothered to acknowledge you, and frankly, you’d liked her for that. You’d had a mutually ambivalent relationship; you’d both paid your rent, ignored the other’s food in the fridge, and gone about your days as if you each had the apartment to yourself. She had to move out because the maintenance crew tattled on her for having a pet, and though James only moved in a week ago, he’s invited you to hang out with his friends every time they’ve come over. Which is often. (He’s at least considerate enough to always ask first, and you always say yes. Partially because they don’t make huge messes and partially because you don’t know how to reply to a yes/no question any other way.) 

You go to the fridge, tearing the aluminum foil off a half-empty can of beans and shaking it into a bowl. You put it in the microwave. James reaches to turn down the stove, and, like a frightened animal, you flinch away from him. He doesn’t seem to notice, only retreating to the opposite counter to give you more room. 

“How’s your day going?” he asks, leaning back on his forearms. 

“Not bad,” you say. Another thing about James is that in addition to his relentless geniality, he’s ferociously attractive. It takes all of your willpower not to let your eyes dip from his face to where his short sleeves conform to his biceps when he leans that way, but your face heats regardless. “Yours?” 

“Pretty good, actually.” He smiles easily. “It’s gorgeous out, have you felt the weather?” 

You shake your head. “I haven’t been out yet.” 

James nods like he knows this already, humming noncommittally. You think you spy a bit of judgment in his look, but you can’t be sure. “So,” he says, “I have something to ask you.” 

You tense. “Okay…” 

“I know you value your privacy, and I totally respect that, but I feel like as your roommate it’s my responsibility to at least ask.” 

You feel your eyes narrowing as you nod for him to continue. 

James schools his face into seriousness, a frown on his lips that looks like it doesn’t belong. “Do you not eat?” 

You laugh, relieved and bemused. “Of course I eat.”

The smile he gives you is strained, clearly for your benefit rather than his. “You sure about that? Because this morning I just saw you have one—one—piece of toast for breakfast, and then for lunch you had…what?” 

You shy, more because of his notice than anything else. The microwave beeps and you use it as an excuse to turn around. “Some cheese and crackers.” 

When you pivot with the steaming bowl, James is looking at you incredulously.

“They’re really filling!” 

“That’s a snack, love, not a meal. Both of those are snacks. Did you have anything else?” 

You hold up the bowl in your hand. “I’m about to have some beans.” 

His laugh is monosyllabic. Appalled. “You’re not serious.” 

You roll your eyes at him even as your face heats. “Listen, it’s not my most nutritious day, but I’ve been in a rush, and…” You were going to say more, but decide against it. “Anyway, there’s protein in the beans, so.” 

James isn’t having it. “And what?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Something.” He raises his eyebrows at you. “C’mon, spill, or I’m going to call your mum and tell her about your big day of—“ He draws quotes in the air, full lips curving he does “—beans and crackers.” 

“And toast,” you joke. James’ smile is small and short-lived. Does he really have your mum’s phone number? He can’t possibly. 

You sigh. “Okay, it’s nothing to do with you, but I…I’m a bit weird about being in the kitchen at the same time.” James’ thick eyebrows meet in the middle, and your shoulders hunch instinctively but you force yourself to finish explaining. “I just want to grab whatever is quickest and go before I make things awkward, or something. But I know it’s stupid.” You shake your head. You could burn the apartment to cinders with the heat from your face. “I don’t own the kitchen. You have every right to be here, and I’ll get used to it eventually. It’s just that you’re new to me right now.” 

James' expression clears. “Oh, you’re shy.” 

You must look even more embarrassed at that, because he hurries to say, “That’s alright, it’s good to know how you feel about things. And now I don’t have to call your mum.” He grins, and it widens when you make a tiny effort to reciprocate. “I don’t mind stepping out of the kitchen so you can cook every now and then.”

“You really don’t have to.” 

“It’s no trouble.” He waves you off. “Honestly, it’s too small for both of us to comfortably use at the same time anyway. Careful by the way, that pan’s hot.” 

You glance behind you, and you’ve backed yourself nearly into the stove. You move away, squeaking out a thanks. 

James’ smile softens. “I do hope you're right about getting used to me eventually, though.” He gives you a kind look, and you have no idea how he can maintain eye contact with that much sincerity in his big brown eyes. You envy the skill. “I’d like to get to be friends, but we’ve got time for that.” 

You’ve no clue how to respond, some deer-in-the-headlights instinct taking ahold of you, but James doesn’t seem to be expecting one. He reaches out to squeeze your shoulder, taking back his place at the stove. You take that as your cue to go.

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 4; ghoap x reader) part 1, part 2, part 3 tags: dubcon/noncon, nsfw

-

Much of Ghost’s behaviour is reactive. Oddly passive for the assumptions people often make of him. He doesn’t run from trouble, but certainly he doesn’t seek it out. Aside from a few rare deviations from the norm (running his father out of the city at eighteen, not breaking enough bones to count as restitution, and finally leaving home to enlist), that remains the rule. 

The way Johnny mopes for days after parading his bird around base has Ghost nearly rolling his eyes, already exasperated. He should’ve known his puppy wouldn’t share well. 

It’s worse than he expected though. Johnny mopes for a week straight after the fact, hardly able to meet Ghost’s eyes in briefings. He stares straight down at the floor pathetically, dragging his feet behind him when he’s dismissed. Price notices it right away, raising an eyebrow at Ghost after Johnny leaves the room. 

“Trouble in paradise?” he asks, leaning back in his chair, hands folded over his stomach.

“In the dog house, I reckon. His girl’s pissed at him.”

“Your doing?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” Ghost replies smoothly, face giving away nothing.

Price is hardly convinced. “I’m sure. Nothing to do with you.”

Ghost doesn’t answer that. He waits until he’s dismissed and then takes off down the same hall Johnny just left, curious about wherever his boy’s slunk off to. 

He can’t help the latent sadistic streak in him that curls up in pleasure at the sight of Johnny pouting and squirming whenever he walks into the room. Still, his attitude will need to be rectified soon enough—there’s only so much Ghost will tolerate, only so much disrespect he’ll turn a blind eye to. One day Johnny will look back and reflect on this, and appreciate the extent of Ghost’s magnanimity. 

Still, he doesn’t enjoy being ignored. One week bleeds into the beating heart of the next and Ghost realizes that he’s had enough of the silent treatment. He’s given Johnny more than enough time to come to terms with their new situation. 

He tracks him down to the armoury on a Monday evening after most of the other soldiers have already left for the day, back home or eating supper in the mess hall. It’s empty apart from the two of them, and when Johnny finally notices his presence in the room, his eyes widen almost imperceptibly. He doesn’t flinch at least. Good boy. He’s gotten better at being less reactive, less shaky about being caught off guard. 

“Done for the day, sergeant?” He keeps it light to start, taking a step closer. 

Johnny tenses at the approach. “Yes, sir.” The title would usually satisfy on its own, but it comes strained, polite but removed. 

“Where’d you come from?”

“Layouts and gunners training, sir.”

On any other day, Johnny’s deference might come as a lovely note to end the day on, but not today. It rankles now, the edge of his voice sweetened by a kind of silent dismissal, not giving any more information than what’s required of him. Nothing like the boy who used to open his mouth and sing the world back to him. Ghost has earned his every thought. 

“We have a problem, Soap?”

“No, sir,” Johnny grumbles, still not meeting his eyes. His mouth barely moves when he says the words, teeth all but grit. 

No dealing with this temper tantrum like adults then. For all Johnny must carp and bitch to himself about the hardships that Ghost has put him through, he seems to have no desire to actually deal with the problem. That’s too bad. It would’ve been easy enough to talk it out like grown men.

They’ll have to come to terms some other way.

“Come. We’re fixing this attitude of yours now,” Ghost grunts, turning before Johnny has the opportunity to complain and marching down the hall towards the gym. 

He hears Johnny make a sound like an angry bull before following him down the hall. The loud footfalls against the tile floor betray his simmering anger; it reveals to Ghost what he already knew intuitively. His boy still needs to learn to play well with others. 

In time, this anger will fade into the ether, replaced by Johnny’s old doggish need to please Ghost, but it’s causing too many problems now to be tolerated. He hasn’t gotten to see the bird since the week before. Doesn’t even have a photo of his own to look at when he rubs one out. It would be less aggravating if Johnny were willing to spread his legs and let Ghost rut between his thighs, but they aren’t there yet.

The gym is empty as it usually is around early evening when Ghost opens the door, the lights off from whoever last used it. Johnny follows him sullenly, dragging his feet about it. Ghost’s eye ticks at the show of attitude persisting into this space.

“Lock it behind you,” Ghost says without looking back at him, crossing to where the mats are on the other side of the gym. 

Neither of them are dressed to spar, still clad in their fatigues, but his blood cranks up to boiling when he turns around to watch as Johnny crosses the room angrily, picking up steam now as well. He comes in hot, not even bothering to suss out Ghost’s first move before launching himself at him. 

Ghost staggers back a step at the hit, but he takes it in stride, shifting his weight and using Johnny’s momentum to throw him off, sending him sprawling. He’s quick to get back to his feet, but that moment of carelessness gives Ghost everything he needs. The next time Johnny throws himself at him, Ghost lets him get an arm around his leg and nearly grins to himself when he feels Johnny put all his weight into trying to flip him. 

He knows strength isn’t everything, but there’s something to be said about the several inches and even more kilos he has on Johnny. That plus a decade’s worth of experience. Sparring devolves into a sweat-slicked grapple, Johnny’s shirt coming untucked and rucked up, his hair mussed. He tries to go for the mask, eyes gleaming with a wet, savage glint—forgetting decorum or tact, and just going for the most underhanded maneuver. 

He pays for it when Ghost takes him hard to the floor, catching him with a leg sweep that he might’ve been able to avoid if he were fighting with a clear mind. Anger makes him sloppy though. 

“Fuckin’ bastard—” Johnny grunts when he hits the floor, narrowly avoiding clipping his chin against the mat. 

“Folks never married, so guess you’re right,” Ghost remarks, unbothered. Hardly winded even, only the lightest sheen of sweat on his brow, obscured by the mask. 

His sudden divulgence makes Johnny falter. So rarely does Ghost open even a crack that the momentary honesty catches him off guard, giving Ghost the opportunity to wrangle him into a tight hold. 

Pinning Johnny isn’t an easy task because the kid fights dirty when he feels cornered. Lashes out wildly with his fists when Ghost gets an arm around his neck and holds him in place, less precise than when he’s coolheaded, but still brutal, all raw strength packed behind his punches. He twists Johnny over onto his stomach when the boy tries to buck him off, slamming him down hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

“Gonna tell me what’s got you all riled up now?” Ghost asks, twisting Johnny’s arms behind his back to pin him in place. 

He struggles in Ghost’s hold, trying to find a weak point. The search is fruitless. Ghost’s body weighs him down like a boulder pinning him flush to a dirt-streaked mountainside, forcing the air out of his lungs when he presses down harder. 

“Ye cannae just take her from me—” he spits out, face flushed. He kicks out a foot, trying to free himself, but all Ghost does is shift slightly to press his shin to Johnny’s calf, holding it down. “I told ye she was different and ye had to—and now she willnae even fuckin’ talk to me. Barely texts me, willnae answer my calls. I cannae—I can’…” 

His voice trails off on a hitch. Not quite a sob, but a frustrated, wretched sound. 

“Held that in for a while, didn’t ya?” Ghost murmurs, holding Johnny down with ease when he struggles again, trying to wrench his arms out of Ghost’s hold. 

“I almost fuckin’—almost just fuckin’ gave her to ye,” Johnny says, shame thick in his voice. “Thought maybe it wouldnae be worth…jus’ dinnae want a girl coming between us. But she’s—I told ye, Lt, she’s special, I cannae jus’—I cannae jus’ let her go. And now she doesnae want anythin’ to do with me.”

Ghost doesn’t bother pointing out the absurdity of that statement. As if Johnny could give him something that’s already his. 

“Not trying to steal your bird, Johnny.” He taps Johnny’s cheek, a little reprimand. It makes him blink and scrunch up his nose. “What’d be the point of that?”

He forgets how young Johnny is sometimes, just now nearing the end of his twenties. Still wet behind the ears, all blood flushed and pink cheeked. Green still to the realities of the world and Ghost’s presence in his life (permanent, fixed; unchanging). 

There isn’t a version of him that wants someone who doesn’t also want Johnny. Inconceivable. After everything that they’ve been through together, the root of him and what he wants is inextricably tied with what Johnny wants—at times, Ghost almost wishes he could live inside his head, just a constant stream of Johnny’s thoughts into his. 

Johnny twists his head enough to glare over his shoulder at Ghost. “The fuck are ye on about? Ye grabbed her ass in front of God ‘n everyone, for Christ’s sake. Said your intentions loud ‘n clear.”

“‘Course I did. She’s got a nice arse, doesn’t she?”

“You’re really startin’ to fuck with my head, Ghost, I dinnae understand what ye—”

“You keep running your mouth off about trying to take the girl from you—I don’t need to take anything.” He stresses the word to be clear, forcing Johnny back down when he tries to buck Ghost off again. This time he stays in place, both calves pinned down to the mat, cheek pressed into the fabric when Ghost slots a hand into the scruff of his mohawk, forcing his head down. “Quit struggling—you’re not getting back up. We’re sorting this shit out now so you quit moping around base and giving me a fuckin’ headache.”

“Stop exaggerating—I havenae even opened my mouth around ye in days. I’m no’ doing anything to your head—”

“How the fuck am I supposed to think when you keep running away?”

The air hangs heavy in the wake of his words, the oxygen all but sucked out of the room. 

“The two of you are mine,” Ghost says in a low, harsh voice, the sound making Johnny flinch against the mat. “I’m not asking for just one of you. You’re out of your fuckin’ mind if you think I’d leave you out of this, mutt.”

He’d sooner lose them both, but that’s another scenario that he’d never tolerate. 

With some effort, Ghost tips Johnny over onto his back, holding him down before he can start to struggle again. He keeps his wrists trapped behind his back, forcing Johnny to arch his back off the floor, presenting himself. From his vantage point, it’s easy for Ghost to flick his gaze down and find Johnny’s dick pressed hard against the zipper of his pants, all plumped up from being pinned to the ground. 

“Good, you’re already hard,” Ghost grunts approvingly, rolling his hips down to alleviate some of the pressure building up in his groin. “Haven’t come since she left the other week, I bet.”

Panic flares red hot in Johnny’s eyes, widening when Ghost settles deeper between his legs, his own hard cock unmistakable. “Wait—wait, Ghost—I’m no’—I’m no’—”

It would be a stretch to say that anything softens in him, but a part of Ghost does feel for the boy. He’s been around Johnny long enough to know his persuasion—strictly women with the occasional appreciative glances towards some men. An appreciation he relegates to furtive, guilty glances, holding it inside of him like a nasty secret that he’ll never part with. Too riddled with Catholic guilt and the ease of just playing it straight. 

Ghost has no intention of making it easy on him though. 

He tries to imagine what it might be like if he were on the other end, but for him it’s only ever been cunts and Johnny and the bird. Now just the latter two hold any weight. 

His protests only last as long as it takes Ghost to unfasten their belts and zippers, fishing Johnny’s cock out first. The second his rough hand wraps around Johnny’s length, the words die on the boy’s lips, replaced by a choked off grunt. His balls are full enough to corroborate Ghost’s words—he probably hasn’t come since seeing his girl off the other day, too frustrated and upset to jack off, the ducts shut, working himself up into a frothy mess only for it to slip right out of his hands at the last second. 

Johnny’s eyes roll back when Ghost grips both their cocks in his fist, slicking his hand up with Johnny’s precome. Sweat sluices down the sides of his neck. He looks good with his tongue tied up in knots, thoughts emptying out through his ears in rivulets. 

Even with Ghost’s hand as big as it is, he can’t wrap it all the way around the two of them. Johnny’s come provides a nice glide though, lubricating the underside of his shaft when Ghost grinds up into his fist. 

It spurs him into a kind of ​​protolithic fervour, desperate only to come. The iron rich scent of blood and sweat makes Ghost salivate, eyes drawn to the tender skin of his neck, the flush now riding high, up and over his cheekbones. Lips bitten red, also swollen with blood. In a better mood, Ghost might indulge him, might roll up his mask and lick into the wet mouth hanging open deliciously, teasing him, but there’ll be time for that later. 

He slurs out Ghost’s name when he comes, Simon ripped from his lips like it was dug clean out of his soul. His come splatters across his belly and shirt in thin, watery spurts, the wind knocked out of him again. 

Johnny squirms when Ghost doesn’t let go of their cocks, hand still dragging up and down, mumbling that he’s too sensitive, fuck, lemme go, I cannae—

“I’ll stroke your cock and grab the bird’s ass whenever I feel like it,” Ghost growls down at him, at the end of his patience now. He pants out a ragged breath when his cock throbs at a particularly whorish moan dropping broken from Johnny’s mouth. “I’ll nut in her cunt and make you lick it out if I want. And you’ll fuckin’ thank me for giving you a taste.”

Johnny almost goes nonverbal at that, a leg trying to kick out weakly even though it’s still pinned down under Ghost’s heavy thigh. His dick twitches against Ghost’s, a valiant effort. 

When Ghost comes, it settles in a thick, viscous mess across Johnny’s stomach, pooling around his belly button. It radiates hot down his back, the ache in his lower spine abating momentarily. Can only imagine how much better it would feel balls deep in Johnny’s ass or the bird’s pussy, a wet warmth clutching him tight, legs wrapped around his waist to drag him closer. 

He’ll have that soon enough.

A ragged wheeze is pulled from Johnny’s chest when Ghost drags his cock through it, spreading it over his stomach. It’s worse when Ghost dips his fingers into the mess, a sticky blend of both their come, before bringing his fingers up to Johnny’s mouth, forcing them past his lips and over his teeth and gums. Johnny sputters at the taste, going cross-eyed to look down at Ghost’s hand. 

There’s no time for pillowtalk or soft words though. Even if there were, niceties come out of Ghost’s mouth like a ring of smoke. Still, the thought of the bird not returning Johnny’s calls or texts makes him bristle, his annoyance renewed. His own disinclination to communicate aside—a waste of words as far as Ghost’s concerned, he says more with his actions anyway—none of this works if the girl won’t talk it out. 

Probably pent up, the stubborn thing. He’ll have to sort that out too. It keeps him young at least. 

“C’mon, Johnny,” Ghost says, rising to his feet. He dusts his hands off on his fatigues as if nothing happened, then holds out a hand for Johnny to grab. “Let’s go see our bird.”

[remxedmoon]

“shadowy figures appeared before you. apparitions, memories of what once was. reminders of who you’re fighting for. are they your true family, or merely wearing their visage?”

[twohats spoilers below the cut!]

DEATHCARDS!!! WOOO!! that leshy quote isn’t entirely set in stone yet, btw. i made these for a king boss fight i’m working on so realistically he’d be the one narrating? but eh. it’s fun to write in leshy’s voice. anyways, hopefully this won’t be too long?? i’ve got way less design notes this time around, but there’s also 6 cards here and i’m not very succinct. sorry in advance!!

siffrin

2 power - 2 health - 5 bones

loose tail - when a card bearing this sigil would be struck, a tail is created in its place and a card bearing this sigil moves to the right. a tail is defined as: 0 power, 2 health.

steel trap - when a card bearing this sigil perishes, the creature opposing it perishes as well. a pelt is created in your hand.

GOD it was hard to come up with sigils for this one. since these are boss exclusive cards, i had a pretty limited pool to work with… hopefully this is still fitting

loose tail is the closest i could get to a sigil that avoids death, since sigils like unkillable and many lives were off the table. plus, there’s kinda a connection with him not valuing his own life?? and sacrificing a part of himself? i think it works

steel trap!! this sigil is exclusive to the trapper boss fight! since summoned cards (like chimes and tails) inherit sigils, their tail card will also kill whatever’s in front of it when it’s destroyed! sort of a “taking you down with me” situation.

mirabelle

2 power - 5 health - 3 blood

swapper - after a card bearing this sigil is dealt damage, swap its power and health.

swapper!! this is an act 3 sigil exclusive to swapbot! ahhhhhhhh i had such a hard time trying to figure out another card design for her. i REALLY liked the bellist sigil for her and didn’t really have any other ideas. swapper felt like it fit with the change belief to me! and it also makes her a pretty terrifying card to go up against. since this is a boss card, that cost is basically entirely for show lol

ALT CARD ART!!! YIPEE!! literally all i did was flip her eyes to look angry lol. swapbot’s sprite changes when it swaps so i think hers would too!

isabeau

2 power - 4 health - 2 blood

dam builder - when a card bearing this sigil is played, a dam is created on each empty adjacent space. a dam is defined as: 0 power, 2 health.

fledgling - a card bearing this sigil will grow into a more powerful form after 1 turn on the board.

dam builder feels like a very defensive sigil to me, and it synergizes well with fledgling!! after a turn, isabeau will be doing 5 damage across 3 lanes! good god.

odile

1 power - 2 health - 2 blood

trifurcated strike - a card bearing this sigil will strike each opposing space to the left and right of the spaces across from it as well as the space in front of it.

sharp quills - once a card bearing this sigil is struck, the striker is then dealt a single damage point.

this was the HARDEST card to think up, and probably the weakest out of the bunch imo. i think i really nailed her regular card and i just. couldn’t come up with anything. agonies

i picked trifurcated strike as a reference to her being able to use all three craft types, and sharp quills… i think because of her aversion to touch? i think. it’s been a while since i made these aaaaa

bonnie

1 power - 1 health - 1 blood

waterborne - a card bearing this sigil submerges itself during its opponent's turn. while submerged, opposing creatures attack its owner directly.

leader - creatures adjacent to a card bearing this sigil gain 1 power.

if yall remember the notes on my kid card, this is based on the beta version of that card!! which means that for once i’m not putting bonnie through the torments. hooray!

waterborne is there because they always stay out of danger during battles! plus they’re from a coastal town so it fits on that front as well. i didn’t really think about the actual sigil names for cards this time around but hey! it’s a nice bonus!

the beta card had trinket bearer, but that’s a sigil that would only benefit the player in battle, so i swapped it out with leader! since they can’t be directly attacked, this basically makes them a permanent alpha on the king’s side of the field. also, leader, snack leader, it fits namewise as well!

loop

2 power - 1 health - 4 bones

haunter - when a creature bearing this sigil dies, it haunts the space it died in. creatures played in this space gain its old sigils.

bifurcated strike - A card bearing this sigil will strike each opposing space to the left and right of the space across from it.

“i’m normal about inscryption” i say as i give one of my cards a sigil that only appears in the completely missable rulebook of grimmora’s segment of the finale.

so. haunter! the aforementioned grimmora sigil! this appears on no cards ingame, but cmon. it fits. this sigil reminded me of how loop reacts when you guess that they’re a ghost! in battle, i imagine that siffrin will always get played right behind loop. because twohats

bifurcated strike was added here for the same reason it’s on their normal card! it feels like scissors craft!! i needed them to actually have A Sigil to transfer to siffrin and this felt the most fitting to me.

also, just like the normal cards, siffrin and loop are both the only ones to have a bone cost instead of blood cost! teehee :333

and i think that’s it! i’m not making inhabited versions of these cards because they aren’t meant to be accessible outside of the king fight! also! hi! i drafted this post and wrote siffrin’s segment: almost a month ago! oops!! i kept putting this off… at least it’s actually written out now lol. hope you guys enjoy!!!

[leqonsluv3r]

PROMPT 3 WITH LEON I BEG

oh! darling

prompt: "please don't stop.”

—re!4 leon kennedy x reader

contains nsfw content, MDNI, 18+

masterlist taglist prompt game

you don’t know how you ended up in the backseat of your boyfriends car, getting eaten out like a five course meal, your legs trembling around his head. his large hands holding onto your hips and stomach, keeping your stomach flat.

you don’t know at what point the teasing turned to taunting, the kissing turned passionate and he decided to eat you out until you were screaming and practically dripping all over his backseat.

you don’t know how he managed to pull the car into a field, tucked into brushes and trees at night. you also don’t know how long it took the windows of his car to steam up, or at what point they did.

all you knew is that you couldn’t stop trembling and shaking as he ate you out, pulling orgasm after orgasm from your mouth and body. all of a sudden after the aftershocks of her last orgasm, he presses kisses on the insides of your trembling thighs.

“i don’t think i can go anymore. i think…i think…” you try to talk but your brain is muddled and empty. all you can think about is the exhaustion in your body and how he pulled so many orgasms out of you with just his mouth and fingers alone. you don’t know if you can even take anymore.

he laughs softly against your thigh, his breath fanning against the skin there, “you also said that after the first one…but look,” he gestures to the mess you probably made on his seat. “your dripping everywhere. i think you can handle one more.” he says with an almost feline smirk on his lips.

you didn’t think you could. you would probably pass out before he even pulled another one for you.

but he shocked you by sitting up in the back of his car and pulling your naked and sweaty body ontop of him, your thighs straddling over his.

“what are you doing?” you slur in a desire drunken haze as you steady your palms onto his bare shoulders. he chuckles and presses a kiss to your sweaty cheek, smoothing a hand down into your hair. “i’m fucking you.” he rasps as he maneuvers your body so that your able to ride him.

“i can’t…i can’t ride you.” you mumble in a whiny protest as you feel him rub his erection in between your drenched folds. “i can’t…” you whine again in desperation.

he shakes his head, his blonde strands moving with him, “you don’t have to do anything, just sit on my cock and look at me all pretty. i’ll take care of it.” he says with some minor confidence.

you don’t even care about the logistics of how, that’s out the window and not even in your brain anymore. you feel horny but overstimulated and tired. you feel like you could just fall asleep ontop of him and pass out from the mindless way he’s been pulling orgasms from you.

you can’t even protest or get the words out before he’s lifting you up by the flesh of your thighs and lowering you onto his cock. basically spearing you from the inside out, even though he slipped in with no resistance.

you choke back a small noise, mixed between a sob and a moan. because, how can this feel so good and so overwhelming at the same time? doesn’t matter how many times you’ve taken him in your relationship, it’s still a tight fit.

“fuck me…your so fucking — christ…” he mutters in a strained tone as he ducks his head into your shoulder, keeping you still on his lap. your head is lulling backwards and you can’t even fight the energy to even care how fucked out you probably look.

“leon…” you whine softly, your brows furrowing as you try to just sit still and not even move on instinct. he grips the flesh of your hips tighter, “don’t. don’t say my name like that right now.” he mutters as he tries to not blow his load like pubescent boy.

he slowly begins to move you up and down on his lap, slowly thrusting in and out of you. both of your breaths ragged and strained with exhaustion and desire. your both pushing each other to the limits to make yourselves feel good and its showing. he can’t stop groaning and making noises, which only makes you clench around him tighter. “please…fuck, baby, christ.” he practically begs as he keeps slowly thrusting up into you. his hands holding firmly onto your hips as he aims to get you off, yet again.

you have no idea what he’s begging for but you probably have a good idea as to what.

but your getting impatient, he’s not hitting the right spot and as sensitive as you already are, you figured you would’ve cum by now. you haven’t and it’s frustrating you so much that you begin to take matters into your own hands. you start meeting his thrusts despite your exhaustion and frustration. he notices this and leans his head back with a small groan, loving that you’ve started to fuck him.

he almost doesn’t want to look as you begin to ride him, you’ve done it plenty of times before so its kind of ingrained in his memory. he can almost picture it in his mind — you bouncing up and down on his cock, your pupils dilated with lust and hunger, your breasts bouncing and your head thrown back. god, the image in his mind alone is enough to make him —

“please don’t stop…” he finds himself saying in a voice that sounds nothing like him at all, all whiny and pathetic. like your torturing him by riding him. neither of you would admit this out loud but their was always an unspoken rule in your relationship, that you liked it when the roles were sometimes switched. so when he practically moaned that through the car as you rode his cock, you squeezed around him and gripped at his bare shoulders. desperate to get him to the same peak as you.

you don’t know how long you rode him, it felt like a whole year had passed but in reality it was only a couple of minutes. you hit that spot when you bounced down on him and kept chasing it, his moans low to high and whiny were making you feel elated. like you were reaching the peak and you could accomplish anything if you made him cum.

he grips the fat of your hips tightly again and holds onto you desperately as you feel that knot unravel in your stomach, “fuck, gonna cum…leon…” you moan with a small whine at the end, keeping up your pace on top of him even though your legs were beginning to hurt. you couldn’t stop, not when you were so close and so was he —

“oh! shit!” you whined loudly as you interrupted your own thoughts and clenched around his cock as you came. your legs and your whole entire body shaking as you fell apart ontop of him.

he groaned loudly, it was almost too much for him as he buried his head into your neck and kept you on top of him. feeling you come undone was just enough for him as you rode out your high on his cock.

“that’s it baby, it’s okay…” he says in a raspy voice as he lets you slide up and down on his cock a little slower. he could feel his own muscles tense up as he practically growled against her neck, coming undone with a shaky exhale. he swears he almost saw stars for a moment as he erupted inside of you.

thrusting his come up into you as you both slowed the pace of your own movements. making yourselves slowly come down and come back to earth. you let leon talk you through it as you stayed ontop of him, letting him plug the cum inside of you.

you buried your head into his shoulder as his hand came up and stroked your hair, untangling the messy knots in it. his hand running down to your spine and tracing patterns to soothe you.

he knew he took a lot from you tonight, he was aware. but you also knew that it was worth it. all the pain and exhaustion was worth it when he brought bliss to the both of you tenfold. he loved seeing you fall apart as much as he loved being the one to do it. it gave him satisfaction and comfort knowing that when you were with him, you were taken care of.

and you always would be.

“you feeling okay?” he whispers against your sweaty temple as he still traces his fingers over your spine. you nod against his shoulder and let out a couple ragged breaths. “yeah, i feel okay.” you whisper softly as you drag your eyes up to look at him.

“i love you baby.” he says softly as he strokes his hand up to your cheek, rubbing his thumb under the skin of your eye. you melt into a puddle of softness and goo underneath his caring touch, so gentle and contrasted to how he pleasures you.

“i love you too.” you whisper. and you mean it, you couldn’t imagine loving anyone else.

not like leon.

an: i’m sorry this took so ungodly long for me to finish and post. i’ve had so much going on in my personal life and it’s been very very chaotic lately. but i managed to finish and post!!! yay!!! three cheers for me, pls, i need it right now. i’ll be posting more consistently since my life has become a little less crazy, i hope you guys enjoyed. pls reblog and like!! it supports small lil writers like myself. i love you all, kisses. xx

taglist: @elihii @heartsforvin @sqiim @adollrable @leonkennedygvrl @porcelainseashore @squazmine @spfoah @jmivenus (if you wanted to be added, interact with the link at the beginning!! <3)

[with-my-calamitous-love]

BUTIMGONNAGETYOUBACK

bakugou katsuki x reader

you remember all the times he tried to mend your broken heart

part 2!

a/n: ty i didn’t expect all the love on the first one 🤍

5) acceptance

acceptance was bakugou realizing just how badly he fucked up.

he hated you, albeit only a little. hated you for making his heart ache the way it did. when you’re young and you feel love you never know how it will end. he thought that you either love someone to marry them, or to break their heart- and when he shut the door on you, he just figured you were the latter.

oh, how wrong he was.

if it was so easy, why did he have to physically restrain himself from calling you that night? why was his mind plagued with thoughts of you hurting? hurting because of him? you gave your heart to him and he tore it to pieces. and it made him want to vomit.

some nights he missed you, and wanted you back. other times he hated you, because he hated himself, and still wanted you back.

so bakugou did what he does best. he blew the 5 stages of grief to kingdom come, and started a new list.

1) accept you fucked up

katsuki bakugou, being katsuki bakugou (aka a stubborn piece of a shit) wanted to believe that he made the right choice. that he once again came out on top, that he was doing the best because he is the best- accept in this case, being the best caused him to lose you.

you were maybe the only person who didn’t just tolerate his stubbornness, his snark or his ego, but loved him more for it. you took every horrible thing about him and decided to love him anyway. what a soul to do that.

and he tried to rationalize that you maybe wouldn’t be the only person he’d meet that accept him for all his flaws and shortcomings, but he didn’t want to risk that. he knew what he wanted and he had it. and bakugou katsuki was not going to let it go so easily.

2) accept you might not be good enough

“might” is a nice word. no. even though he was the greatest, an amazing hero, a stop student and a phenomenal hero, katsuki bakugou didn’t deserve you. someone who wiped the sweat off his forehead after a workout, who reminded him to eat in the morning and drink his water because he can’t train on an empty stomach, who reminds him that its okay to make mistakes because you didn’t fall in love with a perfect hero, you fell in love with him.

and if he’s real, he thinks he deserves less. because someone as good as you shouldn’t be with an asshole like him. but he doesn’t care, and he hopes you don’t really either. he loves you more than he hates himself.

3) know the price going in

your friends called him a dick. your brothers offered to slash his tires or even key his car. your blocked him on everything, threw everything he ever bought for you in the back of your closet, cut up all the photos and cursed out his very existence. heartbreak is only a precursor to anger, and he knew you were probably full of it by know. you learned from the best- you learned from him, after all.

so he knew he had a lot coming his way. reminders of his fuck ups, of his shortcomings. of all the times he made your pretty face cry. so he took all of that hatred and ate it, because he knew most of it (maybe all of it, but he thinks his car is innocent) was deserved. hell, he was angry too. but anger and love aren’t enemies, but rather sisters. some people are worth screaming and fighting with at 2 in the morning. you only cursed his name because you remembered every syllable of it etched into your heart.

4) know when someone still wants you

maybe he was delusional. maybe in his brokenhearted haze his brain simply made it all up in an attempt to heal what was hurting. but he could have sworn he heard you ask about him when talking with your old friends. maybe you wanted to hear about his misery and bask in it. fair. but maybe, just maybe, you actually cared about how he was doing.

and he knows you still have his hoodies, even if they’re curled up underneath your bed. he knows your still wearing his cologne because he recognizes a smell he loves whenever he’s lucky enough for you to walk by him. he knows you still reread your texts, because he’s told you things he would never even dare to utter to anyone else- words just for you. and he knows you still go to all your old date spots, because you forgot to turn off your location. you only shared it with him, anyway.

he knows your missing him, or at least thinking about him. and its maybe the only thing keeping him functioning.

5) fix your face

bakugou, a pillar of self care and health, doesn’t remember the last time he’s showered. he hasn’t eaten a full meal in a couple of days because you haven’t reminded him to. he hasn’t slept since sunday because he hasn’t called you goodnight, and you don’t know that he can’t sleep without it. he looks like shit.

so one day, a day he knows theres a small chance he might see you with your friends during training, he forces his ass out of bed and washes his face. he pats his face dry with a towel instead of rubbing, because you taught him that it lessens his acne. he uses the $21 moisturizer you left in his washroom cabinet simply because its yours, and it makes his skin soft. he wears the perfume you left behind too, because you still have his cologne and this shitty bottle or strawberry pound cake is all he has.

he looks okay. he thinks. but he’s unaware that you still think he’s as gorgeous as the first day you met him.

6) pray that you don’t care what he’s done

he’s an asshole. he has an explosive temper and most people are scared of him. he’s insensitive, he’s a jerk who doesn’t give a single damn about who’s feelings he hurts. he’s gonna be the best, and any extra’s who get in the way are nothing but dead weight. thats what he thought for the longest time, until meeting you.

so he’ll hope that you don’t care how much of a dick he really is. he knows that you love him anyway, but he has to keep praying that that’ll stay the same, even after breaking your heart. he hopes that you’ll forgive him, even if he gets on his knees to do if. you rob him of his pride, of his ego, and he loves you for it. you’re the only person that can make him weak.

and if you’re any real, understandable person who doesn’t forgive him, thats only an excuse to keep getting better. because if theres one thing katsuki bakugou is good at, its proving that he’s the best (even when he’s not.) and he swears to himself that he’ll keep making himself better until he can say that he deserves you.

7) love you till the end

he wants more than just late night phone calls and sharing playlists. he wants to succeed alongside you, share all his greatest accomplishments with you and know that you’re the greatest of them all. he wants to teach you how forever feels, to love you for as long as his lungs breath and his heart beats. being the number one hero was 2nd to being with you- and katsuki bakugou never takes 2nd places. never.

he accepts that his heart is fully, utterly, embarrassingly yours. he knows you have every right to wanna smash it up, eat it and spit it out for all he’s done to you. but he’d rather his heart and love he in your hands than anyone elses. you’re the best thing that was ever his. and even when he broke things off, when he told you he had to choose his career, he knew deep down that he was never not yours.

8) push the rest button, become something new

he was determined to stay this time, even if it meant being handcuffed to you.

1 in the morning. your place. why did you let him in? you weren’t sure. but the banging on the door suggested he wasn’t going away any time soon. you two sat on your bedroom floor, both enjoying and hating each others presence. it was the first time you had seen him in months. and of course he still looked gorgeous. you smelled your perfume as soon as he walked in through the front door.

“…you gonna tell me why you’re here, kats?” you finally broke the silence. your voice cut through the weight on the room like a knife. you did your best to hide the hurt in your voice just from seeing him. your heart ached.

“its stupid.” he mutters, shoving his hands into his sweater. he deliberately faced away front you, because he wasn’t sure if the vulnerability in his eyes would make you hate him more or love him less. maybe both.

“everything you say is stupid.” you half-heartedly chuckle, and he has it in him to scoff quietly, not disagreeing with you. the sound of pouring rain outside growing quieter as you finally got to talk to him. his voice was still your favourite melody, even when it said stupid, stubborn things.

“..just needed to see you.” he finally dares to utter, crimson red eyes looking at you with his brows furrowed. when it came to you, nothing was ever a ‘want.’ no, when it was you, it was all essential to him.

you silently cursed yourself, before getting up and softly crawling towards him next to your bed. your body finds its rightful place next to his, leaning up against him. it had been so long since you felt that warmth. he looks down at you first, not in reluctance but in genuine surprise, before finding his bearings and wrapping his arm around you tight. he was scared that if we were to fully hug you he’d end up never letting you- not that you minded, though.

“asshole.” you quo, wanting to humble him. you were still angry, despite desperately needing to cuddle with him. he simply nods, knowing you’re right. “i missed you.”

both of those statements are true.

“…i’m sorry.” his gruff voice softens, holding you tight. he finally gets to hold you again. if this is his time to say his piece, than he’ll say it with his whole chest. he never half-asses things. “i’m sorry for ever thinking it was okay to let you go.”

his voice cracked at the end there. you couldn’t see him, nor did you want to because you knew it would break your heart, but he was crying.

“…you’re such an idiot kats.” your voice cracks too, pulling him to you even tighter. “i thought you regretted it. r-regretted me or some shit.”

he shakes his head, stroking your hair. “no, i didn’t. idiot, i could never regret you.” he grits his teeth as he does nothing to stop the flow of tears. he deserves to feel the way they sting against his cheeks.

“i’m sorry, [y/n] i’m so fucking sorry. i wanted to have you back but i know how stupid that is now. maybe i’ll just grab my hoodies. or keep them, burn them up for all i care-‘’

he says before finally making eye contact with you. you’re crying and so is he. but god, looking into your eyes felt like he had his own personal universe right in front of him.

“…i wouldn’t burn your sweaters. cut them up, maybe.” you giggle, using your sleeve to wipe away the pain on your face. “but they’re mostly just all on my bed.”

his red eyes flicker up, realizing that you are indeed right. the fabrics he’s so familiar with, you’ve been spending every night with. that makes him more happy than he wants to admit.

theres a beat of silence between the two of you. katsuki feels his heart breaking in the tension. he’s mentally preparing himself to walk out your front door once again, but this time unwillingly.

“…i’m still mad at you.” you whisper shakily. he just nods, almost standing up in defeat.

“but i still want you to stay, asshole.” you utter.

the both of you sigh in relief.

he silently picks you up and pulls you into bed, not caring if all his hoodies fell to the floor, because now you had the real thing. he was so warm, like the sun shining through the clouds just after a hailstorm. he holds onto you like you’d suddenly be ripped away from him, smelling his cologne on your hair. he lets you trace tiny hearts onto his chest, that you maybe haven’t forgiven him, but still need him around. maybe thats enough for him.

and so katsuki bakugou was proved right once again. that he got you back- and he was never gonna let you go again.

tags!

@eyesforbkg @m-0ona @aise-30 @whenanafallsinlove @rnyadlcn @iwannahaveaprettyaesthetic @vikizzy @im-in-too-much-fandom-help @gina239 @randomrosie01 @heartsform33 @yourmajestyqueena @getou0309 @urlocalgayblueberry @brbwritingfanfic @sky2lar @alligator-person @bkgtskisblog @juststayyoasshome @leonesimp @tanjirofan63 @gabby-ha

some of @s weren’t working im so sorry 😭 i’ll just dm you!

[sstrwbrryccke]

— bullying him | sub choi soobin

part 2 | part 3 | part 4

tags: mean reader, bullying, dacryphilia, perv soobin, humiliation, public fondling??, somewhat nonconsensual

yes this is the third time im reposting this drabble because i accidentally deleted it three times 💀

another hard thought because i can’t stop thinking about a school au where you bully the studious and nerdy soobin!! its just sooo unlucky for him to sit right next to you, where you torment him almost daily. he keeps his gaze down on his book as you shove him against the locker (high school tv show style).

he spends most of the time quiet, never retorting back to you. It was almost irritating to you and your bully friends at a certain point because he almost never reacted to your taunts. just his bunny eyes occasionally making eye contact with you before he quickly lowers his gaze. what did it take to break this guy? your friends egg you on to increase the intensity, and you started to seek him out intentionally.

just as lunch break started, when all the students have left the classrooms, he was putting back his books into his locker. you walk up to him, making sure the vicinity was empty before you push him against the locker like always. but this time you kept going, trapping him in-between your arms and berating him about anything from his clothes to his hairstyle. he doesn’t respond once again, but with the close proximity you can see the blush on his cheeks, and when you looked down, you saw his thighs clenched tightly together.

oh… so that’s what was happening all this time? you feel a grin coming up as you shove your leg in-between his, exposing his hard-on. this time he does react, sputtering out panicked sentences and trying to hide himself. you found his weakness, and it was you. this newfound power spurs you on and you lean into his ear, whispering how much of a pervert he was to get off on getting tormented, how you could feel how hard his small cock was against your knee. he was petrified, not only was his secret exposed, but it was exposed to his biggest bully nevertheless. the worst part? he was getting harder.

you could tell he was a virgin with the way he swallowed his spit, eyes tearing up in embarrassment and body frozen in place from sheer humiliation. it only takes a little knee grinding and degradation in his ear to get him close. but that wasnt enough for you, you wanted to see him cry. so you whisper in his ear again, ordering him to jerk himself off in his pants. his breath hitches, gaze low as he takes a moment of consideration, and to your surprise, he obeys, shaky hand coming down to feel himself through his pants as he shyly tries to get himself off. tears fall from his eyes in humiliation and it was a few excruciating seconds. you finally decide to be nice and help him, your hand sticking down his pants to grasp at his cock sticky with precum. just the contact itself made him come into his pants, in the high school hallway. his eyes streaming with tears. before you know it, he quickly pushes you away and runs off to the bathroom.

and you found him, cute. really really fucking cute. the type of person you wanted to dominate and play with until he cried. so after school, you trap him again, though this time it wasn’t really trapping. because he willingly stopped for you, his gaze still low as you told him to follow you home. he obeyed, hands jittery and sweaty. when you get to your family’s rather well off house, you lead him to your bedroom, where he nervously asked you if you were going to do that again. and you grinned, asking if he was hoping for something. he stuttered again as you chuckle, before he meekly admitted yeah, he was. you feel your need to ravish this guy skyrocket and you push him onto your bed, roughly kissing him.

good thing tomorrow is a saturday, huh?

[dumbbitchgalore]

Part 2: Old man!Price wants his birdie to fly away 🕊

Part 1

Part 3

Part 4

Sitting on the couch in the middle of the living room, eyes red and puffy as you nurse an almost empty bottle of wine. The click of the bedroom door opening was louder than any car horn honking during a road rage.

Out she comes, the lustful wench who's sinful presence wafted into every single crevace of your santuary. She gives you a smug look before leaning down to whisper in your ear.

"Your man was a good fuck." She smirks before strutting out of the front door.

You sit there gritting your teeth and downing the remaining liquid in the bottle only to smash it against the wall, shattering it to pieces mirroring the state of your heart. Broken by the man who words are definite and his promises as sanctity. Now only for you to find yourself shackled in the throne vines of his vows.

You sigh heavily, closing your eyes and leaning back into the plush couch. You energy depleted from the silent tears you shed while John and his bitch fucked like rabbits in heat.

Soft, yet heavy footsteps are heard as they come to a halt behind the sofa. A hand comes up to caress your hair. You let it be, not bothering to stop him or maybe because you didn't want his soft caresses to come to an end. They always every touched you tenderly, never once raised to harm you. And yet those same hands have played a part in the adultery that he has committed.

John sighs, "Birdie-"

"Why?" You choke out a question before he could finish speaking.

He moves his hand away from your hand, walking up in front of you before crouching down to meet your doleful eyes.

"You want the truth, love?" He says.

You nod in response and do not utter a single syllable in fear it will betray you by letting your tears run freely.

John clears his throat preparing his answer, "Well, we've simply been together for too long. I guess I needed something new, birdie."

Birdie

That name he called you so affectionately in the past felt like vemon making its way through your veins.

Your head felt heavy, you heart tightening simultaneously. Did he really just say that? His response was so simple, not an ounce of guilt in sight.

You don't know what you should feel. Anger? Sadness? Maybe both is the correct answer. But you feel neither. A sense of emptiness engulfs you, the love you carried for John dissipating in a mere second.

You don't look at him once, simply staring at the wall behind him.

"I expect your stuff moved out of this house by the end of the week, Captain."

[redmyeyes]

Fellow Travelers sex scenes

I can't stop thinking about what Matt and Jonny keep repeating over and over again in interviews, regarding the FT sex scenes. That, in the writing and filming it was important that:

No two scenes were the same.

Every sex scene informed the story.

The characters were not the same before the scene as they were after. That they were changed by it.

So, let's talk about them.

"Pretend"

establishment of hawk's usual modus operandi -- brief fucks with strangers. he keeps a tight rein on his desires and won't allow himself to want more.

2. "Fold them."

establishing dynamics, hawk is in control, tim is being (happily) led. par for the course for hawk (or is it?)

3. "I'm your boy, right?"

tim can play, too. this dynamic is not one-way. the 'power' in this relationship definitely does not lie solely with hawk. you might even say this flips the power dynamic on its head. hawk is GONE.

4. "Do you like it this way? Your life, like this?"

not a sex scene, but one of the first slow, tender aftermaths. clear now that, for both of them, this goes much much deeper than just sex.

5. "I belong to Hawkins Fuller."

tim showing that he's willing to meet hawk on his level. the submission and dominance are so intertwined here they can't be separated. it's the willingness of that submission, the willingness of that Belonging, that changes everything.

and tim begging (through provocation) hawk to acknowledge him / what they have, out loud. "who do you belong to" = "i love you, i need you, tell me you need me too."

6. "It's your turn tonight."

a fucked-up goodbye, on hawk's part. he really thinks this might be the last time he's allowed to see tim, and he says 'i love you' the only way he knows how -- with his body, with service.

7. "Your Honor, I stand before you accused of being sweet."

crucially, not a sex scene. even more crucially, there is no sex at all in episode 5, where they separate for the first (and, they think, last) time. instead, we're shown what they're really giving up -- this too sweet (painfully sweet) domesticity.

8. "We don't have to do what we used to do."

the horribly empty aftermath. where they give in to "sex", of a sort, but it's dry and horrifically painful and NOT AT ALL what either of them want. because what they want is intimacy, not sex. and they're not allowed this.

9. "Stay with me."

the botched threesome, where craig is an afterthought, an excuse for hawk and tim to be together, and even then, horrifically painful in the way they LONG for each other and for what they can't have.

10. "I want you to fuck me."

a true surrender. again, hawk showing what he wants the only way he knows how -- through his body -- giving tim his willing submission, body, heart and soul.

11. "We'll be colleagues. We'll see each other every day."

not technically a sex scene, but the truest expression of them 'making love' that we ever get on screen. returning to #1, it's the polar opposite of what hawk had previously allowed himself, and it's what he really wants -- all the intimacy he'll shortly be sacrificing.

12. "That better?" "Oh yeah."

finally, finally, after all those years, a return to the true intimacy they were craving.

[msgexymunson]

Forbidden Fruit

Description: The newest object of your affections happens to be Eddie; your father's closest friend!

A/N: this is just smut personified and I ain't even sorry. Enjoy it with caution, hells saving a mighty fine warm spot for you ;). 

Warnings: age gap, Eddie's in his forties, reader implied 20s. Voyeurism, fingering, p in v unprotected sex (wrap the thingy, trust me I'm old) 

5k words

Masterlist Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Delicate fingers are slipping under the waistband of your sleep shorts. You stroke at your soft skin, running in teasing patterns. Your body begins to react to your secret touches, downy hairs starting to stand on end as your skin prickles with sensation. Then your hand drifts lower, lower, until it meets your pubic hair. Massaging your breast with your other hand you try to relax and empty your mind, just focus on the feeling. Not that it works. All you see when you close your eyes is Eddie. 

This is wrong. So fucking wrong. He was at least 20 years your senior. Hell, he was one of your father's closest friends. It may as well be forbidden. He probably thinks of you more like a daughter than a lover. 

You couldn't help it though. Recently he was just looking so damn fine. You're not sure if it was just him getting better with age, or you growing up and appreciating the man in front of you. Either way, woof. 

Your fingers find your clit as you think back to earlier today; the events of which hadn't been much help in quenching your mounting feelings. It had been a lovely day, the sun was beating down and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Eddie and your father had teamed up to do some of the yard work. Eddie was always on hand to help with any manual labour, or to fix things. He was really very good with those hands. 

Well, it was a beautiful day, so sunbathing seemed perfectly acceptable behaviour, and not an excuse to be in the yard at all. Nuh uh. You'd headed outside in your skimpy red bikini, book in hand, and laid on a lounger keeping one eye on Eddie. 

God, he'd looked particularly good today. His hair was grasped in a messy bun with a shock of grey and white visible through it. His stubble looked a few days old, peppering his chin and sharp jaw. Those eyes of his sparkled, a deep chocolate brown you wanted to dive into. Jeans clung to his muscular thighs, only wearing an old wife beater on top, showing off his tattoos and chiselled arms. There was a brief moment when he'd lifted up his vest to use it to wipe the sweat from his brow. Abs had gleamed in the midday sun, flexing and taunting you on purpose, or at least it had felt that way. 

When your father had gone inside to grab them both a beer, Eddie had sauntered over to you and crouched right by your lounger. You had done everything you could to keep your face neutral, even though your head was screaming and flinging its metaphorical hands in the air. 

"Hey sweetheart." 

The gravel in his voice sent shivers down your spine. 

"Hey Mr Munson." You responded, trying to keep your eyes on your book. 

"How many times I gotta tell ya? Call me Eddie." 

You glanced over and saw a slow grin creeping across his face, as he eyed you up and down. Is he checking me out? 

Tearing his eyes away, he spoke again. 

"So, where's the little boyfriend today?" 

"What? Oh, him. We broke up. He was… selfish" you reminded yourself of all those disappointing encounters, flicking through your mind like a magazine of the mundane.

His grin widened at that. 

"Oh, that's such a shame." 

He sounded so sincere, but that smile of his was certainly telling a different story. You found yourself looking at the way his eyes crinkled when he grinned. Probably thought he wasn't good enough for me, just like father said. 

It was like he'd read your mind. 

"He wasn't good enough for you anyway." 

"You think?" 

He'd leaned into you, as if telling a secret. You could smell him, lingering sweat, aftershave and cigarettes. Drawn to him, you'd sat up and moved a little closer. His words were a whisper in your ear, his hot breath on your neck making your heart beat just a little too fast.  

"What you need is a real man." 

Mouth falling open, you snapped your head to face him. A quick wink and he was back on his feet, smiling at your father who had just returned from the kitchen. He had walked off without a glance back. 

You press your clit harder at the memory of his words, your other hand snaking its way into your top to tease at your hardened nipple. A real man. 

Was he talking about himself? Or had he just been teasing you for your taste in boys? Either way, his words had made you wet, your thighs clinging together in supplication. 

Fuck it. If he was on your mind you may as well lean into it. Your thoughts wandered, making up scenarios in your head, thinking of those thick fingers replacing yours. Your speed on your clit doubles, thighs squeezing together. It still wasn't enough. There wasn't enough pressure. 

Pulling your hand away in a huff, your eyes land on a cushion on your bed. Hmm, now that just might do. 

Clambering to your bare knees, you straddle it, positioning the seam to sit just where you needed it. 

Now, this was better. You could almost imagine him underneath you as you humped at his impressive length. You assume he had a huge cock. Well, he did in your fantasies anyway. Pulling your top off and away, you tease at your sensitive nipples, one hand keeping the cushion in place. 

So close, you were so close. The warm feeling was pooling in your belly, your clit humming with desire. Scrunching your eyes shut and whimpering, a particularly good rub had you moaning out "Eddie!" 

Unfortunately, you had failed to hear the approaching footsteps. 

"Yeah sweetheart?" 

Frozen, you can only watch in abject horror as your bedroom door swings open and the object of your fantasies is standing in the door frame. 

"Oh shit, I thought- did you just say my name?" He seems split between looking away and getting an eyeful. 

Grasping the bed sheet you quickly cover up your bare chest, cheeks burning scarlet. 

"Sorry." He adds, looking you up and down one last time, and finally swings the door shut. 

Well that's it, now I need to move to a different state. Fuck fuck fuck. 

"Hey, honey, come hear a sec!" Your mother's voice, ringing up the stairs. Trying to get the blood to diffuse from your cheeks with sheer force of will, you hastily scramble to put your top back on. 

"Coming!" You shout back. Well, you nearly had. So fucking close. 

Making your way downstairs past the bathroom you see your parents arm in arm, Eddie spread out on one of the bar stools in the kitchen. Practically feeling his grin from here, you focus on your parents. 

"We're going out to dinner hon. Mr Munson here, well he was going to have a look at the cable. I can't get the damn thing to work. Sure you don't mind Eddie? Ain't you got somewhere else to be?" Your father looks towards Eddie with his question. 

"Nope. Completely free. I'm sure I can fix it." 

"Thanks buddy, you're a lifesaver. Hon, can you look after him? Make sure to give Mr Munson anything he needs." 

Cheeks flaring again with heat, you mumble out your agreement. 

"Thanks sweetie!" Your mother adds, planting a peck on your cheek. Then, they leave. It's just you and Eddie. 

He begins to walk towards you. The walls suddenly seem too close, your skin itchy, hairs standing on end. He stops in front of you, too close for comfort. A rough hand reaches to you and you flinch. He quickly pulls it away. 

"Well, better fix the cable." He smiles at you, and turns on his heel to the TV room, leaving you staring at his retreating ass as he leaves. 

Maybe he's not going to mention it? 

The thought seems too good to be true. You turn to leave, back the way you came, but a strange force is pulling at your gut. Pretty soon you're standing in the door frame of the TV room, staring at Eddie's ass as he bends to look at the cable box.

Fuck, that perfect ass.

He must have changed from earlier. Maybe he'd had a shower? He certainly smelled good. Staring at his back you notice his hair looked damp. 

OK, so, ignore what happened. Eddie seemed to be. Act natural. Be a good host. 

"Eddie, do you want a beer?" 

He doesn't bother looking back, but you hear his deep voice say, "sure thing sweetheart." 

Making your way back to the kitchen, you grab a beer for him and one for yourself, to steady your nerves. 

Placing it on the coffee table, you let him know it's behind him, as you swig your own. 

"Could you come down here sweetheart? I need a hand." 

You fall to your knees beside him. 

"Show me your hands?" 

Confused, you hold your palms up. 

"Perfect, tiny hands. Here." And he grasps one, swallowing it up in his large palm. The skin on skin contact is a shock to your system. 

He pulls your arm gently. 

"There's a cable right there, can you reach that?" 

Sticking your tongue out of the corner of your mouth, you extend your arm, reaching into the gap he couldn't quite hit. 

"Got it." 

"That's it. Good girl." You suck in a sudden breath at his words, warmth simmering in your core. Eddie doesn't seem to notice. 

He's adjusting some other cable, moving the network box to a better position as you stare at the veins in his neck. 

"So, did you finish?" 

"Huh?" Confusion floods your face as you scrunch your eyes at his words. 

"Earlier, when I walked in. Did you finish?" 

Your mouth hangs open. He mentioned it so nonchalantly, not even gaining eye contact. You're so shocked that you answer him without thinking about it. 

"N-no." 

"Shame." 

What sort of alternative reality is this? 

"OK, can you feel my hand? Give me that cable." 

You pass it to him wordlessly, fingers brushing his ever so slightly. 

"There. Should be fine now. Try the remote."

Turning the TV on, it does indeed work. You switch it off as Eddie sits back on his heels. 

"It just wasn't wired correctly. Easy mistake to make. So, you need a hand?" 

"Huh?" You sound out doltishly as he swigs his beer. 

"Seemed like you could do with some help earlier is all." 

Swallowing hard at his words, you feel your thighs clench and your heart race. 

"Eddie, what are you saying, exactly?" Words spilling out a lot calmer than you felt. 

"All I'm saying is, you looked like you could use some help. I reckon I could help you out. A lot more than a cushion, anyway." He says, a slow smile spreading over his face making your knees want to melt.

You stare and stare, momentarily lost for words. 

"Come on sweetheart, there's a reason why you were moaning my name. We need to get whatever this is out of our system. " 

You will your legs to move, to flee. They don't. They have their own agenda it seems, taking a shaky step towards him, and another. He's still kneeling on the floor, a slight smirk pulling at his face as if he has all the time in the world. 

Your knees do buckle then, under the weight of his words, as you mirror his position. There's a slight gap between you, but you're closer than you think you ever have been. The air between you seems to hum with desire, an electric current buzzing back and forth. 

Reaching out with hesitant fingers, you finally close the distance, resting your hand softly on his knee. 

"I'm- I'm sorry that I, erm, said your name, it's so damn embarrassing-" 

"Don't be sorry," he responds, his giant hand coming to rest over yours sending your pulse into overdrive, "that was the hottest thing I've ever seen." 

"Really?" You can't help the disbelief dripping all over your tone. 

"You're kidding right? I've been fuckin' hard for the last hour, I'm sure it's not healthy." 

You giggle into your hand at his confession and move to look down, but his hand is on your jaw then, pulling your chin up. 

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, you know. We can just forget all this and I'll leave." 

His stare is firm and sincere, but there's an undercurrent of need behind those eyes, one that's making the pulse between your legs hammer out a tattoo on your insides. 

Before it even registers in your head, you're the one pushing toward him, drawn in by that stare. Your lips are crushing against his when you realise you had taken the leap and kissed him. Eddie's hand presses into the small of your back, pushing you bodily against him, the other snaking into your hair. Opening your mouth to deepen the kiss his tongue begins to slide against yours. Never had a kiss felt so good, so sordid. You wrap your arms around his middle to steady yourself as he explores your mouth greedily. 

A slam of a car door snaps you back to reality; pushing your body off him hurriedly you look around with wild eyes. 

"Hey, sweetheart, it's OK. It's not them, it's too early for that." 

You stop and listen, and realise he's right. 

"Sorry." 

"Hey, it's OK." He smiles, flooding your tummy with warmth. 

"You wanna go and get comfortable, sweets? We can, well, just this once."

You nod and stand up wordlessly, leading him to your bedroom. Your pace is slow and measured as you walk up the stairs, belying the running commentary in your head. 

Oh fuck, I can't believe this is happening. This is Mr Munson for fucks sake. Dad would absolutely freak. Oh fuck. 

As you're closing the door, he's kicking his shoes off and sitting up on your bed. His rough demeanour and chiselled physique look so out of place, juxtaposed by the sweet pink bedclothes. 

"Come here sweetheart, right here." He says, patting his lap. You move over to him, trying to work out exactly where he wants you. 

"Knees either side, come on baby, I know you know how to straddle." His smile is dipped in sin, biting his lower lip slightly and flashing his teeth. You take a shaky breath and mount him, your thin sleep shorts barely covering your expectant pussy. 

"Can you, um, take your jeans off?" You ask hesitantly, "I wanna feel you." 

"Whatever you want baby, I'm here to help." 

You sit awkwardly to one side as he wiggles his jeans off those perfect hips, giving you a teasing sliver of his lower abdomen to gawp at before he's gripping your hips forcefully and pushing your core down against his solid bulge. 

"Hmm, nearly perfect," he says, giving you an appraising look. 

"What's not right?" You feel your cheeks blush, waiting for him to point out some flaws you have. 

"Well, I'm sure when I walked in earlier with you in this position you were topless." 

An impossible amount of blood flushes your face, chest, neck. Eddie's thumbs trace calming circles into the flesh of your hips, catching the hem of your top and slipping just beneath. 

Lifting your top up hesitantly, you move your arms up and away, discarding the clothing on the floor of your room. 

Eddie's eyes are fixated on your nude breasts, letting out a slow breath. He holds your hips harder, fingers bruising into you. 

"There. Perfect. You are perfect sweetheart. Such a good girl for me." 

It's deeply pathetic, the noise that escapes your lips at his praise, but it serves to break the spell Eddie is under and forces him to look at your rosy cheeks and pouting lips. 

"Fuck, you like that sweetheart?" He asks, large hands clinging to your hips, starting to grind you back and forth. His breathing is laboured, as if he's trying to hold himself together.

"Yeah." You say back, voice small, hiding under his studious gaze. 

"Don't go all shy on me now baby. This good, yeah?" 

You nod, mewling at the sensation. He's rock hard, and just the feel of his solid dick rubbing back and forth, hitting your swollen clit with each pass has your head spinning. Just two layers, two layers of flimsy fabric lay between him and you. Between him entering you. 

"Talk to me sweetheart. What do you need?" 

His eyes are searching yours, so eager to make you happy. 

"Please, please play with my nipples." 

A rough hum rumbles from his throat, hands creeping up to your chest. 

"So polite. Whatever you need sweetheart." 

Taking over grinding over his member, you feel your skin thrumming, heat bubbling in your gut as his hands begin to trace over your curves. His thumbs graze the underside of your tits with confident movements. Expecting him to start pinching at your nipples, it takes you entirely by surprise when he leans forward and takes one in his mouth, sucking hard. 

Whimpering quietly, you grip his shoulders, willing yourself to be quiet. It's like Eddie can read your fucking mind. Unlatching from your nipple, he grabs your chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger, forcing your eyes to meet his. 

"I told you. Don't be shy. It's just you and me here. I want to hear you. Every whimper, every fucking moan. I'm committing this to memory, so make it a good one." 

A watery grin unfurls over your face, eyes tearing up unexpectedly. 

"OK Eddie." 

"Good fucking girl." 

"Oh God-"

Before you're done moaning at his words, his lips are immersing your nipple again, wet and warm and rough; as he pinches the other with hardened skin fingertips. A thick tongue darts out, flicking back and forth over the hardened nub. 

"Oh Eddie, oh fuck!" Your moans are loud and unashamed, your hips frantically humping over his turgid cock, clit swollen, nearing on sore.

His breath diffuses over the sensitive skin of your breast. 

"See that's it baby, I know, I know. Keep going, use me." 

Chasing your release your movements become almost violent, hands grasping onto his wavy locks and tugging hard. He groans at that, almost a growl. Teeth scraping your aching nipple, he unlatches with a wet pop and instead bites into the joining spot between your neck and shoulder harder than anyone had done before. The act was bordering on feral. An animalistic gesture, sucking on your flesh as if he was sucking the orgasm out of you. 

It was working. The low simmering in your gut had bubbled over, threatening to pull you under into the deep depths of pleasure. You let it, screaming out his name as you lost breath, quickly losing yourself in the gaping depths of your release. 

Slowing your frantic rocking movements, you finally slow to a halt.

"Feel better sweetheart?" 

You hum, fingers tracing over the muscles of his toned arms. Your pussy hasn't gotten the message however, clenching around nothing. Your walls are pulsing, wanting to clench onto something, anything. 

"Yeah I'm good." 

"Don't lie to me." 

Gasping at his hard words, you look into his eyes. 

"If you're done I'll leave-" 

"No!" You shout, gripping him harshly,

fingernails embedding into his skin. This can't be over, not yet.

"See?" He laughs, almost mocking you, "if you need more, say so. I want to help you. What do you need?"

"I-" fuck why is this so difficult? "I need, I need something inside me." 

"See? Was that so hard? You want my fingers baby? I'll make you come, as many times as you need." 

You nod enthusiastically, slipping off his lap. He turns you to the side suddenly so your legs are draped over his. Firm, smooth strokes rub up, up, up your thighs making you quiver. 

"Take these shorts off. I need to see that pretty pussy of yours." 

Wiggling out of them, they land on the floor in a heap. 

"Fuck. Spread your legs a little." 

It isn't in you not to comply. Your knees fall open, entirely exposed. 

"Well, look at you. Fucking perfect." A rough hand slots between your legs, two fingers rubbing the length of your pussy. 

Leaning back on your hands, your back arches into his touch, hips moving upwards to meet each stroke. 

"You really want this? You want me to fuck you with my fingers?" His movements are tantalising and slow. Your body begs for more, more. 

Nodding at him, you soon see it's not enough. 

"Use your words sweetheart." Fingers whisper across forbidden skin, circling around but never touching your clit. 

"Oh God please, please I need you, please fill me up!" All modesty forgotten.

"Fuck, yeah that's it, hmm" you feel his fingers swipe your wet lips, about to go deeper. Leaning forward, he angles his head towards your cunt, and spits, hard.

Holy fucking fuck. 

That act had you clenching all over again, rocking into nothing. 

"Oh she likes that! Dirty girl." 

He smiles his approval and gathers your combined wetness, two fingers diving deep inside you. It's aggressive and rough and entirely what you've been craving. 

"This what you wanted baby? My fingers filling you up? Fucking into your cunt?" 

His words are filthy, switching something inside your head you weren't aware of until just now.

"Yeah, fuck please, stretch me out, I fucking need you baby, please please please!" 

Your tiny hands are gripping onto him, desperately seeking him, digging into skin and flesh. 

"Oh you are so hot. Keep begging, I like it." His salacious grin pours over his features, fingers working you roughly, nestling into a spot inside that had your toes curling. Your breathing is heavy and ragged, as his other hand slaps harshly against your thigh. 

"I said beg." 

His ministrations start to slow. 

"No, don't stop! Please, oh fuck please, I need to fucking come Eddie!" Your eyes seeking his with a desperate gleam, toying with your features. 

"Yeah, that's it sweetheart, fuck," and his hand lands a hard smack against the side of your ass making you shriek. 

"You're a dirty girl, aren't you?" His fingers continue, setting a brutal pace, each stroke reaching your g spot pathetically easily.

"Yeah, oh yes, for you I am." 

A thick tongue runs up the side of your neck, pushing his fingers harder, deeper. 

"Oh Eddie I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come, don't stop!" 

"Not stopping, not even if you paid me. Come for me sweetheart." 

Your hips betray you, rubbing against his fingers as hard as they can, desperately seeking your second release. 

They don't have long to look. Suddenly it bursts around you, popping in your head like a firecracker of feeling, pulsing out of you in waves. Your fingers wind into his hair once again as your orgasm floods your system, hands almost frightened of being swept away. 

You knew he was good with his hands but fuck, his words were something else. 

"Oh my God that was incredible." You stutter out, legs still trembling. 

"I aim to please. You good now baby?" His fingers whispering over your arm, catching your nerves, making quivers run over and over you. 

If I'm good, he's gonna leave, and that will be it. Fuck, just don't want it to be over. 

"No. I need you to fuck me. Just this once. Please. I- I need you to cum inside me."

"Shit sweetheart, you want my fuckin' cock? How could I refuse such a sweet good girl." 

Laying you down against your many pillows, he stands, ridding himself of his shirt and pants. 

Oh fuck, just look at his cock. 

It's swollen, throbbing against his slickened pubic hair, wetted by your own juices. Licking your lips impulsively, you spread your legs wide, wanting to guide his hips between yours.

"Fuck that's a pretty dick. So fucking big." 

He looks at you, quirking an eyebrow. 

Oh fuck you just said that out loud. 

"Yeah? You want it? You want me?" 

He's smiling, stroking at his throbbing length, making an emotion akin to jealousness bloom in your chest. 

"I need you Eddie." 

He climbs between your thighs again, letting another glob of spit fly from those perfect lips of his. 

"Oh!" You moan eagerly, writhing beneath him.

"You are perfect, aren't you? Fucking filthy and ready for me." The head of his swollen member nudges your soft opening. 

"I'm on birth control, please just fill me up." 

"Oh fuck you're gonna make me bust if you keep on like that." The words are admonishing, but he sounds impressed. 

His weight dips onto the mattress between your legs, making it sink dramatically. You grab his relatively narrow hips, your slender fingers forcing his body between yours. You need him inside you, now.

The fat, leaking head of his cock rubs against your intumescent lips. 

"Fuck me Eddie, I need you, please fuck me!" You blabber, fingers flexing hard against his hard muscles. 

The mushroom head of his turgid cock pushes against your sodden opening. It breaches you then, forcing its way into your soaking lips. 

Pushing harder and harder into your deepest depths, you whimper, walls quivering around his fat length. 

"Eddie, oh God Eddie!" Your moans are unrestrained and throaty, him rubbing against the spot that makes you wobble inside. 

"You wanna come again? So fucking greedy sweetheart." You expect those words to have bite to them, but he's grinning, forehead nearly touching yours as he hikes your legs around his middle. 

You hump at him recklessly, hips thrusting against his waist as hard as you can. 

 "Oh my fucking God, fuck!!" 

You release hard, wetness squirting over Eddie's imposing length as you moan hard and loud. 

"Hey honey, we're home!" 

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. 

Your eyes flick wildly to Eddie. It doesn't help that he seems amused, chuckling a silent laugh into your skin. 

"I've, I've gone to bed, see you in the morning!" You cry out desperately, hoping to heaven, or hell, that they listen. 

"Eddie fix the cable?" You hear your mom call out up the stairway. 

"Yeah he's, he's really good with his hands!" You shout back, Eddie's body shaking with silent laughter over you, the arms caging your head trembling with barely contained amusement. 

"Great news, night honey!" 

You grip Eddie's shoulders as hard as you can as you listen for the minute changes in air. There it is, mother and father both going to bed. 

"Fuck that was close." You huff, releasing your titanesque grip on his shoulders. 

"But I'm not done sweetheart." 

He thrusts hard and deep against you, his impressive member rubbing against that sweet spot yet again.

"Eddie, you can't, fuck-"

"Oh I can. You just need to shut up." He grins quietly, holding your body close to his. 

"Oh Eddie, oh-" 

"Shhh, fuck sweetheart, shut the fuck up." He whispers urgently into the skin of your neck. Your mouth forms a perfect 'o', wiggling against him ardently. 

He releases his cum into you with a hard, shuddering thrust, throbbing and throbbing out of him. It pumps inside you, pushing you to the edge of coming yet again.

Eddie knows. 

Grinning wickedly, he latches his teeth to your nipple again and sucks hard. Moments later you feel your release explode from your core, dampening your bed sheets in the process. 

Thrumming against him, sweaty skin against sweaty skin, you manage to coax your breathing to a normal level. 

"I hope that's everything you wanted sweetheart, 'cause it aint happening again." 

Before you can protest, Eddie is leaving the warmth between your thighs and aiming for the window, so no one suspects what just happened between you two. A few sure movements and he disappears, however reluctantly, into the night. Leaving you huffing, and panting, and wanting. 

@eddiemunsons-missingnipple @eddiethefreakkmunson @munson-blurbs @roanniom @eddiemunsonfuxks @eddiesprincess86 @corrodedhawkins @eddiethefreakkmunson @indouloureux @icallhimjoey

[predestinatos]

warm enough for you | CL16 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary: charles has a special way of getting under your skin, especially when he insists on staying after the party is over. chapter 1 of an ongoing series.

tags: enemies to lovers, smut with a bit of plot, cocky!charles, bratty!yn

word count: 3.6k

minors dni ──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !! warnings & note underneath

warnings: smut, drunk (tipsy) sex, oral (f!receiving), penetration, unprotected sex.

author's note: first time attempting at writing smut and posting anything so please keep up with me. currently working on part 2.

Everyone was slowly leaving your apartment, the party reaching its natural end. Bottles were scattered across your living room, but apart from that, the flat was not as messy as expected. The party was more of a get together, given the small venue where you lived.

You were dizzy, the alcohol getting to your head and body, but conscious enough to decide that you could still clean things up before going to sleep. You waited for everyone to leave, and as you were getting ready to finally let out a deep breath you seemed to be holding the whole night, you notice someone standing, leaning against the kitchen doorframe. “Fuck you scared the shit out of me,” you start. His tall figure contrasted with the multicolored shadows of your living room, still dancing to a rhythm that was no longer there.

Then he chuckled. You knew it was him, he did not have to make a sound for you to recognize his frame, the way he always crossed his arms when he looked at you, as if in constant judgment. But if you had any doubts, that sound gave you all the certainty you needed. It was the chuckle he let out before a snarky remark. “I’m sorry, princess, I didn’t know you were so sensitive…” and there it was. The pet name used solely to annoy you, the tone that clarified his only purpose was to get under your skin.

“I would argue with you, but honestly I just want to clean up so please leave, thank you.” It was true. You enjoyed entertaining this back and forth, feeling him getting more and more irritated yet pleased with himself. But you were not in the mood for it, at least not now. Your head was softly spinning and taking your mind off of things is exactly what you need.

As you walk past him to the living room, in an attempt to showcase how you were not going to even acknowledge him, let alone join him in his games, he pushes himself off of the doorframe. “Just thought you could use some help.”

This was ridiculous, and you let out a loud, obnoxious laugh. Since when does he want to help you? Ever since the day you two met, he made it his mission to be as unhelpful as he could, rolling his eyes at everything you said, giving counter arguments to your opinions even if he agreed with them, all whilst smiling towards you with the look of pleasure over someone’s anger. You tried your best to avoid him, but it was impossible to do so, since your friend group was the same. Wherever you went, there he was, and vice versa. Eventually, obviously, you started acting the same way towards him as he did with you, and this just amused your friends even more. That was why he was here, in your apartment. He comes with the friends package, whether you like it or not.

Once again, apart from the laugh, you said nothing else. Instead, you leaned down and started picking up the empty bottles from the floor, whilst the lights kept changing colors from blue to purple to red. To your surprise, you hear him do the same, although he stumbles on himself a bit more than you. “Lightweight” you say, smirking, making your way towards the kitchen to put the bottles in a trash bag. That, and because the silence in the living room was too loud, made it too tight for both of you to fit.

As you placed the empty bottles carefully in the bag, avoiding the loud noise of glass on glass to heighten your soon to come headache, you feel a hand on your waist. His hand. His grip was tight and soft at the same time, sending shivers down your body which contrast with your annoyance. “Excuse me” he said behind you, almost whispering in your ear. His hand left your waist as fast as it got there, an indication of how he was aware you wanted more. “Was this less scary?” he asked, ironically.

You turned to look at him, almost ignoring the fact that you were trapped against the balcony as his body. You could feel his gaze on yours, and while you tried to hold it, you realized you couldn’t. The best you could do was run a hand through your hair in an attempt to disguise the tension running through your body. “You’re such an asshole” you said.

He finally looked away while smiling to himself, staring out the window. You took a second to notice the way his throat bobbed up and down, his hair was messy and careless due to the alcohol on his system which lowered his inhibitions. “You like it though.” Before you could turn away, his gaze stared at your again. His breathing was heavier than usual, the drunken smirk on his face juxtaposing with his furrowed eyebrows and darkened eyes. His face was so close, too close, for you to think straight. You looked at his lips, breaking eye contact once again, letting him win once again. “You wish” was all you could reply.

Without moving, his voice asked in defiance, “so what if I do?” You could feel his eyes exploring your body, his chest rising and falling in deep, steady, too controlled breaths. The red light in the living room shone behind him, highlighting his shape hovering above you. “That’s rich coming from you” you snickered. As much as you were feeling the tension between you both, as much as your teasing and bickering was reaching to a degree of immense repressed desire every time you two were in the same room, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. You couldn’t.

The first time you two met, he went out of his way to drunkenly inform you, at a club, that you two “would never happen” and that he “would never fuck you.” To this day you fail to understand where the comment came from, to this day you don’t understand why he hates you so much but insists on making his presence known to you.

At first he seemed confused at your comment, his eyes searching your face for an explanation, but soon enough they widen in realization. Letting out a soft laugh, Charles ran his hands through his hair, making it even messier. “You still think about that?”

It was a ridiculous question, and he knew it. It was hard to hear something like that from someone who you basically had just met, even though he was drunk when he said it. You had not even had time to consider any sort of thing happening between you two and he had already declared it impossible. It seemed unbelievable that someone could be so full of himself to the point of declaring he was not going to bed with you, even before you showed any interest.

You pushed him away softly, and he did not stop you, despite his clear disappointment. That emotion was quickly replaced by a raising of eyebrows as he saw you open the door to the fridge and taking out two cold beers, handing him one. “You don’t seem to be leaving anytime soon, so help yourself.” Was all you could say.

This behavior could be explained by the alcohol running through both of your veins already, by your tiredness over the night, or the sheer need for company you had been needing for a while. You moved towards the living room again, slouching down on the sofa, and you needed not look back to know Charles was following you.

He lifted your legs, which were resting softly on the couch, only to sit down and place them on his lap carefully, with a grin splattered across his face. His side profile revealed a certain rigidness, his jaw tight and tense, but his eyes were soft and calm. “Did you mean it, though?” you asked. You seemed to have interrupted his thoughts, because his expression was lost at your sudden break of silence in the dark room.

“What do you think?” he asked back, never willing to give you the upper hand or satisfaction of a normal conversation. You tried to distract yourself from his cold hand caressing your leg, mostly because you did not know how much of it was intentional. He seemed to be doing it so nonchalantly and carelessly, you wondered if most of it was just instinct.

You tried to calm your voice before you replied, even though the first word that came out of your mouth sounded deeper and higher at the same time, uneven and nervous. “Well- I think, according to what you said that nigh-“ you started, but couldn’t finish. He did not allow you to, interrupting you and turning his face to you for the first time since you two sat down. “I know you’re not that dense, princess.”

Even in the darkly lit room, you felt his gaze burning your skin, focusing on your lips, then your neck. Meanwhile, you stared at his hand, moving slightly up your leg, sending shivers throughout your whole body, shivers you wish he did not notice, but knew, deep down, he was aware of. He knew the effect these had on you, he knew how to please, because that was his reputation. And you hated it at first, hated that he was so confident in his skills and so utterly arrogant about them, but now it only aroused you even more. You took a big sip of your beer, in an attempt to cool your now burning body.

That seemed to remind Charles he was himself holding a bottle of beer in his own hand, because upon seeing you swallow the liquid, he looked at the hand which was holding it. Moving it in order to hold it by the neck, grinning to himself in proud arrogance, he brought it close to your skin, your body hissing in pleasure at the temperature. You closed your eyes and exhaled softly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much this seemingly simple action affected you, but also not wanting him to stop.

He whispered your name, the request for you to look at him implicit in his voice, and you complied. His movements did not stop, a slow game he seemed to be playing with you, in an attempt to see how far he could go. “You look so fucking hot,” he breathed.

Your body was aflame with lust, and so was his, you could tell. You could see him struggling to even speak clearly, to move clearly, trying his best to control his movements which threatened to unleash themselves. “Careful, Charles, you don’t want to break your promise,” you teased, as you slowly moved closer to him, both in defiance of his actions and tempting him to proceed with them.

He freed both of his hands as you placed yourself directly in front of him, sitting on his lap, feeling his erection through his jeans. “You’re making it very hard for me not to do it” he murmured. “Am I?” you asked again. You were feeling bold, enjoying how both of you were toying with the thin line between hate and desire, between forbidden and allowed. Charles merely nodded hungrily, his hands placed on your hips, caressing them softly.

Your pulse quickened at the touch, but also at his greedy and dark expression. You moved your hands towards his shirt, which you start unbuttoning slowly, revealing more and more of his skin slowly. Before you could move to the fourth button, he abruptly grabs a hold of your wrists and pins you to the sofa, underneath his frame. “Stop being such a fucking tease,” he demanded with an aggressive ardor in his voice. With that, he guided your hand which he was still holding towards his erection. You realized the agony he must be in, how his cock must be throbbing underneath those layers of fabric. You felt weak yourself, with an intoxicating need to undress, to ignite the fire that was visibly about to burst into crimson flames.

“You deserve it” you replied with a smirk. It didn’t seem to convince him, this attempt of yours at seeming stronger and unaffected by what was happening. You and him were playing a game but it was getting too real, too intense, too tempting. Letting go of your hand and getting closer to you, his lips mere inches away from yours, he placed a hand between your legs, feeling the pooling wetness growing. Your whole body shuddered at this, a moan escaping your lips and giving you away. “You’re just making it harder for yourself,” he whispered smugly, lips brushing against yours.

Desperately you pulled him in for a kiss. His kiss was filled with intoxicating craving, a groan escaping his lips at the sudden action, his hips grinding against you in frenzied movements. Breaking your kiss, his lips moved towards your neck, softly biting it and leaving wet marks as he kept going down. You undid the knot holding your short dress together, thanking yourself for the easy-access choice of wardrobe.

As he kissed your stomach and paused at your navel, looking up at you as if asking for confirmation. You looked at him and saw how he looked: disheveled and flushed, his cheeks red and messy hair. He looked absolutely mesmerizing, the mix of complete submission but demanding attitude affecting your body through a quickened pulse. You could only nod your permission, finding yourself at a loss of words. He did not hesitate to pull down your lacy underwear, leaving you exposed to him, feeling his warm breath against you. All at once, his lips were exploring your opening, followed by his tongue, moving with ravish.

You cried audibly in pleasure, your back arching against him in untamed pleasure. Unable to hold his own need for pleasure, Charles unzipped his jeans and began stroking himself. His ragged grunts made your body melt in jolts of bliss, and watching him touching himself as he ate you out sent you completely over the edge.

He raised his eyes at you as he kept savoring you, some of his hair sticking to his forehead, his gaze filled with contrasting innocence and total control over you. He pulled his lips away from you, placing himself above your frame, making you look so small in comparison to him. He hovered over you, shirt completely unbuttoned, hand still pleasuring his cock, visibly throbbing with need. You couldn’t help but lick your lips at the sight of him, face wet from your juices and his saliva, chest rising and falling incoherently. “I knew you’d love it” he breathed out.

It was admirable, really. How he still teased you and made it his mission to get under your skin, even like this. “That’s all you’ve got?” you replied, eyebrows raised, eyes half closed in unspoken defiance. “You’re jerking yourself off like a desperate teenager and I’m the one ‘loving it’?” you were testing him. Trying to see how much you could push him over the edge, annoy him, how he would take it out on you – or not.

“God you’re such a fucking brat” he hissed, holding your body with ease and turning you around, lying on your stomach. With his knees, he spread your legs apart and positioned himself between them. You felt him lower himself down, preparing yourself to be filled up, to quench the thirst growing at every passing second but- nothing was happening.

“What the fuck-“ you complained, annoyed. It was slightly embarrassing, your frustration over how long he was taking, and when you turned your head around slightly to see what was wrong, you saw that he had won. He was doing it on purpose, despite his own desperation to bury himself inside you. Amused, he chuckled bringing his hand to your back, caressing it as if to ease your pain in mocking comfort. “You have to tell me what you want, princess.”

“You can’t be serious” you hissed back. But he was, and you knew it. You had gotten this far already, and yet he would not let this go, and you did not know why he insisted so much. You had no idea how much it turned him on to see that only he could affect you like he did, to see how much control he had over you.

Rolling your eyes and doing your best at a monocordic voice, you complied “fuck me, Charles.” Yes, you were being bratty and petty, and yes, you would do anything just for him to fill the emptiness you were feeling inside you.

“You’re such a brat,” he growls as he thrusts himself into you. Your instantly arch your back in pain ad pleasure, feeling his whole body vibrating into you with untamed hunger. His hands grip your waist and force you to switch from a lying position to all fours, allowing him to access you easier. He continued his thrusts as he left bites on the back of your neck, and you filled the room with your cries.

He was not being soft or sweet about it. Charles was completely immersed in his need to have you, so much so that he could barely see anything apart from you, back arched in pleasure for him, the switching lights illuminating every curve of your body in sensuous effect. He dreamt about possessing you like this so often, thought about how good you’d feel so many times, that what was happening seemed to him unreal. He felt himself close to coming as you clenched around him, but before he could so, he pulled himself out of you.

 “Not yet,” he started. His voice was husked and lazy, a reflection of how much restraint it was taking him not to fill you up already. You were about to protest, being so close yourself, but as you turned around you found yourself mesmerized by the sight of him. His green eyes were glossy, his face completely flushed and sweaty from withhold pleasure. As you stared at him, he raised an eyebrow and gave you a half-smile. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, doing nothing to fix it, but it didn’t matter. He seemed almost shy about how you were looing at him, which was insane and ridiculous, given what you were doing, what you were.

 “I want to look at you” you said. This caused Charles’ eyes to widen in surprise, not expecting your bluntness. Even you were shocked at what you said and how demanding you sounded, but you couldn’t help yourself.

Holding one of your ankles and placing it on his shoulder, Charles entered you with unleashed violence, his gazed interlocked with yours. You thought about how pornographic the view must be for him as well, your swollen lips, some tears of pleasure running through your cheeks, and a sloppy smile plastered across your face. You feel absolutely lightheaded, almost drunk with ecstasy. “Putain, j'aime quand tu me regardes comme ça” he said, French escaping his lips as he loses all capacity to form coherent thoughts. This just made your pulse quicken, your skin bursting with fulfillment.

 His pace fastened even more, as he grunted and throbbed with how good he felt inside you. “Your cunt feels so fucking good” he kept repeating, his eyebrows furrowed as if attempting to delay his orgasm. “Charles, I- I’m gonna cum” you try telling him, between breaths and moans. “Fuck, fuck, look at me” he demanded, holding your face so it wouldn’t move away from his gaze. With that, you erupted in pleasure, completely undone beneath him, body trembling.

The view was so overwhelming, Charles couldn’t help but come as well, filling you up with fervent ardor, his body falling limply on top of yours. He remained there, his breathing uneven and erratic, just like yours.

You both lost track of time as you lay there, together. You could have fallen asleep like that, maybe you had, there was no way to tell. He felt warm and comfortable against you, and you felt so close and secure to him that neither of you dared to move.

After a while, his fingers starting drawing small, invisible designs on your still sensitive skin, causing you to giggle. For some time, you two just existed together with nothing else retraining your behavior, your own hands playing with his soft hair, a tired smile on his face.

You wake up with light filling your living room, giving you momentary blindness. The headache was done with its threat to show up, now attacking you with full force, limiting your movements and thoughts. Despite everything, you remembered the night before. Even if you did not, there was evidence that something had happened – or, better, there wasn’t any, and that’s what caught your attention.

The living room was pristine and looked untouched. You were fully dressed in some comfortable clothes, and the TV was on despite the fact that its volume was almost fully off. It seemed as if this was an ordinary day, but you knew it wasn’t.

You grabbed your phone and stared at its screen empty of any sort of texts, notifications or messages. Nothing to prove the night before. You knew it was a mistake to do so, but you couldn’t help typing out the text:

To: Charles (Asshole) Hey, got home safe? (11:33am)

All you got back was a small text underneath yours, which said “Read (11:47)”

[moonstruckme]

Thawing Out

summary: You and Sirius are in dire need of a new coach just weeks before the Olympics. Remus is a former figure skating prodigy forced to retire after a career-ending injury. Though it's not smooth skating right away, those stiff Olympic village beds are dying to be broken in.

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

cw: modern au, chronic pain

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

Remus still wakes before dark every morning. It’s automatic, an urgency and excitement that thrums through him like an old instinct, born from years of his alarm clock rousing him at this time. The rink is always at its best right now, when they’ve just finished resurfacing the ice and no one else is around. It was Remus’ favorite time to practice. 

Now, he has a new reason to get up. His hip clicks as he does it, so he starts his day with a couple of proactive painkillers. If he really wanted to be proactive he would stretch like he’s supposed to, but there’s no time and Remus doesn’t feel like it. He’ll pay his toll for the negligence later. 

The webpage of his Airbnb boasted a five-minute walk to the rink, but with his hip it takes Remus seven. It’s like an odd sort of muscle memory, an old routine from another life that feels as bitter as it does comfortable. He heads out early to give himself some cushion. The streets are empty but for bakers and baristas, the first hints of dawn tinging the sky a deep blue. When he turns a corner and the rink comes into view, the absence of his bag hanging from his shoulder is a phantom ache. 

The front doors are locked but the side one staff uses isn’t, the Zamboni driver already inside. Remus lets himself in, makes a cup of tea from the hot water dispenser they leave out when concessions are closed, plants himself on a bench, and waits. 

And waits. 

And waits. 

Remus has nearly nodded off when two pairs of shoes come bounding up to him. Well, one pair bounds. The other drags. 

“Hi, sorry we’re late.” You’re breathless and hauling a sullen-looking boy along behind you by the hand, but you manage a smile when Remus looks up at you. “I had to run over and get him out of bed. It’s good to meet you!”

You hold out your untethered hand. Remus might normally stand to take it, but he no longer feels like doing you the courtesy. Your grip is firm and warm. 

“You were supposed to be here at six,” he says. 

You wince. “I know. Sorry, Sirius is really not a morning person.” 

Remus thinks that he might put more stock into your apologies if you looked a tad more contrite. As it is, your countenance is almost cheery, a fizzy eagerness about you as you look between him and the ice like you can’t wait to get out on it. 

In stark contrast, the ill-tempered boy behind you seems not to have a clue where he is. He looks rumpled and disoriented, squinting in the rink’s fluorescent light. 

“Then why didn’t you pick another time?” Remus asks. 

He hadn’t realized he was still looking at Sirius, or that the other boy could talk, so it’s a surprise when he answers. “Wasn’t my bloody idea.” 

By the way you grin, Remus wonders if you’ve even heard the obvious bitterness in your partner’s tone, or whether it’s gone straight over your head. 

“I like the rink better early,” you explain. “No one else ever comes before the hockey practice starts at nine, and they’ll have just finished resurfacing the ice.” 

Begrudgingly, Remus nods. “I always preferred it about now, too.” 

He realizes immediately that his agreement was a mistake, because your smile grows into something far too brilliant for the early hour. Christ, what has he gotten himself into? There’s you, starry-eyed and effervescing all over the place, and your partner, who looks more inclined to fall asleep on your shoulder than put on his skates. 

And this is the pair skating duo Remus is supposed to take to the Olympics. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Watch that back foot!” Remus shouts across the ice.

Sirius doesn’t look happy about it, but he corrects the placement of his skate, transitioning smoothly into the next synced turn. 

“Good,” Remus murmurs to himself. 

Once Sirius got out on the ice and woke up a bit, he was good. He skates with the technical proficiency of someone who’s been in the sport since before they started primary school, and the intuitive artistry of someone who loves it. You’re much the same, though your virtuosity and obvious competence are consistently undercut by hesitation, the grace of your movements interrupted when you second-guess yourself. But these—technical prowess paired with devotion—are the basics of what makes a good figure skater. You’ll have to be flawless if you want to do well at the Olympics. 

And Remus has found many flaws. 

“No, no—shit!” Remus stands as you fall out of your jump again, catching yourself on your forearms. “You’re still under-rotating! Come on!” 

Sirius snarls a quick “Hey!” over his shoulder before turning his back on Remus, going to help you up. He speaks to you quietly, checking you over as you stand. Remus seethes. 

He has no clue why he’s been called out here to coach a pair. Remus doesn’t know pairs, has never been a part of one. He was a solo skater. And frankly, it makes him wary that what’s supposed to be the best skating pair in Britain has asked him, a former solo skater who’s been isolated from the figure skating community in general for the past two years, to coach them. But Remus does know figure skating. And he knows when skaters are making stupid mistakes behind their skill level. 

“What aren’t you understanding?” asks Remus as you skate back to the edge of the rink. He really wants to know. “It’s simple. You can do this.” He knows he could have. As easy as breathing, and he would kill to have the chance again. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” 

Sirius’ glare is sharp as knives. He steps off the ice before you can, positioning himself between you and Remus. Your lips purse with a knowing sort of apprehension. 

“Sirius…” 

“No, you don’t talk to her like that,” Sirius spits. “It was a tiny mistake.” 

Remus raises his eyebrows, incredulous. “I’m trying to help her! It was a giant mistake, with a simple fix. You ought to be telling her the same, unless you’re okay with your partner snapping her ankle weeks out from competition.” 

“None of that means you get to fucking yell at her! Who do you think you are?” 

“Okay—” 

“I’m her coach,” says Remus, voice rising, “and—”

“Then coach her! Maybe if you’d give some actual fucking feedback instead of just nitpicking—” 

“Okay!” Your shout cuts through the space, echoing in the empty rink and silencing the other two. “That’s enough.” 

You haul Sirius back by his shoulder. Your grip doesn’t look severe enough to move him, but he goes, stepping back to your side. His eyes never leave Remus’. 

Your own gaze jumps between both boys, that same spark he’d seen in you earlier burning with a different light. 

“Let’s call it for today,” you say firmly. “Okay? We’ll try again tomorrow.” 

Neither boy speaks, though Remus nods. It seems to be taking all of Sirius’ willpower to bite his tongue. He gets the impression it isn’t something he succeeds at often, so Remus isn’t ashamed to say that it brings him a perverse sort of joy to see it now. His tiny bit of smugness fizzles out, though, when your eyes land on him. There’s something desolate in your expression that’s a salient deviation from how you’d looked at him before. Remus has the sinking feeling that he’s disappointed you. It’s more distressing than he can account for. 

“We’ll be here on time tomorrow,” you say in that same steady tone. “And my jump, I’ll work on it.” 

Remus nods again. You return it, and when you turn to leave, you drag Sirius after you by his shirtsleeve, picking up your bags along your way. Remus’ mouth feels dry. His lips are chapped, his fingertips hurt from the cold, and the sight of your skates sinking into the rubbery floor makes his hip ache terribly. 

It’s only once you’re nearly out of earshot that he manages to mumble, “Thank you.”