#unedited as ever we die like men

[serpentineego]

Ever Since the Fall

Chapter 17 Part II Sneak Peak:

A million thoughts flew through his mind as the death of Ron played out in slow motion in front of Theo. He had never seen anyone do such a grotesque thing to another person with magic before; yet he couldn’t look away. Hermione had not drawn her wand once since their arrival and was cursing the redhead from the inside without one. The amount of sheer power it took to do such a thing was simply unheard of, and it made Theo begin to second-guess if he really knew who, or what, Hermione Granger was. She possessed a power that seemed to bend the rules of magic as he knew them; there was no way she should be able to do what she was doing, yet here she was, doing it.

[thecapricunt1616]

Damiana (c.b. oneshot)

𝓢𝓷𝓲𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓽 (𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓑𝓣𝓒): “No. Just stay right like this. I can play with you, right?” He kissed your jaw gently, nipping at the sensitive part near your ear and soothing the sting with his tongue in a way that made you whine. “Yes. But I wanna feel good too” you said, voice needy already. It was quite embarrassing the effect he so easily had on you, he barely even had to try.  “Oh of course princess, y’think I’d neglect my favorite toy? When have I ever left you without makin’ sure y’feel good mm?” He kissed the base your neck right at the top of your spine, spreading your thighs with his knee, your bodies flush together. 

♡ O/S Inspo: Damiana (otherwise known as loveseed) is used to increase the intensity of sexual magick, increase magical energy, divination, dreams/clairvoyance, enhance pleasure and increase psychic abilities.

♡ Summary: You & Carmy wake up extra early on your day off for some reason, so he knows a good way to put you both back to sleep.

♡ W/C: 1,737

♡ Posted Date: 04/18/2024

♡ A/N: OMG Thank you all for 100 followers what the actual heck!!! I want to give each and every one of you a forehead smoochin, thank you so much for hanging out with me and supporting my work! As per usual my requests are alwayyys open! For Carmy x Reader & Carmy x Sydney I woke up today at the asscrack of dawn for no reason at all, and was hit with a strike of writing lightning!! Just in time for my 100 follower celebration :D!!! I hope you enjoy this smutty smutty goodness. Sidenote - Taylor is releasing an album tomorrow so I am bouncing off the walls of my iron cage and gnawing at the bars I'M SO READY!!!! ANYWAYS enjoy my friends <3

♡ Warnings for BTC: Unedited (we die like men!!!)  Breeding kink, swearing, smut smut smut, fluffy needy Carmy, established relationship NO USE OF Y/N

➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡

➵ 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 / 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵 ♡

Early mornings with Carmy were your favorite. Well - the early mornings that he wasn’t jumping in the shower even before the sun had kissed the horizon. But these mornings. 

You woke up this morning at 4:52 - it was Sunday, your favorite day. Carmy & your day. The Bear was closed, the single day a week that it was - so it meant your loving, wonderful husband could stay in bed with you until 3 if he wanted.  

He’d told you many times before if you woke before him for some reason on your sacred together day, to wake him because he didn’t want to spend a moment without you - but for now, you watch. 

It wasn’t often you saw your beloved man like this, fully at peace. Well, other then when he fucked you - but while awake he never fully looked this peaceful. 

You carefully brushed his messy curls off of his forehead, dragging your nails across his scalp gently. You just couldn’t help it, you knew how much he loved it. 

‘Mmm?’ He grumbled, his voice thick and low, husky with sleep. 

“Sorry” you whispered, smiling a bit. You couldn’t help but think of a grizzly bear when he’d make noises like that. While he was in this half asleep - half awake state, he would grunt and huff and grumble, especially on Sundays. 

Just like any other day, his internal clock was on time - and today - he has 0 alarms set. 

“No ‘s fine been up” he said softly. 

You kissed his forehead tenderly, the faintest bit of mint sticking to his breath from last night when he brushed his teeth before practically crawling to bed since he was so exhausted. 

“Bear- it’s Sunday- go to sleep” you said, gently rubbing over his bare chest with your soft palm. 

“Damn birds” he grumbled, causing you to giggle. 

“Y’know it’s the boys, actually? Because the uh…the moms. They go out before the sun, to find breakfast. And the dads are - well. Scientists theorize - that the dads are calling the moms back to the nest, like an alarm the kids are up and hungry” you said softly. 

He hums in interest, rolling on his side with his eyes still closed and gently kissing down your neck as you spoke 

“All I heard was a really good reason we don’t have kids yet” he said, voice deep and thick with sleep. 

“Yeah yeah ok Mr ‘im gonna make you a mom’ “ you imitated his horny raspy voice and he chuckled, snaking his hand under your shirt and rubbing over your stomach gently 

“I am as soon as you take this fuckin thing outta y’r arm” he gently bites down on the inside of your bicep where your implant was, sucking gently, causing you to laugh. 

“I swear to god - your hormones Carm, it's like you’re ovulating or something” you teased and he snorts a laugh into your skin 

“Not my fault you make me horny in the morning” he reached up, palming your breast and squeezing gently 

“You were horny before you woke up fucker, I feel you” you teased, wiggling into his bulge that was pressing into your ass firmly. 

He moaned softly, rolling his hips into yours “Y’gonna help me out or do I have to go shower?” He teased with a grin. 

You roll your eyes playfully “gonna make me work before the sun is even fully in the sky?” You asked and he chuckled a bit 

“No. Just stay right like this. I can play with you, right?” He kissed your jaw gently, nipping at the sensitive part near your ear and soothing the sting with his tongue in a way that made you whine. 

“Yes. But I wanna feel good too” you said, voice needy already. It was quite embarrassing the effect he so easily had on you, he barely even had to try. 

“Oh of course princess, y’think I’d neglect my favorite toy? When have I ever left you without makin’ sure y’feel good mm?” He kissed the base your neck right at the top of your spine, spreading your thighs with his knee, your bodies flush together. 

“Well there was that one time-“ you teased as he pulled his cock out 

“Oh the one time I punished you f’r bein’ a brat.” He squeezed your hip and trailed his hand around your stomach, rubbing gently before dipping his fingers in your panties, finding your clit and humming in satisfaction when you whine hotly, arching into his frame further. 

“Cause you were wearing those slutty gray sweatpants and every bitch in the grocery store was staring at your dick print” you counter, causing him to chuckle, the vibration coursing through you since you were flush to him like one being.

“mmmm and is that why you’re so wet, cause you’re thinkin’ about me wearing something slutty?” He teased rubbing slow firm circles in the way that made you writhe and squirm. 

“Stop teasing before you nut all over my back” you smirk and he gasps, feigning offense. 

“Someone is mouthy this morning” he moved the fabric to the left, rubbing his thick cock over your folds easily with your slick aiding him, moaning softly. 

“Mmmm thank you” you rest your head back on his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. “Feels soooo nice.” You mumble as he slowly rolls his hips, the head of his cock teasing your clit just enough. 

It wasn’t a full rub, not enough to make you cum for a while, but more a pleasant gentle massage. You felt his hand back on your stomach, rubbing short strokes up and down as he pants, in pure quiet bliss. That was something you adored about him-  whenever you were in public, he was shy, quiet. So quiet. But when you were alone together- the man didn’t have an off switch. 

Neither did you, but yours didn’t shut off in public, either. You did enough talking for the both of you, it was what drew him to you. The only time you made him more quiet, was when he was playing with you this way in the morning. You were pretty sure it was the time, his brain hadn’t fully woken yet - but he had one thought bouncing around like a DVD video logo his cock was achingly hard. 

“I’m probably gonna fall asleep but you’ll wake me right?” You asked and all you got in response was a breathy ‘mmhmm’ 

He gently bit down on your neck, then your shoulder, then your arm, causing you to giggle and look back at him as well as you could “you wanna suck on it. Don’t you.” You teased, referring to your implant. 

Another whiny ‘mmhmm’ and he rolls his hips a bit harder, causing you to moan as his tip ruts over your clit firmer 

“So sweet.” You smiled lazily, closing your eyes once more and humming “I love this Bear y’make me feel so good” you said softly and he whimpers 

“Fuckin’ hell y’too sweet. Lettin’ me play with you like this sweetheart, the sweetest girl” he praises, pushing the hair from your messy sleep off your forehead and kissing your temple. 

“Cus’ y’the best husband” you laced your fingers together and held your hands over your stomach. 

“Mmmm y’know I fuckin love hearin’ y’say that, right?” He rasps, hips getting sloppier and rougher as he got closer to his high. 

“I do every time I say my husband on the phone you blush. It's the cutest thing that you’re still feelin’ like we’re on our honeymoon 2 whole years later” you kissed his hand sweetly. 

“Cause I’m so fuckin’ lucky. Can’t fuckin’ believe y’agreed to take my last name babe. The way you say our last name is so fuckin pretty” he said, kissing your shoulder gently

“I feel so fancy with it. Mrs.Berzatto. Berzatto is so much cooler then my maiden name.” you said 

“Fuckin hell sweetheart im so close can I please cum in you?” He begged, his voice needy and wanting

“Of course Bear Y’don’t need to ask” you said and he released your hand, placing his palm at the base of your abdomen and slipping in, filling you to the hilt. 

You whimper, back arching slightly “mmm feel’so full” you mutter, gasping as he started a quick snap of his hips, jaw falling slack. 

“It’s so fuckin hot that I can feel myself fuck you” he pressed his palm firmer into your abdomen, angling himself in a way to both feel himself better, but also slide perfectly against your gspot 

“Yeah y’get so deep bear. Y’gonna fill me up? Y’gonna knock me up? Mmm?” You whine, your own orgasm approaching fast 

“Fuck yeah I am princess sh-iiit. Fuck gonna make y’a fuckin mom” he grunts, spreading your legs further and reaching down to rub your clit making you clench around him. 

He whimpers hips stuttering as he ruts into you, completely bottoming out trying to get as deep as he can as he empty’s his huge load into you, breathing hard and remaining still inside of you while he rubs your clit in quicker circles. 

He could tell you were on the edge because of the way you were clenching and unclenching around his now overstimulated cock, he wanted to get you there so he could remain inside of you for a while. 

“That’s it, my good girl. Thank you Angel, you took me so well. Y’can always handle whatever I give you it’s so fuckin hot.  Now I’m gonna make sure y’re all taken care of, mmm? Just like I promised” he said softly into the shell of your ear before kissing your head gently. 

“I’m cumming. I’m fucking cumming - oh- fuck-“ you whine, thighs shaking as some of your mixed arousal drips down his balls to his thigh. 

“Gooood. Tha’s it, good girl” he praised, slowing his fingers to a slow rub as he worked you down. 

“Mmm that was so nice Carmy” you hummed, looking back and kissing his lips lovingly. 

“So nice princess. Thank y’for letting me” he kissed the tip of your nose gently “can I stay in a little longer” he kissed your jaw gently 

“Course- I was actually gonna ask you to. I like falling asleep like this” you laced your fingers together holding your interlocked hands over your belly.  “Y’so fuckin perfect” he mumbled into the skin of your neck.

[elfy-elf-imagines]

To Meet Under the Stars | Thranduil

▹ Pairing: Thranduil x Elf!Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff

▹ Words: ~3k

▹ Summary: In light of the stars, Thranduil finds himself entirely enchanted by a mysterious masked woman.

▹ Notes: I love masquerade balls, that is all. Unedited because we die as men.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The light of starlight was something sacred to the elves. 

In the times of old, before the moon and sun had been created, Varda placed the stars in the sky, illuminating the world for the elves to see. For all other races, stars were just light that guided their way at night, but they were so much more for the elves. They held the promise of life unsullied by the evil of Morgoth. A beautiful display of glistening diamonds that held the light of creation. To honor the stars was to honor Varda herself.

Under the canopy of stars, the wood elves of Eryn Galen celebrated the first night of the autumn equinox. The moon was full and high in the sky as lords, ladies, and commoners alike gathered for the party. The echo of minstrels ensured there would be no corner of the kingdom not lit with joy. Dragonflies darted across ponds, and crickets hid in the forest, chirping to the beat of the lute. There were festivities all throughout the kingdom, but the main attraction was the masquerade ball held within the palace of King Thranduil. Only guests of high esteem were invited to dance under the lush canopy in the company of the royal family. 

And there you were, with summer in your hair and winter in your eyes. Dancing through the crowd, illuminated in the silver light of the moon, you were the vision of a goddess. A soft halo shone upon your silver-gold hair, pinned in an updo with stray pieces that cascaded down your back. Flowers in purple, blue, and silver hues were placed upon your head like a crown, creating the silhouette of a queen. A silver mask encrusted with enough jewels that it glittered under the light concealed the top half of your face, two holes allowing your eyes to glow in the dark. A grin born of pure ecstasy was outlined by the lipstick on your lips. 

No one could recall who you were nor when you’d arrived at the celebration. It was as if you were always there, lying in wait and dancing with the ghosts of the open-roof ballroom. A laugh rivaling the minstrels' songs hung in the air where you stood and followed your every sweeping move. 

From the high table, with a glass of wine precariously hanging in his hand, Thranduil watched you. He couldn’t help it. It was as if you were weaving some sort of spell, casting it upon all who watched, paralyzed by your song and enraptured by your dance. You were beautiful, quick as a whip, and light as a feather. Each step seemed calculated and purposeful, yet so loose it could only be natural.

Thranduil couldn’t recall ever meeting you, so certain he’d know your laugh even if he couldn’t see your face. His advisors tried to make idle conversation as Legolas spent his time with the other members of the guard, drinking and laughing. Thranduil couldn’t be bothered to even pretend to listen, intently focused on the way your summer blue dress flowed like water around you. It nearly felt sacrilegious to directly look at something so beautiful, like staring at the face of Varda herself. 

“It is a beautiful--” his advisor beside him began to speak, talking so slowly it made Thranduil’s lips curl in slight irritation that was hidden by the goblet he held. He watched as you threw your head back in laughter, finding amusement in whatever the elf lord you were speaking with said. It took all his willpower not to roll his eyes as he drank more sweet wine. 

The elf lord offered you his hand, which you gracefully accepted. Instead of dancing through the crowds alone, you twirled in the arms of another man. It made Thranduil’s stomach turn in a way it hadn’t for centuries. 

You and the elf lord you danced with would flit in and out of his vision, yet the merriment never left your expression, and when the face of your dance partner would face Thranduil, he could see just how enchanted the man was by you. His grip on the goblet tightened, knuckles turning white. 

The song seemed endless, drawing out the end of it for as long as possible. Part of Thranduil was tempted to bark at the minstrels to begin a new one in hopes you would once again be left alone, but he didn’t. A king needed to maintain his composure, even if everything inside was screaming not to. It seemed silly to be so taken by a woman whose face he couldn’t even see. 

“Have you tried one of these cakes yet? They’re quite--” 

“Galion.” Thranduil interrupted the man previously speaking, gaining the attention of his butler. The advisor that had been interrupted scowled yet said nothing else as Galion stepped closer to Thranduil. 

“Yes, my king.”

Thranduil pointed at you, Galion’s eyes following his finger. “Who is that?”

His eyes narrowed as Galion leaned closer to try and get a better look at you. Yet not a glint of recognition twinkled in his eyes. Did anyone here know who you were?

“I’m afraid I am unfamiliar with who she is. Would you like me to fetch her, my king?” Galion asked, his attention returned to Thranduil, whose eyes furrowed in mild annoyance. 

“That will not be necessary, Galion.” He waved his hand, and Galion returned to his previous seat. It would be easy to bring you to him, he was the king, after all, but he didn’t want your meeting with him to seem forced upon you. He already had enough of a reputation as a cold, unfeeling man; it wouldn’t do any good to give you a reason to believe them. 

The song ended, and you stepped away from your partner, lowering into a curtsey that he returned with a bow. Thranduil stood, the legs of his chair scraping on the floor; he didn’t bother giving a weak excuse for his exit. If he doesn't act soon, you might slip from his fingers. Thranduil took long strides down the platform and disappeared into the sea of elves. 

He pushed his way through the crowd, most too lost in the magic of the music to pay their king any mind. He could see you, dancing alone with your eyes shut. The grin on your face was wide, never wavering in the slightest. The distance separating him from you was dwindling, the anticipation making his palm sweaty. The crowd parted, and he could’ve pulled you into his arms if he wanted to. 

But as he opened his mouth, you disappeared into the crowd, so preoccupied you never saw him coming. Thranduil’s eyes narrowed, his misty eyes searching the crowd for you, but you were nowhere to be seen. Had you merely been a figment of his imagination conjured by the trickster spirits rumored to hide in his forest? Perhaps you had been, but Thranduil was determined to comb through the crowd hoping to see you again.

Then, a flit of blue brightened the corner of his eye. He turned, seeing you dart from dance partner to dance partner, now on the other end of the room. A cat-like grin appeared on the edges of his mouth; he’d found you. Once more, he pushed through the crowd, not moving his eyes from you for one second, afraid you’d disappear without a trace if he did.

The crowd would pulse, and you would get closer to him before suddenly spreading out towards the treeline. Thranduil would get close enough to smell your floral perfume, but you'd dart in another direction before he could take your delicate hands in his. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was on purpose; you probably hadn’t even noticed him. Your eyes never locked with his that never strayed from you.

But the gods seemed to smile upon him that night, and as the crowd came closer, Thranduil snatched your hand. Your body twisted to face him, the grin on your face never faltering. The perfume you wore was distinctly jasmine, vanilla, and something sweeter, tantalizing enough to bring him closer to you. His hand was rough in comparison to yours, much larger too. 

“May I have this dance, my lady?” His voice was velvet smooth. Thranduil stood out like a sore thumb as the only one in the crowd without a mask. 

“You may, my king,” you curtsied before placing your other hand on his shoulder as his hand found its place on your waist. Wasting no time, the two of you twisted and spun through the crowd in an airy waltz. You had the grace of a swan, maintaining a poised elegance with a child-like grin. Thranduil felt himself falling deeper into whatever spell you had cast. 

A witch, that’s what you had to be. There was no other explanation for the hammering of his heart or the delight your touch elicited. 

One step back, one step forward, one to the side, and repeat. Another spin, extra flourish added for flavor, and the movements continued. Neither of you spoke, eye to eye, unable to look away from one another. Thranduil found himself counting the flecks in your eyes, convinced they held a thousand little stars in them. 

Perhaps you hadn’t been an illusion placed to taunt him but a gift from the Valar themselves. 

All too soon, the song ended, and the dance was finished. As he watched you do before, you stepped back from Thranduil and lowered into a sweeping curtsey. He wanted to ask you to stay with him, not only for the night but the rest of eternity, but he found himself tongue-tied.

“It was an honor to dance with you, my king.” Your voice was soft and warm, like the spiced tea he would drink before bed. He wanted your name, to lift the mask you wore and lay his eyes upon your face entirely. He needed to see the face of the woman that would surely haunt his every dream. 

Thranduil blinked, and in the brief time, his eyes weren’t on you, you’d disappeared. He half expected for there to be stardust left where your feet had been, but the only proof you’d existed was the imprint of your heels in the grass. His eyes scanned the crowd, twisting his body and craning his head, yet you were nowhere to be seen. But this time, instead of seeing flashes of your dress or silver hair, you were nowhere to be seen. You’d disappeared entirely.

Thranduil stood in the crowd a moment longer, hoping for a glimpse of you before deciding to return to his seat at the table. Perhaps from the high crowd, he could ascertain where you were. Thranduil returned to his seat, acting as if he hadn’t suddenly rushed from the table to dance with you, ignoring the questioning glances from his advisors. His goblet of wine in hand, eyes on the crowd, Thranduil sunk into the music and lost himself in thought. All of them were plagued by you. 

And there he stayed as the hours ticked by, seemingly in a trance. No one at the table bothered to strike up a conversation with Thranduil anymore; it was like trying to converse with a brick wall. So they settled in silence, occasionally remarking about the party with the other guests. 

“My king,” Galion returned to his side. “The lady you danced with has stepped away to the gardens.” Galion’s tone was even as if he were merely commenting on the weather. Thranduil side-eyed him, noticing the tinge of mirth on Galion’s smile. Thranduil tilted his head to the side, then slowly nodded. 

“Perhaps I should ensure our guest is enjoying the festivities.” 

Thranduil stepped away from the table and followed the path toward the garden’s you just slipped into. He took long strides to reunite with you sooner. This time he was determined to get your name and to peek beneath the mask you wore. 

When he finally stepped into the garden, he saw your back turned to him, fingers dipped in the fountain's water. Your posture was relaxed, hair loose and flowing, no longer pinned in the updo it once was. It flowed like liquid silver, furthering his conspiracy that you were a celestial being born of the gods. Precariously hanging in your hand was the mask you’d been wearing, thumbs rubbing against the ribbon that tied it in your hair. The minstrels were now a distant hum, the flowing water, and the chirp of crickets the only song in the gardens.

He stopped a few steps from you, trying to find the words to say. It’d been so long since he’d been made to feel like a shy elfling, nervous about approaching his first crush. A king should be dignified and confident, but he felt all of that crumble in your presence. 

Your ears twitched as Thranduil shifted in his spot, head raising at the sudden intrusion. Slowly, you turned, unsure who to expect would intrude upon your solitude. But of all the people you imagined stepping into the garden, you never anticipated it would be the king. He nearly seemed awkward and unsure in his place, fingers smoothing wrinkles on his robes that weren’t there. 

Immediately you lowered into a curtsey, but the king didn’t acknowledge the movement. His eyes were wide and mouth slightly agape as he stared at you. As he looked upon your face, this must’ve been how the first elf to gaze upon the stars felt. The curves and lines of your face were soft and delicate, the vision of beauty. Your eyes seemed even brighter in the dim lighting, an unsure, shy smile curling on your lips.

“My king.”

He remained silent, too wonderstruck to speak. 

“If you require to be alone, I can--” You began to walk towards the exit, but as you passed Thranduil, his hand reached out and caught your arm. You turned to face him, uncertain. Thranduil’s hand trailed down your arm and intertwined with yours, a soft smile on his lips.

“Of all the people who desire my presence, yours is the one I desire most.”

You swallowed thickly, your mouth suddenly dry. You’d been close to the king only hours ago, sharing a dance with him. Yet the privacy of the gardens and the sweetness of his words, it all felt much more intimate. 

“Then I shall stay.”

Thranduil’s grin widened as he guided you further into the gardens. The flowers were vibrant and lush, a true testament to the skills of the elves. A canopy of trees diffused the moon's light, reflecting off the fountain and casting a spotlight on you. 

“I have a confession.” Thranduil suddenly stopped, eyes intently watching your face, noticing how your lips slightly parted and your eyes glowed with curiosity. “I have found myself quite enchanted with you, my lady. It seems foolish, not knowing your face until this moment and not having your name.”

“It’s Y/N, my king.” You interrupted, a charming smile curling your lips. The hammer of your heart matched the tempo with Thranduil’s. 

“Y/N.” He muttered your name quietly, your name on his lips making your stomach curl. Of all the ways you anticipated this night's end, strolling the garden with the king was not what you could’ve predicted in your wildest dreams.

“Y/N. If I may be so bold, I would like for this to not be the last time we meet. I desire more of your company.” 

Thranduil stepped closer, the heat he radiated warming your chilled skin. Gossebumnps followed where his hands touched, a shiver rushing down your spine. Subtly you pinched the back of your leg, convinced this was nothing more than a dream. Yet you didn’t wake; this moment was real. 

“If I may speak freely, my king?”

Thranduil nodded his head. “Please, you may call me Thranduil. No need for such formalities.”

You tipped your head at him as the smile on your face brightened. 

“If I may speak freely, Thranduil.” You corrected, with an almost mischievous lilt to your voice. “I would much desire more of your company as well. I have heard many rumors of your cold and detached demeanor. I’ve heard of how harsh you can be, yet I have seen nothing of that.”

“I’m glad the whispers of the court haven’t scared you away, my lady.” 

The smile on your face curled into a teasing smirk, eyes illuminating. “You’ll find it’ll take more than malicious rumors to scare me away.”

Thranduil's finger twirled around a lock of hair that framed your face. He seemed relaxed and more at ease than you'd have imagined. 

"A strong will and a fair face, Varda herself must've crafted you."  

His words made your face flush red, so deep it was seen in the dim lighting of the garden. 

"Pretty words you speak, my king; I'm eager to learn if your words match your heart." 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Tags: @jmablurry | @lunatichaotiche | @aearonnin | @emiliessketches | @vibratingbones | @moony-artnstuff | @ranhanabi777 | @kenobiguacamole | @ceinelee | @thranduil | @samnblack | @abbiesthings | @Strangebananabatranch | @bitter--fruit | @keijibum | @lifestylesleep | @themerriweathermage | @im-a-muggleborn | @sweetheart-syndrome | @boyruins | @AwkwardBecomesYou | @delyeceamaitare

[aemondsquill]

Forgive Me, My Lady, For I Have Sinned

Aemond Targaryen × Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Aemond is mean to his wife. Groveling ensues.

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, terrible smut, oral (f receiving), Aemond is a rascal, slight mean!aemond, unedited we die like men A/N: heyyyy pookies thank you for being so patient! This is mostly just me practicing how to write smut since im not super familiar with it so just lmk what yall think

It was rare for Aemond to be absent from your shared chambers. Ever since your betrothal, the two of you would sneak through the winding halls of the Red Keep in search of each other’s warmth. It was scandalous, of course, but the Prince simply could not quell his growing passion for you, his lovely little woman. At first, he dreaded the thought of marriage—seeing how his mother was often discarded in favor of a dead woman by his ever-decaying father. It wasn’t until his lone violet eye landed upon your sweet face at the feast celebrating the announcement of your impending nuptials did Aemond feel a surge of protectiveness over you. He couldn’t help the flush of shyness that reddened his cheeks when you shared a sweet smile with him.

The several moons into your marriage had been utterly blissful. Aemond was attentive, often finding himself bending to your every command. In private, he was affectionate; always finding some way to hold or touch your warm skin or sharing tender kisses that left you both breathless and yearning for more. He often threatened lords who would boldly stare at your figure from afar, but he shielded his cruelty from you, not wanting to frighten his little wife. Nearly every night Aemond found himself nestled between your supple thighs, showing you just how much he worshipped you—licking and nuzzling your clit with his aquiline nose, hardened from the sweet moans and whimpers that fell from your lips. The thought of you being only his to please and breed made him feel nearly rabid from arousal—like a dragon with the scent of blood.

Married life seemed to agree with Aemond.

With war looming on the horizon, Aemond felt the increasing pressure beginning to chip away at his sanity. Long, torturous hours were spent locked away in the Small Council chambers and away from your cunt. This particular evening, Aemond was battling a searing ache behind his scarred socket, allowing him to only hear bits and pieces of various war tactics they could deploy against the Blacks. If he had to hear Tyland Lannister bitch about the dwindling funds that come with the cost of war he was going to smash his head in until his pretty golden locks are stained red.

With delicate fingers, Aemond applies pressure to his brow, desperate for any amount of relief.

His savior came in the unlikely form of his brother, the rightful King Aegon II.

“This meeting is adjourned, for fuck’s sake my cups have run dry and I’m in need of a whore.” Aemond rolled his eye at his brother’s vulgarity, but was thankful none-the-less. The only thing he wanted was to crawl into his feather bed and feel his little wife’s warmth, but alas, only he could be so unlucky. The ending of this meeting only means that he has to return to his study and attend to more sensitive matters of the Crown, but he was one step closer to being with his wife.

The fire flickering in the hearth cast long shadows in his study, where he sat behind a large desk made of darkened wood. Countless letters adorned with ornate wax seals littered and ink stained his pale fingers as he continued a correspondence with whatever small house that needed placating, the throbbing in his temples only increasing tenfold.  

Sleep seemed to evade you with the absence of your husband, the empty bed next to you growing cold from his desertion. The chill from the flagstones caused you to jolt as you stood up from your bed. You plucked your dark blue silken robe from the plush settee and pulled it onto your frame, tying it at the waist. Determined to catch at least a glimpse of your husband, you opened the heavy oaken door of your chamber and began your search.

The Small Council chamber and library were both empty. Your heart sank a little in disappointment when the thought of giving up crossed your mind.

That was until you spied a glowing light coming from beneath the door to his study. Giddiness tickled the inside of your chest as you entered through the portal and found your dearest Aemond seated behind his unkempt desk.

His eyepatch lay discarded amongst the piles of parchments and his long, elegant hair tussled from his growing frustration, yet he remained just as beautiful as ever. The site nearly steals the breath from your chest.

He did not look up, seemingly deep in thought.

“Husband? Are you nearly finished? I haven’t seen you since we broke our fast and I miss you dearly.” He looked up at the sound of his little wife and sighed heavily before shaking his head tiredly. “Perhaps you would benefit from a bit of rest?”

The inquiry was innocent enough, but Aemond could no longer bite his tongue as the last bit of his withering patience was fractured. He stood suddenly, looking down at you grasped your jaw in a firm grip, not enough to hurt, but enough to startle you.

“Listen to me, Y/N,” he sneered, “unlike you, I have more responsibilities than just being a broodmare, so I would greatly appreciate it if you refrained from parading yourself around like a common whore and return to my chambers.”

The cruelty he tried so hard to protect you from spilled from his lips so easily. Your eyes watered as you gasped at his words.

“You do not mean that, my love” you whimpered, tears cascading down your cheeks. You gently wrapped your fingers around his wrist, urging him to release you.

He only pulled you closer so he could growl into your ear, “do you wish to tempt the entirety of the Keep, hm? Should I allow every knight to have their turn with you? Would that sate your desires, wife?” His words dripped with a venom he had never used with you before.

You felt your heart crack painfully as you looked up at him with wide doe-like eyes that shined with unshed tears.

The sight of your anguish seemed to pull him out of the rage that had blinded him so and he released you suddenly. Guilt swarmed his veins and he felt sick that he had been the cause of your pain.

You scrambled away from him, holding a hand over your lips to stifle your cries.

Aemond wished for Vhagar to devour him where he stood. Tears of frustration burned his eye.

You stumbled through the halls, blindly searching for your chambers.

Once in the safety of your room, you collapsed on the settee, sobs wracking your body.

Your chambers were cold and lonely when you were finally lulled into a dreamless sleep.

You sent your handmaids away after they dressed you in a scarlet gown the next morning. You didn’t have to stomach to break your fast as the words from last night seared themselves into your memory. The ache that bloomed behind your breast had yet to subside. Your eyes were red and tender to the touch.

The words from your favorite tome seemed to melt together and you sighed before placing it at your side, content with just watching the flames dance against the stone hearth.

The heavy door to your chamber creaked open. Annoyance ebbed inside you.

“I already told you I do not wish to break my fast,” turning around you were met Aemond looming in the doorway. His eye was wide and shimmered with emotion.

No words were said as he approached cautiously, as if afraid of your wrath.

You only looked down at your hands, which were nervously twisting in your lap.

The proud Dragon Prince of the Seven Kingdoms fell to his knees, resting his head against your thighs. You couldn’t help but tremble in his presence, whether from fear that he would lash out again or from the desire you still had for him.

His warm hands enveloped yours as he pressed delicate kisses to your fingers, the tenderness causing your chest throb in sadness.

After a moment, he lifted his head and met your watery gaze with his own. Slowly, his fingers slipped around your ankle before gently wandering up your calf, lifting the ornate hem of your dress in the process.

Your breath caught in your throat as he reached your knee. You placed your hand on his suddenly, intending to stop him from advancing, but you helplessly felt yourself guide him closer to where you needed him.

Once your thighs were adequately exposed, he pressed spongy kisses to the soft flesh. You could feel the heat of arousal weigh heavily in your lower belly, your breathing coming out as soft pants.

Aemond intently watched your face contort in need as his kisses and suckling traveled towards your slickened cunt.

His leather-clad arms circled around your hips and pulled you closer towards to edge.

He licked a fat stripe against your dripping cunt and you gasped, fingers weaving through his silver locks.

Aemond moaned at your sweet taste, the vibration nearly overwhelming your little pearl. His tongue was soft against you, almost gentle as he continued to devour you.

Your arousal leaked onto the cushions below you as your mouth fell open, his lips circled tightly over your pearl, suckling gently.

Two slender fingers prodded against your drenched hole before fulling sliding in. The feeling of being stuffed with Aemond’s fingers nearly sent you over the edge. His fingers stroked your walls in search of the rough patch that made you see stars.

You moaned and clenched around him as he massaged the spot in a come hither movement. You couldn’t help but grind your hips, hurdling towards your peak at an unrelenting pace. Sweat beaded at your hairline and your eyes nearly rolled back into your head at the intense pleasure only Aemond could give you.

His eye was still trained on you in awe, as if you were a goddess and he a devout follower. In a sense it was true. He would worship the ground you walked on had you commanded him to.

“Cum against my lips, little wife, let me taste you.” His voice was husky with lust and you whined as he sped up the thrusting of his fingers. Aemond’s chin shined from your arousal.

The sight of him desperately lapping against your cunt sent you over the edge, waves of pleasure rolling through you as you screamed his name.

Your vision returned as your peak began to subside, your panting slowing down. You sagged against the cushions, feeling boneless.

“Give me one more, my love,” Aemond pleaded before prodding at your pearly with the tip of his tongue.

You writhed against him, completely overstimulated.

“I-I can’t…” you whined, “ ‘s too much.”

His violet eye darkened, your pleas only spurring him on as dove back in to devour your cunt. Your moans only grew louder as you tried to push his head away, the overwhelming sensation bringing tears to your eyes.

For a moment he allowed to you catch your breath as he spoke.

“I’m going to lick your cunt until you forget the insults I cast against you in my anger. I need you to see how I wish to worship you”, he pressed a kiss against your fluttering cunt, causing you to jolt.

“My sweet wife, you did not deserve my wrath.”

He planted another kiss against your pearl.

“I kneel before you and beg your forgiveness.”

A harsh suck caused you to yelp.

His words touched you. Your gentle, sweet Aemond had returned.

He kitten-licked your pearl unit you felt the familiar coil tighten in your belly, your second peak rapidly approaching. You moaned and wept at the sensations of his lips against you, lust clouding your thoughts. 

Your second peak nearly fractured your mind as white-hot bliss buzzed through your entire being, the only thing tethering you to reality was your grip on Aemond’s hair.

Aemond watched his beautiful little wife in fascination as your peak subsided.

Silence enveloped the room once more as you attempted to recover from your husband’s groveling.

Finally, clarity reached you and you were able to consider his words. While you were deep in thought, Aemond smoothed down your dress, but remained kneeling in front of you.

“I cannot find it within myself to forget the vile words you said to me. You hurt me greatly.”

Aemond’s eye widened, but he understood.

“I just need time. I love you deeply and I appreciate your apologies thus far,” you couldn’t help but smirk at your last words. Amusement sparkled in Aemond’s eye.

“Allow me to apologize once more, little wife,” his words were coated in lust. He stood and took your hand gently, before leading you to your shared bed.

[thursdaygxrls]

thin ice — one

part one | part two | part three

summary — she didn’t handle the sports section of the campus newspaper, but apparently, she did this week. interviewing hockey players was easy, though—unless one of those players happened to be peter parker.

pairing — uni hockey player!peter parker x fem!journalist!reader

disclaimers — i don’t own peter parker. and pls don't come for me with the accuracy of this situation i'm begging

warnings — reader is referred to as ‘kitty’ (there’s a reason, i promise), slight one sided enemies to lovers, sewer slide jokes (very briefly), possible maybe slightly ooc, and very unedited

“You’re joking. You’re pulling the biggest prank I’ve ever seen, you are the impractical joker,” she huffs out, her eyes wide as furiously clicks her mouse, “I’m gonna die. I’m writing the note tonight—farewell, my lovely!”

“Woah, okay,” MJ, her roommate, had only just entered the room when she was bombarded with a sudden rant. She didn’t even have time to take down her ponytail of thin, red braids before her eardrums were assaulted.

“I mean it.” Spinning her chair, she meets MJ’s eyes.

“I literally just got here,” MJ plops down on the bed in front of the desk, “Care to tell me why you’re writing that note?”

“I’m a dumb, dumb girl, that’s why,” she groans in response.

“We already knew that.” MJ’s words only cause the girl in front of her to shoot daggers with her gaze; “Sorry, sorry. Why are you a dumb, dumb girl?”

“God, okay, so,” she lets out a loud sigh, “Eli is gonna be gone for the rest of the month—Europe or something, good for him. Anyways, they needed someone to cover his assignments for him until he gets back, and I volunteered, but, like, only to be nice, y’know? I did it as an obligation. But…”

“But?” MJ pressed.

“I just got an email, and it’s me,” she grumbled, “They’re putting me on Eli’s assignments.”

“Hm, I see,” MJ’s lips curl into a frown as she gently rubs the girl’s arm, “Too much work?”

“Oh, no, my stuff’s easy,” she waved her off, “Just reading the poetry submissions. I mean, it can be exhausting, but it’s not too bad.”

“Then what is it?” MJ cocks her head.

“Eli…Eli does sports,” she shuddered. MJ couldn’t contain the loud laugh that slipped out, clamping a hand over her mouth to stifle it.

“You’re worried about sports?” She giggles, her eyes twinkling.

“It’s not funny!” She smacks MJ lightly, “Sports aren’t unbearable or anything, but, like, why me? I don’t know enough! I’ll screw it up, I’ll lose my spot, they’ll stick me back in—”

“Relax,” MJ grabs her shoulders, bringing her closer, “First off, no, you won’t lose your spot, we both know they’d be losing their minds without you. Second, they wouldn’t just throw it on you if they thought you’d give them bad work, right?” She eyes MJ almost suspiciously. There’s a momentary stare-down before she relents.

“I hate that you’re right,” she sighs, spinning her chair around. MJ stops the spin by putting her hands down on the arms of the chair.

“Thought you’d be used to it by now,” she giggles, “So, what do you have to do?”

“I don’t know.” Is the mumbled reply.

“You didn’t even look?” MJ laughs again, “You were losing your mind, and you didn’t even know what you’re doing?”

“I’m sorry that I’m sensitive,” she huffs. Her gaze moves back to the laptop before her. The email is open on the screen, so she begins scrolling through it, MJ reading the words over her shoulder. Her eyes nearly bulge out of her head when she gets to the end.

“Fuck this,” she almost slams her laptop shut, but is stopped short by MJ.

“Slow down!” The redhead slaps her hand out of the way to read the rest of the email.

The ESU hockey team had made it to the NCAA Division I Men's Ice Hockey tournament for the first time in six years—and they were doing damn good. Eli had been tasked with interviewing the team captain as well as a few other star players, but, of course, it was no longer Eli's job.

"Oh, come on,” MJ rolled her eyes, “They gave you a Google Doc with questions, all you have to do is ask them and write down their response."

“That's the problem, I have to ask,” she shivered.

"You've done interviews before!" MJ was ready to smack her.

"With professors! And cool artsy people! Not hockey guys," she cringed, “I bet half of them are in a frat. They're probably gonna be assholes and tell me I have cooties."

“Are you twelve?” MJ groaned, “You sort of lucked out with this—half the work is already done for you! You don’t need to write up any questions!” A sigh left her lips as she took on a more comforting tone: “If it makes you feel any better, Harry is on the team.”

Ah, Harry. MJ had been seeing him for a little over a month by now. He wasn’t a bad guy at all. A little full of himself, but nice enough to talk to. Her eyes roved over the list of players she was set to interview. Sure enough, Harry Osborn was there. So was Miles Morales, who was described as an extremely promising freshman. Zack Coleson, who had the highest number of goals for the season. Last on the list was the team captain: Peter Parker.

“I can talk to Harry,” MJ offered, “I can let him know that it’s you doing the interviews. I’ll make sure he tells them to go easy on you—”

“No, no,” she shook her head, “That might make it worse. And they already know that it’s not Eli coming. Or they should, at least”

“You sure?” MJ quirked a brow, her features crinkling in a way that was only intelligible as concern.

“They’ll be walking on eggshells around me if they know I’m chickenshit, I won’t get a good interview,” she sighed. Even if the interview wasn’t what she wanted to do, she was going to have to. And she would do a good job—a great job.

“You got this, Kitty,” MJ squeezed her shoulders. The nickname pulled a smile from her, and she gave into MJ’s touch.

“We’ll see about that,” she relented. Her eyes traveled back to the computer screen. The interviews were scheduled two days from now at the Stark Memorial Rink.

“Hey, MJ,” she hummed, “Could you grab me my noose?”

The rink was colder than she expected. The empty stands provided no body heat, not to mention there was a literal sheet of ice on the floor. Tugging at the strap of her messenger bag, she took slow, careful steps to the plexiglass.

Clink.

Her eyes widened. There were around ten to fifteen guys in full gear out on the ice, and another ten to fifteen more on a bench near the glass or flitting around the edge of the rink. She was nervous, so she got there early. Now, she was stuck watching them practice.

Leaving was so tempting. She could go back to her dorm, or better yet, leave college entirely. She could just give up and fall off the grid, cut her credit cards, throw her phone in the ocean, sail off to Greece—

“Hello?”

She cursed the muffled voice that pulled her back into reality. Blinking, she found that standing before her was one of the very hockey players she’d seen skating on the rink before her. He was tall, and gear under his black and purple jersey made him appear far more bulkier than she theorized he was. He slipped his helmet off to reveal brown, curly hair that was drenched in sweat.

“Hi,” she replied, trying not to sound as nervous as he would. He cocked his head at her as he popped out his mouth guard.

“This is a closed practice,” he said, though, he didn’t sound all too upset that she was here.

“Oh, yeah, I know,” she nodded quickly, her fingers toying with the strap of her bag again, “I’m a bit early, I’m supposed to be interviewing some people on the team. I’m—”

“Kitty?” She was interrupted by the sound of a voice as well as skates scraping across the ice. Glancing past the guy in front of her, she saw Harry slide off the ice and clomp to benches where they currently were.

“Hey, Harry.” Her lips were screwed up in a tight grin. He’d heard MJ call her Kitty once, and now it was the only thing he’d refer to her as.

“Kitty?” Mystery guy repeated the name with a hint of intrigue.

“It’s not my real name, my friends just call me that,” she shook her head.

“What’re you doing here?” Harry asked, swinging an arm around the shoulder of the guy in front of her.

“I’m Eli’s replacement,” she explained, trying to plaster a friendly smile to her lips, “I’m doing the interviews.”

“Aw, shit, why didn’t MJ tell me we got the cool Kitty-cat on the case?” Harry grinned.

“Could you try to never say those words again? Really hated it, thanks,” her nose crinkled.

“You got it.” He tried to point finger guns at her, but with the thick gloves on, it just looked like he was pointing his whole hand.

“Hey,” he started up again, “You’re a little early, so practice isn’t over yet, but we’re almost done. It’s just the four of us, right?”

“Right,” she nodded in response. It was a relief that they’d been briefed on the situation.

“Alright, well, I’m Harry, obviously, Miles and Zack are on the ice somewhere, and this right here—” Harry jostled the shoulders of the Mystery guy, “—is Peter. Oh captain, my captain!”

Peter chuckled as Harry clapped him on the back. The noise that emanated from the friendly hit was harsh, but Peter didn’t move a muscle.

“Right,” she nodded, “So, I figured we could do them individually? There’s some sort of specific questions for each of you.”

“Sounds good, Kitty,” Harry replied. She’d smack him if he said that name again.

“Sit tight for a bit,” Peter spoke up. Even with the stubble on his chin, his smile gave him a boyish appearance. He looked her up and down quickly, “We can try to wrap up practice early.”

'A bit' ended up feeling like forever. At first, she tried to distract herself with her phone, but it didn't work: she would open apps, scroll through them, then close them just to reopen them over and over again. So she organized her bag, which took about five minutes. Time seemed to tic by in a tauntingly slow manner. It was only when she saw a few of the players emerge from the locker room did she let out a breath of relief. She immediately sucked that breath back when she realized that she would actually have to talk to some of them.

Harry went first. It was easy enough to go through the questions with him. It was like talking to an over-eager relative at a family reunion, one who was just dying to talk about all the new things they're doing. Miles wasn't all that bad to interview, either. He was a lot more nervous than she was. His awkward pauses and constant strings of 'um' and 'uh' was almost comforting. Then came Peter.

"Kitty," he grinned as soon as he saw her seated on the bench next to the rink. He no longer wore his gear—just a hoodie and a pair of gray sweats. His hair, however, was still wet and tousled. She gave him a tight lipped smile in return.

"That's not my name," she replied. Before she had time to properly introduce herself, his raspy chuckle was already echoing through the open arena.

"You said that's what your friends call you, right?" He cocked his head as he sat down on the other edge of the bench.

"You're not—” If she could just make it through the interview without fuss, she'd be one person away from being free, "—right. That's what my friends call me."

"I'm going to be recording this, just so I can reference it later," she explained almost monotonously.

"This isn't my first time," he responded with another light laugh. She had to physically bite her tongue to fight off any comments. A soft click sounded from her phone as she started a new voice memo. Her eyes scanned the list of questions on the page before her. Some she'd already asked to Harry and Miles: How does it feel to make the tournament? What is the atmosphere of the team right now? She chose a fresh question to start with.

"What's it like to be the captain of this team? Are you proud? Overwhelmed?" She asked, her voice taking on a new tone closer to a news anchor than a regular person. Peter's lips curled up at the change.

"I'm proud, yeah," he nodded, his voice smooth, "This is a great group. But we all work our asses off, so I'm not surprised by how far we've come. Being their captain is really something."

"And—"

"Do you normally do sports? For the paper, I mean." Before she could even get her next sentence out, he interrupted her. Her grip on the papers in her hand tightened.

"No, not normally," she grit out, "And going along with your thoughts on being captain, what about making it to the tournament this year?"

"It's the best feeling in the world. It's something I've been chasing after for years now, finally getting to it is just...sort of indescribable." Even when his tone is nothing but sincere, he can't wipe the cocky grin from his lips.

"I can imagine," she smiled tautly in reply, "What was it like working your way up to captain? Was it a personal journey, or did you get support from the team?"

"I'd say it was an even mix of both," he hummed, "Do you like hockey?"

"What?" She furrowed her brows.

"Are you a hockey fan?" He reiterated, "Because our next game is home, and it's sort of packed, but I could get you some tickets assuming you don't have some already—"

"No—Peter," she let out a frustrated huff, tapping on her phone to momentarily pause the recording, "This is an interview, not social hour."

"Aren't interviews inherently social?" His smirk was infuriating.

"I mean that I ask the questions, you answer them," she grumbled, "Do you act like this with Eli? Are you not taking me serious because I'm a woman?"

"What?" His smirk fell immediately, "What? No—no. I'm taking you seriously, I take women very seriously. I'm all for women. They're great."

"Then can we just do this interview and get it over with?" She sighed, her finger hovering over the unpause button. He nodded, but before she could resume the interview, he quickly added: "But do you want tickets?"

Ignoring the question, she carried on. Peter seemed to mellow out after a while and didn't interrupt again. It was almost surprising how well he'd listened: he was giving her real, insightful answers to her questions without a hint of flirtation. The final interview with Zack flowed easily, and she fled Stark Memorial Rink as quick as she could.

Transcribing the interviews was the easiest part. Days later, she would be hunched over her computer in the darkness of her shared dorm, playing and replaying the recordings and typing out the words onto the screen. Her concentration was briefly interrupted, though, when the door opened and a stream of light threaded its way through the room and onto the back of her head.

"Light bad!" She slapped her hands over her eyes, "Light very bad!"

"You're gonna go blind if you keep staring at your computer in the dark," MJ spoke in a warning tone, but ultimately closed the door.

"Then blind I must go," she sighed, swiveling on her chair to look at her roommate, "How was class?"

"Normal," MJ shrugged, sliding her bag off her shoulders, "But I have a little something for you."

"Something for little ol' me?" She gasped in dramatized delight.

"Yes," MJ grinned widely as her hand reached for the zipper of her bag, "Close your eyes."

She obliged immediately, her nose scrunched in anticipation, "I hope it's a million dollars. Is it a million dollars? Am I close?"

"Almost," MJ giggled. After a moment of anticipation, MJ gently grabbed her hands and place something into them. It was thin and papery and rectangular. Opening her eyes, she looked down to see a white envelope with 'Kitty' written out on the front. Her brows furrowed at the unfamiliar handwriting.

"Is there a check for a million dollars inside?" She asked as she cocked her head.

"No clue, it's not from me," MJ shrugged.

"Then who's it from?" Her fingers slid under the lip of the envelope.

"Harry gave it to me to give to you," MJ grinned, "He said it's from Peter."

She should've sailed to Greece when she had the chance. Inside the envelope were two tickets—Empire State University versus Pennbrook University this Saturday at seven. A long groan left her lips before she finally met MJ's eyes.

"You never got me that noose I asked for."

a/n — not sure how i’m feeling abt this one guys. hockey peter has been causing me brain rot tho so i couldn’t help myself.

[jeonqkooks]

yoongi + 40 (fluff) + 49 (smut) (ONCE AGAIN CONGRATS ON YOUR MILESTONE AND HAPPY ALMOST BLOGIVERSARY LOVE 🫶)

personal space | myg (m.)

pairing: yoongi x f!reader prompts: "are you blushing?" + "shut up and pin me down." rating: 18+ (minors dni) genre/warnings: fwb au, brother’s best friend au - jimin's the bro, a lil fluff, a lil angst, definitely smut; the only warning i could think of for the smut is fingering lol it's pretty mild, unedited bc that's how we do <3, smut right under the cut word count: 1.2k note: hi nary !! thank yuuuuuuu for the request heheheh i know i'm SO SO LATE to this one but better late than never right :D this yoongi has been on my mind since last august but i'm so glad to release him into the world. hope you like this lil piece <3

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

"Did you miss me?" Yoongi pushes your panties aside, his slender fingers stroking your bare core as a cocky grin graces his face. Your arousal practically drips down his fingers. "Oh, you did miss me."

When you decided to come to his welcome home party tonight, you hadn't counted on this happening, though part of you was secretly hoping for it. It’s not necessarily a bad idea to be in such close proximity with Min Yoongi again, just a dangerous one.

Old habits die hard, you suppose.

"Shut up," you groan when the pad of his middle finger circles your entrance, dipping into your heat but only allowing the digit to sink up to the first knuckle before he pulls out. The fucker, always such a tease. "Shut up and pin me down."

"When did you get so bossy?" he tuts, but he complies anyway. Yoongi carries you to the bed with your legs around his waist while his palms busy themselves with your ass, kneading your skin like it's the first time he's touching you. He doesn't throw you on the mattress roughly like you expect, but instead, he lays you down gently, like you're porcelain and he's got slippery hands. When he hovers above you, the guitar pick of his necklace dangles to rest on your bra-clad chest, and the coolness of the metal makes you shiver. It stings a bit, you have to admit.

"Since you left," you say, like it's all so casual. In a way, it is. That's how it used to be between the two of you - hiding another layer of honesty in the truths you exchange and knowing full well that the other person understands it. A secret language that only you and Yoongi speak, like hiding in plain sight. Although, that was the one part you were never particularly fond of - the hiding - but you knew it had to be this way. Jimin would've killed you both if he ever found out one of his best friends was railing his sister on the DL. "You subjected me to a lifetime of mediocre sex with mediocre men."

"It wasn't a lifetime," Yoongi disagrees, but the smirk on his face tells you that he's pleased with what you're insinuating. That he was the best. He was the only one who knew how to make you feel good. The man nudges his nose against yours, prying your thighs open as his hand settles on the warmth between your legs again. "It was three years."

"Which was a long time."

He kisses you then, and it makes your head spin from how soft it all feels. He kisses you like he has all the time in the world, like Jimin isn’t completely shit-faced in the next room, like kissing you is everything that he’s been thinking about for the past years, and now he finally has the chance to do it again.

After a moment, he breaks away to drag his mouth along your jawline to your ear, whispering things that the old Yoongi never would.

He plunges two digits inside you without any warning, but it doesn't take your breath away nearly as much as his words do. "I missed you," he says. "Missed you a lot. There were days, maybe even weeks, where I think I did nothing but miss you."

Your cheeks burn easily until they turn a shade that could compete with the rose bushes in your back garden. You grab fistfuls of Yoongi's t-shirt as his fingers fuck you slowly.

"Are you blushing?" he chuckles. "I'm knuckles deep inside of you and you're blushing?"

"Shut up," you repeat, because he didn't seem to listen the first time. "Don't say shit like that if you can't see it through."

"Who says I won't see it through?" he asks. His beautiful fingers that you've missed don't ease up for even a second, scissoring you open and forcing a whiny moan out of you, despite the sudden somberness of the moment. You clench around him when his thumb meets your clit, making you impossibly wetter.

"You never did."

"Neither did you, sweetheart."

"Because I'm a coward." You buck your hips to meet his hand as it thrusts into you, delicate fingertips brushing your g-spot on every stroke. "But you're not a coward, are you, Yoongi?"

It's strange how you're close to coming even though the conversation is making you sad, but that's Min Yoongi for you. He's got you wrapped around his finger - figuratively speaking, but of course, you suppose it takes on a literal meaning this very second - ever since day one.

It started out as just sex. It was supposed to be just sex.

He was supposed to just be one of Park Jimin's goofy friends.

You were supposed to just be Park Jimin's sister.

You were, until you became someone that Yoongi could love. Someone he did love.

And he still does, there's no doubt about that.

He stays quiet just long enough to make you come undone. His thumb rubs your clit expertly, just the way you like, as if you two never spent any time apart. You give him a broken moan, and he gives you a wave of bliss that washes over your body and swallows you entirely when he curls his fingers, fucking you with determination as you gush into his hand. Your legs start to close but Yoongi props them open, prolonging your high until you're shaking from the sensitivity.

"Yoongi..." you whimper, and only then does he pull his fingers out, soaked in your essence, only to shove them into his mouth. You watch as he hums in delight, eyes falling shut like he's trying to savor the taste. You say his name again, softer this time.

Yoongi looks at you then, propping his forearms on either side of your head to hold himself up. He rests his hips on yours, and you feel him even through his jeans, hard and pressed against your bare thigh.

"I was a coward," he admits. "But I'd like to think I'm not one anymore."

Then you both just stare at each other for what feels like hours but in reality, it's probably mere minutes. You want to believe him, you really do, but there are too many things that you don't know if you should risk. It takes a leap, but unfortunately, you're scared of heights.

You pull on his shirt, silently telling him you want it off. "We can talk about this tomorrow."

"I'm finally talking about it and you don't want to listen?" he chuckles but takes off the tee anyway, tugging it over his head and throwing it somewhere across the room.

"I do, just not right now. Now I only want you."

"You've got me."

"Not like that."

"Yes," he says. "Yes, like that."

You give Yoongi a look that makes him sigh. You just want to have him, without thinking of any of the things that make you feel like it's impossible to truly have him. Just one night, that's all you're asking for.

He touches your face, tracing your cheekbone, trailing down to caress your jawline. "I'll see it through," he tells you.

You wrap your arms around his neck, urging him closer until your lips brush. You give him a chaste kiss, letting your eyes flutter closed momentarily before you whisper, "Tomorrow."

all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 10.06.23]

[ugh-yoongi]

Hi! For the Valentine’s Day drabble I was thinking there’s an office Valentine’s Day party and namjoon and y/n are both single but somehow they end up hooking up in a broom closet. 😭😭

boy oh boy was i glad to get an excuse to write some namjoon porn after this whirlwind of a day! mr. shows up to the office 15 minutes late with starbucks a giant ass hickey on his neck thinking his coworkers wouldn't notice....... hoe behavior.

this is rushed bc i've had brainworms since yoongi's tour announcement, my bad! unedited again bc we die like men.

pairing: namjoon x f. reader

genre: pwp, crack/humor, office au

rating: explicit. minors dni.

warnings: swearing, catboy yoongi agenda, taehyung is a menace, mentions of drug use (weed), reader wears a dress and is a bit of a brat, one (1) spank, fingering, protected sex in an office closet.

wordcount: 1.2k

not taking anymore drabble requests, but feel free to come yell at me about how unhinged this week has been in bts world

(The party had been Taehyung’s idea.

A nice way to break up the afternoon, he’d said, because it wasn’t like Q1 was already slow as it was; wasn’t like you spent most of your workday typing gibberish into empty Word documents to appear busy. Point is: there was no soulless office monotony to break up, Seokjin just hadn’t felt like arguing, so he’d signed off on the Valentine’s Day party without even reading Taehyung’s harebrained proposal.)

“There’s a chocolate fountain in the cafeteria,” Yoongi says, voice bordering on stunned disbelief as he drops into his cubicle next to yours. “It has edible glitter in it.”

“Yeah,” you retort, because there certainly is a chocolate fountain with edible glitter in it in the cafeteria and Seokjin had signed off on it without sparing a second to think. “Taehyung’s idea.”

Yoongi scoffs. “Were the heart-shaped bath bombs his idea too?”

“Haven’t seen those. Where’d he put them?”

“In the toilets. He’s gonna ruin the plumbing. Seokjin’s gonna throw a fucking fit, and we’re accounting, so he’s gonna make it our problem.” Yoongi groans. Plonks his head down on his desk. “I bet he’s gonna cut the Cat Fridays budget to cover the cost.”

“Oh no,” you intone, “not Cat Fridays.”

Yoongi picks his head up only to glare at you. “Fuck off. Some of us need the stress relief.”

“So grow up and smoke weed like an adult, Yoongi.”

“I have asthma, you fucking prick—”

Yoongi’s tirade—which you’re sure was going to be effective and logical and would not, at all, devolve into baseless name-calling—is interrupted by Taehyung, who appears behind you out of nowhere and sprinkles confetti over your and Yoongi’s desks. “Surprise! Party time!”

“Taehyung, I swear to fuck—”

But then Taehyung’s gone, the copious amounts of heart-shaped confetti the only proof he’d been there at all. Your desk neighbor looks murderous, but the lure of the chocolate fountain is strong, especially when there’s little tea cakes, too, so it’s not really a surprise that he nearly bulldozes you into the wall to get there first.

It’s not that you hate Valentine’s Day. You don’t even dislike it, because you actually like those chalky conversation hearts so everyone offloads them onto you, it’s just a little hard to focus when Kim Namjoon strolls in wearing a silk shirt with the top button undone. It’s doubly hard to focus when Jeongguk zeroes in on him immediately, and goes, “What is that?”

You pretend not to hear it, because they can’t suspect you if you don’t react, and a reaction is exactly what Jeongguk is looking for.

“What is what,” Namjoon replies, sounding as nonplussed as ever. You’d buy it, if you didn’t know him as well as you do, but because you do, you know it’s a farce. Any second now he’s going to crack. Sooner, if anyone presses him on it.

You hear someone click their tongue. Maybe Jeongguk, but you aren’t turning around to check. You can already feel how warm your cheeks are; there’s no way you’d be able to hide it.

“That thing on your neck.” Oh, god, that’s Jimin’s voice.

Namjoon chuckles. Acts like this entire conversation is beneath him, and that’s definitely doing something for you. Definitely has you squeezing your thighs together as you stand next to the stupid chocolate fountain, trying to eavesdrop over the mechanical whirring. “I got hurt at the gym last night.”

“The gym,” Jimin repeats, and it’s clear he doesn’t buy it. “And what were you doing at the gym that resulted in a neck injury? You just said the other day you haven’t been working out much.”

“CrossFit.”

“Wait, I’m confused. Were you doing CrossFit or were you at the gym?”

“He was doing CrossFit at the gym. He just said that—”

“No he wasn’t,” Jeongguk argues. “That’s like saying you were doing gym at the gym, it doesn’t make sense—”

You roll your lips to keep from laughing. Look up at seemingly the perfect time, because Namjoon’s already looking at you, gaze all but saying, see what you did? And, yeah, you do—you can see it loud and clear, all the way from the other side of the room, because that dark bruise on his neck is courtesy of you. Roughly three days old, given in the dark of his bedroom after company drinks on Friday.

So you tamper your embarrassment. Shrug a little. Dip a strawberry into Taehyung’s ridiculous chocolate fountain with the edible glitter and stare as you bring it to your mouth, wrap your lips around it. Jimin and Jeongguk are still arguing, and Namjoon is just watching, corners of his mouth quirked up infinitesimally.

Then he gestures to the hallway.

Mouths meet me there.

And you know what that means.

It’s frenzied and hurried from the start. Namjoon’s everywhere and nowhere at once—skimming, pinching, grabbing at every inch of skin he can get his hands on before they disappear, move onto someplace else. “This is gonna have to be quick,” he says, already breathless, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“No shit.”

That earns you a smack on the ass. “Keep this out of the way,” he says, pushing your dress up and over your hips. “See, this is the reason I told you no marks.”

There’s a riposte on the tip of your tongue, something obvious like you weren’t complaining when I was giving it to you, and Namjoon must know this because he pulls your underwear to the side and sinks two fingers into your cunt. Embarrassing, how seamless the slide is; how there’s no friction, just his large fingers pressing insistently on your g-spot.

He groans. Aborts the sound halfway so he doesn’t get the two of you caught. “Love how you’re always so wet for me.”

“Not you,” you retort. “Got really excited about the chocolate fountain.” You can’t see him, considering he’s got you bent over at the waist, but you know he’s rolling his eyes.

“I shouldn’t fuck you at all, since you wanna be a brat.”

“Yeah, I think HR would be inclined to agree—”

He cuts you off with another swat to your ass. Stops touching you only as long as it takes to roll on a condom, and then he’s pressing inside. It’s all heat: Namjoon rolling his hips at a steady pace, careful to be quiet; his fingers immediately moving to rub at your clit, because this definitely has to be quick; him whispering pure filth in that deep voice of his.

You’re teetering on the edge of the quickest orgasm of all time when your blurt out, “Is Yoongi allergic to cats?”

Namjoon just groans again. Pure annoyance. Plays along. Says, “I don’t know, why?”

“Be-because he said he can’t—fuck—smoke weed because he ha-has asthma, but he’s really—oh fuck, I’m gonna come—really scared Seokjin’s gonna—fuuuuuuck—gonna get rid of Cat Fridays.”

Namjoon thrusts harder, reaches deeper. “Will you just shut up and come? Who cares about Yoongi right now—”

Then, because both Yoongi and the universe hate you, there’s a knock on the door. “Really weird you two are in there talking about me while you’re fucking.”

And Namjoon must have some kind of voyeurism kink he hasn’t told you about, because he moans low and spills into the condom.

[munsonownsmyass]

The sweetest praise

Matt Murdock x reader

Summary: Well... guess the title and prompt says it all.

Warnings: semi-public sex, lots of praise, fingering and oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it irl), creampie

Authors notes: This is my first kinktober story and I'm already having so much fun. Hope you all like it ❤️

Unbetaed and unedited. We die like men.

“Hey sweetheart.”

He whispers, kissing just below your ear, immediately causing a shiver to run down your spine. He always has this effect on you, even after all this time.

His hand runs gently down your back as he steps out from behind you, letting you see him all dressed up. It’s a simple black suit with a bow tie, but it’s all Matt needs to make you weak in the knees. Honestly, he makes you weak even in grey sweatpants, but you’ll never get tired of seeing him dressed up like this.

“Sorry I’m late. Deposition dragged out. I hope you’re enjoying yourself?”

“Well, I was really bored listening to the district attorney. Almost made me leave.” You pout playfully before placing a soft kiss on Matt’s perfect lips. “Maybe you can give me a reason to stay?”

You step closer, adjusting his bowtie a little. With a smirk on his face, Matt leans in closer and you know he can hear how fast your heart is beating in your chest, giving away your thoughts.

“I could think of one or two things we could do. Dance… have a drink…” he teases, already knowing what you had in mind. He always knows. “Or I could fuck you.”

You whimper, not even trying to hide how easily his words affect you. His fingers on the small of your back dances teasing over the thin fabric of your dress, before pulling you flush against his chest. You’re already wet, and he hasn’t even done anything to you yet. With a cocky smile, Matt leans in to capture your lips, only fuelling your desire for him further.

“Come with me. Now.”

Unable to say no, not that you would want to, you follow him as he leads you through the crowd towards the hallway. The walk is agonizing, people stopping Matt to ask everyday questions. About his newest case, about trivial things you really couldn’t care less about. Matt shuts them down politely with a smile, pulling you with him when suddenly Foggy steps out in front of you.

"There you are, I've been looking-"

"Not now, Foggy." Matt shuts him down, barely looking in his direction as he drags you with him down the corridor. All you can do is shoot Foggy an apologetic smile, as you disappear through a door.

You barely make it into the room, before Matt kicks the door shut, pinning you against the wall, claiming your lips again.

“I missed you so much.” he breathes out between kisses, pulling at the straps on your dress, placing easer kisses on your neck.

“You saw me this morning.” You giggle, eagerly opening his shirt. You feel him smirk against you skin as he kisses up the column of your throat, his stubble scratching deliciously against your jaw.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t miss my good girl.” he whispers in your ear, knowing full well what praise does to you. He noticed that almost immediately when you started dating and have used it to his advantage ever since.

You clench around nothing at his words, desperate to feel him inside you. No matter how often he claims you, its never enough. The need you have for each other is like an everlasting fire, never sated, never dying.

When he kisses you again, it’s soft and tender, although his desire is visible. Matt groans softly, a deep noise that sends shivers through you. A noise you know you’ll never get tired of, a noise you’d want to hear forever.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of kissing you, sweetheart.” He whispers as he breaks away, taking your hand as he leads you to a couch behind him. Even though you started your day of in his arms, you tremble with desire to feel him again, as does he.

You sit down on the couch, falling against the soft cushions. Matt pauses, licking his lips softly as he steps closer. “It’s days like this I wish I wasn’t blind, so I could see how beautiful you are, just waiting for me.”

He climbs over you, his lips instantly finding yours, before running his hands down to pull up your dress. Kissing his way down, his head dips between your legs, placing feather soft kisses to your thighs.

“Please,” you whimper, your whole body begging for him. Like the sweetest torture, he inches closer, kissing everywhere but where you need him the most.

“What does my beautiful girl need?” he says with a grin, already knowing the answer.

“You. I need you.”

You almost loose it when he pushes his fingers into you, curling them up, hitting just the right spot. With his fingers deep inside you, he teasingly kisses your clit before looking up at you.

“What’s that, sweetheart? I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Please. I-I need you.”

“You sure, baby? You don’t want me to-” he trails of, before licking at your folds, pulling the softest moans from you. When his tongue licks at your clit, you throw you head back into the cushions, causing him to chuckle. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

“Fuck me. Please, Matty. Please…”

Matt smirks, slowly pulling his fingers from your dripping heat. Sucking your essence of his fingers, he softly caresses your thighs with a groan before pushing them further apart.

“There’s my good girl, begging for me.”

Hovering over you, he slides the head of his cock between your folds, gathering up your slick. You beg for him to fuck you, to fill you up. And when he does, inch by delicious inch, everything else is forgotten.

“So pretty with my cock deep inside you.” he grunts as he begins thrusting. Slowly at first, but soon in an unforgiving rhythm. You meet his thrusts, wanting more. Matt groans as he feels the way your body craves him.

“Good girl, you’re such a good girl. So needy for my cock.” Your moans become louder than his and you pray that no one can hear you.

“You feel so good sweetheart. Takes my cock so well.” Matt is relentless, fucking you hard and good just like you need it. Like you crave it. His eyes are dark, fuelled with desire.

“Beautiful,” he praises, “So good for me.” The praise spill from his lips, as his hips snap against yours, his name spilling from your lips again and again. His final grunts become almost like a prayer, a prayer only for you. “Mine.”

The word burns against your skin, etches their way into your heart.

“You're mine.” His breathing is strained, hot on your skin, as his name fall from your lips like the sweetest song.

“I'm yours.” Your whole body is on fire and you can see the stars as you come undone.

“Mine.” Matt pumps you full, filling you to the brim with his cum. He goes limp above you, trapping you beneath him as he leaves soft kisses on your skin. For a moment you just lay there, his breathing ghosting your skin.

“I love you, sweetheart. You’re always so good for me.” he says one last time before he kisses you passionately.

Thank you for reading. Feedback and reblogs are much appreciated ❤️

My thirsty for Cox girls: @mindidjarin @e-dubbc11 @idrinkcoffeeandobsess @itwasthereaminuteago @saintmurd0ck @a-bang-for-your-bucky @pedrito-friskito @phoebe-danvers

Tagging a few others who might like it: @lucy-sky @skvatnavle @murdocks-devil @freshabogados @chasingdreamer

[ruinmegently]

WIP INTRO — These Barren Wilds

A mysterious figure spat up from the sand journeys with a fortune seeking cutthroat looking to sell him to the highest bidder.

- GENRES - dystopian • magical realism • lgbtq+

- THEMES - friends to enemies • enemies to lovers • post-environmental-apocalypse • classism • oppressive government regime • disability representation • dark themes • redemption arc • found family • unrepentantly queer • journey through foreign lands

- VIBES - your wheelchair has crab legs and it's still a bitch to handle • i'm not a cowboy i'm a cowperson tyvm • eat sand and die trying • cooing at your serrated blade because it's the only child you'll ever have • loving the unlovable • not quite a western but eh close enough • byoa (bring your own anarchy)

oh shit that's me. hey writeblr! you can call me ruin. i'm a 32 year old college dropout, unpublished, who was on track for a B.A in English with a concentration in Creative Writing, like, back when dinosaurs rode men. i'm a nerd for The Process (even if The Process often corners me in a dark alley and beats me up for funsies).

#these barren wilds has been living in my head for months now, and ya'll inspired me to finally try to write it. mostly gonna be posting world building, character development, and rough unedited snippets on here, under the tag above.

if you're writing something similar, or if this genre just vibes with you, you are always welcome to spam my ask box so we can geek out about our ideas together!

anyways, i never know how to end these things, ily k bai.

.oo1 — july 31st

Big man lays an old hag flat on her face. Roughs her up with a boot on her hand. Whole crowd hears the crunch, unappetizing, but that doesn’t stop their steady procession shuffling single file to cash in the day’s food vouchers. The lines stretch farther than eyes can see, occluded by a dusty afternoon haze. Vouch Shops close in a couple hours. Sad saps at the back won’t make it before they lock up.

The big guy twists his heel in the lady’s hand. Who knows why. She screams and no one in my line turns but me, like the sound digs actual nails through the back of my skull, so jarring I can’t help but watch.

Hope she shuts up soon.

Ain’t uncommon to see Bruisers at market anyways, but they’ve been showin up more and more. Enforcers sent from way out in Wave came last month to train the dustbloods lucky enough to get a Career Shift Card. To keep the peace, they said. Too much gang activity. Too many deserters.

Right.

The Enforcers are bad enough, but when they send the dregs of Wave to train the dirtiest of Dust, well. You don’t really get new Enforcers outta all that.

“Next!”

“Hey Pops,” I say, elbow on the cracked sandstone counter of the Vouch Shop my line leads to. Gotta bend in half just to plant myself down. Casual, easy, like me and Pops are old friends. Met the guy last week but sure, friends fits just as well as anything else.

“You have it?” Pops asks, beady black eyes squinted against the glare of the sun.

His shop’s west-facing. Most face north or south. I asked him why he wanted to go and stick out like a sore thumb, our first meetup. He told me out west’s where hope’s found, if you can drag yourself far enough onward to find it. He likes the view. He likes knowing there’s more out that way. I told him you gotta scale the walls first, or blunder through em, unless you’re lucky enough to get a new job with a fancy CSC. But then you’ll always be a dustblood, won’tcha?

You can leave the desert but the desert never really leaves you.

[jennsterjay]

Lmao so today I was waiting to get picked up from somewhere while I was talking to my friends @bootleg-exe, @king-of-the-rain-and-wolves, and @weirdfishy, and while I was waiting I had a brilliant idea. What if I wrote a Punkflower fic with a prompt from now until the time I got picked up? So I asked them for a word/prompt and Fen said "A Breakfast AU"

Ohoho a Breakfast AU you say? So with my phone notes app, a challenge, time on the clock, and a dream, I finally finished it 😎

Get ready for the unedited, no beta we die like men, writing sprint, crackfic 😂

Punkflower Breakfast AU

----

It was 10 am when Miles was sitting in the booth of McDonald's, waiting nervously for the boy he had a crush on.

Last night, when the two of them had just finished a mission together, and Hobie had walked him home to his dimension, Miles thought about confessing but he didn't have the guts. When he turned to Hobie and started saying something, and Hobie asked him what he wanted to say with an open and sincere look in his eyes, Miles tounge caught on his own words.

"Hobie I…"

Cmon think of something!!

"I …was wondering if you wanted to get breakfast tomorrow?" Miles said with a slight crack in his voice. Did he just ask him on a date???

Hobie perked up and smiled widely at him, like he'd just given him the keys to New York, and Miles couldn't believe that his failed confession somehow finessed him into a date. Ay dios mio.

"I would love to, Miles…so where are we grabbing a bite at?" Hobie walked closer to lean down and ask

And Miles wanted to turn invisible following the next words out of his mouth when he said

"Uhh…McDonald's?"

Hobie had a barely contained full grin on his face and Miles swore he was going to bust out laughing, but then he gently cupped his face in his hands and winked at him, as a portal opened up behind Hobie

"That sounds perfect, love. I'll see you tomorrow for brekkie. Text me tomorrow what time you want to eat together"

And Hobie let him go to walk back towards the portal like the coolest guy on the planet, before the portal closed and disappeared, leaving Miles with a dumbfounded look on his face and his heart running 100 miles moraleses a minute

What just happened?

And now here Miles was, a few blocks away from his house, sitting in the booth of a local McDonald's wondering if his Spiderman luck or teenage crush cringe somehow canceled themselves out into a W It was then that the door on the far side of the McDonald's opened, and Miles eyes found Hobie's from across the room. Suddenly Miles thought this was the best idea he's ever had. Ganke owes him 5 dollars.

"Miles! My guy!!!" Hobie says as everyone in the McDonald's stares at him as he walks across the room to lift Miles up effortlessly in the air and smile at him

"H-Hobie!!!" Miles half shrieks and half laughs as he looks briefly around at the New Yorkers looking at him and not looking at him (because it's too early in the morning for this) and then looks into Hobie's eyes. Hobie looks at him like he's a starving man and Miles is the McDonald's happy meal he's been waiting for all this time. Also Hobie is highlighter pink now.

Hobie puts him down and leads him to the front of the restaurant where the menu is

"Aight love, let's get some grub yeah?" Hobie says as he stands behind him and wraps his arms around Miles shoulders. Miles face is turning red and Miles hopes the people in line behind them aren't getting a seizure with how fast Hobie is cycling between different shades of pink every millisecond.

The twink in front of the register is eyeing the pair up and down with little to no amusement before snapping them out of their thoughts

"Welcome to McDonald's, what would you like to order?" He says

"Uhh we may need a sec" Miles smiles sheepishly

"Ok take your time" He says, clearly wanting them to not take their time Miles and Hobie eye the menu while Miles points and explains the options and Hobie's face is leaning on his while his arms are wrapped around him the whole time and Miles is going to have a heart attack. The two then have a mini argument over capitalism and the price of the 2 for 1 deal and the absence of the McRib before the New Yorker behind them says CMON and then the two walk forward and order a large bag of assorted McGriddles, Breakfast sausage biscuits, Ham and Cheese biscuits, Egg ham and cheese biscuits, two orange juices, and two hash browns. Greasy high calorie, high trans fat perfection

The pair then slide back into the booth and chow down on their shared feast. One sausage biscuit looks like a mini in Hobies large hands. Miles is eating one sandwich biscuit and Hobie is double fisting eating two of them. Miles wonders how Hobie is eating in Earth-138…he might as well give him the remaining batch after this

"Ayy you know what, while I don't agree with the ridiculous coin you had to shell out, this is bloody good!" Hobie says

"Hahah yeah, totally planned all this out by the way" Miles said and totally didn't mean to say. Cringe???

Hobie laughed and drank his orange juice, before eyeing Miles with a smirk. He placed his food and drink down, waiting for Miles to finish his bite as well.

Miles looked into his eyes and Hobie just smiled at him for a moment. He looked so inexplicably happy. Miles smiled easily too, and for a moment all nerves, crackwriting, and cringe aside, Miles and Hobie shared a moment of comfortable silence and happiness.

Hobie then reached for Miles' hands slowly and then held them in his across the table. Miles thought his hands were warm.

"Did you know…" Hobie said as he slowly ran his thumbs over Miles' Knuckles

"Yeah?…" Miles said as he gently squeezed the hands of the 1970's Spider-Anarchist named Hobart Brown

"That I think…" Hobie continued as he captured Miles' eyes in his "Yeah?…" Miles said, his face an open book

"You're…" Hobie stretched on for effect

"Yeah?…" Miles' heart was doing the elliptical

"…" Hobie winked at him

"I think you're pretty damn cute, Brooklyn Boy"

If Miles could replay this scene, he would've done it 50 times. Score 1 for Miles Gonzalo Morales. 50000 exp bonus.

Miles let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in, and smiled and giggled like a schoolgirl, oh my god he just giggled like a schoolgirl.

[And then the author was picked up, end of crackfic]

[scorchieart]

Second to None

Characters: Belle, Chevalier Michel, Clavis Lelouch, Nokto Klein, Luke Randolph

Genres: Action, Suspense

Wordcount: 2.1k

A/N: This is a quick fic based on @the12thnightproject's Reverse Ask Game challenge! I chose 7 of Spades, and my prompt was “No Beta we die liek men.” I had the idea for this story sitting in my mind for months, ever since I started really craving Chevalier's faction to hang out more, and today was finally the day to execute it. True to form, I set a pomodoro timer for 3 hours and worked straight on this story with zero backtracking. I only quickly read it once over to check for grammatical & spelling errors (I hope I caught them all, those keep me up at night) but the rest is pure, raw Scorchie-brain. I only ask that you don't think differently of me after reading this, though I completely understand if you do...

Warnings: Fighting, mild descriptions of injuries, unedited work.

I tripped on the last step and met a facefull of gravel. I considered myself fortunate that I did not wear glasses, but in my current situation, the fact I wasn’t knocked out cold was a blessing.

Making sure I wasn’t bleeding—a blood trail was the last thing I needed right now—I picked myself up and ran in the direction of the forest. The stables would be too obvious for someone making an escape, and the palace grounds were crawling with soldiers and guards whose loyalties I did not have the luxury of time to decipher. I prayed no one would consider the looks-like-she’s-running-for-her-life woman grounds for suspicion as I swerved off the cobblestone path onto grass that grew grungier the farther I went.

Night frost and thorns pricked my skin as I burst through a patch of gangly rose bushes into the forest, but I didn’t dare stop and catch breath. My heart pounded louder in my ears with each hulking tree, looking more monstrous and mangled than the last. I think I heard an owl hooting from above, but my gaze was preoccupied with making sure I didn’t trip on anything else. I’d read about adrenaline sharpening senses while dulling others in the moment, but this is the first time I’d ever experienced it firsthand. Even if I couldn’t rely on my ears, at least my eyes were working overtime. And I could definitely do without the pain in my no-doubt twisted ankle slowing me down.

Roots and leaves, I told myself, just avoid the roots and leaves. I jutted my head in so many directions to avoid so many crisscrossing branches I was surprised it didn’t fly off my neck. Perhaps it was because my shoulders remained immovably stiff since I hightailed it out of the castle, but frozen muscles were a natural reaction to that lot chasing after you. 

That insatiable lot and their thunderstruck faces all trained on you at once. I’d sooner fall face first into a giant cauldron full of sizzling gravel than wish to encounter them again. But runaways can never count on their wishes coming true.

Perhaps it was the cacophony of crunching leaves beneath my feet. Or that incessant owl hooting overhead. Or the fact that my attention was solely focused on advancing deeper without looking back. Whatever the reason, I was spotted. And I was wholly unprepared for what followed. One moment I was pushing a bramble of spiderweb-encrusted twigs from my path, and in the next I expelled the entirety of my breath out of my lungs in one go, my back knocked hard against the base of a tree, and numbing stars and a flash of red invaded my vision.

“Give it back,” a burly voice breathed onto my face. The overwhelming odor of honey and sweat punched my nose harder than the words. It seemed as though smell was my dominant sense at this time. 

I wriggled my legs in an attempt to kick him away, but Luke surprisingly maneuvered his massive body to avoid most of the blows. The ones he couldn’t avoid hit him softly in the chest, as though they were little more than the beating of a butterfly’s wings. He didn’t get any closer, though, like he was waiting for me to tire and give in to his demands. But I wasn’t going to succumb that easily. As soon as my vision fixed to focus again, I would make a run for it. But just as I could start to make out the frenzied features on his face, a new smell entered the scene: the crisp, tart aroma of freshly plucked vetiver.

I managed to roll onto my side just before Luke was shoved straight into the tree trunk. My entire body vibrated with rising dread as Chevalier grabbed a fistful of Luke’s cherry hair and pulled his body to face him. Flakes of bark chips stuck to Luke’s face as he glared back at his leader, and his angry huffing intensified with each passing second.

“I was here first,” growled Luke, wrapping his hands around Chevalier’s wrist and yanking it off. Chevalier only spared me a passing glance as Luke slowly rose to his feet and reached for his sword.

“If we are ranking validity by seniority, then I have you beat, Jumbo. I had been sitting in the office long before any of your arrivals.” Chevalier cleanly unsheathed his sword and pointed it at Luke.

“And since when did sitting on your lazy behind count as seniority?” Luke spat as the two began to circle each other. The section of forest we occupied could hardly be called a clearing, and my heart stuck in my throat at the thought of the damage they could do if they actually began to fight. I primed my knees and followed their movements, desperate to find an opening to escape before it all went down.

“That hardly constitutes a retort, coming from you,” snorted Chevalier. His eyes locked briefly with mine, a silent command of “I will deal with you later,” but I quickly turned away and focused back on the gallowing trees surrounding us. Just a second… one second is all I’ll need to slip away.

But my pleas were ignored. Luke kicked the ground and lunged at Chevalier, thrusting his sword directly toward his heart. Chevalier effortlessly sidestepped and punched Luke in the gut, sending him tumbling backward, coughing and sputtering. But Luke quickly recovered and launched again, this time aiming his swing for Chevalier’s head. With perfect timing, Chevalier ducked and jabbed the hilt of his sword again into Luke’s stomach, but instead of backing up, Luke released his own sword and wrapped his arms around Chevalier’s neck, bringing him to the ground with his superior weight as they fell.

This was my chance. I steeled my knees and grabbed the nearest trunk to me for support. Chevalier repeatedly rammed his elbow into Luke’s chest only a few paces beside me, and though it looked like Luke possessed the strength of a boa constrictor encapturing his prey, I could see his hold slipping as Chevalier persisted his attacks. I began inching away, my hand plastering to any tree I passed like a lifeline, my eyes glued to the struggle I left behind. I would only allow myself to tear away from the sight as soon as I could be sure they hadn’t noticed my departure, but just when I had passed my seventh tree trunk, a new contender entered the ring.

It was as though what I had been watching previously moved in slow motion. In an instant, something shifted in the trees behind the brawling pair, swift and nimble like an autumn gale. Branches and leaves shook in its wake, and the once hyper-focused Luke diverted his attention to the sound. Chevalier snatched the chance to give a final push and disentangle himself, knocking Luke out in the process, but as he reached to retrieve his sword, he was seized once more, this time from behind.

Nokto’s silver hair gleamed ominously in the pale moonlight as Chevalier stood, the younger prince’s arms firmly wrapped around his shoulders. Chevalier grabbed at Nokto’s hands and tried to pry them off, but Nokto only climbed higher on Chevalier’s back, using his legs to try and push Chevalier back to the ground. 

Chevalier growled when Nokto jabbed a knee into the back of his thigh, but he didn’t yield. Instead, he raised himself to full height and rammed backward into the nearest tree, squishing Nokto into the trunk with all his might.

“Nokto!” I cried, but immediately regretted it. Nokto’s ruby eyes found me in the darkness and glared with the ferocity of a beast on the prowl.

“You… stay—” he wheezed, but before he could get out any more words, Chevalier silenced him with a backward headbutt into the tree. Nokto gasped and tightened his grip, but two more strikes from Chevalier slackened them entirely, and he fell limply to the ground to join the fallen Luke.  

Chevalier wiped his face and stared at me, and I bolted from the scene as he reached for his sword once again.

My limbs stung as I zipped back through the bramble. Half-broken branches and fallen twigs told me this was the direction I came through previously, but I shuddered at the thought of returning to the palace after what I just witnessed. Now more than ever, I was assured that I needed protection, but could I be guaranteed to find it back at the palace? But with a bloodthirsty Chevalier only paces behind me, what choice did I have?

“I heard a fight. I’m amazed you made it out in one piece.”

I foolishly whipped my head around to the soft voice, and found myself enclosed in a sheath of purest white. My head grew numb as disorienting fragrances of lavender and soil overpowered my nostrils, but two hands firmly gripped my arms before I collapsed.

“Oopsie! My dear, you can barely stand! You look like you’ve just seen a ghost… or worse.” Clavis’s dulcet tones whispered dottily in my brain, and I fought between the urge to rip away or remain trapped in his arms. Chevalier… Chevalier was coming… Clavis could protect me.

“What has you so frightened, little bunny?” he continued, turning me to face him. His golden eyes shone like lanterns to salvation. A safe haven just within reach. “Could it be you encountered something so terrible, so savage, so brutal that you cannot bear to repeat it?” His grip slackened only slightly, like a tamer easing an animal into his care. Into his trust.

“Tell me everything, give it all to me, and I promise I will make it all go away.” His gaze was all-encompassing, and his words comforting and inviting. It was an enticing offer, how could anyone refuse in my situation? I wanted to spill out my heaving guts to him, to pass on the torch of my burden to someone else, and above all take a rest. To leave this dark and foreboding forest before someone else showed up and led me astray, before someone broke this brief respite I somehow called my own…

Wait a moment, wasn’t Clavis one of the people I had been escaping?

I broke eye contact and looked over his shoulder. Chevalier emerged from a thicket of brush, looking seconds away from breathing fire. A hobbling Luke appeared on his right and a bleary-eyed Nokto on his left, the latter’s nose red and swollen like a ripened plum.

It was as if I’d woken up from the most dangerous dream. The dread of my situation resurfaced in an instant, and horror bubbled in my chest as I felt Clavis’s hand rummaging through my pocket.

I clutched Clavis’s shoulders, stomped my heel onto his foot, and jammed my forehead into his nose. Clavis let out a piercing shriek and released me, but as I pulled away, the object he’d grabbed from my pocket slipped out from my skirt and fell to the ground. A single cookie, now broken into dozens of pieces, lay on the forest floor. All four princes stared mutinously at its crumbly remains before turning to me.

I jerked myself out of Clavis’s reach and ran back. The castle was in view now; if I could just make it past those rose bushes and call for help—

Wham!

Something pink and soft collided with me as I reached the thorny bushes and I fell on my backside. Shaking my head from the dizziness, I looked up to see Yves rubbing his forehead, a frilly basket hooked in his left arm.

“Good grief, and I thought my faction was petty over the last sweet!” he said, helping me stand. “If you’d just stayed a minute longer, I was going to tell you I had a second batch in the oven.”

“You couldn’t have said that sooner?” Nokto yelled. My cheeks burned as he and the others caught up to us, their previously angry faces melting into vexation.

“Heh, sorry. Didn’t mean to go all dramatic on you all,” I said, clenching my teeth. Yves’s mouth gaped open as he watched his brothers limp over, and he squeaked in surprise when Luke deliriously walked straight into a tree trunk. How I wished news of this evening wouldn’t reach Sariel.

“You were fortunate tonight, simpleton, but now you know not to trifle with such matters in the future,” Chevalier said, as Luke pried himself off the trunk and dove for Yves’s basket while Clavis and Nokto compared their face bruises like trophies of war.

Yeah, I thought this was really fun. Thanks for the slumber party invite, Impromptu!

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[atozfic]

hiiii i hope you’ve been well!! i noticed you said you’ve been writing a bit of siren if it’s not too much to ask can we get a spoiler/snippet from it? i’ve been excited for it ever since i read the synopsis

the spoiler is that the fic is actually a huge prank i've pulled on you all, that i have no intention of actually writing. happy (early) april fools ! here, have a very cringey snippet that i intend to rewrite before officially posting the fic.

warning: this is unedited and likely includes typos/cringe writing from nearly a year ago!!

“do you think its a mermaid?”

the question is met with a slap to the back of the dark haired man’s head, who proceeds to yelp and stare back at his crewmate, confusion and offense swirling in his eyes when he meets the other’s stare.

“shh, you idiot!” the pirate speaks in a hushed tone, through gritted teeth and a serious expression, his eyes still busy looking at the lump of fabric and flesh and hair tangled in a net that lays just at the beach shore. “it could be a siren! we can’t risk waking it up! captain'll kill us if we die.”

the sun has already began to set, alerting them of just how much time has passed since they arrived on the impish island. deserted of any human lives, the spec of land provided them with nothing but natural resources and a perfect spot to dump their unwanted cargo. which, in this very moment, is a sailor they’d caught on board their ship, hiding among barrels in an attempt to attack the beautiful vessel come night fall. what a shame the poor man forgot to counter in just what crew lived aboard such a ship, the young yet already feared group made up of no more and no less than eight men, who have garnered a plethora of names: the ocean’s assassins, the hell bringers, the pirate kings.

many stories have been passed around about the ominous crew, among drunkards in sketchy taverns and the gossiping wives of sailors. some true, some false, yet all painting them in a less than friendly light. their beginning alone is a tale fearsome enough to send shivers down the spine of any well-respected navy commander.

other than the boy who’d betrayed his own father and taken capture of the navy ship, along side the rest of the seven men, little is truly known about the pirate crew. sure, their faces have been seen, their mouths have been kissed by drunken fools, rounds of ale have been brought to them in many a taverns, but never have their names been spoke, never have they shared laughter with a stranger nor spared an inch of mercy for anyone outside of their crew of eight disasters.

thus, no one knows of the true nature of the pirates. and, if there’s anything mankind hates most, it’s the inability to understand, to gain knowledge of something, which is why the group is such a point of contention, an enigma many challenge themselves to solve.

some even going as far to sneak on board their ship.

“wait, do you even get sirens this time of the year?” another slap lands on the back of the man’s head, a slap which he this time returns to his friend in the form of a flick to his ear. “stop hitting me or i’ll tell yeosang it was you who drank the last of the rum!”

“i wouldn’t have to hit you if you didn’t say stupid things.” unbeknownst to the two men, their bickering is attracting the attention of another set of eyes, who watches them from a distance where tree branches still scrape his skin and the sand is yet to fully appear beneath his feet. “do you get sirens this time of the year?! seriously, san? what kind of question is that!”

“the kind of question you’re too dumb to answer!”

“oh, real mature!”

“your mum sure thinks so!”

“what does that even mean?!”

“i don’t know!”

the volume of the two pirates bickering increases to a point where neither of the stealth sea-assassins pick up on the approaching footsteps nor the slow laughter which companies them, the eyes that were watching them now much closer and much more aware of what exactly had prompted the daily argument between the two.

it’s as the one who calls himself san curls his hand around the hilt of his sword that the onlooker decides to step in, knowing yeosang would not appreciate having to waste more thread on stitching up yet another unnecessary wound, just like the crew’s captain would not enjoy having to repeat the same old scoldings the pair received almost at a daily rate.

“you’re both idiots.” perhaps not the best way to make his presence known, but it works either way, prompting both san and wooyoung’s head to snap in his direction, eyes wide in accusation and mouths dropped open in audacity. “you know that, right?”

“fuck off and go back to doing tall people stuff, yunho.” of course it’s wooyoung who speaks first, always the most catty on board the ship and never one to bite back a comment or think before he speaks.

“how are we both idiots?” san, more level-headed even while being prone to arguing, asks with more curiosity than offense, hand lazily thumbing over the bumps and ridges of his intricate sword handle. 

“because, you thought it was a mermaid,” yunho points in san’s direction, who proceeds to avoid eye contact, suddenly finding the look of his sand dusted boots to be the most intriguing thing in the world. the attention is quickly thrown to wooyoung as the tallest among the three point him out. “and you thought it was a siren. now, can you tell me what mermaids and sirens have in common?”

the pair keep quiet, san with red cheeks and wooyoung with a snarl, like he’s trying so hard to calculate his next snarky comment, all in the aim of shrugging off the shame of being called out on his own idiocy. 

“a tail. they both have tails.” when it doesn’t click in either of the two’s heads, yunho sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. brushing past them both, he nudges wooyoung’s shoulder as he cautiously approaches the lump of flesh and fabric, tangled in a web of nets and seaweed. “and that,” he points at the figure, entranced by the subtle yet visible rise and fall of the creature’s breathing. “very clearly has a pair of legs, not a tail.”

[thecapricunt1616]

Patchouli - (C.B. oneshot)

𝓢𝓷𝓲𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓽 (𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓑𝓣𝓒): Carmen would stumble in - long after you’d fallen asleep, albeit cursing himself for not being home earlier before you’d fallen asleep to your true crime shows, so you’d kneel at his feet as you usually did, and untie his sneakers for him, before gently coaxing him out of the shoes like the earth-ridden angel you were since his back was fucking aching after his near 16 hour day. He would silently slink into the bathroom, take a quick shower - just enough to scrub off the dirt, sweat, and kitchen smell from the day. Before he’d carefully pad to bed and do whatever he could to assure you felt oh so good to start off your solo-weekend together.

♡ Summary: carm is a munch. What else do you need to know?

♡ W/C: 1300

♡ Posted Date: 4/20/24 (blaze it)

♡ A/N: pure porn lol (prequel to Peonies)

♡ Warnings for BTC: smut. Pussy eating ass smut. this is fully unedited because I’m a lazy sack of shit we die like men.

➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡

➵ 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 / 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵 ♡

Carmy was nothing short of addicted to the taste of your pussy.

Like - he nearly found it embarrassing for Christ’s sake. He would get hard thinking about it, Jesus, his fucking mouth watered.

He’d tried the best food in the whole world- the most talented chefs would nearly beg for him to taste their art - but nothing was more decadent than your homemade liquor on his tongue.

He worked extra late on Friday evenings, since it was the busiest night at the restaurant. Date nights, birthday celebrations, any celebration- really that was big enough to warrant going to one of the only Michelin star restaurants in Chicago usually happened Fridays.

Carmen would stumble in - long after you’d fallen asleep, albeit cursing himself for not being home earlier before you’d fallen asleep to your true crime shows, so you’d kneel at his feet as you usually did, and untie his sneakers for him, before gently coaxing him out of the shoes like the earth-ridden angel you were since his back was fucking aching after his near 16 hour day.

He would silently slink into the bathroom, take a quick shower - just enough to scrub off the dirt, sweat, and kitchen smell from the day. Before he’d carefully pad to bed and do whatever he could to assure you felt oh so good to start off your solo-weekend together.

Carmy would come into the bedroom, damp, dripping curls from his shower, and ever so gently crawl between your sleeping supple, thick thighs. He felt welcome. As if you were asking him- no. Begging him- to devour your sweet silky luscious heat as soon as he’d got through the door.

This was coming home, at least to him- his true home was between your thighs, sucking and lapping at your folds until the both of you were sore. When you’d whine about it in the morning, he’d kindly make up for it and place the gentlest, most filthy kisses to your mound and nether lips, whispering sweet sorrys to your cunt and ‘promising to be gentler with her next time’ - he never was.

He hummed gently, dragging his heavy, knife calloused fingers over your clit. Your hips inadvertently jerked into his hand, it was only natural.

There would be times he would just simply lay there after an orgasm of yours, in a filthy, horny trance, thrusting his expert fingers oh so carefully into your seeping (embarrassingly wet) and over sensitive hole - slow and light due to the muscle being so so overused, almost achingly so - before taking them out and spreading the digits to see how sticky and messy you were.

“mmm someone was playin’ with herself before I got home?” He said, just barely a whisper.

He pressed his lips to yours, before gently taking the right one into his mouth and sucking the overly sensitive flesh between his lips. His tattooed hands gently rub over your thighs, squeezing the skin, hard enough to leave bruises, and his eyes fluttering shut, every stress of the day melting away. It was as if the man had an oral fucking fixation with your clit, with your folds. The way he’d suck and flick and kiss them - it was like he was playing a goddamn game.

He eagerly spread your lips with his ring and middle finger admiring how wet you were. “Absolutely - how dirty mmm? My filthy little girl” he he whispered, tonguing the wetness over your weeping hole and holding back a moan at your sweet, musky flavor.

Carmy relished in the way your core clenched around nothing, and the sweetest most gentle whimper fell from your lips. “Shhhh” he cooed, placing a kiss to your clit that made your thigh twitch

“I’m takin care’f ya’ - don’worry” he said softly, licking a hot wet stripe from the curve of your ass to the very top of your slit, flicking his tongue over your clit in the way that made you shiver.

Even in your sleep, you widened your legs for him to give better access to the delicious sensation that was lapping up the moisture that was starting to drip and tickle. It wasn’t long until you were roused, a small sleepy smirk coming to your lips.

“Mmmm thanks Bear” you muttered, lazily finding his curls and gently pushing them off his forehead. He reached his hand up to your stomach, palm up to you, lightly wiggling his fingers on your flesh. Allthough you refused to open your eyes, you felt the action and knew what he wanted.

You found his hand easily, lacing your fingers together and pulling his hand to your lips, kissing each knuckle as he kissed and sucked your folds. As he nudged your clit with his nose you gasped lightly, looking down at him in the dim light.

“Yes- like that baby- feels good, work ok lovey?” You gently tug his curls and he looked up at you, lustblown eyes and a wet nose he looked like a puppy this way.

“Mm. Ok. Marcus f’got a huge cake order. Kinda’a mess” he muttered before sticking out his tongue, slack jawed and adorable, slobbering over your pussy like a man starved.

You nearly giggled at the action but couldn’t as a moan passed your lips you couldn’t hold in if you tried. “Such a good puppy” you moaned quietly “so good t’me Carmy, I fuckin love you” you gasped, thighs nearly smushing his cheeks as he nipped at the sensitive flesh

“That’s new” he hummed, kissing your clit as he reached down with his other hand and slipped 2 fingers easily in your dripping entrance. Your back arched off the bed, electricity shooting through your thighs and abdomen, core clenching around his fingers, nearly sucking him in.

“Cus’y so good bear. Such a good boy” you praised, gasping as he starts flicking his tongue over your clit “shhh-ahh! Mmm! Thas’it. Thaaaatsit” you slurred, the coil in your stomach heating up and threatening to snap- and soon.

He moans into your clit, the vibration causing your hips to jerk and he leans his strong forearm around your luscious hips. “Still” he mumbled the order, thrusting his tongue into your hole.

“Jesus fuck! Don’t fuckin st- ohhhh” you let out nothing short out of a pornographic film like wanton desperate filthy moan

“Cmon, cum f’me pretty girl” he urged gently, replacing his tongue with his fingers and nuzzling your clit with his nose like a man starved as he sucked and nibbled your folds.

You whined, squeezing the hand you were still holding tightly. “N-now-nnnmmmmhhh” your orgasm washed over you like a tsunami, the aftershock being the strongest part. His lightest touch was causing you to jerk and twitch under him at the overstimulation.

“Shhhh angel. Relax. Relax” he coaxed, rubbing over your stomach with a light touch. “Such a sweet girl. My sweet girl” he caressed your thighs with a sweet touch for a few minutes, pressing gentle kisses to your skin before getting up.

You’d inevitably whine and beg him to come back, your core feeling cold and neglected without his presence. “Time f’sleep gorgeous.” He’d gently pet your hair, pulling you into his chest.

“I want French toast for breakfast.” You muttered softly, nuzzling into his chest, smiling to yourself at his tickly chest fuzz.

“Ye?’ We got bacon too, went shoppin’ fore I came home” he muttered into the skin of your neck tiredly.

Now that he’d fulfilled his daylong craving- he was exhausted and ready to sleep as soon as he could.

“The best boyfriend. Can I wake you up t’morrow with my mouth?” You asked, gently rubbing your hand over his half hard bulge.

“Please. Y’never gotta ask princess”

Fin

[elfy-elf-imagines]

— In the Fields of Poppy | Thranduil *✧･ﾟ

▹ Pairing: Thranduil x Elf!Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff and Angst (mentions of death and the aftermath of war)

▹ Words: ~2k

▹ Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies, you have a chance encounter with the King.

▹ Notes: This is unedited because we die as men! Also because I'm sleep deprived rn. Let me know what you thought!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The carnage had been terrible; the aftermath of the battle more brutal than any recount would ever fully capture. 

Broken stained glass mosaics formed with blood from all sides of the battle glistened in the sun. There was a heavy fog that clung to the ground, the wails of survivors finding the corpses of their loved ones. You couldn’t focus on it, blocking out as much of the noise as possible. Later you would feel the weight of the lives lost, you were certain, but for now, there was work to be done. 

You kneeled before the squirming body of a dwarven soldier, too delirious off his own pain to scorn the healing of an elvish maid. There was a cut on his leg that was bleeding profusely, his skin showing the beginning signs of infection from the poison the orcs used. He was muttering in Khuzdul, his eyes staring blankly at the sky. His eyes were locked on the sun, and if there weren’t other grievous injuries taking priority, you would’ve reminded him to not stare at the sun. But who cares for blindness if you’re already dead?

With ghost-like touches and careful concentration, you placed the healing salve on his leg, cleaning the wound as best you could beforehand. He hissed in pain from the contact, his eyes no longer looking at the sun but at you. He continued to speak in Khuzdul, this time at you, with spite and pain written on his face. You weren’t concerned, continuing to work as you numbed yourself to your surroundings. 

A group of elven soldiers marched past you, carrying the body of their fallen comrade, faces stricken with grief. Your eyes darted away from the sight and returned your attention to carefully wrapping your patient’s leg with bandages. 

“I don’t have anything for the pain, I’m afraid,” you said to him, briefly meeting his eyes that went back to looking at the sun. He muttered incoherently, and while he spoke Common this time, his words were lost on you. 

Tying the final bandage, you then began the same work on the rest of his wounds. More wails and more dead bodies carried from the battlefield, but you blocked it all out. There was no time to be swallowed in the suffering. Once all his wounds had been tended to and your dress was drenched in the blood of another patient, you stood from the ground. A dwarven soldier rushed forward to bring his comrade to the tents where the injured were resting. Words of thanks fell from his mouth, but you had already turned away, moving towards the next person. 

This time it was an elf, so young he couldn’t be more than a century old. Old enough to serve in the guard but too young to die; it made you sick to your stomach. There was a gash near his neck, the veins around it turning black. The poison had already gotten into his system; it was only a matter of time before it took him. Yet you kneeled beside him and gently placed his head in your lap as you began cleaning the wound. 

Unlike the dwarf from before, his eyes met yours, a grin on his lips. It looked out of place on his face, contorted into pain. He spoke softly in elvish, reciting an old song that mothers usually sang to their children when putting them to bed. As the cold salve touched his neck, he froze up, twitching slightly at the sensation.

Silence enveloped the two of you, he no longer sang, yet his eyes stayed on you. A stray piece of hair had fallen from your messy braid, the elf reaching up and grabbing it. He held it between his fingers, mouth parted and eyes a thousand miles away. 

“Naneth--” he trailed off, muttering more incoherent words. You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to continue working as a spark of pain reactivated your cold heart. He called you mother; the poison must’ve already reached his head, making him see things that weren’t there. 

Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes as you looked away to reach into your healer’s kit. He must’ve been so terrified as death came closer, seeking comfort in a mother that wasn’t even here. You didn’t have the heart to correct him. Let the boy have a small bit of comfort. 

With a strip of bandage in your hand, when your eyes went back to his body, his eyes were shut, and his breathing ceased. Dead. 

Your hand fell limp at your side, eyes unmoving from his face. He looked at peace, expression no longer twisted in pain. A shuttered breath escaped your mouth, the chill in the air allowing you to see it blow away. You stood with shaky legs and trembling hands, two soldiers approaching to take his body away.

You’d been a healer for as long as you could remember, training for this since you were a little elfling running wild. Time allowed you to become numb to tragedy, keeping a clear head to do what needed to be done. But the elven boy’s death managed to stab a needle right through your heart. He was so young and vibrant, his potential severed by senseless war. It left a bitter taste in your mouth, like the ashes of the bodies the humans were burning. 

The mud squashed beneath your feet, eyes unseeing. You were a ghost on the battlefield, blood-stained dress blowing in the wind. How did the other healers seem so emotionless? Was the bite of death something that lessened the more you were near it? In a few years, would you have a disposition that was nearly mechanical? A part of you hoped for that release, while the other part of you was terrified by it. 

You turned, eyes meeting the misty blues ones of King Thranduil. He stood a few feet away from you, a vision amongst the dead. Tall and noble, he looked every bit the king he was. Golden like the dawn, his hair was loose and messy, and his previously pristine armor was dirty with mud and blood, cuts and minor wounds marring his body. Yet he looked eerily perfect. 

His stare was heavy, yet you refused to be the one to look away. A hint of a smirk appeared on the edges of his lips as his head tilted to the side. Long and sure strides brought him closer to you while you stayed locked in place. The king stood before you, towering over your smaller form. You may have been on the taller side; he made you feel as though you were a hobbit.

“What is your name?” 

You lowered your head in a half-bow, a pathetic attempt to show respect, not entirely accustomed to the presence of royalty. 

“Y/N, my king.”  

He nodded, mouthing your name as if to commit it to memory.

“Do you live in Eryn Galen? I have never seen you.”

“I grew up in Lothlorien, where I spent most of my life before training to be a healer in Imladris. I have only recently moved to Eryn Galen.”

Thranduil raised his eyebrows and clasped his hands behind his back. 

“How lucky we are to have a student of Lord Elrond among us.” You could discern if his words were patronizing or genuine, his tone not betraying his intentions. 

“I did not train under Lord Elrond personally.” You felt the need to correct him, not wanting him to think you of a higher station than you were.

“But your teachers were overseen by him, were they not?”

You nodded.

“Then you were trained by Lord Elrond, even if he himself didn’t oversee your education.” 

A small smile appeared on your lips, and you nodded. “I have no choice but to agree; who would I be to disagree with a king.”

A coy smile pulled on the edges of his lips as his eyes shone. 

“A foolish woman is who you would be. Walk with me?” It was phrased as a question, but he didn’t wait for your answer. His long strides carried him towards camp, and you had no choice but to follow.   

“Tell me, do you plan on staying in Eryn Galen long?” His voice was crisp but quiet enough that only you could hear them.

“I do. I have grown fond of the people and its forest.” You spoke genuinely and truthfully. The wood elves were reclusive and suspicious, but once you broke through those barriers, they were full of merriment and loyalty. You cherished the relationships you had already formed and were eager for more. 

“Even in its sickly state,” his tone was sardonic but not enough to hide the pain in his voice. How terrible it must’ve been to see his home twisted into something so evil while powerless to stop it. 

“I believe there is still hope for it to be returned to health.”

Thranduil stopped in his tracks, eyes meeting yours. You stopped as well, patiently waiting for what he may say next. His expression was unreadable, eyes searching yours for the answers to questions you didn’t know. 

Wherever he was searching for, it sent shivers down your spine and made goosebumps form on your arms. The moonlight was kind to him, bathing him in a silvery light that made him look like the elves of Lothlorien who always seemed to shine. You felt your heart stutter as butterflies formed in your stomach. 

It could’ve been a trick of the light, but you could’ve sworn there was a hint of affection in his bright eyes. After the death of his wife, rumors spread of his cold demeanor and harshen disposition. But now, before you, none of those adjectives seemed suited for him. As soft as the stars and as beautiful as the moon, how could he be anything but good and kind?

“I hope that you are right.” He finally broke the silence, eyes raising to the sky before he continued walking, and just as before, you matched his strides. Neither of you spoke, relishing in the silence after a terrible day full of death and terror. 

Finally, the both of you stopped in front of the tent that was yours.

“It was good to meet you today, Y/N. I hope to see you again; I find your company pleasant and your conversation enjoyable.”

A red flush made your face warm, and a child-like grin appeared on your lips. As light as a feather, you would’ve floated away had the king not grabbed your hand, delicately placing a kiss on your knuckles. 

When he released your hand, you lowered into a half curtsey, the movement not as fluid due to your dress that was stiff from the dried blood covering it. 

“It was an honor to speak with you, my king. I wish you a good rest tonight.” 

He smirked in a way that made your flush deepen.

“And if I find it difficult to find rest, will you brew me a tea to lull me to sleep.” 

“Herbology happens to be my specialty.” 

Thranduil gave a single, firm nod, yet his eyes never moved from yours. The affection you’d seen before was brighter, easier seen in the dim lighting. And you were certain your eyes portrayed the same attraction. Could this be the beginning of something wonderful?

“Then I shall know who to call upon in my hour of need.” He lowered into a full bow, his cloak billowing around him. You took a step back, a bout of giggle escaping your mouth. Who would’ve thought the stern king had a sense of humor?

“Farewell, my lady.” 

He then swept off further into the camp, and you stayed in your spot, watching his form disappear, only moving once you could no longer see him. You turned and entered your tent, hand placed upon your flushed cheek. As you readied yourself for bed, the encounter with Thranduil replayed in your mind. And suddenly, you found yourself dancing alone, unable to push back your excitement. 

And as you lay in bed and shut your eyes, you desperately hoped this would only be the beginning and not where the story would end. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Tags: @jmablurry | @lunatichaotiche | @aearonnin | @emiliessketches | @vibratingbones | @moony-artnstuff | @ranhanabi777 | @kenobiguacamole | @ceinelee | @thranduil | @samnblack | @abbiesthings | @Strangebananabatranch | @bitter--fruit | @keijibum | @lifestylesleep | @themerriweathermage | @im-a-muggleborn | @sweetheart-syndrome | @boyruins | @AwkwardBecomesYou | @delyeceamaitare |

[bruh-anator3000]

Special shout out to bae @thehistoriangirl for getting the kettle ready, we got a long story ahead of us. I actually wrote out an entire story but then realized most people dont want that, so let me break it down to the best of my ability. I hope you enjoy, and thank you to the 5 people who showed interest, I love you, like for real.

Warnings: severely unedited, Drug/substance abuse, inhumane product testing, death, probably bad writing at diseases (im working on it), child abuse/neglectance, daddy issues, crime, that should be all

Anisa Hardy was born with albinism and an autoimmune disease

Her premature birth gave both her and her mother serious issues, one that her father, a renowned surgeon and geneticist tried to undo

He tested his genetic reversal on Anisa when she was 7, trying to find the perfect formula to save his wife

He had a prophetic dream that he should splice their dna with the creature told to have 9 lives, so that if his wife did die, she could be reincarnated again

The splicing worked on Anisa but her mother died during the genetic sewing

Walter Hardy blames Anisa for lying to him that it worked

Her older sister ran away from home when Anisa was 16, leaving her the advice 'trust no one but yourself.'

Anisa stayed in school for the one reason of being better than her father

As her father went insane from losing his true love, he created a drug ring, and sold his company as he grew to become Nueva York's largest crime lord, under the alias of 'The Black Mask.'

Given her increased stealth, agility and strength thanks to the spliced cat dna, Anisa was forced to work as his number 1 robber, stealing things for him under the name of 'the Child of the Mask' (father's idea, not hers)

Got noticed by Alchemax as she entered college - the company Walter *used* to own

Met Miguel O'Hara when she interned with the lab cooperation

The typical trope of they couldn't express their care in any other way besides picking on each other

Anisa would bring Miguel his exact coffee order every morning though

He caught onto the fact she never had any real food to eat, and when he asked, she just snarked 'unless you bring me somethin else, I'll stick to my chips."

So he brought her homemade empanadas the next day

He was rewarded with one of the less noticeable stolen jewels her father made her take. Leaving it on O'Hara's desk without a word. This back and forth continued for a while

While in the labs, Anisa created a drug called 'Nine Lives.' A purple substance so strong, it could bring her back to life. It could only be used 9 times since it would slowly take over the blood stream 10% each dose.

However, Anisa made 10. Knowing full well her body would rupture if she ever took this drug ten times. She planned on it, in case one her last leg, she wouldn't be able to survive again

Miguel never really noticed, too caught up in his own research to care

The two never got to address their growing romantic feelings even after 2 years

And when Anisa thought she was ready to commit to the asshole of a coworker and finally ask him on a proper date, her father had the crazy idea that a spider's dna could bring his love back to life.

She was instructed to get Miguel alone and locked in the labs so that his men could take him out for testing. Because clearly, a healthy and strong young man's reaction to this would definitely be the same as a dead woman's

Anisa was inches away from the door when she broke down, running over to Miguel and begging him to leave. To trust her, and to walk out the lab doors and never come back

Obviously, he thought it was some stupid prank, an attempt to get him out so she could copy his work

That was until the glass behind them broke and a posion dart shot Anisa in the back of the neck, having her fall near dead asleep in Miguel's hold

Smoke filled the room, and as he tried to haul himself and Anisa out, three more darts landed on his back, knocking them both out clean

Anisa gained her vision, unable to move anything else as she helplessly watched her father's men drag Miguel away

She never returned to the labs

The next few nights, she paced, trying to figure out a way to get Miguel out of this mess

Thats when she adapted the 'Black Cat.'

She made her own suit, far different from the crappy skin tight shit her father threw at her, a mask that was inspired by Miguel's nanotechnology he tampered with, and broke into her father's labs

She found Miguel motionless, still dead asleep as a computer read how close his dna was to completing it's splicing

She ripped all her father's work apart, finally getting the revenge she's wanted for years and dragged Miguel's limp body out of the building

It was tough but she managed to get them back into the labs, where she set to work on making a neutralizer, similar to the one she had to take to contain the more... feral parts of her split blood

She created it, basing it off of her own but with spider calming elements instead and wrote it down for him. She injected him with it, watched as he sat up screaming, and disappeared, unable to face him

Guilt heavy as she wondered day and night; maybe if she tried harder, Miguel wouldn't have to live like her. Maybe if she was better, she could've saved him... and her mother

News of the black cat caught on, especially since she would steal for her father under his given alias, then take it all back a week or so later under her more fitting identity

She never talked to Miguel again, ignoring his calls, too ashamed with herself to even think of him

It wasn't until she was robbing one of the more secure banks of the city (technically un-robbing it by putting jewels *back*) that she met another vigilante, Spider-Man 2099

A ridiculous name, she taunted, her mask giving her words more confidence.

As they fought, and he told a smidge of his story, she caught on quick

She knew he was Miguel from the very beginning

I mean, who else has spider dna?

Suddenly, she didn't know what to do and nearly got herself kicked off a building and into the road

As time went on, Black cat was the only mask Anisa wore, stealing the artifacts or secret chemicals from their establishments before her father could get to them

All Walter knew was that his horrible daughter finally went missing - unaware his own creation beat him at his game nearly every heist

Spider-Man was the real issue. Choosing to fight Anisa instead of listening to her side

It was the labs all over again. Arguing without even caring who was actually right, just caring that it meant the spent more time together

Miguel would catch Black Cat just 'strolling' along rooftops where he was patrolling

He found himself sitting with his nemesis, splitting street food as they watched the city bustle beneath them

He didn't find out about her identity until he almost got her killed

Use one of nine for her concoction of 'Nine Lives.'

Miguel had found Black Mask's house of operation, and ignored the pleading of Black Cat

He refused to give up on this mission, needing to ensure Black Mask couldn't harm the world again

A failed fight later, the only way to stop Miguel from being shot dead was Anisa ripping off her mask to calm her father

But being seperated from him for so long, she forgot the rage that would boil over him everytime he saw his daughter's face - too similar to her mother, too similar to the wife she killed

He shot her 5 times in the chest without blinking, walking away as Miguel crawled over

He truly thought he lost another one to Black Mask. First, his uncle, the only one in his family who cared about him - and now the girl he ever considered close. Dare he say, a friend - maybe more.

On the brink of death, Anisa brought his hand down to her belt, revealing a purple vial with two needles at the end. Like fangs, with a shot mechanism

Rolling her head to the side, a silent invitation to inject her with this vial, right into her major pulse point

Miguel almost didn't do it. Terrified it would make things worse, but he had to take a chance

And after watching her bullet wounds heal over with fake purple skin, Anisa shot up, gasping

They grew closer then, after Miguel snappes at her for her criminal activities, and almost dying

The Black Cat and Spider-Man, working together?! Was on every headline for a few months

Then, Miguel disappeared

Completely gone, like he had fallen off the face of the earth, and Anisa couldn't do anything

She tried every resource, every gang, every possible thing, unwilling to loose someone like that again

But she couldn't find anything. Miguel was gone

It wasn't until three months later when one of her sources notified her of his pressence back in Nueva York

She immediately ran to a museum, stealing the largest Tomb there and waited anxiously for Miguel to come after her

He did, and she nearly tackled him with excitement

She quipped on and on, teasing him for leaving, but Miguel didn't respond to a single taunt, not even a grunt

When she lowered her guard, and her mask to sincerely ask what happened, a red web caught on her midsection

Slamming her face first into the concrete of the roof, breaking her nose immediately

He grabbed her chin, unfazed by the blood streaming down her face and yelled

But he didn't exactly yell, his voice just so angry, it was cold against her ear as he told her that hes seen things she could never comprehend

That there were worlds, far greater and far less than theirs, that they meant nothing in the grand scheme of things, that Anisa meant nothing. She never did.

And that if she kept trying to steal and be a criminal, he would no longer be the one to save her from her doom. That he wasn't going to spend his life chasing a lowlife like her. That shes already wasted so much of his time, that nothing she did mattered. It never did

And then, he left

Miguel left Anisa on the roof with a broken nose, the words of her sister ringing like a bell in her head

'Trust no one but yourself.'

For a while, Anisa let it be. Angrier than ever, upset that she let herself get hurt again, she went to work with her father again

Receiving tasks under a fake identity - Walter Hardy still believed he finally killed his daughter

But she grew bored, her anger needing closure or else she was going to bash everyone's head in Nueva York against the very asphalt they walked on

Like any normal not really ex - she stalked Miguel

It was hard finding a lead at first, but what she found was astonishing. Miguel had created an entire society

A society of spider people, from apl different dimensions

Naturally, she mapped out the entire building and filled all the air systems with a sleeping gas that knocked all the spiders out, expect for Miguel

His vents filled with paralyzing smoke, leaving him unable to move, but to witness the woman he never thought to see again walk through his complex building like she owned the place

Barging into his lair, she pressed on his wrist until a red web shot out

Grabbing it, she wrapped Miguel in his own webbing, and threw him into his chair before pressing a knife to his neck

"Anisa," he gulped out, "good to see you,"

"Ohhhhh," Anisa's head whipped around. Finding other spider with a five o'clock shadow slumped over. "You know her? Veryyyy cool." Peter B chuckled, slobbering running down his face as the paralysis kept his muscles still

They eventually work it out after he has Lyla do her explainy fhingy while hes limp and tied to a chair (lyla took photos) and Anisa would eventually get over it and understand

She would later go on to finally stop her father with the help of Miguel

Later, she would take over as Nueva York's largest crime lord - pissing Miguel off until he realized that crime actually went down since her rein began

She only took over because she knew if she didn't, someone worse would, and she uses her status as a way to demand criminals to get therapy and better jobs

She would also be granted max security for the spider society, and be allowed in whenever she wanted - always to meet up with Miguel, sometimes to help him, other times to just lay around and be a silent menace

Okay! Now with her story out of the way, i get to share the smaller details!

Anisa was born a second generation immigrant on her mother's side, from what was once known as Iran

Due to her albinism, she has silver hair and purple eyes, and she's smaller than a lot of people from being born prematurely

After the dna spilce, she gained some melanin back, and was given the opportunity to be a more average height/weight from it

She had to curate her own stabilizing serum since her father gave up on it, working closely with one of his scientists who helped her understand what was going on

The cat dna improved flexibility, agility, endurance, stealth, speed, heightened senses, and oddly, her chances of luck

Has claws and fangs very similar to Miguel, on both her fingers and toes. Her pupils also gained the ability to shrink and expand like a cat's, giving her an odd slit pupil look regularly

Bc of that, and her albinism, she's very very sensitive to light, often wearing some sort of eye wear to keep her safe

Her hair grew thicker too, excessive hair growth that was darker than her normal silver. It's odd trying to explain why near her temples/roots, its darker than the rest of her hair - explaining your mad scientist father spliced your genetic code with a black cat isn't easy

Makes biscuits whens shes deep in thought, and her claws get stuck on fabric and she cant pull away unless she grabs her wrist to manually detach her claws

Her tongue is textured too, and she came to that realization after licking ice cream and it left a really concerning pattern

She has to be very careful with what she wears, anything could tick her off with her hypersensitivity

I actually can't decide if I want her to grow ears and a tail yet so its in my mind as concept design still lmao

Really close to her sister, Emelia, and Anisa listens to her voicemail of her whenever she gets sad

Grew up used to people bullying her for her different appearance, so even if she wanted friends, no one dared be near her

Ironically enough, she's actually deadly allergic to seafood, so though her feline insticts go off when she smells fish, she cannot risk eating it

Her father signed her up for any extra curricular she wanted, Martial arts, sword fighting, gymnastics, anything to keep her away from him

Got in a lot of trouble with the law as a juvenile, an act of rebellion towards her father

Ordinarily, Alchemax wouldn't have hired the daughter of the insane scientist, but Anisa forged documents and changed her last name to her mother's

People tell her that she does have a very similar appearance to her father, and it makes her go crazy, wanting to rip out every part of her

Her skin is very sensitive, even more so bc of the heightened senses, so it scars really easily - it doesn't help she's picked up picking at scabs as a habit

Was lowkey in love at first sight with Miguel until he finally opened his mouth to tell her she was wrong with her formulas

They were apart of a group of roughly 10 other interns, but the rest requested a transfer not long after Anisa and Miguel started fighting over everything

The one thing that kept Anisa's interest piqued was that whenever someone made a diss about her appearance, calling her unnatural or a genetic mistake, Miguel would get on them in an instant

He backed another intern named Mark into the cart of petri dishes, breaking them all - Anisa would've started a fight on it if Miguel hadn't used it to his advantage to get the guy fired

Miguel was also quick to notice the bruises she'd come in with (being your father's main robber, only to then rob him to unrob the banks wasn't easy)

He only knew how to argue with her but he didn't want to make her feel bad about the scars or bruises, so that's when he brought up nutrition

And he didn't hesitate to make her lunch from then on. He didn't even explain why or let Anisa question him. He would simply silently hand her a paper bag as she handed him his morning coffee

After the whole testing incident and stuff, he planned on coming back to work and to ask Anisa what she knew about it, but was devastated to find her gone

As Spider-Man, after their maybe 6th run in, Anisa stopped what she was doing to teach him how to control his claws and fangs, tired of being smacked with a handful of talons

It was awkward as she would dig her fingers into his hands and above his lip, helping him feel the motion of retracting them, but it worked

She also tried to teach him about the sixth sense, the spidery sense bc she had a cat sense

Only to find out that she could lob foam blades at him all day and he wouldn't be able to sense it

Literally could not stop laughing as she made him stand there, eyes closed, and threw fake weapons at him, and he couldn't sense where they were, grumbling

Anisa progressively got more flirty as time went on, her hidden identity making her way bolder than normal - even though she's never actually done the deed

(She didn't trust anyone enough to, especially not with how incredibly sensitive she was. Claws come out when unchecked, just saying)

While on patrol, he found Black Cat just sitting and joined her, unknowingly starting a habit of them both grabbing street junk food and watching the city together

During these times, she would joke how she knew his identity, but never had the courage to actually say it, so she would compare him to old movie stars just to see him get offended

He found out Anisa was Black Cat - or at least really started to suspect it when she responded the same to his question of eating better - "unless you make me," in the same almost forgotten tone

Their relationship did progress into a grey area of romance, both of them knowing they couldn't reveal their identities so being together outside of their little game of cat and mouse

She never did more than aggressively makeout with Miguel on the rooftops, refusing to. Miguel understood but he was always perplexed how someone could flirt so heavily then not be hot and bothered like him

Anisa is obviously very smart, and was able to copy Miguel's digital watch, the hologram aspect of it at least

Also copied his nanotech designs, obviously, and would often try messing with his to understand how it all worked

Was shocked to find out it wasn't nanotech, but a bunch of unstable atoms to create a hologram

1000% stops mid battle to follow stray cats, often making Miguel come with

Does the cat kicking litter move on him when hes late to their chase, often mocking him by asking how he was gonna let pigs beat a spider

After her whole shot in the chest and died thingy, Miguel asked about her 'Nine Lives' substance and she walked him through the process of making it and how it reacts to her blood only while laying in a web hammock he made

She explained that because she was the only one in charge of keeping her genetics human - besides the one other scientist - she was constantly trying to improve her serum, which led to the creation of Nine Lives

Teased her once with a fish cake, and nearly had a heart attack when she gurgled out how deadly allergic she was to it before trying ti claw it out of his grasp

He threw it in a randomw alley and had to web her to a wall to get her to stop trying to eat it

Once he caught on to the way Anisa's eyes slitted in focus whenever his webbing would first shoot out, he would use the string to mess with her until she gave into the feline urge to chase it

Same with lasers, its very embarrassing for her but Miguel loves it

His 3 month disappearance was when he switched places with his alter self, going to take care of Gabriela before her world collapsed

Which is why he was super angry when he came back, furious Anisa could be making jokes at a time like this (she didn't know what time it was, just that her super hot not really boyfriend came back)

Given her abilities to copycat most structures or devices, Anisa spent an entire month mapping out the spider society, just so she could send them all to sleep

And it worked, spider senses or not, no one could escape the sleeping smoke when it came from every vent

Peter B was very thrilled to find out Anisa was Miguel's Black Cat, unbothered by the fact he was in the lime of fire, falling to the same paralysis Miguel did

Lyla absolutely ate that shit up, barely keeping herself together as Anisa wheeled Miguel around in his chair so he could explain things better

When she finally forgave him, he took her on a tour of the society

Something awoke in Anisa everytime Miguel would get slightly harsh in tone, telling any spider that approached them that she was *his* Black Cat

Made her feel very special

When she became crime lord, Miguel didn't talk to her for weeks, feeling betrayed without even listening to why

Then he noticed he wasn't called on his Earth for missions anymore, able to focus on the multiverse a lot better

Thanks to Anisa

Who spent all her time handling actual villains for him, and helped the ones who felt they had no other option get stable jobs

I.E kicked the shit out of Green Goblin (Miguel's brother, whoops) and helped his minions find secure jobs that would financially keep them stable

The spider people love her for her ability to calm Miguel down (they have a separate training room that they use to tear into each other after 24 hours of no stabilizing serum)

She gets really heartbroken when she hears the other canon Black Cat events, and takes her time to notice them so she can discreetly derail them from happening, a silent attempt of keeping Miguel in her life

And that's all, so far! I'm sure theres plenty I forgot, I really tried to cut as much as I could so it wouldn't be a long read but... I'm a writer at heart, I couldn't help it. Please, please, please ask questions! I would love to tell more about her! Thank you to those who read it all, I hope your leftovers are heated evenly and your pillow is cold on both sides <3

[projecthipster]

Pulp Fiction

You've seen this on a hundred t-shirts, but why?

“Whether or not what we experienced was an According to Hoyle miracle is insignificant. What is significant is that I felt the touch of God. God got involved.”

Somehow, I turned 26 without ever having seen Pulp Fiction. I guess I vaguely knew that this was some sort of violent, amoral movie that college freshmen (emphasis on the men) loved for being subversive. And committed as I was to some sort of soft-revolution folk-listening bike-riding Wes Anderson form of hipsterdom, it wasn’t that I hated the idea of Tarantino, but he was never on my radar aside from watching Inglorious Basterds on cable one night. And now that I’ve actually sat down and watched Pulp Fiction in one sitting after years of posters and memes, I have to say what I didnt fully expect to say: I get it. I think I totally get it. My persona’s not going to be uprooted by this movie, but if this was the first thing I’d seen that wasn’t, like, Michael Bay’s Transformers, I can see how it would have that impact.

A few years ago I might have filled this review with thoughts on whether violent crime in movies, perpetrated by the protagonists, was problematic. But truth be told I’m a bit tired of the vaguely neo-puritan concept that a story’s quality can be evaluated with a sort of demerit system, by going over a script with a comb of fine moralistic teeth and dropping points for every problematic aspect. I could easily do that to Pulp Fiction, and in the interest of fairness, let’s do that briefly here. Few strong female characters:  debatable, given how memorable repeat Tarantino collaborator Uma Thurman is as a nostalgic-fun-chasing gangster’s wife and washed up actress, but let’s say point off. Every time Samuel L. Jackson, John Travolta, and Bruce Willis gun down people in cold blood: point off. The entire ending to Bruce Willis’ segment: several points off. Tarantino writing a speech of a white guy standing in his kitchen spouting racial slurs like Pitchfork writers spout baseless comparisons to earlier albums, and then casting himself as that white guy: many, many points off. You can decide for yourself whether you want to take points off for the foot fetish. Was that fun? Are we purified? 

I couldn’t say exactly why I’m over this neopuritanism. Maybe it’s the algorithms, censoring anything with naughty bits for the sake of greater appeal and therefore greater profit, forcing a sort of childish doublespeak. I don’t think there’s a single scene in this movie that could survive unedited on Tiktok. No one in Pulp Fiction is unalived. They die. What’s more, they fucking die. Working around that even for progressive reasons all smacks too much of more classical conservative censorship. There’s a classic interview from around the release of Kill Bill that I found before I queued up the movie. A fusty-vibed pundit does her best to take down Tarantino with accusations of corrupting youth through senseless onscreen violence. He rallies back, more convincingly, that even kids can separate movies from reality better than the moral crusaders tend to assume. Why all the violence? Because it’s so much fun, Jan!

And as I watched this apparent frat bro classic, as I was swept into the sheer style of it all, with the classic music and the funky directing and the whip-quick dialogue that swings between incredibly casual and over-the top theatrical, while I didn’t feel myself turning into a frat bro, I felt my inner Jan wither away somewhat, because, yeah, it IS fun! Pulp Fiction is two and a half hours long, and it feels both longer than that for the amount of stuff in there, and shorter than that for its headlong galloping pace. No, the gangster protagonists aren’t good people. They shouldn’t be role models. They don’t need to be. They’re lurid, florid, edgy clowns, and it’s fun to laugh at them while also being a little scared for them, because if they’re shot, then the fun ends. That was the appeal of the pulp fiction of a century past, of cheap crime novellas sold on tables outside train stations that crumbled quickly into paper dust. As in that namesake fiction, Tarantino’s characters navigate a world divided into Their People and shrieking innocent bystanders, with the ratio tilted rather more to the former than you’d expect. Their stories branch and weave together, wrapping back into a thematically cohesive nugget where it all began. Each of them is a little movie in its own right, introducing us to characters in scenarios that spiral into wild climaxes.

One of the problems here is that not every branch of the tree is created equal. We start with the bits  I’ve seen in memes for decades. Vincent and Jules, buddy hitmen, talk about burgers and track down some dudes. Jules taunts one, plays linguistic games, and recites a fictional bible verse before shooting him through the head. Vincent takes his boss’s wife, Mia, out to a fifties themed diner. Until I watched Pulp Fiction for real, it should be said, I had this impression that it was a period piece. It’s not, it turns out. It’s set in the early nineties, when it came out. It just so happens that every damn thing onscreen throws back to decades previous. The screen itself feels soaked in nostalgia. Maybe that’s part of why it feels timeless. What’s timeless when it’s created will always be timeless. What’s timely fades. Going back to the diner, for example, Vince and Mia enter a dance competition that feels right out of Grease, which yes, I know, was a period piece too. That leads to this climax involving a big adrenaline syringe.

You  see why this is all hard to summarize in a linear manner?

The chemistry of Travolta, Jackson, and Thurman is a great source of the aforementioned all-important Fun through all this. It’s a drop down to suddenly turn to Bruce Willis’ corrupt prizefighter and his character-free doe-eyed French wife, even if that segment does climax the last way you’d ever possibly expect. It mostly all wraps back together at the end, though, with a truly tense final standoff. One thing I like, a closing grace, is that all this blood and swearing and needless slur-dropping ends not in the most violent shoot out yet, but in a  calm and simple act of mercy. It’s like the end of The Catcher in the Rye, where you can see a little bit of character development start to seep in, colouring everything previous as explanatory preamble to this little bit of worthwhile change. 

There’s a touch of hinting at the role of the author as God in fiction, too. The main catalyst for this all-important change, the change that structures the whole rambling multi-threaded movie, is a coincidence that saves Jules’ life. He calls it a miracle, views it as an Act of God. That’s supposed to be Against The Rules of screenwriting. Acts of God, which within worlds of fiction are obviously Acts of the Author, show the hand of the author, and so inherently call attention to the unreality of the story. But maybe, this movie is saying, that’s sometimes ok. There’s a confidence to rapping on the fourth wall a bit. By making the audience aware of the unreality of the story– something even done as early as the title in this case, it has “fiction” right there in it– the work makes them aware of the craft inherent in creating the fiction they’re watching. You only want to do that if you’re damn sure the craft is good. Thankfully, in this case, it is. 

One of the great defining factors of Hipster Fiction, I’m finding, is an appreciation for the auteur, for a story as a product of a singular mind even when, as in the case of a movie, it’s really the product of hundreds of people working together.  That stands in contrast to fiction pushed out of homogenizing studios and record labels and publishing houses, eager to erase the most dramatic and therefore potentially polarizing flourishes of the author into a marketable mainstream. That’s why I don’t mind the quirks, even the weird ones, as much as I might. Tarantino is singular, and the weird foot shots are a signature because he’s a weird dude about that. That’s the sort of thing that would be ironed out of a focus-grouped, less auteur driven, less hipster movie aiming to satisfy everyone. 

That ending, and the touching on the author’s Godly hand, cements Jackson’s melodramatic gangster Jules as the closest thing this all has to a bit of heart. A bit of heart is nice. It’s not why we’re here, though. We’re here to watch John Travolta talk about burgers, dance the twist, and shoot people.

I give this hipster movie four dorm room posters out of five.

Project Hipster is a futile and disorganized attempt to dive into the world of things that the internet has at some point claimed "are hipster," mostly through ListChallenges search results.

This review comes from the eleventh list, The Greatest Films For Hipsters.

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