#wip: the house always on top

[simplegenius042]

Music Monday

Tagging @socially-awkward-skeleton @shallow-gravy @adelaidedrubman @strafethesesinners @strangefable @direwombat @derelictheretic @carlosoliveiraa @g0dspeeed @nightbloodbix @cassietrn @chazz-anova @josephslittledeputy @josephseedismyfather @deputyash @dephellseed @deputy-morgan-malone @trashcatsnark @voidika @vampireninjabunnies-blog @onehornedbeast @minilev @fourlittleseedlings @florbelles @corvosattano @afarcryfrommymain @skoll-sun-eater @softtidesworld @snake-in-the-garden @wrathfulrook @titiagls @inafieldofdaisies @megraen @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @thewanderer-000 @cloudofbutterflies92 and @i-am-the-balancing-point

Three songs for Far Cry The Silver Chronicles, A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore and Life, Despair & Monsters. Also the last song is a song from Season 1 of Hazbin Hotel, which I'm aware isn't fully out yet, so maybe SPOILERS! Avoid the last song if you care enough. Music below:

Nadi Sinclair, a sharpshooter amongst Task Force 141, is forced to go on the run with Soap and Price in the Call To Arms duology after killing Shepard and try their darnedest to put an end to Makarov once and for all (therefore running with the metaphorical wolves after the ultranationalist leader). Though alternatively, this could be after Call To Arms, where she joins up with the Project at Eden's Gate under Alexander Khaos and Jacob Seed's tutelage, where, she literally and figuratively runs with the wolves, away from society's expectations, technology and whatnot. Song below:

"Trick or treat, what would it be? I walk alone, I'm everything My ears can hear and my mouth can speak My spirit talks, I know my soul believes

But we're running out of time (Time, oh) All the echoes in my mind cry There's blood on your lies The sky's open wide There is nowhere for you to hide The hunter's moon is shining

I'm running with the wolves tonight I'm running with the wolves I'm running with the wolves tonight I'm running with the wolves I'm running with the wolves tonight I'm running with the wolves I'm running with the wolves tonight I'm running with the wolves

A gift, a curse, they track and hurt Say can your dream, in nightmares seems A million voices silent screams Where hope is left so incomplete."

"cardigan" is a specific song that makes me think of Ortega "Ore" Brantley's final moments in The House Always On Top, as he stands in a dam that has an active nuclear warhead nearby, injured beyond belief, with one of his father's most dangerous spellcasters, Aggravor, keeping him in one place with nothing more than one hand touching his back, a fatal touch that would soon kill him whenever Aggravor chooses. And Ore reflects with what little time he has left on his loved ones, his companions, friends, family, mother, sister, the innocents killed by Urias under his watch, even the recent loss of Ryder, the Courier's presence being the cause of why he came to Hoover Dam in the first place if only because he saw a slim chance she survived and had to jump to it before it was too late. He thinks over his regret of not killing his father sooner, of being too late to save others, but also his accomplishments, over the fact his sister, and both of their students, had survived, and Ress had evolved far from the arrogant and immaturely entitled girl she started off as. And with that, when Ress finally enters the room, he makes sure to look upon her with pride, and knowing she won't be needing him anymore, verbally passes the torch to her. He has full confidence that she will end their father's blight even when Aggravor ends his life. This song can also be towards Ress as she loses her big brother, the one constant support in her life, the one person never willing to give up on her no matter how much of an ass she made of herself, the one person she thought she would walk the Earth with forever and ever due to their ageless immortality, so she would never be alone. Her big brother who took the roles of teacher, friend and father all in one, always there to guide and support her want for freedom (unlike Urias, who would have used her as a pawn), always there to say "I'll take it from here" whenever she messed up, whenever she needed help fighting. Which must be why Ore's last words, though reassuring, had hurt so much as well. Song below:

"To kiss in cars and downtown bars Was all we needed You drew stars around my scars But now I'm bleeding Cause I knew you stepping on the last train Marked me like a bloodstain, I, I knew you Tried to change the ending, Peter losing Wendy I, I knew you Leaving like a father, running like water When you are young they assume you know nothing But I knew you'd linger, like a tattoo kiss I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs The smell of smoke would hang around this long Cause I knew everything when I was young I knew I'd curse you for the longest time Chasing shadows in the grocery line I knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired And you'd be standing in my front porch light And I knew you'd come back to me You'd come back to me. And you'd come back to me. And you'd come back."

In The Thorned Crown of Iron Thrones, much like canon, Aegon II Targaryen isn't a good brother, nor is he a first son to be proud of (as evident by his father's absolute indifference with him and his mother's disappointment), even less a candidate to be a king of all things (sometimes he was thankful it was his half-sister who would sit the Iron Throne, though he knew that meant him and his younger siblings would be put to the sword, which was the only downside). He knew this to be true, everyone knew, even his own grandsire recognized more potential in Aemond even after his younger brother lost his eye. After the funeral of their older cousin Laena, after Aemond lost an eye to their half-sister's children for claiming a dragon which their deceased cousin had ridden on, after the arguments and screaming between everyone on both sides, for justice, for blood, for punishment, for some shred of care from the man who conceived them. And especially after hearing Corvus, the only older sibling that treated Aegon, his brothers, his sister, and his mother with more decency and kindness than their apathetic father and scornful half-sister (despite Corvus conviction to continue helping his adopted sister keep her claim), break down when father revealed the most damning and life-shattering secret about his "adopted" son (thanks Dad), Aegon couldn't handle it. Couldn't handle the shame, disappointment and hopelessness of the situation, so that night, he ran off. He ended up running off into Driftmark's woods, hoping that, maybe if he disappeared, everything would get better, that his half-sister that his father doted on more than Aegon and his siblings, or his younger brother who would do mother and his grandsire proud, or even their recently discovered half-brother, as merciful and decisive as he is (though Aegon highly doubted either father nor grandsire would allow it to happen), would sit the dreadful throne, be the ruler people wanted. Hell, he would even have Cecil to sit the throne, if it meant the self-proclaimed Royce woman would send her father, his terrifying uncle, to the Wall and marry off his siblings to noble houses willing to care for them. Not him. He wished to be forgotten, to curl up and shrink and shrink until he couldn't be seen anymore. He had not intended of coming across an ex-assassin woman who called herself Okkotsu, who had tried to murder his father back in the day and had a special connection with the recently deceased Laena. Nor had he foreseen them connecting with their troubles, through such unorthodox means. Okkotsu may not know what Aegon is exactly going through, but she knows enough to help lift his spirits up... through the power of accepting yourself as a sopping wet sad little meow-meow blorbo? Song below:

[I'm not going to include all the lyrics, just the ones I find matter to these two downtrodden losers. Also LOTS-OH cursing here]

"So things look bad, and you're backs against the wall Your whole existence seems fuckin' hopeless You're feeling filthy as a dive bar bathroom stall Can't face the world sober and dopeless You've lost your way, you think your life is wrecked Well, let me just say you're correct!"

"Wait what?"

"You're a loser, baby A loser, goddamn baby You're a fucked-up little whiny bitch."

"Hey!"

"You're a loser just like me."

...

"This supposed to make me feel better?"

"There was a time I thought that no one could relate To the gruesome ways in which I'm damaged But lettin' walls down, it can sometimes set you straight! We're all living in the same shit sandwich."

...

"I'm a loser, honey A schmoozer and a dummy But at least I know I'm not alone."

"You're a loser."

"Just like me."

...

"I'm trapped and it gets worse with every hour."

"You're a loser, baby."

"A loser, but just maybe if we-"

"Eat shit together, things will end up differently."

"It's time to lose your self-loathin' Excuse yourself, let hope in, baby Play your card, be who you are."

"A loser, just like me."

[quillcraftconquer]

John Price x Ex-Wife Part II

Didnt realize you guys loved the angst so much (honestly same.)

Tw: Angst, unprotected piv, verbal argument.

(WIP still. I promise there’s more.)

—-

It was already dark out, the front porch light shining through the small glass windows that accompanied your front door. You had already put your son to bed, been woken up, and put him down again a few times. You were in the process of working towards sleep again when you heard a gentle knock on the door.

You struggled with the squirming baby in your arms, trying to avoid the toys that littered the ground around your feet like mines. You heard another small knock on the door, struggling to get to it in time.

"It's open." You called out, knowing that it was John on the other side. The handle turned, and John poked his head in, lips pressed into a tight line. You knew he wanted to chastise you about leaving the door unlocked, but his eyes fell to the floor, observing the toys strewn around, and then back up at you, kicking them out of the way with your son outstretched in your arms. He stepped inside, still dressed in his tactical pants, boots, and a tight fitting tan shirt. If you weren't struggling to keep a hold of your baby and navigate to him, you would have stumbled at the site. John, despite being a few years older than the men he worked with, still looked damn good, with thick forearms laced with dark brown hair and rounded biceps. The only part of his body that showed his age was the grey peppering his hair and the thin layer of fat that laid over his abs. He let a backpack fall from his shoulders, setting it on the ground beside him. He stepped forward, meeting you in the middle of the corridor to take the baby from your arms.

"Hi, love." He cooed at him softly, brushing the wild hair on the baby's head down with his hand. You sighed with relief, bending to pick up some of the toys on the ground and toss them into a bin.

"Been up awhile?" John asked, planting soft kisses on the side of your sons head.

"Up, down, and back up again." You admitted, sitting back on your heels and staring up at John.

"I'm sorry I'm late." He apologized, and you shrugged in response. It wasn't anything new.

"Need help?" He asked, nodding his head to the destruction on the floors. You chewed on the inside of your cheek for a moment. You did want the help, but you didn't necessarily want John in your house for longer than he needed to be.

"Yes." You finally said in a sigh, and John immediately dropped to his knees, setting your son gently on the floor next to him. John grabbed one of the toys, handing it to your son to play with while he began to gather the others around him, tossing them into the same bin. You helped him gather from your own spot on the floor, occasionally stopping to prevent your son from pulling the toys back out. Finally, both of you on your hands and knees, you met in the middle, picking up the few toys that were left. You both reached for the same toy, your fingers colliding against his hand. The touch made you pause, a tingle running down your spine. Your eyes flickered up at John, who had also paused, his large calloused hand resting on top of yours. His eyes met yours, and you swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat. Something between love, sadness, and need filled his eyes when you bit your bottom lip.

Had he always been this attractive?

"I-" You started to say, before being interrupted by the babbling coming from your son.

"Da-da. Da-da, da-da" He babbled, reaching his chubby arms out towards John. John's head whipped towards him so fast strands of your hair fluttered across your face.

Your heart tightened in your chest. Your sons first words. Part of you wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor like John was doing, eyes filled with love and adoration as he pulled your son into his lap, chuckling as he encouraged him to say it again.

The other part of you was devastated. Jealously, and guilt from it, coiling in your stomach and replacing whatever feeling John had put there. You, who spent countless hours awake with him. You, who changed the majority of the dirty diapers. You, who waved goodbye to your husband every-other-week to do this alone, and still.

You always came last.

You brushed the feelings aside, plastering a smile on your face as your son curled into his fathers body, eyes heavy with sleep. Tears pricked the corner of your eyes, and you blinked them away quickly.

"I can swing by in the morning, pick him up then." John offered softly.

You nodded, tossing the last toy into the bin.

John rose to his feet, and you followed suit. You reached out towards your son, and John hesitated, still cradling his head to his chest.

"Can I lay him down?" John asked.

You didn't want to take this moment from him.

"Sure. It's down the hall, first door on the left." You said, gesturing to the hallway behind you. John nodded, his eyes grateful as he took a step towards the room. You stopped him as he passed you, grasping his biceps. You could feel his muscles instinctively flex under your fingers, and you smiled a little at the action.

"Take your boots off." You told him, and he obliged, using his free hand to loosen the laces and the stepping on the back of the heel to kick his boots free. You took the boots, setting them to the side and kicking the remnants of dried mud to the side as well. John continued down the hallway, disappearing into your sons room.

You walked into the living room, surveying the mess in there. You dragged a hand down your face before getting on your hands and knees, gathering the toys into a small pile.

You stopped when you saw movement in the reflection of the black screen of the TV. John was standing in front of the couch, now empty handed, but not making eye contact with you.

John was staring straight at your ass.

Normally, you would grumble at him, maybe even lash out at him, but tonight you didn't.

Instead, you arched your back, knowing the bottom of your pajama shorts were already too short, showing off the crease where your thighs met your ass. John sank into the couch, still staring dumbly at you. You could see him shift uncomfortably, hands gathering in his lap to hide the bulge you knew had begun to form.

You were suddenly very grateful you hadn't put pillows on the couch yet.

You swiveled to turn towards him, and his eyes finally jumped up to your face, his face flushing with embarrassment at being caught.

"He's asleep. I'll come by in the morning. What tim-" John stopped himself as you crawled towards him, resting your hands on top of his knees. You pushed his legs apart, slowly stroking your hands up his large thighs. You could already feel how wet you were, each rub of cotton on your clit drowning out the doubt of what you were doing. John was breathing heavier now, watching you as you unbuttoned the top of his pants, the tip of his hard cock already beading with precum as you tugged it out.

“Love…” John sighed, his jaw clenching when you began to stroke him, hand molding around the familiar part of his body you once devoted your life to.

“Love, stop.” John said, unable to control his body as his hips bucked into your hand.

“Tell me you want me.” You breathed, wiggling out of your pajama shorts and climbing on top of him.

“Of course I want you.” John answered, furrowing his brow slightly at your request.

“Show me you want me.” You said, clasping a hand behind his neck as you sank down on him, letting out a moan as your body stretched for him.

You hadn’t had sex since the divorce, almost a year. Your body quaked at the sensation of being filled again, by your ex husband nonetheless.

John grabbed your face between his hands, kissing you desperately as you began to rise and fall on him. He withdrew from the kiss, wrapping his arms around your torso and smashing your body against his chest in a tight hug that matched the feverish need in his kiss. He began to thrust his own hips upwards, and you stifled a cry as your hands gripped the back of the couch behind him.

“I love you.” He mumbled into the shell of your ear, one hand twisting into your hair to hold you close to him. You could feel his pace become erratic, his other hand drifting low to grip one of your ass cheeks as he pumped into you.

Suddenly, his grip tightened, fingers digging into your flesh as you felt the hot release deep inside of you. You groaned, pressing your mouth against his flushed neck to stifle the noise. You remained there, face buried into his neck as you felt him begin to soften.

“Love.” John said, and you drew back to look at him. He lifted a hand to cup your cheek, thumb stroking the side of your face. You leaned into the touch.

“I want you. I need you. But if you want me here, if you need me, you have to stop pushing me away.” He said softly, and you immediately stiffened.

“I pushed you away?” You asked, bewildered at his audacity.

“That’s not what I-“ John started, and you interrupted him.

“It wasn’t your job, or the countless nights alone, or wondering if you were alive that pushed you away? It was me?” You snapped, quickly pulling yourself off of him, causing him to wince. “God, John.” You mumbled, snatching your shorts off the ground and pulling them onto your body. John stuffed his cock back into his pants, lifting his hips slightly to zip them.

“I want to try, love. Us, again. I think we should try.” John said, following you into the front corridor as you kicked his boots at him.

“I think you need to leave.” You bit out, crossing your arms in front of your chest. John’s shoulders slumped as he pulled his boots on, kneeling as he tied the laces.

“I am trying.” John pleaded again, and you couldn’t help but sneer.

“You’ve always been pretty shitty at trying, John.” You said, and John’s face dipped into a frown.

“You’ve always been pretty shitty at letting me.” He grumbled, angrily finishing the laces on his other boot.

“That’s my fault too, isn’t it? I pushed you away and made you a shitty father, didn’t I?” You pressed him, knowing the latter was a lie, but the anger and bile in your throat too strong to swallow.

As if on cue, you heard your son begin to cry from his room. John began to walk towards it, and you put a hand up to his chest to stop him.

“Don’t.” You ordered, and for the first time in knowing him, John grabbed your wrist, not out of love, but out of anger. You could feel how tightly wound he was, body tense as he pushed you, albeit gently, away from his body and out of his way as he walked to your son’s room silently. You balled your hands into tight fists, storming to your bedroom and slamming the door shut behind you as tears fell from your eyes.

You knew this was a mistake. A big fucking mistake.

You let the sobs escape, curling into yourself. The emptiness of the bed was almost haunting, and your heart ached with the memories of being able to curl around John when you slept.

You listened to him walk back into the corridor, slamming the front door behind him. You wiped the tears from your face as you pulled up the baby monitor on your phone, heart dropping again with sadness when you saw the empty crib. John had taken your son with him.

You clutched the phone to your body, letting yourself feel every ache as you struggled to fall asleep.

[lostreverb]

not like the movies

(virgin!luke cooper x fem!reader) in where your boyfriend invites you over to his house to watch a movie, but there seems to be a change of plans not long after you arrive content: pure smut (p in v), y/n is also an intern, fluff a bit? definitely not proofread a/n: kinda got obsessed with the way luke looks like he's never felt the touch of a woman (this is a very self serving write) THIS IS A WIP FROM A VERY LONG TIME AGO and i'm not good at smut sorry

--

in an act of courage, luke had invited you over to his place to watch a movie- which meant he hovered around your desk all day pestering you until you begrudgingly asked him what he wanted.

"come to my house" the words blurted out of his mouth, more blunt than he intended. "tonight, i mean- please"

your features softened as you listened to luke's proposal, finding it absolutely endearing how his nonchalant demeanor did an 180 when he was around you. his hands were stuffed in his pockets (probably to hide the fact they were shaking) and he was looking off into the distance as he spoke to avoid eye contact. he only periodically looked down to make sure you were still listening. which, of course you were.

that's what he loved about you.

you were the only person (other than his two friends) who could stand listening to his endless ramblings about whatever movie had his attention at the moment.

and that night was no different.

luke had picked inception (how he already had the DVD you had no clue, since the movie only came out 3 months prior) and was explaining in great detail how the effects for the café scene were done.

he sat crossed legged on the couch, dark eyes vibrant as he excitedly spoke.

"so basically they took like a shitton of plate shots of all these things just flying in the air-"

you had absolutely no idea what a plate shot was but that didn't matter. you were just happy to see him so passionate. it really surprised you how talkative he could get since he was always so quiet at work. and as he rambled on your eyes got lost in his features, the way his curls lay on his head, the softness of his cheeks and his smile...

"y/n?"

"sorry- what were you saying?"

luke grabs a bit of popcorn before continuing. "i said nolan is like a fucking genius when it comes to special effects. practical is ALWAYS better. none of that CGI crap. speaking of, I went to go see transformers and-"

you cut luke off with a kiss, the popcorn in his hand immediately falling out of his grasp and onto the couch. you tongued him deeply, hands lightly tugging his hair. luke responds with a moan, somehow finding the confidence to guide you into his lap to straddle him. he'd watched enough movies to know where this was going.

but once you had reached down to the bulging crotch of his sweats, his breath hitched, and he slightly pulled away.

"oh.. sorry-" you murmured.

"uh- no it's okay it's just-"

"we can take things slow-"

"no it's- i haven't done this... before..."

oh. oh.

well that made sense. it made perfect sense actually. between the both of you, you had always initiated anything intimate. luke always completely fell apart whenever things got a little pg-13. you thought he was just shy.

he must've noticed your surprised expression, because even in the dark of the living room you could tell he was blushing. you brought your head down to put your lips against his again, caressing his cheek.

"I don't mind" you whispered.

and that's how you both ended up on the couch, half naked. luke didn't have any condoms, but luckily you had a hunch this would go down when he invited you over, so you had some in your bag.

as you lowered yourself onto him, luke let out an embarrassingly loud mewl, your wet cunt cocooning his cock.

this was nothing like the movies.

absolutely nothing like them.

no matter how it was done, no close-up montage of half naked celebrities getting it on could ever compare to the euphoric feeling of you on top of him.

and you hadn't even started moving yet.

wait, you hadn't started moving yet?

luke eyes shot open, lifting his head off the back of the couch. you tilted your head, looking down at him with an intrigued smirk.

"you okay?"

his gaze flickered over your figure once before he gulped and slowly nodded, unable to open his mouth in fear of letting out another embarrassing sound.

despite luke's assurance, you seriously considered simply getting off him and just giving him a blowjob. i mean the poor boy looked delirious, body trembling and all.

but before you could act on your thought, a shock of pleasure coursed through you. luke had begun to roll his hips, his face still wearing a strained expression as he familiarized himself with the feeling of sliding in and out of you.

in response, you matched his slow rhythm then gradually picked up speed, coaxing him to follow. immediately, his jaw fell again, his eyes shut tight.

"ah.. fuck- fuck- shi- oh my god" he heaved and groaned, gripping your hips harder to guide your movements.

with how things were going, he was about to skip to the third act and didn't want to disappoint you by pushing things along too quickly. but god you were making it hard for him to hold back.

reaching a hand to his curly mess of hair, you combed it back and kissed his forehead. "look at me.." you whispered into his ear, the hot air sending a shiver down his spine.

luke opened his eyes and stared up at you riding him. only the flashing light of the tv behind you provided any illumination, the sounds of grunting from the fight scene playing mirroring both of your own moans. the way it brought out your silhouette was almost angelic to him, like a perfect movie still.

he wished he could capture it.

but a frame is short, just like how long he could hold out.

with a couple of deep moans followed by a high-pitched whine, you felt the warmth of luke's release through the condom. your body twitched from the sensation and as you continued to grind your hips to bring him down from his high, you reached yours, your moan a perfect soundbite into his ear. something that's definitely going to echo in his mind forever. you lazily draped your arms around his shoulders trying to catch your breath, when you felt luke shift underneath you.

"oh wait fuck-" luke tapped your shoulder and pointed to the tv, turning up the volume with the remote. "this part is so good- watch watch-"

--

tags (ask to be added or removed anytime!): @fear-is-truth @juliamaximoff @jazz-berry @violetsghosts @quickreider @tiffysdeath @honeymoon8 @wcnderlnds @lacucarachapisser @xrag-dollx @oceanblvd111 @andiloveher @vi0l3tgard3ns @acrosstheunivcrse

[runa-falls]

sleepy lovers

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader

rating: explicit 18+

cw: smut, somnophilia elements, oral (f), piv, not finished--

summary: i'm a sleepy girl so i'm always thinking about how soft miguel would be if his girlfriend was dozing off as he eats her out. the second part is with sleepy!miguel!

a/n: this is a wip that i'm posting bc i hate myself -- anyway

---

he gets in late. very late. she was planning on waiting up for him, wanting to see him after being apart for his work trip, but when he arrives, she's already asleep on the couch, her body curled in on itself with her head propped uncomfortably on the arm of the couch.

miguel quietly walks over to her, watching her shoulders move with slow, deep breaths. he picks her up, cradling her body easily in his arms, and walks up the stairs to their bedroom.

she's dressed in an adorable nightgown, one he's sure she was wanting to show off when he arrived. the neckline is modest, but it's quite short, showing off her legs and hinting at lies underneath. and it's soft to the touch, fabric almost thin enough to tear with his bare hands.

he looks down at the girl in his arms, eyes exploring how the gown rides up to the tops of her thighs. his hands unconsciously tighten around her figure as he feels heat rush towards his center. he doesn't soften his hold until he feels her shift in his hold.

"mig...?" her groggy voice calls out for him as he places her gently on the bed.

"sorry, cariño..." she nuzzles against his hand as he sweeps her hair away from her face. "didn't mean to wake you."

she yawns sleepily, "it's ok." he watches hungrily as she stretches, pushing her arms above her and arching her back.

"you look real pretty tonight." she squirms under his gaze, heat rushing to her cheeks. miguel's eyes glow red, drinking in her bashful smile. even with the minimal light in the house, he can see everything, and he's never been so thankful for his powers.

she hides her face in her hands, "really?"

"mhm..." miguel takes a hold of her wrists before pinning them to either side of her head, "don't hide from me, baby."

her breathing labors as he slowly crawls onto the bed, caging her in between himself and the mattress. he first kisses her sweetly, gently caressing her lips with his and drinking in her gasps and moans, before placing hot kisses down her neck and over her covered chest.

"how pretty?"

"mm..." his large hands shove the skirt of her nightgown up to her hips, revealing her bare cunt to the cool air of the room. "...pretty enough to eat."

he dips his head between her thighs, forcing her legs apart with his broad shoulders, wasting no time to taste her. he gently circles his tongue around her clit, teasingly applying minimal stimulation until she whining for more.

"please--please, more, i need--"

she lets out a squeak when he sucks the sensitive bud into his hot mouth, expertly flicking against it. he moans as fingers quickly thread into his hair, gripping and tugging him closer as his tongue has her shaking against him.

her hips begin to rut against his mouth, desperate to reach her already rapidly approaching orgasm, but just as she's at the cusp of her climax, he pulls back and she nearly weeps at the loss.

dark eyes watch as her exhausted body teeters on the edge of the euphoric end she was seeking.

"w-what, wait, please...?"

"patience, cariño." he's so close to her that his lips move against her pulsing clit as he speaks. "i'm not done with you yet." she whimpers softly when he pushes closer, slowly laving his tongue against her wet heat. she's never felt so sensitive, yet hungry for more.

he keeps the slow pace and sweet pleasure makes the world turn into a blur around her. her legs are sprawled over his shoulders as he methodically licks and nuzzles against her, constantly bringing her to the edge but never letting her cum.

at some point she's delirious with pleasure, eye lulled and shiny with unshed tears of exhaustion. he whispers comforting praises in that low voice of his as she whimpers at the intense sensation of coming down from the edge.

she has no idea what time it is when he actually lets her cum, but it rushes over her like a tidal wave. all those edged orgasms collapse and pool at her center and miguel has to hold her down as she writhes under him.

at the end of the night he holds her close, wrapping his arms around her torso, listening to her soft breathes.

(rushed end but :/ i'm done)

--

very SHORT SECOND PART

(changes to 2nd person POV)

when miguel is sleepy and exhausted from work, he usually comes home and immediately scoops you up to come cuddle with him until he falls into a deep slumber.

he's like a bear when he's curled around you, an arm splayed over your body to hold you close and protectively.

but sometimes his baby is needy, especially when his work takes him away for long periods of time.

in those cases, miguel is more than happy to cater to your needs.

he's a hardworking man and you acknowledge that, so you're always hesitant to make a move and wake him up again.

but he knows you.

he knows those soft nuzzles you make against his neck, those quiet sighs that you think he can't hear, or that feeling of your hand running over his chest in want.

"what is it, mi vida?"

you shake your head as you lie next to him, not wanting him to worry about you.

"nothing."

he hums unconvinced but too tired to coax it out of you. instead, he tugs you against him, letting his hands roam over your curves until he drifts over your center. you gasp when he cups you with a warm hand, right where you want him.

"this what you want?" he's gruff behind you, voice foggy with exhaustion. "are you so needy that you need to keep me warm while i sleep?"

you whine as he presses against your more insistently and you can feel his growing hardness twitch against the small of your back.

"yes..." you shift next to him, arching your back to feel him flush against you. "please."

without another word, your sleep shorts are yanked down and you hear rustling fabric behind you. silky warmth nudges against your dripping hole, pushing until he enters your heat.

he groans against your ear as he slowly stretches you from the back.

[unhingedangstaddict]

The bucktommy mpreg brainrot is so real wtf. I never thought in a million years I'd write an mpreg fic and well,,,

Here's my latest wip

Tommy was sitting on the bathroom floor next to the toliet again, crying for no reason again. He was so sick of the spontaneous crying and worse he didn’t even know why he was crying. Tommy had cried after the break-up, but he’d mostly stopped after two-ish weeks. He was sick of feeling the way he’d felt all week- horrifically nauseous and tired no matter how much he slept.

Tommy was so caught up in his wallowing and his crying that he didn’t hear Lucy enter the house, didn’t notice her standing in the doorway to the ensuite. He only noticed her when she set a plastic bag from a drug store down at his feet.

Tommy sniffled and looked up at Lucy. “I’m starting to regret giving you a key.” He wiped the tears off his cheeks.

“Is it really so terrible having someone look out for you?” Lucy crossed her arms.

Tommy was quiet.

“Thought so.” Lucy nodded.

Tommy curiously reached for the bag and looked inside.

“First time ever for me, the women's version of something was cheaper than the mens version. It’s the exact same thing, just different colored packaging.” Lucy said nonchalantly.

Tommy hardly registered what Lucy was saying as he plucked the box out of the bag. A three pack of pregnancy tests. In an instant it felt like his world had been flipped on it’s axis.

There was no way this was actually happening, but if he was- if Lucy was right about this, it would make sense. The headaches, the fatigue, the random crying, the nausea and vomiting- morning sickness. Now that Tommy thought about it, it seemed like his sense of smell had maybe been heightened the last week or so too.

“If I’m way out of line here Tommy, just tell me, it’s fine. I’ll keep ‘em for next time I have a scare.” Lucy offered.

Tommy swallowed thickly. His mind and heart were racing. This couldn’t be happening.

“Tommy?” Lucy prompted.

“I don’t know.” Tommy said quietly. Clearly Lucy had been thinking about this at least since they were on the phone not that long ago. Her suggestion to drink something made even more sense now. Tommy couldn’t believe this was his life.

“What- what do you mean you don’t know?” Lucy asked.

“I never uh, I never got tested to see if I’m a carrier.” Tommy couldn't take his eyes off the box of pregnancy tests.

“You’re joking right?” Lucy sounded shocked or maybe even pissed.

Tommy shook his head.

“How could you be so irresponsible?” Lucy questioned. “You- I can’t believe you never got tested. I can understand not getting tested as a kid with your dad being the way he is but Tommy, you’re- you sleep with men! How could you not get tested?”

Tommy spoke with a monotone voice, head clearly elsewhere. “Parents never bothered. Then I was in denial about being gay and thought I could make myself fall in love with a woman. Then it didn’t matter because I was never serious enough to ditch condoms. Then it didn’t matter when I was serious enough to ditch condoms because I was almost exclusively the top and I was too old. The thought never even crossed my mind in all the time I was with Evan.”

“Oh my god Tommy.” Lucy mumbled.

“I know.” Tommy swallowed thickly. “I guess I have to take one of these now, huh?”

“I’d recommend all three, actually.” Lucy told him. “These things aren’t the most reliable, always a chance of false negatives or positives, so it’s best to take more than one test but if you take two and get two different results then you won’t feel any better or worse than you did before taking them, until you take another. So three at once.”

“Sounds like you know from experience.” Tommy looked up at Lucy.

“I’m a woman who does not exclusively sleep with other women.” Lucy shrugged.

Lucy left the bathroom so Tommy could take the tests, and as soon as he was finished he set them on the counter, opened the door for Lucy, started a timer, and sat back down on the floor again, not confident that he wasn’t going to throw up again at any moment.

Lucy came in and sat next to Tommy on the floor. Just by looking at him she could tell he wasn’t in the mood to talk and for the time being she knew everything she needed to know. Tommy hadn’t even thought about the possibility of this so Lucy was certain that Tommy had no idea what he’d want to do about it- if Tommy was pregnant it was undoubtedly Evan’s, and Tommy was scared and heartbroken right now. Instead of talking Lucy just took his hand and held onto it.

Three minutes felt like an eternity, and if it wasn’t for Lucy holding onto Tommy’s hand, he was sure he would’ve completely lost his grip on reality. He distantly heard the timer on his phone going off, followed by Lucy giving his hand a squeeze. Tommy stopped the timer. He couldn’t look at the tests. He couldn’t move. “Can you look?” He rasped.

“Of course.” Lucy said gently. She stood, not letting go of Tommy’s hand and looked at the tests on the counter. There were two visual tests and one digital test with a weeks along indicator.

The visual tests both showed plus signs, meaning the tests were positive.

The digital test read ‘Pregnant 3+’, meaning three or more weeks along.

“Luce?” Tommy’s grip on her hand tightened.

“Positive.” Lucy told him.

“All of them?” Tommy wondered.

“All three.” Lucy nodded.

Tommy nodded slowly. “Okay.” He whispered as tears stung his eyes and quickly began to fall.

Lucy squeezed Tommy’s hand and returned to her spot on the floor next to him.

Tommy pulled his knees to his chest, rested the arm that wasn’t holding Lucy’s hand on his knees, put his head down, and sobbed for so many reasons it felt like there wasn’t even a reason to be crying at all.

[spdrwdw]

Could you possibly do a dbf (dads best friend) miguel.? nsfw Ty!😋

Ps. I love your stories

While I am okay with doing age gaps, both parties must be of legal age. I hope headcanons are okay! I had too many ideas and couldn’t narrow it down lol

♡DBF!Miguel Headcanons♡

Warnings: 18+ content, MDNI, age gap, smut, nsfw

A/N: If any other writers out there are interested in using any of my headcanons for a fic, please let me know! I wouldn’t mind as long as you credit me. I would turn this to a fic myself, but I already got my hands full with other wips. ❤️

DBF!Miguel who you met for the first time at your dad's country club. You couldn't help but to steal glances over his way, and unbeknownst to you, he was doing the same.

DBF! Miguel who went to your house one day to hang out with your dad, they were going to watch a game on tv. While your dad was outside firing the grill, Miguel couldn't help but stare at you as you lounged around by the pool in your swimsuit, soaking up some sun. You could see him staring at you through your sunglasses, a slight smirk lifting your lips. DBF! Miguel who came over to your house one day while your parents were away to fix something for your dad. You were upstairs in your room studying for your college exams when he passed by, seeing you in nothing but a tank-top and panties as you laid sprawled out on the bed. You turned around and noticed him just staring at your by the doorway before he quickly left. This made you want to make him notice you more. So, you started wearing the most revealing pieces of clothing you had.

DBF! Miguel who came over again for another game night with your dad. You did your hair and makeup and wore the most revealing dress you had, making your way downstairs over to the kitchen. You swayed your ass as you walked, making you he would notice you, and he did. That was the first time he had made his way into your room. DBF! Miguel who would come over more often while your parents weren't home, and not because he was going to fix something. At first it was a little awkward between the two of you when you were along with him, but, he was always gentle with you. It was rather sweet. However, as your private encounters occurred more frequently, you wanted him to not be as gentle with you.

DBF! Miguel who would by laying on your bed, his large frame taking over the majority of the bed, his legs dangling over the edge because of how big he was. He would help you with any homework that you may have, even help you study for tests. After you were done, he'd eat your pussy out as a reward. His tongue practically swallowed your folds, he usually didn't even need to use his fingers to get you undone, but when he did, your body would be quivering and flailing as you begged him for release, which he always gladly awarded you. DBF! Miguel who's cock was just so big that the first time you had intercourse, you honestly thought he was going to break you. But, he didn't. He filled you up rather nicely and after that, you had gotten addicted to him stretching you and pounding into you, filling you with his cum. Of course, he'd ask if you were on any form of birth control first. DBF! Miguel who will shoot you a pointed look whenever you tease him from under the table. You'll be sitting across from him and slip off your shoe, reaching over and rub his crotch with your foot. He would have to bite his lip from letting out a groan, and you could feel his cock growing hard underneath his pants.

DBF! Miguel who would give you a lift to and from your University, sporting his shiny sports car. The some car in which he would fuck you senseless in while parked in some secluded area. The windows would be tinted so no one could see what was going on inside. DBF! Miguel who'd call you a 'good girl' whenever you take his cock into your mouth and suck him off. He loved it when he came in your mouth and would see streams of his cum drooling from the corners of your mouth because it was just too much for you to swallow it all.

DBF! Miguel who secretly loves it when you call him ‘daddy’ while he rails you. It puts him on edge and he knows it won’t be long until he is spilling himself inside you. DBF! Miguel would you let you ride him on your bed. He's be surrounded by your plushies, which was actually pretty humorous to you. Here was a big man getting fucked by you while surrounded by all of your cutesy plushies.

DBF! Miguel who would low-key be your sugar-daddy because he would always be buying you things, no matter how expensive it was. He would take you on his yacht and fuck you either in the cabin or out on the deck.

[kingprinceleo]

How are your sonic’s spending this Christmas? Your Shadow’s ?

uwahhhh sorry im late on this, things got busy !

1000YB shadow is sad and alone and a loser and probably hanging out with an old picture of sonic. probably being an extra strong workaholic ( sonic is big chilling in the afterlife) silly holiday piece Cat made with peepaw HERE

Happy auau- the gang is probably hanging out together ! doing festive little stuff and watching movies n playing games ,, sonic being the king probably dressing up as santa, they tried to get shadow to dress up but he chaos evaporated the costume before they could finish talking. but he is wearing smth wintery but not costumey (ough these are 2 years old please pardon them they never got finished vvv) if its cold enough shadow will also have his winter fur fdhghjg

Fire n water au- Sonic would be spending christmas at the castle with his family but, during the main plot, hes probably learning about the meaning of friends and family over big extravagant castle parties. Tails probably tries his best to make or find something for sonic, sonic may be a bit silly and spend a lot of their small amount of money on something cool for tails, and have consequences after. Blaze is being very normal about spending her first christmas alone with recently deceased parents and her missing brother ! Shadow is big chilling on the ocean floor. might eat a whale later if hes feeling festive

Desert vampires- i dont think they have christmas </3

Vampire au- i have a bunch for this ough. ...

Sonics festive but not as festive as amy is ! he has to help her decorate the house from top to bottom every season, and she'll likely move the house into ice cap zone to maximize the vibes

otherwise i think sonic just hangs out, admiring the island, running around, seeing lights n stuff, leaving little mysterious gifts around for his friends

Shadow doesnt do much ! hell stand in the snow and stare at the horizon, rouge will drag him christmas shopping (for herself HDJHFG) , probably drag him to a couple christmas parties he doesnt want to be at . and they probably steal from Geralds supply bays for funsies

i think when theyre older things are mostly the same ! sonic will usually split off to go hang out with his friends (now including rouge and knuckles) and he may be away to go down to the mainland to visit others amy inflicted him with the itch to decorate though, its deeply wrong to him to see shadows apartment look all lifeless and sad, shadow will sometimes just Wake Up to the house being almost fully decorated (shadow doesnt even know where he was hiding all this shit before)

i think sonics been able to get shadow to stay for a christmas party a couple times ! but never for long or without him finding some kind of corner to lurk in away from everybody,,, i have a tiny fic wip about one of them ough . its too rough to post any part of it </33

i dont think they really have any kind of christmas traditions they do, every year could be something different. And for gift giving, i think sonic does the same with leaving gifts around the house to find, surprises for shadow. shadows very direct though, always asking upfront whether sonic wants certain things or not uwah i think theyre silly,,, hope . htis is an adequate enough response LOL

[raplinesmoon]

Breaking The Ice (KNJ x F!Reader) - teaser

pairing: hockeyplayer!namjoon x f. reader

genre/au: ice hockey au, college au, roommates au / smut, fluff, slow burn

rating: explicit/18+

summary: after last season, namjoon knows he can’t afford anymore mishaps. when you show up on namjoon’s doorstep looking to share his apartment, he thinks it couldn’t be more perfect. medical school has you even busier than he is, but what happens when what used to be the perfect arrangement turns into a bigger distraction than either of you bargained for?

word count: 911 for this teaser

warnings: clumsy Joon, injuries, lots of swearing, Joon gets a boner, OC is pretty and way too nice

a/n: *taps mic* is this thing on? happy Joon day! (i hope i made the deadline). I remembered I had this sitting on the bench (get it lol) as a scene from my wip for the 🏒on ice: for the boys collab that was announced a long time ago! I decided to spruce up this little scene and publish it, even though the final fic is nowhere near complete. This can probably even be read as a standalone (a cute moment between roomies)! I hope you enjoy this piece and happy bday again to Joonie! credits for the banner go to @joheunsaram!

You okay, Namjoon-ah?

Namjoon wants to deck Kim Seokjin and his stupid pretty boy smile into the boards just for asking, when that motherfucker knows he’s at fault for Namjoon’s current state. He feels a painful twinge in his side, sucking in a sharp breath. Practice had barely ended before Namjoon was hobbling out of the arena, the rough-housing that normally accompanied Bangtan’s practice going a little too far today.

When he sees the steps of his building come into view, he nearly wants to sob with relief. Cursing, he stumbles up them, skipping two at a time in the hopes that it’ll get him up and able to faceplant into the couch faster. Knowing his luck though, he’d probably eat his words and end up with his face straight into the ugly grey shag carpet instead.

As he limps down the hallway, he’s struck by dueling aromas – the earthy, nutty mellowness of freshly brewed coffee, and the warm, spicy cinnamon scent of cinnamon. Both coming from his door, propped open slightly, where he can hear the faint lilt of classical music escape. 

Anatomy must have been whooping your ass again.

Namjoon takes special care to slip inside quietly, wincing when he puts weight on his knee. He glances down to see that it’s swelled to an alarming size. Fucking Seokjin.

He knew he should have probably gotten it checked out by the team medic. Yoongi’s nagging is already echoing in the back of his mind, reminding Namjoon that if he wanted to be clumsy, he had to stay on top of his injuries. For the sake of his team.

But somehow getting his limbs checked by a crusty old guy who was past the retirement age didn’t seem nearly as exciting when there was you. 

You who always wore the comfiest sweats, ones he was half-tempted to steal from your closet. You and your penchant for always looking for a pen, when you always had one tucked behind your ear or in your hoodie pocket. You and your stress baking, winning the adoration of his teammates (Stupid Seokjin and his flirting), but most of all him. Your damn cinammon rolls were worth every extra minute he had to spend in the weight room keeping them off.

“Hey Joon, I was just finishing up the cinnamon rolls, they’re on the cooling rack— what happened?” Your smile falls when you take him in, knee as red as his jersey, and a nasty cut under his eyebrow, skin turning purplish underneath.

Namjoon thinks he might pass out, either from the pain or from the way your face falls in disappointment, and the plush cushions of the couch seem like a great place to bury his head into right now.

He’s given a few quiet moments to stew before he feels a soft tap on his shoulder. Lifting his head up, he swears when your face nearly collides with his, noses bumping with such force that you have to take a step back, rubbing gingerly at the bridge.

Great fucking impression you’re making on your pretty roommate, Namjoon. She’s totally into getting clocked in the face. The little devil on his shoulder must be having a ball right now.

“Fuck, ___, I’m so sorry, fuck–”

“It’s okay, Joon, I know you didn’t mean to. But we only have the resources for one injured party in this apartment, yeah?”

Namjoon feels his face heat, not sure if he’s just embarrassed or you’re too close close to him. His eyes nearly bulge out of his head when you pick up his knee, studying it with a furrow in your brow.

What a day to decide to wear grey sweatpants. His dick-print was so happy with him right now, and he silently prays that your eyes remain downwards.

“We need to wrap this up. Give me a sec and I’ll help you.” 

Is he dreaming, or does your face look a little flushed? If you notice his boner, he’s happy you don’t say anything, humming softly s you disappear into the hallway, rummaging around in the closet for the first-aid kit.

You re-appear moments later, a roll full of medical tape in your hand, and you’re back to prodding at his knee again. Namjoon sinks into the couch, body relaxing at your gentle touch.

Only to jolt a few seconds later when he feels something cold hit his aching joints, nearly whacking you a second time. God, he had to be more careful.

“Shhh,” you put a finger to his lips, and Namjoon’s breath catches in his throat. “Gotta put some ice on it.”

“You should really increase your fees, doc. I’m pretty sure at-home care isn’t included in the job description.”

Is he flirting? Fuck, okay he’s flirting. He’s doing this.

“Maybe I like knowing I’ll always have a patient who keeps me in business,” you wink, fingers lingering longer than necessary on his knee when you finish wrapping it. Your hands move next to the cut underneath his brow.

“Now what are we gonna do with you?”

Oh fuck, abort, abort mission! Namjoon shoots straight up, grimacing at your shocked gasp.

“YouknowIjustrememberedIhaveanassignmentdueatmidnighttoday! I should really go work on that!”

You say nothing as he limps into his room, smiling widely at him the whole time. Namjoon collapses on his bed, groaning into the pillows.

Maybe getting banged up wasn’t so bad after all. Not when he always had you around to patch him up.

a/n pt. 2: As always, any comments or feedback are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi <3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Bad Guy 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The men your mother brings home rarely stick around, but her latest catch can't seem to unhook himself from your life.

Characters: Destroyer!Chris

Note: I'm going to a physio today for the first time.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The house is quiet as you come out of your room. The single floor is just enough room for you and your mom. You’ve never needed much else and all your life, you’ve made do with what you have. It’s just the way it is.

You stretch your arms and arch your spine as you stop in the doorway of the kitchen. You yawn. You fell asleep reading outdated discussions about your most recent syndicated obsession. You should know better by now, that thorn in your neck is only driving deeper. 

You bend at the elbows to rub your neck and drag your feet over the cold tile. Your nipple poke rigidly against your cropped tank top and goosebumps raze up your bare thighs. You open the fridge and pull out the bottle of orange juice, your panties riding up with your movement.  

Before you can stand straight, a sharp strikes snaps against your ass and radiates through your flesh. You yipe and grip the bottle by the neck as you jump and turn to face the culprit. The strange man stares back, his brows twitching. 

“Mm, you’re not Gail,” he mutters. 

“No, I’m not,” you press the juice to your chest, overly aware of your barely covered body.  

You don’t ask who he is. You stopped doing that in middle school. She’s another one of her ‘callers’. You don’t usually see them more than once, if at all. Most leave before you’re awake. 

“Was takin’ a piss, heard you skittering around, thought...” he trails off into a shrug. 

He’s shirtless too. He only wears a pair of briefs as he stands shameless before you. A dark tattoo covers half his chest and extends around his shoulder and down his arm. It’s the typical snake and skull aesthetic sported by men like him. 

“Nope,” you reach for the fridge door and step to the side as you close it.  

He doesn’t move. You go to dip around him and he moves with you. 

“Taking all that with you?” He points at the bottle. You look down and sigh. You push it towards him. “Here.” 

He puts his hand under it and you let go. You skirt around his other side and squeeze through the door behind him. You don’t look back as you flee to your room. You resist the urge to reach back and cover the bottom of your ass, not wanting to draw attention to it if he is watching. 

You shut your bedroom door and cringe. Great. You can’t really complain. Your mother hasn’t kicked you out. Yet. Not like half your friends’ parents. She just asks for half the rent and you can manage that. With the rent around here, you’d be on the street otherwise. 

You cross the room and flop on the bed. You pull out your phone and go back to scrolling the old discussion boards. It’s funny. The more recent posts are totally contrary to the ones when the show aired. You’re not sure who you agree with. 

You roll onto your back and drop your phone to the mattress. You have to work at noon. So much for a relaxing morning. You’ll just be hiding in your room until that man leaves. 

A knock jerks you up and you roll your eyes. You search the floor and pull on the wrinkly pajama bottoms. You go to the door and crack it open an inch. It’s him. 

“Uh, hi?” You utter dully. 

“Got you a glass,” he offers one of the cups in his hands. You squint at it then look him in the face. 

“Thanks?” You go to take it but he doesn’t let go as you wrap your fingers around the cold glass.  

“There a problem?” He asks. 

“Uh, no,” you scrunch your nose. “I said thanks.” 

“I don’t like your tone.” 

You let go of the glass and retract your hand. His eyes flick down and yours do too. The white tank does little for your modesty. You cross your arms. 

“Okay? Well, never mind,” you go to close the door and he steps forward, digging his elbow into the wood as he blocks you with his body. 

“Your mom said you’re a nice girl,” he looks you up and down again. “Coulda fooled me walking around like that.” 

You frown. It’s your house. Why should you worry about what you’re wearing? Besides, if you knew he was there, then you wouldn’t wander around in your panties. 

“Thanks for the orange juice but you should just give it to my mom. That’s why you’re here,” you shrug. 

He scoffs. “Got a smart mouth.” 

“No, I—I didn’t do anything.” 

“There you go again. Disrespectful.” 

“Huh?” You shake your head in confusion. 

“That way you talk. Low and flat, like you don’t give a fuck. Maybe you don’t. Would explain why you’re grown living in your mommy’s house,” he mockingly pouts. 

You blink, “you don’t know me.” 

“I know girls like you. Pretending like they don’t care. You care. We both know you do.” He moves a glass closer, “say thank you. Like you mean it.” 

“I don’t want it,” you insist. 

“Don’t want to waste it. Was it you or mommy who paid for the bottle?” He taunts. 

You grit your teeth. What is his problem? Why won’t he just leave you alone? 

You deflate. You really just want him to go. You look at the ceiling then back to him. He’s the kind of man you would avoid on the street. His blue eyes are as cold as ice and his hair is shaved, but a little longer on top, and he sports a goatee amid the short stubble on his jaw and cheeks. 

“Thank you,” you reach for the glass again. 

“Thank you, sir,” his voice grizzles as he corrects you. 

You steel yourself and your lips slant. You really just want him to tell him to fuck off but like you always do, you don’t say what you think. You keep it inside. Put on that face that keeps you safe. 

“Thank you, sir,” you repeat after him. 

“Now smile,” he demands. 

You flinch and look away. You take a breath. That’s you’re least favourite, when they tell you to smile. It happens often at your job and it always sours your day. 

You force a smile. 

“Come on, you can do better,” he snickers. 

Your cheeks tremble and your smile falls. You tuck your chin down. 

“Can you please just leave me alone?” You mumble. 

“Excuse me, girl? I can’t hear you.” 

“I said...” your throat locks up and your eyes singe. God! When you get angry, you don’t get bold, you just get teary. You hate it. “I said ‘thank you, sir’.” 

You grab the glass so abruptly that it sloshes over the side. You don’t stop, you just spin and throw your weight against the door. He lets it close and it slams. You spill most of the juice down your front. 

You hear the friction of his fingers dragging down the wood. It sends a chill through you. You slowly pull away and put the glass down, juice dripping down your arms and chest. 

He’ll be gone soon, just like the rest. 

💀

Your mom’s still asleep when you leave for work. As you sneak out of your room, you listen for any sign of life.  If the man’s there, he doesn’t make himself known. You step into your shoes and leave through the front door without looking back. 

You head down the street with your earbuds in, a podcast about an old show you watched in high school droning on, as you take the shortcut behind the house at the end of the street. It’s almost four blocks to work but you save money on bus fare. You try to only waste the change after dark. 

The ice cream shop is never very busy outside of the post-soccer game crowds. You take your vigil behind the cold counter and bob along with the radio station’s Top 10 countdown. Miley leans in the corner by the till as she chews gum and scrolls through her phone. 

You’re fidgety to do the same, but you hate just letting your eyes glaze over. You pace a bit back and forth until her shift is up. When she’s gone, you feel a little less on edge. You always prefer being alone, you don’t have to worry about performing. 

Customers come and go. You greet them with the usual ‘how can I help?’ You’ve never been very good at the customer service part but you’re not rude. You just do your job, which it to scoop ice cream and toss some sprinkles around. 

You’re entitled to one cone a shift. You rarely have it. You don’t need the extra sugar or the brain freeze. That day, as you close up, the chocolate peanut butter entices you to go outside your routine. You put the lids on all the canisters except for that flavour and do yourself up a waffle cone before you lock up. 

You lick the softening cream and turn to face the dark plaza, lit only by the overhead marquee. There’s a car idling just by the curb. You ignore it. A few neighbouring businesses close up around the same time. 

The engine revs, and it jolts forward. The horn nearly has you throwing your cone. You fall back into step and keep walking. The Trans Am continues to follow you and honks again. The window rolls down as someone whistles. Only your name stops you. 

You turn and bend to see through the window. What the heck? It’s him. The man that invaded your house and threatened you over orange juice. 

You exhale through your nose and stand up. You turn down the pavement and keep going. The bus will be there any moment. 

“Hey,” he barks, “get back here.” 

You keep going. Why is he there? Because of the orange juice? 

The car door opens and closes. You speed up as you hear him following you. 

“Your mom sent me to pick you up,” he says. 

You snort, “sure she did.” 

“Really,” he says as his footsteps echo yours. 

“She doesn’t even know when I work,” you keep going and he catches your arm, yanking you back. 

You spin to face him and yelp. Your scoop shifts precariously in the cone. You try to pull away but not too hard as you selfishly want to keep your treat intact. 

“Alright. I offered. I heard you leave. Figured you could use a lift.” He squeezes and you whimper. “I can be a nice guy.” 

Can be. 

You wince and flutter your lashes, “can you let me go... please?” 

He opens his fingers sharply and lifts his hand, showing his palm. “Since you said please...” 

You look over your shoulder then back at him. Finally, you glance at your cone. You weigh your options. You’re not a quick runner. 

“I appreciate the ride but--” 

“I appreciate the ride, sir. Like I said, I can be nice, but respect is earned, girl.” 

You swallow tightly, cheeks pinching. 

“Sir, I appreciate the ride but I have money for the bus--” 

He clucks and points over your shoulder, “that bus?” 

You turn and watch the headlights blow by the stop. You flick your eyes to the sky and face him again. “Mmhmm.”” 

“So, is that a ‘thank you, sir’ on your lips?” He challenges. 

You slant your lips back and forth. You fight back a wave of hot frustration. You’re used to feeling powerless but he is suffocating. You nod. 

“Thank you, sir,” you choke out. 

“See, not that hard to be a good girl.” 

He waits until you move. You head back towards his car, and he gets in the driver side. As you claim the passenger seat, he huffs. He looks at you as you try not to acknowledge him. 

“Don’t like food in the car. Try not to get it all over,” he snarls. 

“I can--” 

“Just be careful,” he snips. 

Just be quiet, you tell yourself. You pull the seatbelt down and stare through the windshield. You lick around the cone as the cream threatens to melt onto your fingers. The car idles and you glance over. He watches your tongue as you lap up the trickle.  

You sit back as his eyes cling to your lips. He lifts his chin and turns straight. He grips the wheel and cranks the volume on the stereo. He speeds off and you struggle to keep from doing just what he warned you not to. You’d tell him to slow down but not only will he not listen, but the sooner you’re home, the better. 

[aethon-recs]

Tomarrymort Starter Pack: 10 Recs for Getting Started in Tomarrymort

I've compiled a list of 10 medium to longfic recs that I think represent a great on-ramp to the Tomarrymort ship, as inspired by @sitp-recs’ Drarry for Beginners rec list. These are the fics that I would use to on-board people to the ship — gorgeous writing, superb characterization, and just as enjoyable on the first read as the 20th reread. 

As always, I am stunned by the talent in this ship! I tried to pick a good mix of different themes/tropes/settings, with a focus on elements that make for a good introductory work: the characters are recognizable; the setting skews more recognizable; both characters in the ship are a meaningful part of the story; the ship is central to the story; and the fics are for the most part complete (or updated within the last year). 

(Standard rec list disclaimers apply: please mind all tags and warnings on AO3 before reading; this blog abides by the age-old fandom axiom of don’t like; don’t read; recs are in alphabetical order by title.)

This is Part 1 of a 3-part series — I also have an Intermediate reading list and Advanced reading list coming up for readers who have been with the ship for a longer time.

For now, please enjoy these 1.3 million words of absolutely brilliant Tomarrymort reads that I hope will keep you hooked until the very last word:

*

Tomarrymort Starter Pack Recs

A Dangerous Game by @cybrid (E, 284k, WIP)

Setting: Canon Divergence – Book 5 Premise: If Tom’s diary horcrux gains a body at the end of Harry’s 5th year (instead of his 2nd), and then promptly kidnaps Harry and holds him captive over the summer. Lots of smut ensues. Why I rec it: The characterization is truly stunning — Tom Riddle is undoubtedly a psychopath — manipulative, thrill-seeking, kind of an irredeemable shithead — but he’s also dazzlingly charming when he chooses to be, someone whose presence Harry quickly grows addicted to. Their relationship can get incredibly toxic and fucked-up at times, but Harry has top-notch instincts and can hold his own against Tom. The plot is absolutely gripping, with the threat of (the main) Voldemort, who has set his sights on reclaiming his wayward horcrux, looming in the background. 

A Future Without a Face by @dividawrites (E, 115k, complete)

Setting: Time-Travel (1940s) Premise: If Harry travels back in time to Tom’s 5th year at Hogwarts, and Tom becomes obsessed with the new transfer student and wants nothing more than to possess him every way. Why I rec it: A 1940s time travel fic told entirely from Tom Riddle POV! Divida absolutely nails psychopath Tom — how he quickly gets singlemindedly focused on Harry, how the idea of possessing Harry consumes him, how he has no compunctions about doing completely fucked-up and destructive things to achieve his goals. There is so much tension between them from the start, so there’s not much of a wait to see some hot Harry & Tom action — and the conflict and tension only continues to build and build in dramatic fashion throughout the rest of the fic.

Either must die at the hand of the other by @metalomagnetic (E, 260k, complete)

Setting: Post-Canon Premise: If Voldemort survives the Battle of Hogwarts and is initially kept prisoner in Azkaban, until Harry takes him into Grimmauld Place under house arrest. Why I rec it: This fic is an incredible exploration of Voldemort at his most terrifying. Even if he starts off the fic with his magic temporarily blocked, he is no less powerful without his magic. The force of his personality is powerful enough for him to chip away at Harry’s initial resistance — @metalomagnetic manages to write one of the most charismatic, brilliantly manipulative, and psychologically devastating versions of Voldemort I’ve ever read. Harry ends up in a good place by the end of the fic, but the journey to get there is a roller-coaster of emotions that have permanently imprinted onto my soul.

In Somno Veritas by ladyoflilacs and @lordansketil (M, 158k, complete)

Setting: Canon Divergence – Book 6 Premise: If Harry starts appearing in Voldemort’s nightly dreams during Book 6, and Voldemort becomes obsessed with Harry after realizing he’s his horcrux. Why I rec it: This is one of the most unique fics I’ve ever read in this ship! Every scene is told in alternating POV between Harry’s POV and Voldemort’s POV, so you get to see how every scene unfolds from both of their perspectives. Voldemort is so intense and just as terrible as he is in canon, so his character is not at all sugarcoated, and Harry has so much compassion and heart and manages to fall in love with Voldemort anyway. The writing style is gorgeous, with richly detailed and emotionally-laden prose. Also, one thing that pleasantly surprised me is how funny their banter is! There were definitely a number of times where I laughed out loud in the middle of an otherwise really intense scene. Bonus content: also comes with a lovely sequel that made me melt.

Inevitabilities by @shadow-of-the-eclipse (T, 103k, complete)

Setting: Same-Age AU Premise: If Harry and Tom attend Hogwarts together and go traveling around the world after they graduate. A betrayal leads to their break-up, but after many years, Harry returns to find Tom in Britain, and the two of them are drawn back together again. Why I rec it: An excellent same-age AU with unhinged dark Harry and just-as-unhinged Tom. Their relationship starts out quite dark and twisted and unhealthy — and only devolves from there. The fic ends with the two of them as equals — utterly devoted to each other — but in an incredibly fucked-up way: “He loves Tom like a forest fire; wild and all-consuming, he wants to devour Tom, to claim him, to mark him, break him.” Isn’t that absolutely breathtaking?

love is touching souls (surely you touched mine) by @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger (M, 34k, complete)

Setting: Time-Travel (1940s) Premise: If Harry gets thrown back into the mid-1940s and meets Tom Riddle as a young man just graduated from Hogwarts working at Borgin and Burkes. Why I rec it: When Harry accidentally travels back in time and chances upon Tom Riddle as a fresh graduate, he realizes this is his chance to make a difference. While Harry is only in the past for a brief interlude, he leaves enough of an impression to change the trajectory of Tom’s life. The dynamic between Harry and Tom is rife with tension and witty dialogue, and the story is set during Christmastime, which lends a very festive and heartwarming atmosphere for falling in love with each other.

No Glory by @obsidianpen (E, 254k, WIP)

Setting: Voldemort Wins AU  Premise: If Voldemort figures out Harry is his horcrux when Harry surrenders in the Forbidden Forest, and decides to keep Harry instead of killing him.  Why I rec it: This fic showcases the absolute, terrifying genius side of Voldemort, in a universe where he wins the war and captures Harry at the end of book 7. I am stunned at how skillfully @obsidianpen portrays Voldemort as a brilliant political strategist — the courtroom scene where he manipulates the story and the audience so well stands out as a top 10 fanfic moment in my mind. Harry and Voldemort’s relationship is chilling from the very start, and grows even more unhealthy as Voldemort gets addicted to Harry’s touch due to the presence of the horcrux, but Harry later learns to turn that to his advantage.

The Fire, Burning by @parsimmony (E, 35k, complete)

Setting: Canon Divergence – Book 6 Premise: If Voldemort discovers Harry is his horcrux after Book 6, and kidnaps him to keep him captive by his side in his bed, inside of a lovely greenhouse setting full of friendly snakes on the grounds of Malfoy Manor. Why I rec it: The prose!! I am swooning over the prose! Harry is Voldemort’s captive in this fic, but he is so much more than that — and the emotions that gradually blossom between them have so much richness and depth and are utterly moving that I’m still drowning in the depths of intimacy that were portrayed. Their relationship unfolds in such a gorgeous and unrushed way, and the setting is so unique too — a lush and overgrown greenhouse that’s exploding with exotic plants and friendly snakes around every corner that imbues the fic with a very romantic, dreamy quality.

the pleasure, the privilege by @being-luminous (M, 20k, complete)

Setting: Canon Divergence – Book 6 Premise: If Voldemort is doused with Amortentia keyed to Harry, and starts sending Harry bizarre and gruesome courting gifts, like the bodies of the Dursleys.  Why I rec it: Breathtaking prose! Voldemort somehow ends up more terrifying when he’s trying to woo Harry than when he’s trying to kill him. Every single sentence had me on the edge of my seat, as Voldemort’s ‘gifts’ become more elaborate and devastatingly dramatic, until Harry basically has no choice but to respond to his overtures. The ending is incredibly clever in how it parallels certain plot elements of book 6, with an added Harrymort twist. 

The Untouchable by @treacleteacups (M, 75k, complete)

Setting: Canon Rewrite (Books 1-7) Premise: If Harry starts out his first year a little bit more suspicious and a little less wide-eyed and guileless, and subsequently gets sorted into Slytherin. He has many of the same encounters with Voldemort along the way as he does in canon, but his interactions with Voldemort will end up leading him down quite a different path. Why I rec it: A snappy, fast-paced full canon rewrite that still manages to fit in all the essential Tomarrymort plot points, between Horcruxes and Hallows and the major events of books 1-7, in a compact 75k words that doesn’t at all feel rushed. It’s a delightful journey following Harry’s character evolution from an overlooked, peculiar child who relies on wishy-washy wish magic to a confident (and still endearingly peculiar) young man who can challenge and hold his own against the great Lord Voldemort. Voldemort’s obsession with Harry deepens with every encounter that they have, as he finds ways to continually insinuate himself in Harry’s life and his mind and his dreams.

*

[magpiepills]

Honor and Obey

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Santiago Garcia x Santi’s wife! Reader

Word count: 3.9

Summary:you are Santi’s wife and when Frankie moves in, you have an idea that Santi helps you make a reality.

Warnings: SMUT! Threesome, sort of fucking, oral m and f receiving, m/m dynamics, sort of dom reader, sort of sub Frankie and Santi, Frankie is the Pussy Eating King, big dicks, teasing, flirting, mentions of alcohol, mentions of curls, fuck licking, cum shots, creampies, a little overstimulation, one spank, pwp, just porn. Possibly more, idk.

A word from the author: This is a repost! this has been rotting away in my WIPs for months. I am in a little slump working on Made Me Love You, so I decided to finish this to hopefully get things going again. It’s not my best work, and I may fix it up and post another version some other time. Maybe not. Who knows. Anyway, here it is.

Frankie knew exactly what he was getting into when he came to stay with his best friend and his new wife after his lady finally kicked him out. The lies and the coke and the abandonment for misguided jungle romps were finally too much for her.

When Santi offered the spare bedroom in the house they’d just bought, Frankie gladly accepted. How could he say no to a roof over his head, his best friend down the hall, and you?

It was so innocent at first that he felt like it was his fault. You’d left the door open when you showered. He didn’t mean to see you, naked and wet, patting your hair with a towel when he walked down the hall. He reluctantly looked away.

When the three of you lounged by the pool, he dove into the water when Santi untied your top and reapplied your sunscreen, then left you shiny, slick, and bare under the warm July sun. Frankie didn’t bother pretending not to look. You smiled at him and raised one knee, planting your foot on the lounge chair and letting it drop just enough to give Frankie something to think about later in his room alone, heavy cock in his fist.

Frankie couldn’t deny his attraction to you. Anyone who looked at you would fall for you. You were beautiful in an effortless way, warm and always interested in what others had to say, making everyone feel special and important. Your hair, your face, your body, your voice, Frankie knew exactly what had attracted his lovesick friend to you.

Once he understood what you wanted, he even let himself flirt with you a bit. He winked at you when your eyes met. He went commando under his gray sweatpants, settling them low on his waist, jutting his hips out just so while he stood at the foot of the couch while you read. He let his touch linger on your waist when he scooted between you and the counter in the kitchen, fingertip grazing the soft skin under your shirt, light enough that you might believe it was an accident.

•••••••••••••••••

Weeks went by, glances became stares, and brushes of bare skin became teasing touches. Frankie was in a constant state of sexual frustration. His mouth watered, his cock was half hard, he spilled his seed over his stomach every night as he thought of you. You bent over the couch, you on your knees, you sitting on his face and coming on his tongue. He imagined what you might sound like when you begged him to fuck you harder. It drove him mad.

•••••••••••••••

Your own patience was wearing thin. You weren’t sure how much longer you could restrain yourself, to play innocent, keep your hands to yourself. How many more ways could you temp him? You’d done your best to goad him into coming on to you, but he had never crossed the line from longful looks and lingering touches. Every day you wanted to push Frankie against a wall and drop to your knees taking his cock as far down your throat as you could. He just didn’t seem to be getting the message. Santi laughed at your failed seduction, he had tried to help, but couldn’t be mad at the restraint Frankie had shown with another man’s wife.

When you couldn’t wait any longer, Santiago had taken Frankie out for a drink and clapped him on the shoulder as he explained that he needed Frankie to stop being so respectful. It took several more drinks before Frankie was convinced it wasn’t a joke or a trick and that you actually wanted to fuck him and that Santi was not just ok with it, that you’d be fucking them both. His head spun, not just from the Stella.

••••••••••

Two nights later, it was time for your date as you’d taken to calling it. You had told Santi exactly what was to happen. “He’s going to be good, isn’t he Santi?” You asked him, nuzzling into his chest while you sat waiting with your husband for his best friend to get out of the shower. Santi never got tired of telling you how much he and his friend were going to enjoy sharing you. He hummed into your hair, thick arms around your waist. You let your mind drift to images of Frankie in the steamy stall, soaping his body, suds rolling down his broad chest to his soft belly. Images of his big hands sliding over his arms and to his cock. You knew it must be something special. You’d seen him in those sweatpants, knees spread wide on the couch. His bulge may as well have had a neon arrow pointing at it.

When Frankie emerged, warm and slightly damp, smelling like citrus and mint, hair damp and curling wildly, you pressed a drink into his hand and guided him to the couch next to Santiago while you took your seat in a chair across from them. Santi raises his own glass in silent, subtle greeting as you spoke, soft and sweet. There was no sense in wasting time.

“Touch him.”

Your command was gentle.

“Touch him?” Frankie asked, eyes wide and voice wavering.

You nod and smile patiently, your eyes never breaking his gaze as you sip from your glass before continuing. “Why don’t you help him out of his shirt?”

Frankie shifted up onto his knees and scooted closer to his friend, he had heard what you said too, and made room for Frankie between his legs. There was no hesitancy about him at all, just a buzz of desire and the smell of sweet cologne.

“Gotta do what she wants, Fish. Happy wife, happy life, right?” Santi’s gaze was steady and sure, leaving no room for second thoughts.

Kneeling between Santiago’s knees on the couch, he reached hesitantly for the hem, tongue slowly licking across his bottom lip as he pulled the t-shirt over his friend's head, making his thick, dark curls bounce.

Frankie tossed the shirt at your feet.

“Now yours. Let him take it off.” Your directions were cool and calm, but heat was building inside you, Santi had delivered on his promise to bring you your third and now it was time to see how he would behave for you.

Frankie kept his eyes on you as Santi leaned forward to drag the shirt up Frankie’s torso, finally revealing his strong, wide shoulders and a soft belly with a trail of dark hair leading down under his jeans.

He was perfect.

“I’d like Santi to kiss you, Frankie. Is that alright?”

Frankie nodded, but didn’t look back at his friend until Santi wrapped his warm hand around the back of his neck. Frankie let his eyes fall, glassy and half lidded, to Santi’s plush lips, then lifted them to meet the other man’s intense gaze. Frankie lifted his own hand and mirrored Santi’s grip on his neck before tilting his head slightly, just enough for Santi to catch his lips in a deep kiss.

Santi, of course, had left this part out. He had explained that his wife wanted to have sex with him, and that she wanted Santi to be there. Frankie assumed that this was some cuck kink they had and he was more than ok with that. It stroked his ego to give a woman what another man couldn’t. The prospect of Santi joining them changed the dynamic a little, but Frankie was game. Santi was handsome and flirtatious, the two men had toed the line of flirtation themselves for years. It shouldn’t have been a surprise.

••••••••••••••••

You looked on, feeling warmer by the minute, a dampness growing between your thighs as you watched two such masculine men, so powerful and strong making out for your enjoyment.

Santi’s hand drifted down Frankie’s back, and his other hand came to cup his cheek posessively. Again, Frankie mirrored his action and cradled Pope’s cheek in his hand, deepening the kiss.

“Take his pants off, Santiago.” You directed from your perch. You wanted to see who got hard first.

Santi broke the kiss, and guided Frankie to stand while he unbuttoned his jeans, drew the zipper downward, and pushed the soft denim off his narrow hips, leaving him in snug gray boxers, ones that you had picked out.

Frankie stepped out of his jeans and looked to you for approval or direction or anything, but it wasn’t necessary. The look on your face urged him on. He looped his index fingers through his friend's belt loops and pulled him closer to strip him of his pants as well, leaving him in a pair of matching underwear, just how you wanted them.

Nearly bare, the energy in the room thrummed. It felt warmer, more humid, felt as if the walls had closed in.

You didn't need to tell them what to do next, the two men, older, graying, battle scarred, no strangers to violence, held each other close and kissed with a passion that you hadn’t expected, Frankie leaned down to close the difference in their height, Santi kept a guiding hand on Frankie’s cheek.

“Alright Santiago, Francisco. I want to see you now. Both of you. All of you. Is he hard, Santi? Why don’t we find out” Santi grinned up at Frankie, and chuckled as he brought his hand to grip at the taller man’s half hard cock before hooking his fingers into the waistband of his boxers and pushing them down to the middle of his thighs.

“Tsk. I think you can do better than that, sweetheart. I need him hard. Help him out. Get on your knees for him.” Frankie’s head snapped to you, his eyes wide, unable to believe this is what you wanted. He only had to look at the way your chest heaved as you watched the men act out your fantasies to know you were serious. Santi, on the other hand, needed no confirmation. You were the boss. He had already dropped to his knees, cock in his hand, ready to show you exactly what you wanted to see.

With you in the chair soaking your panties and directing your own personal porno and Santi on the floor, tugging at his throbbing length, all of Frankie’s inhibitions evaporated. With no hesitation left, he threaded his thick fingers into Santi’s curls and pulled him close until his cheek was against his hip and his lips just inches from his quickly hardening length. “Do as she says, Pope. Suck.”

No sooner than the words left Frankie’s mouth, a shadow seemed to cross his best friend’s face and he huffed through his teeth, greedily taking Frankie’s cock into his mouth. His eyes were dark and dangerous as he stared up, groans rumbling deep in his chest as he worked the length into his throat, all for your pleasure. “That’s it. Take my cock down your throat. Suck it like you mean it.” As Frankie spoke he began to thrust his hips shallowly. He loved the power of having a strong man on his knees. Santi was a year or so younger, shorter but thick with muscle where Frankie was tall and lean. Santi’s beard grew in thicker but grayed sooner, making him look older where Frankie had maintained a bit of boyishness into his forties. Neither had ever wanted for the company of women.

“Don’t let him come.” Your words were sharp and cut through Frankie’s panting and murmuring and the squelching of his cock against the back of Santi’s throat. The men immediately stilled, and Frankie’s cock was left wet with saliva and his hands tight fists at his sides. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathed deeply, and willed himself back from the edge.

“It’s your turn now, Frankie. Help Santiago. Get him close. Frankie’s heart pounded in his chest, suddenly unsure of his own abilities. Frankie knew exactly what to do for women, knew what to do for himself, knew how he liked to be touched, but he wasn’t sure how to touch his best friend to make him feel good and he really wasn’t sure what you wanted to see. He took a deep breath, and decided he would stick with what he knew.

Frankie pushed Santi backwards by his hips, smirking down at him before looking back to you. “He likes taking directions, doesn’t he? He likes being good.” Then turned back to Santi. “You’re going to be good aren’t you?” Not waiting for a response, he shoved him gently onto the couch, anchoring his hips with both hands and kissing down Santi’s woolly jaw, down his neck, across his scarred shoulder, then slowly back to suck dark marks across his throat. He could feel the vibration of the other man’s soft moans, it ignited something familiar in him, a need to take him apart, explore every piece, study and commit it all to memory, tuck it away for reference, become the expert on his needs. Not now, though. Now he just settled between Santi’s knees.

You crossed the room to sit on your knees next to your boyfriend, up close you could see the shine of saliva on his chest, hear his heavy breaths as Frankie took his twitching cock in hand and began to stroke him in long, firm movements. “You’re hard as a fuckin’ rock, Pope. You like this? Like letting your girl watch you suck my cock? Yeah. You like getting on your knees,too. Did good, Pope. Almost had me coming down your throat.” Santi whimpered at Frankie’s words, closing his eyes, furrowing his thick brows.

Licking his lips, Frankie moved slowly, lowering his head, licking a wide, slow stripe up the underside of Santi’s cock, mimicking the way he ate pussy, something he knew he excelled at.

Your eyes met Frankie’s as he continued licking and swirling his tongue over your boyfriend’s shaft. The sight sent a fresh wave of arousal to your already dripping core. You imagined him between your own legs, his expert tongue and wide hands working you to your release.

Santi’s whimpering and squirming brought you back to the moment, reminding you that this was for your pleasure, not theirs. You are in control, and they’ll do what you say. Breathlessly, you command Frankie to stop,and he sits back, panting and needy, but obedient. His hand splayed over your thigh, silently begging for you to give him his next command. You placed your hand over his, admiring the difference in size and texture, his much larger and rougher than your own, callused and rough with thick veins across the back, but his nails were blunt and clean. You squeezed his hand before turning your focus to Santi, who was watching how you looked at his friend. He recognized the lust in your eyes, recognized the same in himself. When he shifted closer to you, you reached for him, pulling him into a kiss.

You didn’t need to open your eyes to know Frankie was watching intently, canting his hips, searching for relief he wasn’t due. You simply held out your hand for him and he rose, planting his knees between yours and Santi’s so that he could straddle your legs at the same time before inviting himself into your kiss, licking at where your lips met, mouthing at you and his former squad mate, noses bumping.

Santi broke the kiss, pulling Frankie by his thick curls into a deep kiss of their own before guiding his face to the apex of your thighs.

“Show me what you can do, Frank. Santi’s been telling me you’ve got quite a reputation. I really want to see for myself what kind of skills you have. See if you really are “the pussy-eating king.”

How devious he looked, lips curling into a smirk at your challenge.

“Alright, cariño. I’ll show you, but don’t be disappointed when nobody ever does it good enough after this.”

He didn’t waste any more time. He pulled you down the couch so you were on the edge of the cushion, and lifted your knees. “Hold her knee, Santi.” The men worked as a team, it should have been no surprise. Santi’s familiar hand held your left knee up and out, giving Frankie unfettered access while he kissed you, licking into your mouth, grunting into you as you lazily stroked your husband’s cock.

Frankie rubbed over the soft skin of your thighs with his warm, rough hands. He squeezed and kneaded and worked his way down to your mound, covering it with one hand and gently sliding the heel of his hand to your clit, circling it, rolling it, making you groan into Santi’s mouth, your hand stilling on his cock.

Frankie’s left hand joined his right at your glistening pussy and he let his fingertips slip over your folds, smearing your slick from where it pooled up over your clit, rubbing with intention there before fluttering over your delicate inner folds. You gasped when he thumbed a wet stripe of your own slick over your pebbled nipple, and whined when Santi was quick to cover it with his mouth, tasting you there, cock twitching with need.

You were wetter than you could ever remember being. Almost embarrassingly so. Your pussy, Frankie’s fingers, down onto the couch you dripped, and when he pushed two thick fingers into you, the wet sounds were obscene. He twisted his wrist, licked and sucked your throbbing clit, groaning and humming against you as he worked you diligently toward your orgasm.

Santi’s eyes were locked to where Frankie devoured you, even as he kissed you and kneaded your tits, pinching and rolling your nipples, helping push you closer to the edge.

“Fuck. Doin so good do us, baby. Look at you. This what you wanted? Want him to make you come?”

You whimpered into Santi’s cheek, nodding, delirious with pleasure so many sensations overwhelmed you. “Close!” You managed finally. Frankie had taken his sweet time about your cunt, applying his tongue, his lips, his fingers with precision, easing you up to the apex of pleasure. With one last focused effort, he tongues your clit while he crooked his fingers against the spot inside you that he knew would finish you off.

You writhed, squeezing his head between your thighs while Santi kissed you messily, letting your climax wash over you until you were dazed and panting, too sensitive to move.

One of them handed you your drink and you sipped it as you came back to yourself, only then seeing the hungry way they looked at you. Santi ran his land through your hair and Frankie kissed your thigh and rubbed your knee.

“Frankie that was amazing. Santi, thank you.” You kissed Santi again, grateful that he was so willing and happy to let another man, his best friend eat you out to the best orgasm you’d ever gotten from oral, and possibly ever. But you knew that wasn’t where this would end. You placed your empty glass on the table and reached for Frankie, kissing him, unsure if that was crossing a boundary, but too deep into this dynamic to care. You pulled him onto the couch, sandwiching yourself between the men. Frankie leaned in to kiss you again, the force pushed you back into Santi’s warm chest and you felt his scratchy chin on your shoulder, voice soft, urging you onto Frankie’s lap.

“Don’t you want to show him how grateful you are? Why don’t you help him now, cariño?”

You turned to kiss Santi, but the moment was interrupted by Frankie’s hand landing a sharp smack on your ass. My turn.

You crawled onto his lap, whining when his cock brushed against your over-sensitive cunt. You settled happily with your arms around his neck, kissing him while he squeezed the plush round of your ass, letting him pull you up to bury his face between your tits, kissing and nipping at your soft skin, breathing deep to smell your sweat and perfume.

“Lift up. Want you to sit on this big cock.” You obeyed, raising enough for him to run the thick head of his cock through your slick folds and tease at your entrance, making you whine until Santi stopped you. “Uh uh. Not like that.” He pulled you to your feet and spun you around. “Like this.” He pushed your hips back and together he and Frankie guided you to sink down the thick length of Frankie’s cock. You squeezed your eyes shut and moved slowly, breathing deeply and adjusting to the full, throbbing, wanting ache of your pussy around him. When you felt ready to move, you opened them to find your husband between your wide open legs, staring darkly at the place where Frankie entered you. The delicate skin stretched so prettily over a big cock. He didn’t think he would ever get the image out of his mind. Neither the sight nor the sound of slapping skin, the harmony of your cries and Frankie’s grunts as he fucked up slowly into you. Not the smell of your arousal, covering all three of you now.

Frankie’s arms were around you, one across your stomach and one across your chest, giving him leverage to fuck your as he saw fit. Soft and crazy or hard and fast. He tried it all and you took it. You took his cock while Santi shifted on his knees, face mere inches from where you were speared on Frankie’s fat cock. He watched you rub your clit in small circles before he knocked your hand away. “Yeah. Look at that. Look at that pretty pussy. Look at how greedy. Think we could both fit?” Santi teased, before spitting onto your pussy. He watched it drip down past your clit before leaning in to lick it back up. He repeated the vulgar action, then sucked your swollen clit between his full lips.

You couldn’t help the pornographic moaning. Frankie cursed in Spanish under you as your clenched around him. When Santi relented, releasing your clit, they spoke strained, clipped sentences to each other in their native tongue. Frankie thrust deeper and Santi resumed his licking, fisting his own turgid member while thumbing at your puffy lips, licking up your slick, then tipping his head lower to press his tongue right over the place where Frankie entered you. He was wild, licking and mouthing as your cunt and Frankie’s cock, laving wet licks over his friend’s heavy balls until Frankie slammed into you one last time, filling you with his hot cum, fucking it deep. As Frankie covered you on the inside, Santi jerked himself to completion, shooting his load onto your cunt in thick white ribbons, lacing it over Frankie’s balls, the bottom of his cock. He admired his work for several moments, heart racing. He watched as Frankie’s cum began to leak out of you and dripped down fo mix with his own on Frankie’s cock.

When the three of you peeled yourselves apart, you relaxed a while on the desecrated sofa, Santi held you and you held Frankie. You ran your hands through his sweat damp curls, kissed his neck tenderly, told him how good he did. You gave Santi the same treatment, showering him with adoration and gratitude for agreeing to this and for helping you bring Frankie into the fold.

“Next time,” Santi suggested, “we should film it.”

[lotus-n-l0ve]

𝐘/𝐍-𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐊𝐞𝐧-𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐧?

— Manjiro 'Mikey' Sano x F!Reader

☯ SYNOPSIS : A text conversation cause a misunderstanding to Mikey.

☯ WARNINGS : Cheating, sick!Mikey, dumb!Mikey, 800 words.

☯ NOTE FROM LOTUS: Just a small blurb that came to mind. Originally I was going to make small imagines with multiple characters but then decided to make just this one. If you like the it then please leave a like, comment and reblong. Follow me for more like this. Enjoy ♡

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 || 𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐘𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Mikey was in the bedroom already in the bed waiting for you finish your night routine. Then you could cuddle him to sleep. This was his favourite time of the day on top of that Mikey was sick today so he was extra clingy.

Your phone on the nightstand lit up with a incoming message grabbing Mikey's attention but he ignored it the first time, paying no mind to it. But then phone kept buzzing with one after another incoming messages. Mikey got curious as to who was messaging you that much.

Mikey sat up on the bed with his back resting on the headboard. He grabbed the phone and unlocked it.

Ken-chin?

He saw the messages were from Draken which was wired because you and Draken barely talk. Mikey tapped on the notification and the conversation opened Mikey scrolled through them —

Ken : Baby is Mikey Okay?

Ken : Can you come now?

Ken : Babe?

Ken : Baby?

Ken : Darling?

Babe? Baby? Darling?

Mikey's heart dropped. You would not. No you can't. You can't cheat on him. Right?

Mikey scrolled up a little more to your last text with Draken which seemed to happen when he was in the bedroom and you were out in the living room with Emma.

Ken : Baby the bed feels so empty without you.

Ken : Come back here.

Y/N : You know I can't.

Y/N : Mikey is sick and I need to take care of him.

Ken : Do you really have to do that?

Ken : Come on he is not a kid anymore.

Y/N : Ken you know I want to be with you more than anywhere else.

Y/N : I have to go now. Mikey is calling.

Y/N : Bye bye 😚😚😚😚

Ken : Bye babe. Will miss you.

Mikey's eyes filled with water as fat tears kept rolling down his cheek. Loud sobbs kept erupting from his chest. He loves you and needs you like he needs oxygen and you do this. Cheat on him with his very bestfriend?

Y/N-chan and Ken-Chin?

You put back the night cream container on the counter. This was your last step of night skin care. You looked at yourself in the mirror for the last time before going back in the bedroom.

Just as you were about to leave the bathroom a scream shook up the whole house, "Y/N-CHAAAAAAN?"

You quickly ran outside to the bedroom, "Mikey what happened?"

You gasp when saw your boyfriend crying his eyes out with loud sobbs and hiccups. You rush to sit in front of him on the bed.

"What happened?" You palm his warm cheeks, wipping away the tears.

Mikey looks at like a puppy who got kicked by his owner and that hurt your heart. Mikey was a lively person always laughing and smiling. Even if he was feeling down he would put on this carefree persona and keep his real emotions locked away in his heart.

"Y/N-chan." Mikey stammered between sobbs, "Do you not love me anymore? What did I do wrong?"

You frowned at his words, "What are saying?"

"You and, you and Ken-Chin are cheating on me behind my back. Was my love not enough?" Mikey choked on his words.

"What?" Now you were even more confused than ever.

"What is this?" Mikey shoved the phone in your face. You gave him a confused glance before looking down at the phone screen. As you read through the texts your temperature highed and a eye twitched.

You gave his head a smack to knock some sense into his thick skull, "Manjiro you dumbass. This is not my phone but Emma's. Our phone probably got switched."

Mikey.exe stopped working.

"Oh!"

The smack seemed have worked because the next moment a big ass smile appeared on his dumb face, "You are not cheating on me with Ken-Chin?"

"No."

"And you love me?"

"Yes but now I'm doubting if I should."

"Oh! Come on. You love me. You can't live without me." Mikey wrapped his arm around you, pulling you in a hug and making you nose slam on his hard chest.

"Ow. Manjiro you dumbass." You punch his side, which made little to no impact on him, before you also hug him back.

One thing you realised was 'sick Mikey is dumb mikey.' because if Mikey was okay then things would have been much more chaotic and Draken would have been six feet under the ground. Doesn't matter how much Mikey loves or cares for him.

© 𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐔𝐒-𝐍-𝐋𝟎𝐕𝐄 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑, 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 — all content rights belongs to LOTUS-N-L0VE. do not plagiarize any works and do not repost or translate onto any other sites.

All the rights and credits of the characters, gifs, songs and pictures used here belongs to their rightful owners.

[sunflowervoltwentyeight]

Happy 28th! Here is my September 2024 fic rec, organized by word count, from longest to shortest. You can view my other fic recs here. Enjoy!

Godless, Graceless, and Young by kiddle / @bluejeanlouis (110k)

Seattle, Washington, 1991

It takes a special breed to have a slacker persona and still be a millionaire rockstar. Harry is about halfway there. He's the guitarist in a Seattle grunge band that could finally be headed somewhere, but he's also been sleeping on his bassist's sofa for the last three months and has been fired from every day-job he's had. Money doesn't equal success, but it does pay the bills.

When a job offer and a new lead singer stumble into Harry's life, he might be getting a lot more than he bargained for. Like a couple of extra gigs and a boy who can teach him more than just how to mix a few drinks, and it's gonna take a few band brawls and a whole lot of heart-searching to get there.

He's gotta have one somewhere...

Coax the Cold by mediawhore / @mediawhorefics (86k)

England, 1897.  

English Professor Louis Tomlinson’s passion for the occult has been a source of mockery and derision for most of his life. When he hears whispers of a travelling freak show newly established in London claiming the existence of a monstrous sea hybrid, half-man, half-fish, Louis sees it as his ticket to credibility amongst his peers. The summer he spends undercover working on the show, however, gives him much more than that.

Late Nights and Good Intentions by princelouisau / @princelouisau (71k)

“About last night,” Harry says suddenly, as if he’d been debating on whether to say anything. Louis whips back around to look at him.

“Do not finish that thought,” Louis says just as abruptly.

Harry looks at him oddly, as if assessing him. With a small frown, it seems the assessment is over. “I only wish to say that you do not have to dwell on it. The rest of the men will surely forget by tonight.”

“And you?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow. “Will you forget?”

“I will remember every second of it fondly,” the Lord says, no trace of a tease in his words. or, a Victorian era au where Louis pines for his overprotective older brother’s very charming best friend.

For You, I Would Ruin Myself by wildestdreams / @thelavendrhaze (54k) WIP

It was the perfect last day of summer. They built sandcastles, wrote their names in the sand, and caught crabs, which they eventually let go when one of them pinched Louis and he was near tears. Afterward, they swam in the ocean, splashing each other playfully before moving toward one another in sync, lips pressing together in sweet kisses. When their skin turned prune-like, they returned to shore, laying out on their towels beneath the bright sun, snacking on fruit and chocolate while talking about everything and nothing.

At some point, Harry had shared, “I think this has been my favorite summer yet.”

“Why’s that?” Louis asked, a smile peeking out as though he already knew. He looked so pretty and cool with his sun-kissed skin and black Ray-Bans covering his eyes.

Harry rolled over on his towel until he was half-pressed against Louis and placed his palms on top of Louis’ chest, tucking his chin over them. “Because I had you.”

or

Harry’s unrequited crush on Louis turns into a whirlwind summer romance, only to leave him heartbroken in the end. Years later, a return to his hometown forces Harry to confront his past and the one person he was running from.

Tarnished but so Grand by tilthesundies / @tllthesundies (32k)

Louis hides in places. Harry always finds him.

I'll Be Your Love Tonight by dinosaursmate (20k)

“I don’t know how I’m ever going to walk away from you.” “So don’t.” Harry ran a fingertip over Louis’ thigh. “Stay with me.” - It's the summer of 1999 and Louis Tomlinson has been abandoned at a house party. A dispute over Smirnoff Ice and several night buses later, Louis is unsure how he'll ever walk away from this lovely, curly-haired boy.

Green in the Morning and Blue Afternoon by wildestdreams / @thelavendrhaze (14k)

“Harry,” Louis whispered beside him.

Harry hummed, his hand coming up to stroke Louis’ back. Louis was still on top of him, his body sagging against Harry’s, heavy and warm, and Harry loved it.

“I don’t think it was a one off.”

“Me either, Lou.”

or a Friends AU.

A Few of My Favourite Things by sweariwouldnt / @sweariwouldnt (8k)

Harry and Louis do cat sitting.

[sweetyyhippyy]

39 Weeks. Dad!Eddie Series. *FLUFF*

Summary: Eddie's wife is now 39 weeks pregnant and things aren't getting any easier.

Word Count: 766

TW: Being big pregnant, a lot of crying.

A.N.: Surprise!!!!! I was going through my WIPs and found this! I didn't think i ever finished it but I did!

~~~~~~~~~~

Bulging belly.

Swollen ankles.

Back pain.

Peeing every 3 minutes.

Being 39 weeks (and 5 days, but who’s counting) was starting to take its toll on her. She was tired, sore, swollen, hot all the time, and overly emotional - which Eddie always seemed to be the one to pick up the pieces.

Her day at home hasn’t been as relaxing as she hoped.

For lunch, she wanted a simple bowl of cereal, but the milk had spoiled. She went to make grilled cheese, an easy second option, only to find a single piece of bread, and naturally it was the end piece. Clearly a grocery store visit needed to happen.

As the day went on, the pain in her lower back was more than she could bear on top of the tightness she was feeling in her stomach.

The final straw was when she went to switch the laundry. Somehow a little red sock ended up in a load with Eddie’s Hellfire Club shirt and a few other white shirts that ended up turning the shirts pink.

Tears started to flow instantly with frustration in herself, something that had started to become normal the last few weeks.

As much as she loved being pregnant in the very beginning, she was physically and emotionally over being this heavily pregnant and miserable.

Eddie swings the front door open, excited to see his wife after a long day of work.

“Babe?” He calls out, throwing his keys on the counter in the dark kitchen, the house eerily quiet.

“Babe, I’m home. Where are you?” Eddie walks throughout the house, finding their bedroom door closed and small sniffles from behind it.

Eddie furrows his eyebrows before slowly opening the door and peeking his head in to see his wife curled up in a ball under the sheets, her body shaking from her sobs.

“What’s going on, sweetheart? What happened?” Eddie rushes over to her, laying a hand on her back.

She erupts in a violent sob, looking back at Eddie with swollen eyes. “I just want the baby here already. I can’t take being pregnant anymore!” She yells. “I don’t have any control over my body, everything hurts, all I want is some cereal and the milk is spoiled. We don’t have enough bread!.”

“It’s just your hormones.” Eddie soothes her, not the first time this pregnancy he’s let her cry it out.

“I don’t know how you put up with me! I’m insufferable! I turned your shirts pink because I can’t do laundry the right way.” She picks up the shirt from next to her and shoves it in his face. “See?! It’s pink! I’m sorry!” She was beyond hysterical at this point.

Eddie grabs the newly pink shirt from her and opens it up. “It’s kinda badass, babe. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re my husband and you’re trying to be nice to me. I did it to your favorite Metallica shirt too.” She hiccups a sob, handing him more of the evidence.

Sure it was his favorite shirt, but he still couldn’t be angry at her even a little bit. “Hey, can you look at me for 10 seconds?”

She slowly looks up at him, shame in her face.

Eddie wipes her tears from her cheeks, planting a soft kiss onto her forehead. “For the past 39 weeks you’ve been growing a baby, our baby. You’ve been growing her little nose, her arms, her heart. That’s a lot of work. You’re exhausted, you’re hurting, nobody is mad that you accidentally made my shirts pink.”

“You’re not mad?” She sniffles broken, wiping her wet eyes again.

“No, sweetheart.” He wraps his arms around her and cradles her head against his chest. “Hell I’ve done a load of laundry for you and shrunk your favorite sweater and you weren’t mad at me, remember?”

She can’t help but giggle, remembering how scared he was to tell her he shrunk her sweater, he bought her favorite food home, brought her flowers, and put her favorite movie on before he showed her the sweater, the cutest puppy dog face on.

“Since you had a bad day, I’ll go make you a bath, not too hot, and I’ll go grab some groceries, get some stuff to make dinner, and I’ll come back and spoil you.”

“That sounds nice.” She smiles, kissing his cheek. “Since you’re going to the store, will you pick up some green grapes for me? And by me, I mean the baby of course.”

Eddie chuckles, getting off the bed. “Anything for the baby."

[fortunafavours]

Welcome to Fortuna, Kingdom of Splendor!

demo • FAQs • bsky

You are the bastard child of the king’s cousin, you’ve never been anyone special. The Crown made sure of that. Taken in by your father after the death of your mother, you were never allowed to speak of your parentage under threat of being sent to an orphanage, so you took on the role of servant to your father's house. Now, just before your thirtieth birthday, you’ve begun having a strange, recurring dream: something beneath the mountains knows your name—something ancient—and it wants you to find it. But the stone isn’t the only thing after you. According to your oldest friend, an elite team of sorcerers from a group known as SCEPTRE are interested in speaking with you—by order of the king. And that's nothing to say of the rumblings of discontent in the streets, led by someone known only as the Crow. Apparently, they've got eyes on you, too. Why have you suddenly become the centre of attention? You’re nobody special. …Aren’t you?

Fortuna Favours the Bold is a low fantasy, high stakes, romance forward tale about self-discovery and buried secrets. Unearth the truth of what waits under the mountain, find out who you really are, and try not to get yourself blown up along the way!

It draws inspiration from media like Dragon Age: Origins, House of the Dragon, the Elder Scrolls series, as well as a myriad of Dungeons & Dragons campaigns I've been a part of, and other similar stories. If you like any of those, you might like Fortuna!

Fortuna is currently a WIP and, as always, is subject to change!

Play as male, female, or non-binary; gay, straight, lesbian, or bisexual!

Get caught up in a government conspiracy, or expose the corruption within!

Choose from six characters to romance: a chivalrous blacksmith, a charming physician, a socialite lawyer, the captain of the guard, the soft-spoken acolyte, or your mage friend from childhood!

Determine the ultimate fate of the kingdom! Will you lead it to ruin, or improve the state of affairs? Will you be a hero of the people, or a pawn in someone else's game?

Protect yourself, protect your loved ones, protect the city - or don't!

But above all, remember to keep the peace. The Crown thanks you for your cooperation.

Fortuna is rated 18+ for explicit language, sexual content, alcohol and drug use, violence, morally questionable behaviour, and more.

For a full list of content warnings, please see below the cut.

CONTENT WARNINGS: sexual situations (optionally explicit), abuse of power, sexism, misogyny, (occasionally graphic) depictions of violence, elements of horror, unreality, mentions of suicide, classism, alcohol and drug use, mentions of upsetting situations regarding pregnancy (abortions, miscarriages, stillborns, infertility, and birthing complications), confined and dark spaces, and death.

There may be some I've missed, but I've listed all the ones that I know for certain off the top of my head. Please reach out if there's something you've noticed that isn't listed here!

Please note that the MC is 29, almost 30; the most significant age gap is 9 years. Please do not message me about this. Everyone involved in the story is a consenting adult and is treated as such. If the gap in age bothers you, don't feel compelled to read it. I won't be upset.

I, myself, am 30 years old, and am fine with all listed age differences (obviously. I created these characters lol).

Now that that's out of the way, meet the ROs!:

Malcolm Ashford, 36 [M]

The primary blacksmith for the Crown ever since they took over his forge, though he's not exactly happy about it. Malcolm is a good, honourable sort; kindhearted and genuine, he's easy to approach and talk to. He is also the biggest hopeless romantic - a fact that Cyril never lets him forget. He can primarily be found at the forge in the centre of the courtyard marketplace.

Malcolm is 6'4" (193 cm), broad shouldered, muscular, and usually covered in some sort of soot. He has fair skin (but is usually sporting an intense farmer's tan), shoulder length light brown hair, a light beard, dark grey eyes, and a beauty mark just above his upper left lip.

His face claim is Eoin Macken.

Cyril Trevelyan, 34 [M]

An old friend of Malcolm's. If anyone asks, Cyril is a "non-practicing" physician. Previously a member of the Royal Physician's Guild, he has since left and now operates an illegal clinic in the lower quarters of the capital, where he can primarily be found, though he has been known to frequent a local tavern and can occasionally be spotted harassing Malcolm at the forge. Cyril is charming, outgoing, and would love to get to know you. Just don't expect him to be very forthcoming about himself.

Cyril is 6'2" (187 cm), with an athletic build. He has tan skin, short, cropped black hair, stubble, and hazel eyes. He has a small scar across his left eyebrow and another small scar through his upper lip.

His face claim is Miguel Ángel Silvestre.

Dominic / Dominica Trevelyan, 38 [M/F]

Cyril's older sibling and the current Commandant of the King's Army. They care about the citizens of Requiem, but are less idealistic than Cyril about how to go about bringing change. They generally mean well and try to make things as easy as possible for the masses, but it isn't always seen as enough. Their relationship with Cyril is... tense. To say the least. They are taciturn and serious, and could probably do with some lightening up.

D is 6'4" (193 cm) (M) / 6'1" (185 cm) (F). They are broad shouldered and a little paunchy, but muscular, strong, and a force to be reckoned with in battle. They have tan skin like their brother, short, black hair that they keep slicked back from their face, and light brown eyes.

Their face claims are Keon Alexander and Rosa Gilmore.

James Johnathan / Jane Josephine 'J.J.' St. James, 28 [M/F]

JJ is a notable lawyer from the noble St. James household, though they aren't typically the first one that comes to mind when the St. James name is brought up. No, that luxury would go to just about anyone else in their family, given JJ is the only one without magic. They're a hard worker, extremely diligent, but have just a teensy tiny chip on their shoulder. They're a bit smarmy, but there is a good heart in there. Somewhere.

JJ is 5'10" (177 cm) (M) / 5'8" (173 cm) (F). They have a lean, athletic build, pale skin, light blue eyes, and copper-brown hair.

Their face claims are Richard Madden and Philipine Urvois.

Amaryllis / Amaranthus Calyx, 30 [F/M]*

One of the royal twins, but also an acolyte to the Divine Valentine, goddess of mercy. They have chosen to dedicate their time to the Temple of the Divines, honing their healing magic and providing succor to those in need, emulating all the virtues Valentine embodies. They are soft spoken and kind, but sheltered and naive. They want to help, but have an impressive lack of self-awareness and preservation, and are more likely to get themselves into trouble unintentionally. Hopefully, you won't have to babysit them too much.

A is 5'10" (177 cm) (F) / 6'0" (183 cm) (M). Amaryllis has a slight, willowy build, shoulder length, dark brown hair that she wears in a bob, a small dusting of freckles across the nose, and dark brown eyes that (like most members of the royal family) are ringed with gold. Amaranthus has a lean, athletic build, short, dark brown hair kept neat and styled back from his face, and the same dark brown gold-ringed eyes as his sister. He also wears glasses, though he's constantly forgetting where he put them.

Their face claims are Adeline Rudolph and Kenta Sakurai.

*Unlike the other gender selectable ROs, A's gender setting determines which of the two twins you end up encountering as opposed to deciding the gender for one character. The other will appear in the story regardless, but will not be romanceable if you select the opposite gender. The other twin has a separate job, position, and demeanour and an entirely different personality from the chosen romanceable one, which will be determined by who you select as RO.

Elliott 'Eli' / Eleanor 'Ellie' Rosefinch, 30 [M/F]

Your oldest friend and most trusted confidant, they've known you since you were twelve and you've been thick as thieves since. They're one of the very few magic users in the capital, and have been recruited into SCEPTRE, the kingdom's elite training program for budding sorcerers. They're down to earth and easygoing, grounded, and calm under fire. They tend towards being the far more rational of the two of you.

E is 5'11" (180 cm), with a dancer's build. They have brown skin, short, curly black hair, brown eyes, and sparse freckling.

Their face claims are Dev Patel and Nikita Chadha.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for qwertynerd97 behind the cut; Kara gets to Earth on time and the Kents get a two-for-one special on free kids.  (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Pa finishes closing up the barn doors and then beckons Kara after him, and she follows him into the house much earlier than they’d normally go inside. Kal is sitting on the sitting room rug playing with his stuffed Krypto, and Ma is flitting around the house and seems to be doing different chores from usual too. She’s collected an odd assortment of things on the table in the kitchen–a box of fat white wax cylinders and a bigger metal cylinder with a clear flat lens at one end but no accompanying lens to see through on the other, and a small square-shaped metal device with a metal spiral on top and a dial on its side, and also some strange-smelling metal cans sitting on the floor next to the “fridd”. There’s a few other things scattered around the kitchen and living room that Kara doesn’t recognize or know the purpose of, but she doesn’t really know what to think of any of them. 

They’re just, well–things.

Kara’s getting used to not knowing what things are. Getting used to the constant sense of disorientation, the confusion, the displacement; the feeling of everything always being alien. Nothing ever being familiar. Nothing ever feeling–

She’s getting used to all that. Yes. 

She doesn’t have a choice about it, because nothing will ever be familiar again. 

Nothing ever can be familiar again, because the only thing left of their “familiar” is her and Kal and some smashed wreckage and a few crystals. 

And Kal won’t even know the difference in the end, assuming he even knows the difference now.

He’s never cried for Aunt Lara and Uncle Jor the way she expected him to. Never . . . 

She’d thought he’d cry for them. Thought he’d be inconsolable without them. Thought the grief would come for him too, and the loss and frustration and need, and . . . 

She doesn’t even know if he cares they’re gone. 

He–cares, she tells herself; of course he cares. He . . . he must. 

( if he knows. if he understands. if he even REMEMBERS them, remembers ANYTHING, remembers– )

Kara makes herself smile for Kal as she crosses the living room and crouches down beside him to check on him. He’s playing with his stuffed Krypto, still, and a few of the set of painted wooden cubes that Ma and Pa like to stack for him and he likes to knock over are scattered around him, along with the soft little patchwork blanket Ma gave him. He seems happy, and unconcerned with anything else. He babbles at her and baps his Krypto against her face. She tries not to concentrate on the flat, toneless register his babbling keeps slipping into; the way he’s clearly imitating the aliens’ language more than he is Kryptonian. 

“Krippo! Krippo!” Kal announces excitedly, and Kara doesn’t concentrate on the missing notes in his voice. 

Or on his accent on the word “Krypto”, and how close it is to the way Ma and Pa say it. 

“Hi, Krypto,” she says, poking his soft stuffed nose gently in return. Kal giggles and baps her harder. 

“Krippo Krippo!” he says happily, and then–“Krippo pie!” 

He means he wants a snack, she knows. Kal’s started doing things like that; suggests “feeding” Krypto when he’s hungry or wants something to eat himself. “Krippo up” and “Krippo out” are both new additions to his vocabulary too. He uses words almost as much as he chimes, even, or even uses any other calls at all. 

She didn’t know he’d start talking so quickly. Just–after the first few words, he got to phrases much quicker than she expected, so simple sentences probably aren’t too far away either. Which–Aunt Lara and Uncle Jor are both–were both brilliant, obviously, so she supposes she shouldn’t be surprised. Though she doesn’t really know how quickly most babies learn either, so maybe it’s not even as quick as it feels to her. 

Just–it feels so fast. He couldn’t talk at all when they got here. He’s taller than when they got here. Taller and broader and heavier and better at using his hands, and crawling better and better and even pulling himself up to standing against the furniture, sometimes. She’s seen him try to take steps with its support, even, though he hasn’t quite figured it out yet and she usually has to catch or steady him before he can fall. Even his hair’s grown a little, and it’s curling more and more. 

It’s . . . it’s been so much change in him, it feels like. So much change that Aunt Lara and Uncle Jor never saw, and never will. So much more change to come that they’ll never, ever know about. He never said a word to either of them. He never . . . never . . . 

Someday he’ll be grown enough they wouldn’t even recognize him if they saw him. If they could see him, she means. 

But they can’t, of course. 

Kara makes herself keep smiling for him and picks up a couple of the cubes to stack up for him too. They're brightly-colored, at least for this planet–almost nothing here seems to be quite as intensely saturated as anything back home was, and it’s all just as flat as the alien’s voices. There’s no iridescence to the whites, no texture or shimmer in the blacks, and all the other colors are just one or two-note hues at best. 

The little yellow sun’s light is as layered as a nebula, still holding little glimpses of its past bright white youth and already glimpses of its future powerful red maturity, but mostly just a thousand shades of swirling, burning yellow shining with eager purpose and promise and depth, but that’s the only thing. Everything else is just . . . flat. 

Sometimes it makes Kara feel like she isn’t even real. Like the aliens and their planet aren’t even real, and she’s dreaming all this in stasis as her ship chases Kal’s across the stars. 

Or she’s dreaming all this as their whole world burns down and falls apart and self-immolates in the last moments of her life, with no hope or chance at survival at all. 

She stacks another couple of cubes into a tower. Kal knocks it over with his Krypto, and laughs in delight as it falls apart. 

It doesn’t burn, but Kara can taste ash in her mouth anyway.