#Well that was what more or less what I expected
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Lover Boy
Mob!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader
Summary: It's the Bridgerton carriage scene, but make it mob!Bucky.
Warnings: Angst, light Smut, Language, Possessive Bucky.
3.5k
The poll results are in, and I couldn't help but think this might be a good way to remedy both sides.
You were mortified.
One hand fisted against quivering lips, and the other gripped at your clutch. As if anything else could go wrong tonight. Shaky steps guided you down the carpeted stairs.
There was another gala, another meeting of the power players in town. And it was another night wasted at the hands of James Barnes.
You hated how much you cared for him. You still cared for him even after all the stunts he pulled to pull you away from the Maximoff heir. Always had.
Ever since you were kids, you remembered having that love-sick look in your eyes. You grew up with inner-circle families and were friends with Rebecca, Sarah, and their brothers. And Bucky? Well, shit, he was always there with his dark hair and curious eyes. It was hard not to fall for him.
Even as you grew up, numbing yourself to the reality of the business and the choices that came with it, you couldn't ignore him forever. You knew that Bucky was raised to be powerful, honorable, and frightening. You knew the stories – of all the beautiful women who couldn't tie him down longer than a night or two. You knew how he flaunted some new girl at every event. It was hard not to overhear them whispering among the men.
'What about her?' and the laugh on his hips saying, 'She's just a family friend. Don't worry about her; I'd never be with her like that.'
You knew he would break your heart, and still. You loved him.
Again, mortified.
He was your first kiss on some lonely night when you couldn't help but ask him. But that had been ages ago. He was grown now, the head of the family and the king of his empire.
But there was something different about tonight, something predestined that started long before you stepped outside your door. It started out as Sam's idea weeks before, in the same bar where you ended up every weekend.
He wanted to try and get you to mingle among the local 'rabble-rousers' as if he pretended not to be one of them. Your laugh at his suggestion pulled Steve and Bucky's attention from across the bar.
"You want me to do what, exactly?" You teased. "Throw myself in the way of wealthy investors and scout out the competition? That's much more up Nat's alley; there's a reason why they call her the Black Widow, you know –"
"No, nothing like that," he shook his head, that charming grin on his lips. Once Sam got an idea, it took a lot of work to dissuade him. "Look, there's more to this life than watching shipments and making small talk with the hens in town." He paused, knowing all the time you spent logging backorders and saving face with the mercs' wives. "I want you to be happy. We all do."
You leaned against the bar, pressing your palms against the hardwood.
"So you think it's time for me to settle down?" You challenged with a smirk. "Get married to some silver-spoon jerk upstate?" Sam's smile turned close-lipped as he noticed the other's approach.
"We could help you find a good one." At least he sounded hopeful.
"In this town?" Steve overheard, tapping his beer on the hardtop. "You're gonna need all the help you can get."
Your sneaking suspicion grew as they hounded like vultures. You looked from Sam to Steve with weary eyes. The only one with less enthusiasm was Bucky. Bucky, who usually was primmed with pressed shirts, was tired. His hair fell into his face, his shirt wrinkled, and his tie long discarded at one of the tables.
"You want to help me find a man?"
Bucky looked to his friends with a hooded expression, letting his hand reach out before him. With the click of his tongue, he softly smirked.
"We'll help you find a man. Have we got a deal, doll?"
It was a business handshake, one full of promise. And as soon as you grasped Bucky's hand, one you'd come to regret.
You didn't expect their advice to work so well…or so quickly.
At the gala, Bucky strolled over with that sly walk and pressed navy suit, conveniently carrying your favorite drink in hand after Pietro ordered you both dirty martinis. You never cared for the drink, but you weren't about to tell him that. But trouble started when Bucky slid between you with that close-lipped smirk.
"They must have made a mistake at the bar," He explained with a shrug. "I remember you liked these. Here, doll." Bucky said, swapping out the drink in your hand before sliding away. No one could fault you for your eyes lingering on him as he walked back to Sam and Steve.
Later in the night, when you were dancing along and finally falling into a rhythm with Pietro, Bucky interrupted again. It was the turn of the tides, the slow pace of the music building, until it felt like one of the underground clubs.
All the weeks spent flirting and learning more about the Maximoff family were crumbling before you. You were a fool to think it would last.
The music built to the familiar strum of old songs you used to listen to, and before you knew it, Sam, Natasha, and half the crew surrounded you on the dancefloor, pulling you away from your date. And it was all orchestrated by Bucky, leading them like a pack of wolves. You knew that look, the suave pull of his hand through slicked-back hair. And then, before you knew it, you were dragged away from the dancefloor.
"Hey," Pietro called over the music, pulling you to the side. "I like you. I do, but this isn't working."
"Wait –" You tried, reaching for his arm. But he was quick to deflect, and embarrassment warmed your cheeks.
"Whatever you're looking for," his eyes moved from Bucky and dropped when you noticed. He looked down with a sad smile. "Whoever you're looking for, I hope you find it."
It felt like a knife twisting in your chest.
"Please don't go."
But it was too late. Your plea was lost as he pushed himself away. Everyone saw it. All your friends' efforts and your attempts to find the one were wasted. Your feet carried you away too fast to notice the somber look Steve gave Bucky.
"You're running out of time, punk."
The city lights passed in a blur as a taxi drove you farther from the gala. The searing ache in your chest left you confused.
For years, you dreamed of Bucky Barnes, hope a dangerous feeling companion of yours. But you knew how he felt. You were nothing more than a friend; he had made that abundantly clear. But you couldn't cut the tether, even while someone else caught your interest. Pietro Maximoff was handsome and kind and loved his sister more than the world. But with Bucky's interruptions, it was no wonder why he didn't want to get involved.
But it still hurt.
A sob was swallowed back, but you couldn't stop the tears from rising. You were pitiful. It was the last time you'd ever ask the guys for help.
But the thought was gone with the sudden screeching of brakes. It made you hold on to the headrest in front of you. Trying to peer around at the commotion, you didn't expect to be cut off by two black SUVs. A moment later, a ringed hand banged on the taxi's hood.
"Get out of the car."
You knew that voice. And as you looked through the windshield, you could see Bucky Barnes peering back.
He was as poised as he was at the party, and the sharp look had you bracing the seat. The bitter spark of rejection caught the light, burning into brutal frustration. You didn't want to talk to him. You didn't want to see him. Not now.
"No."
He tilted his head to the side at the challenge.
"Get out of the fucking car." Bucky gritted. "I need to talk to you."
His voice was teetering dangerously into territory you had only heard about. It was his back rooms, no nonsense voice that snapped you back into the moment. Like hell it would work on you. So it was to be a standoff, one that that you weren't ready to back down from.
Once Bucky realized your position, he took a new approach. You could hear his intentional steps against the pavement as he reached the driver. He didn't say anything but dug into his pants pocket, his fingers flicking through his wallet smoothly.
"Unlock the car," Bucky ordered, pressing cash bills against the window.
The immediate click of the locks didn't help your bellyache, nor did the split second of peace you had before Bucky forced the door open and pulled you out of the cab.
"Are you crazy?" You barked, forcing him to release you as the cab sped off in the other direction.
But you were left in the middle of the road in Barnes territory, the sweep of their dark SUVs cutting off any chance to get out of this conversation.
"What's gotten into you?"
"I didn't want you to leave the party." He explained, his words softer now. "Not like that."
You couldn't believe him. You followed their advice to try and bag a good guy, but to what end?
"What?" You dared to challenge. "I don't know what you want from me. I'm not in the mood, James."
The curl of his name lingered, making your intentions clear. You never called him by his first name. And Bucky didn't like it one bit.
"Let me take you home."
As if you had a choice.
You choked on a frustrated snarl, wanting to hide and cry away your worries and wanting to claw at him like a villain. You hated it. You hated the pressure of his eyes, blue and dark against the night, to get in the car.
So you lifted your head high, took a steeling breath, and walked ahead of him. You were separated from the rest of the world in the backseat of his company car. The divider was a saving grace. You didn't want one of the drivers to see you like this.
But Bucky followed behind so quickly, getting in and closing the door before you could protest for space. You chose to stare out the window instead of looking back at him. The car lurched forward, and you took a moment to find balance.
"You're unhappy."
"No shit."
"Please," He started, turning his shoulders in toward you. Even out of the corner of your eye, you knew he wouldn't let this go. "Please talk to me. Don't close me out. I hated seeing you leave like that. Whatever Maximoff did, I'll fix it."
"You can't fix it!" You finally said, turning to him and gripping his shoulder in frustration. "You say you want me to be happy, to find someone, and then manage to scare off anyone that has the potential to do it." As your voice raised, heat radiated from your cheeks down your neck. His eyes were wide, listening to your grief. "He left because of you. It's not like you have feelings for me. What's the matter with you?"
You couldn't stand to look at him, not when he was so close. His cologne burned your nose, and you desperately needed him to get out of your system.
"Doll," Bucky breathed. He inched his way closer, not letting the anger of your words settle over him. "What if I did have feelings for you?" You would almost call his stare desperate. And then you confirmed it as his shoulders dropped, turning toward you. "It's all that I've wanted to tell you. And I can't see you with him." He admitted.
He moved with purpose all night, not intending to ruin your time with Pietro but to show you that he was the one who needed you. He should have been the one to hold you between dances and order you fine drinks. He should have picked you up so that you would never dare to get in a yellow cab.
But you weren't some wilting flower. You knew the risks of your following words.
"We're friends, Buck."
You held yourself together. You were strong and brave and gripping your heartstrings.
"Yes," He agreed. "But we…"
And for once, he was at a loss of words. The years wasted pining after him would finally be out in the open. You could finally be free of his torment. His eye contact was overwhelming; if he looked away, you would disappear.
"Look, We've been friends for a long time." And with an ounce more of bravery, you sighed. "But I'd like to be more than friends." You admitted. "I want to be so much more than that."
You were waiting for the other shoe to drop. But Bucky leaned closer in earnest, over the seat and bringing his face close. There was no teasing, no torment in his expression.
And with the tip of his chin, you were lost, pulled tight into a kiss and letting it blossom as cold metal snaked around your waist. You dreamed of his touch, and it burned down your throat like honey whiskey.
When you opened your eyes, Bucky had moved. He was no longer in the seat, now chest to chest with you. He was kneeling in the cramped space, the divider shielding you from the driver and the outside world.
"Do you know why Sam offered to help in the first place?" His words were slow as he pulled away, loud enough to hear. "Do you know why Steve jumped on board and corralled us to join? It's because he is tired of me dragging my fucking feet."
"Bucky-"
But he closed the space for another set of slow kisses, deep and intentional.
"I've been an idiot." He admitted. "The guys know how I feel about you. I think they've always known." Another kiss as you pulled back, gripping the shoulders of his jacket. Expensive fabric under your fingertips, hot breath against yours. You were dizzy.
"And you agreed to help with this idea." You noted.
It wasn't a question, no challenge in your words. He agreed to help find you a man. Bucky took a hefty exhale.
"You know the business. It's not safe –" but you raised your hand with a groan, not buying his excuse.
Your fingers brushed over the curve of his chin, the sharp line of his beard a welcome sensation. God, you only ever dreamed of this. You savored the feel of him, your hand moving up his ear and combing your fingers through his air. Buck's eyes were darker than you've ever seen, his open mouth curving up in awe.
"'s not safe." He whispered. "I'm not gonna put you through that."
It was a weak defense. You knew the coterie of mercs, the warehouses, the shipments. You knew all of it and were aware of the danger. But it wasn't like you could cut ties and leave your life behind. You weren't sure you even wanted to.
"You wanted me to find someone else?" You dared to ask. The whisper died as he shook his head.
"All this deal did was make me jealous." He affirmed. "And tonight," His eyes raked down your frame. He never did finish his thought as lust washed over him. A breath passed between you two. "I never meant for you to hurt over it."
The limited space lets you mimic his actions, noting his heaving chest, blue eyes, and the pout of his kissed lips. How he kneeled down in front of you, crowding your space, made you dizzy. While your mouth curved up into a wanton grin, you couldn't help but chase another kiss.
Each touch melted the last of your anguish. The night was long forgotten as soon as he pressed forward, flattening you against the back of the seat. While you pulled up for air, his other hand moved to cup your chin. And then, with your eyes locked on his, he tilted your chin, eyes staring into the roof of the sedan as you felt lips against your jaw.
Hot, languid kisses burned against your pulse. The scrape of his teeth and burn of his beard drove you wild. And as he pulled back, his hand released your chin, following a mesmerized pattern down your skin.
The palm of his hand cupped your neck, down your shoulder, pulling down the thin strap of your dress. Your soft skin was on display, and Bucky's expression was wonderous. But his hand continued mapping, cupping the curve of your breast. A tactful squeeze left your head falling against the seat, a soft gasp on your lips, and your hand blindly reaching up to cover his. With a sharp breath, you found his eyes again. His pink lips were parted, eyes pleading with you.
You knew Bucky was a man of action, but this was uncharted territory. Your nod and an affectionate squeeze of his hand pulled him from his reverie.
He needed more, craving your skin. And as his hand fell from your chest to a solid grip on your ankle, you craved his exploration.
Shallow breaths were traded for deep, hungry kisses. Years of longing, of yearning for his touch and affection, finally were coming to a head. The brush of his tongue left your mind reeling, and regardless of the heat, a trail of goosebumps followed the path of his hand. Under your dress, he lingered over the smooth skin of your calf, over your knee, up your thigh, and to the meat of your hip. Rough, dexterous fingers carved prints into your skin hot enough to burn.
You refuse to miss a moment, eyes fixed on Bucky's as his palm covers the top of your thigh, the intention sitting heavy in your stomach. A live wire of nerves, you can feel him from the heat of your cheeks buzzing down to your toes.
And then, palming where you needed him most, your mouth dropped open with the softest of moans.
Bucky's eyes are wide, but it doesn't last as he finally lets himself get lost. As his eyes close, you admire the curve of his nose and his soft, dark eyelashes. But Buck is greedy, and as he peels his way under the cloth of your panties, you, too, close your eyes. Fingers are nimble, caressing your dripping seam under the dress.
You're a vision.
Convulsing under his touch, rogue pulls off his fingers drip honey down your thighs. Your breath is heaving, and your chest is dangerously close to falling out of the dress. Bucky finds refuge by rubbing slow, devastating circles against your clit. Every hitch of your breath and moan spur him on until you are staring at him with such reverence he thinks he'll collapse.
There's a magnetism, the long-lasting chemistry drawing you nearer to him. He swallows your moan as he slides a finger inside. You're in a desperate frenzy, pulling him close and arching into his body. He spurs on a need you've never had, demanding his smoldering kiss as you shake in his arms.
He's all you've ever wanted. You're crazy to think it could have ever been anyone else.
And then the car jerked to a stop.
There's a breathless laugh as he pulls away, Bucky's forehead resting on yours. You kept a hand on his cheek, thumb brushing his chin. Maybe, if you just ignored it, the outside world would go away.
That is, until you see a porch light turn on from your periphery. You try not to let embarrassment flood your system as you realize your situation, with one of your closest friends knuckle deep in the back seat.
Bucky doesn't share your distress.
He pressed a kiss to your cheek, finally pulling his head back. Bucky smiled. His fingers lingered longer before pulling away, leaving you empty and wanting.
You must have looked as desperate as him, finally looking down at the brutal strain in his pants. But you had no time to overthink as his fingers carefully plucked at your dress strap. He was putting you back together, smoothing out the burn of his touch as he sat up.
If you begged, you were sure that he'd ravage you right there in the seat. But you tilted your head to look outside. You needed a distraction, anything to regain your good sense.
As you focused on the brownstone, you knew where he took you. You were in front of his house – the Barnes family house. He said he was taking you home.
"This isn't my place."
His smirk reached his eyes, and as he pulled open the door and jumped out, his gaze was fixed on you.
"For fucks sake, doll," Bucky's eyes were soft, still blown out. He held a hand out. "We've known each other our whole lives. I'm crazy about you. Are you gonna come up with me or not?"
And with an ardent stare, as if he hung the stars himself, you reached for his hand.
#mob!bucky x reader#mob!bucky#mob!au#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#the carriage scene#bucky barnes#lover boy
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Poor poor hockey! Simon :(
he lost and now the only thing to make him feel better is a good bj
this made me twitch so here u are my love !!!
!! comfort/smut - minors dni; hockey au; praises (in a tender way and but also in a kink way); D/s-ish; some semblance of plot ig // 2.4k words (LMAO)
the horn blows, marking the end of the game and, with that, the end of spec gru’s season.
it was heartbreaking to watch the way the boys' bodies slump, their loss descending onto them like heavy rain. the arena shakes, screams from the opposing team's fans piercing your ears, but you can't blame them, really—they won on home ice, against the leviathan of the league. it is a tremendous win for them, and a devastating loss for your side.
you feel your hand getting squeezed and you turn, looking at johnny's fiancee, seeing the way her own face is crumpled in her sadness.
"i guess that's that, huh?" she says, comforting, her voice a quiet whisper that was almost devoured by the loud cheers.
sometimes you forget that she's an athlete too; that she feels things a lot more intense than you do because she understands the grapple. the desperation. the way how everything you give and everything you put out is, at the end, not enough.
you sniffle, holding her hand tighter.
"i'm so proud of 'em," you say wetly, unable to compartmentalize your grief.
she laughs, the sound of it so empty of any humour but not any less kind.
“i am too.”
you both turn your gazes back to the rink and watch the teams shake hands with each other, the players finally amiable like they hadn’t just been tussling on ice, all sparked by the sharp tension that buzzed throughout their play.
you watch as simon takes a lap, patting the backs of his team members with his lips pursed, but otherwise he is put together. and yet here you are, shaking, lips wobbling, nose twitching because you are trying your best not to cry. it isn’t like you were the one who lost so you wonder why your heart twinges with so much pain; why is it that you are the one holding back the tears?
simon turns to the crowd, roving his eyes past bodies, until they finally lock on you. his lips twitch into a smile; you give him what you hope is a big one—the type of smile that will let him know how in awe you are of him, win or not.
they skate away and you all shuffle out, preparing for the flight back home.
.
it was expected for the players to fly back home together—a semblance of normalcy even amidst the staggering defeat. it was their last attempt at showing sportsmanship; at showing the hounding media that despite the abrupt end of their season, they remained close-knit.
simon understands it, of course. it was a media play, one that contends with the politics of the league, but it was difficult to act impartially, especially when they were making their way back, empty-handed, from the home ice of the team that had defeated them. it was difficult to not show the turmoil in their hearts, but they all managed to hold their heads up high during the exit and that was that.
they didn’t talk about it much, avoiding that last game as best as they could until the briefing, but hunger thrums in their jowls—no one was satisfied with being the second best.
the promise of a better next season hung above them, but it is still so unreachable.
simon feels angrier than usual, unable to stop himself from taking this loss personally. like what costed them their win were only his shortcomings; like this defeat was his sole failure because he did promise to lead his team on ice, with price unable to stand as their official captain during the games. he had promised to score the most, after all, and had promised to keep the opposing puck out of price’s net, but he failed in both and, well, here they are.
back home, anguished. defeated.
he–
simon's phone rings, a quiet trill that echoes in the empty locker room.
he shoots awake from the swirl of his thoughts, sluggish as he pulls it out of his bag. he expected it to be laswell or keller, or maybe their coach, but simon feels his world tilt when he sees your name flashing on his screen. and just like that, like he wasn’t even drowning in his self-doubt and self-hatred, simon feels like he can breathe again.
he feels lighter, his anguish seeping out of his pores, leaving him with nothing but his flesh and his heart and his love.
simon picks up the call, hears your voice, then he is up and running back home.
.
there is a sense of urgency in the way he finds you, his cold body folding into the warm touch of your own. you gasped out his name, surprised at how fast you have him back in your arms after a whole season of flying and leaving and pursuing his chance at the cup—
“i’m home, petal,” simon murmurs, his voice deep and beautiful and longing, and you giggle, your eyes watering, before you nuzzle into his chest.
he breathes you in, the faint smell of ozone and rain and something distinctly flowery fills his nose, and somehow this is what grounds him, his blood spiking as desire and need fill him up instead.
and it trickles into him like wafting smoke—soft, gentle, cascading like a warm kiss. it is still intense, hungry, but it is tender. quiet. like everything about simon’s buzzed energy had transformed into this careful folding. the anger, the desperation, all of it snuffed out for a vulnerable moment.
“baby,” you begin, voice muffled from where your head is still pressed on his chest. “love, you did so well.”
he shakes, his words failing him now.
you pull back just enough and he sees the glazed look in your eyes as you stare up at him, your lips curled in your smile. “i’m so proud of you, si.”
his heart stutters inside the cages of his ribs, jumping, before it lodges itself in his throat.
you giggle at his wordless tremors and press close again, your body melting onto his again, before you tip your head back to his chest but this time, instead of a nuzzle, you greet his beating heart with a kiss. one that is so light he barely feels it from his shirt, but simon feels so shaken.
he feels so raw.
you are holding him like he is the best thing in this world. like all his bulk and his size and his anger is still worth this softness.
“i need you,” he croaks out, unable to stop the way his feelings bloat and rage in the pit of his stomach.
“you have all of me,” you reply, breathless, your eyes still blown open, wide and full of wonder. then they shift, turning sharper, gaining edge; still careful, coaxing, but overwhelming. “tell me, my love. tell me how you need me.”
“fuck,” simon rasps out, feeling like he’s running out of air. his fingers twitch, digging deep into your skin, feeling it mould under his touch.
he’s missed this, alright. he’s—
“mouth,” he finally manages to bite out. “wan’ feel your mouth, love.”
“okay,” you croon, kissing his pec again. “sit f’me?”
simon doesn’t even have it in him to feel embarrassed about the way he falls to his ass on the plush mattress, bouncing a little bit because of the force, before he spreads his legs open, so, so desperate.
you have your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, canines dimpling the flesh, and simon feels like he is burning from the inside; doused with the fires of need, spark untamable, licking up, up, up.
“come on, firelily,” he rumbles, needy. “c’mere an’ kiss me.”
you huff, fond, and fall to your knees, scooting close to him.
it was silent as you fumble with his sweats, tugging at the drawstring and grumbling when the hem gets snugged on his hips. simon chuckles, pushing your hair out of your face before he juts up just enough to give you room to slide his sweats and his boxers down.
the cool air makes him tremble and you murmur something. it was so faint that he doesn’t get to catch what it was, but his curiosity sizzles at the sight of you licking your palm, shyly with how you refuse to meet his eyes. he almost teases you, his cheeks round with giddiness, but then you wrapped your fist around his half-chub, and his sanity is razed.
simon hisses, eyes fluttering close at the warm curl of pleasure.
jesus. he’s missed the feeling of this; your hand is softer, more supple, around his cock. it was so different from when it was his own fist rubbing himself, beating at his angrily flushed cock with desperation only for his peak to tip over mutedly, and not enough to truly satiate his hunger.
but this? fuck.
simon doesn’t even realize he’s whimpering, his head thrown back at the curious pace of your hand, not really jerking him off but mapping along his veins almost in quiet awe.
“‘m not gon’ last long if you–” he gasps at a particular twist. “if you keep doing that.”
“oh, no we can’t have that,” you tease, chuckling, and simon’s reply builds on the tip of his tongue, cheeky, but then you’re already moving, your back folding, your breath hitting his sensitive head.
his thighs tense in his anticipation, his stomach locking. you flit your eyes up at him, pupils blown wide in your own ragged need, before he jerks at the feeling of your tongue pressing on the underside of his cock, licking up, and teasing his leaking slit.
simon moans, guttural, his voice caught on the back of his throat. he drops his hands to his sides, fisting at the sheets as you keep licking, teasing his slit and tracing his veins, lapping at his cock so messily.
if he didn’t know any better, he’d think that you’re inexperienced; all sloppy and curious, like you’re attempting things you’ve probably seen in porn, but then you close the ring of your mouth around the bulbed head, suckling like it’s a goddamn loli, while your hands drop to squeeze his balls, and simon’s gone.
“shit-!” he gasps out, battling air like he’s back on ice.
he bucks his hips forward, unable to help himself, and only stops at the warbled sound of your surprise.
“fuck,” he hisses, hand coming up to swipe the hair from your sweaty face. “i’m sorry, darlin’. didn’t mean t’force it down. s’just that y’r so good.”
he keeps petting your cheek, overtaken by his desires and no longer able to stop the string of words trickling from his heart. “missed you lots, swee’art. missed you so much—take me deeper?”
your cheeks hollow as you hum, so obedient for him.
“yeah, jus’ like that,” simon trills, his chest rising as he breathes in deeply. his stomach flexes at the feeling of you swallowing more of him, taking his thickness past your gummy cheeks and into the wet vice of your throat. “shit, baby. christ. y’feel so fuckin’ good ‘round me. so perfect an’ wet.” he giggles, drunken in his bliss. “such a messy baby y’are. so sloppy. y’wanted my cock that much, din’ya? so hungry f’r it.”
there’s a wet slurp when he hits the deepest you could allow him, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. you choke, your body lurching in protest, but simon is at the throes of his pleasure and his rational thoughts are devoured by his gluttonous need, and simon knows it is wrong to ask but—
“hold it in? can you do that f’r me, love?” he croons, his voice curling in his euphoria.
he knows this is playing dirty; to use your weakness—the deep rumble of his voice and the gentle beckoning—to make you weak, malleable. to make you just as desperate for him because he knows all you want to do is to be good for him even when it has you straining, your eyes filling up with tears. he knows it is wrong, but he can’t help it. he wants you this way.
and you want him like this too—his desires sharpening, shaping him to be mean and dangerous. his thickness fills you up, pressing at the roof of your mouth and trapping your tongue underneath the weight of his flesh. your larynx is stretched out, stuffed, but simon is looking at you so adoringly, his own ecstasy so dizzying, so addicting.
you nod, sniffling, finally replying to his question because you want him to feel good. because you want him to lose his restraints when it comes to you.
because you want him to use you until he’s truly relaxed, his body exhausted with something beyond his heartbreak. with something beyond his loss.
simon’s lips wobble like he knows what it is you are thinking of.
he fucks your throat that way, gentle and sometimes slipping into something so mean it makes you squirm on your knees, the muted throb of your strained legs finally turning into staticky numbness, but you don’t complain, your jaw relaxed as you let simon use you.
he growls out his praises, his words chewed on in his peaking euphoria—nose flaring, cheeks flushed red—or lilting as he teases you—pulling his cock out enough that all that is left is the head, and you whine because you want him in, please simon. wan’ more please—
“gonna cum, sweetheart. gonna cum—fuck!—gonna—”
simon throws his head back, a blinding white filling his eyes and his ears ringing. his body trembles at the intensity of his orgasm, immense pleasure overtaking every synapses in his body until all that he feels is the feverish wrap of your mouth on him.
he flicks his eyes down, panting, and twitches at the sight you make—jaw slack, eyes faraway, skin shining with a thin sheen of sweat.
you look, fuck, you look angelic like this.
simon cups your cheek, his thumb swiping just underneath your teary eye. you focus back to him slowly, blinking owlishly.
“shh,” he croons, gentle. “i’ve got you, darlin’. i’ve got you.”
a whine builds from the back of your throat and simon hums, responding to your wordless babble, trying to ease you back down from the fog. he continues to hold you even amidst his oversensitivity, waiting so patiently so he can take care of you now.
yeah, he thinks to himself as he continues to return your unblinking stare. i’m glad to be back home.
hope this was good :'33 once again pls dont judge me for my blatant self-indulgence hhHHHHH oki oki mwah!!
#anon#hockey au#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley smut#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley#simon riley#hockey player simon#cod smut#ask#suns
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Pen Pals
pair: sukuna x afab!reader
content: smut, stalking, threats, slight violence, dubious consent i think ?, profanity, choking, an impossible angle, sukuna is a serial killer but we never touch fully on that, reader is scared a lot, and idk what more is needed but just be careful proceeding MDNI thank you!
line dividers @cafekitsune
“So, what if your charming pen pal turns out to look like Quasimodo?”
“I have his picture! Besides, it’s not like we’ll ever actually meet. He’s serving life.”
Your friend gaped at you, her eyes widening in disbelief.
The conversation had begun with your usual letter-writing ritual. What had once been a simple hobby had evolved into an infatuation with a man labeled as one of the world's most dangerous criminals. Despite his reputation, his letters had been nothing but kind, making your heart flutter with each new page. His picture revealed a ruggedly handsome man, his body adorned with tattoos that hinted at a dangerous past.
You had told your friend about him almost a year ago. Predictably, she responded with trepidation, urging you to choose a less notorious correspondent.
“He’s still a person,” you’d argue. “Even the most hated need love too. And what harm could he do if he never knows where I live, let alone what I look like?”
However, his latest request had unsettled you both. He wanted a picture of you, something to remember you by during lonely times. Your friend was livid when you mentioned it.
“You cannot send him a picture! What if he has friends on the outside? I refuse to become a target because of your bad decisions!”
You laughed it off, continuing to write a diplomatic yet affectionate refusal. Your friend, exasperated, finally sighed in defeat.
“Well, enjoy writing to the serial killer. I’m staying at my boyfriend’s place for a while. If he gets out and comes after you, call the police first, then me.”
You reassured her with a laugh, promising to be cautious. She hugged you tightly before leaving. Neither of you noticed the grey car parked across the street, its presence having become so familiar it was easily ignored.
The following evening, a knock at your door startled you. Expecting your friend, you were puzzled to find no one there. Just a box.
With a mix of excitement and dread, you approached the door. The box bore a note in handwriting you recognized instantly:
*Such a beautiful home. I thought you would enjoy a little gift from the other side…*
Your anxiety surged. You scanned the empty, unnaturally quiet street before retreating inside. The flickering streetlight across from your home seemed dimmer than usual, casting eerie shadows. A rustle in the bushes sent you scurrying back inside, locking the doors and setting the alarm with trembling hands.
The box sat ominously on your coffee table. Despite your curiosity, fear kept you from opening it. Instead, you holed up in your room, hoping sleep would come despite the dread gnawing at you.
In the dead of night, you jolted awake to the sound of metal scraping against metal. Someone was inside your home.
Determined not to fall into the typical horror trope of investigating, you stayed put. But then you heard it—footsteps, slow and deliberate, ascending the carpeted stairs.
Panic gripped you. Clutching the bat you kept in your closet, you listened as the intruder approached. The door across the hall creaked open, and you steeled yourself for the worst. But then you recognized the sounds—muffled giggles and a familiar voice.
Relief washed over you. Your friend had returned, and apparently brought her boyfriend. You set the bat down, heart still racing, and fell back into bed, the adrenaline finally giving way to exhaustion.
In the morning, you would face the box and the mysteries it held. For now, you allowed yourself to sink into the comfort of your bed, hoping that sleep would bring a respite from the turmoil of the past few days.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow on your bedroom. Despite the terror of the previous night, you felt a strange sense of calm as you padded downstairs. The box still sat on the coffee table, its presence a reminder of the eerie note and the mystery it held.
Taking a deep breath, you sat on the couch and gingerly lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in a bed of luxurious velvet, was an object that took your breath away. It was a stunningly crafted necklace, the centerpiece a large, gleaming sapphire surrounded by intricate filigree work in white gold. The piece was elegant, expensive, and utterly out of place for something sent from a prison.
You lifted it gently, the gem catching the light and casting tiny rainbows across the room. For a moment, the sheer beauty of the necklace overshadowed your fear. How could something so exquisite come from a man behind bars?
Elated but wary, you turned the necklace over in your hands, inspecting every detail. It was flawless, and the craftsmanship was impeccable. This was no ordinary gift.
Your mind raced. How did he manage to send something so extravagant? More importantly, how did he know your address? You felt a shiver run down your spine as you recalled your friend's words: *“What if he has friends on the outside?”*
The realization hit you hard. He must have outside help. Someone capable of acquiring such a piece and delivering it to your doorstep. Your elation was quickly replaced by a deep sense of unease.
How long had he known where you lived? You thought back to the grey car that had been parked across the street. Was it connected? Had you been watched?
You set the necklace back in the box, hands trembling. The beauty of the gift now seemed tainted by the sinister implications. Your friend's warnings echoed in your mind: *“I am not going to die because of your bad decisions!”* You couldn’t ignore the danger any longer.
Reaching for your phone, you dialed your friend’s number. She answered on the third ring, her voice groggy with sleep.
“Hey, it’s me. You were right. We need to talk.”
Later that day, your friend arrived, her face a mix of concern and frustration. You showed her the necklace, and she gasped.
“This is... gorgeous. But it’s also terrifying. How did he send this?”
“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice shaking. “And I don’t know how he found my address.”
She paced the room, glancing nervously out the window. “We need to call the police. This is beyond creepy.”
You nodded, knowing she was right. The thrill of your pen pal had turned into something dangerous, something that required more than just caution. As you picked up the phone to dial the authorities, you couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on you, the sense of being watched. The beautiful necklace now felt like a heavy weight, a symbol of the peril you had unwittingly invited into your life.
As you waited for the police to arrive, you couldn’t help but wonder about the man who had written such kind letters. Was he truly as dangerous as they said, or was there more to the story? Either way, you knew you couldn’t continue the correspondence. The price of your curiosity had become too high, and your safety was worth far more than any thrill or beautiful gift.
A few weeks had passed, and your friend continued to stay with her boyfriend, feeling guilty for leaving you alone but too scared to return. She called you every day, ensuring you were unharmed and feeling as well as could be expected. The police had stationed an officer outside your house during those weeks, but with no further incidents, they eventually recalled the officer. They advised you to call if anything came up, assuring you they would do their best to keep you safe. You had downplayed the threat, omitting any mention of your pen pal. Had they known the full extent, they might have placed you under witness protection.
Unfortunately, the eerie calm was shattered today.
The grey car had returned, and this time, you could make out the driver. He bore a stark resemblance to the picture you had seen of your pen pal, the world’s most dangerous criminal, now sitting outside your home, watching and waiting. But for what? What did he plan to do once you were alone?
You couldn't call out from work again, needing to maintain some semblance of normalcy. Steeling yourself, you put on your best intimidating face and walked to your car, though you felt more like a deer caught in headlights. Ignoring the piercing, watchful eyes of the man was harder than you imagined, but you managed to get into your car and drive away.
You knew it was foolish to drive to work, thinking he might follow you, but if he knew your address, he likely knew where you worked. At least at work, you'd be surrounded by people and security personnel. If he tried anything—which you doubted he would in such a public setting—there would be help nearby.
The day dragged on, dread gnawing at you. Your focus was shattered, and your supervisor almost reprimanded you until they realized how shaken you were. They backed off, giving you space to regain your composure. HR knew something was seriously wrong but couldn’t disclose details to anyone else, offering you a temporary reprieve.
But this day was particularly harrowing, and you barely made it through. As the workday ended, you practically sprinted to your car, seeking the relative safety it offered while there were still people around.
Home was a different story.
You entered, not realizing the door had been unlocked until you were already in the living room. Shock, dread, and fear flooded you as you saw him there, seated on your sofa.
He was casually examining a picture of you with your friend, family, and your old pet. He looked content, as if he belonged there, as if he were truly at home.
Panic surged. You wondered what he could do to you in such close quarters. Thick walls muted sounds from neighboring homes; no one would hear you in time. You felt paralyzed, unsure of what to do if he made a move.
He shifted his position, dropping one leg and crossing the other, all the while holding your gaze. He took in your presence, the real you, not just the image he had studied. You were no longer a picture, but flesh and blood, standing before him.
“Nice to meet you, [Your Name].”
You had never told him your real name, only an alias. Somehow, he had discovered your true identity, just as he had found your address.
“I hope you don’t mind my intrusion. I couldn’t resist, especially after a month of silence from you. I noticed you called the police. I'm quite impressed that you managed to keep my presence in your life a secret.”
You trembled, tears starting to well in your eyes and trickle down your face.
“Ah, don’t cry. I’m not here to harm you. What I have in mind will be much more pleasurable. For both of us.”
His words chilled you to the core. The beauty of the necklace, the allure of his letters, all seemed like a distant dream compared to the present reality. You stood frozen, unable to move or speak, as he smiled at you, his intentions shrouded in menace and mystery.
“I-I…”
The tears began to slow, your breath evening out as a semblance of calm started to return. He watched you closely, giving you a moment to dry your face and find the words that had eluded you.
But silence persisted. Your thoughts were in disarray, still grappling with the reality of his sudden presence. He seemed to sense your inner turmoil, knowing you needed time to process the situation. As he approached, his imposing figure loomed over you, each step bringing him closer.
Realizing his intent, you instinctively retreated, but his long strides easily closed the distance. Your back met the cold, unyielding wall, trapping you. You wished you could tear it down, burrow into an indestructible sanctuary, and escape the nightmare your life had become.
His proximity was overwhelming, a blend of menace and fascination, as you stood frozen, unable to tear your gaze from his. The intensity of the moment hung heavy in the air, a storm of emotions threatening to consume you both.
He continued to close the distance, his presence suffocating yet electrifying. You could feel the heat radiating from his body as he drew nearer, until he was mere inches away. He raised his arms, placing his hands on the wall on either side of your head, effectively caging you in. The scent of him, a mix of cologne and something distinctly male, enveloped you.
"Is this what you like?" he asked, his voice a low, tantalizing murmur. His eyes bored into yours, searching for a reaction.
Your breath hitched, the proximity overwhelming your senses. The thrill of fear and an unexpected surge of excitement coursed through you, leaving you dizzy and unable to respond.
"Tell me," he continued, leaning in even closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "Is this what you've been waiting for?"
The intensity of his gaze, the warmth of his breath, and the sheer force of his presence made it hard to think, let alone speak. You were caught in a whirlwind of emotions, your mind a chaotic mix of fear, confusion, and a strange, unwelcome attraction. His dominance was intoxicating, leaving you both terrified and inexplicably drawn to him.
His hands remained on the wall, trapping you, as his eyes continued to hold yours captive. The room seemed to shrink around you, the air thick with unspoken tension. In that moment, you realized you were at his mercy, and the realization sent a shiver down your spine.
The intensity in his gaze didn't waver as he spoke again, his voice a silken whisper. "Why don't you show me around? I'd like to see more of your home."
Your heart pounded as you nodded, feeling compelled to comply. Slowly, he dropped his hands from the wall, giving you a semblance of freedom, though his presence still dominated the space. He gestured for you to lead the way.
With trembling steps, you walked towards the staircase, feeling his eyes on you, a constant reminder of the danger and allure he embodied. The transition from the living room to the upper floor was surreal, the normalcy of your home tainted by his dark presence. Each step up the stairs felt like a journey deeper into an inescapable labyrinth.
You reached the top of the stairs and paused, glancing back at him. His expression was unreadable, but a faint, almost predatory smile played at his lips. You hesitated for a moment before pushing open the door to your bedroom.
"This is my room," you said softly, stepping inside.
He followed, his tall frame filling the doorway before he moved to the center of the room. He looked around, taking in every detail. The room, once a sanctuary, now felt exposed and vulnerable.
"Show me more," he instructed, his voice firm yet oddly gentle.
You led him to the adjoining bathroom, your hands trembling as you opened the door. The bathroom was small but neat, the shower glistening under the overhead light. He inspected it briefly, then turned back to you, his eyes locking onto yours.
"This will do nicely," he said, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of something more.
Your mind raced, the reality of the situation pressing down on you. "What do you want from me?" you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
He stepped closer, reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair from your face. "For now, just your cooperation. Tonight is just the beginning. After the night's activities, I might need a place to clean up."
His words sent a shiver down your spine. The ambiguity of "activities" left your mind reeling with possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. You found yourself nodding, unable to do anything else.
"Good girl," he murmured, his hand lingering on your cheek. "Now, let's make the most of our evening together."
His touch was both reassuring and sinister, a stark reminder of the control he wielded over you. “Take this off…”
You were shocked, appalled even, at such a request from a man you barely knew, despite the intimacy of his letters, the truths he shared, his truth.
You hesitated, glancing up at him with a mix of trepidation and a spark of rebellion.
He smirked slightly, as if he had anticipated your resistance. His hand reached out, but you scurried backward, clutching onto what felt like the last vestiges of your dignity.
He wasn’t taking no for an answer, not from someone who had shown him such genuine kindness, such unguarded affection for the first time in decades.
It dawned on you just how monumental a mistake that kindness had been.
As you stood there, frozen in your shock, he moved swiftly. In an instant, he had closed the distance between you, his strong hands seizing your blouse. The fabric bunched under his grip, the force of his hold sending a jolt through you.
“Don’t fight it,” he murmured, his voice a velvet threat. “You and I both know this was inevitable.”
His words hung heavy in the air, mingling with the palpable tension that seemed to throb between you. His touch, firm and unyielding, ignited a tumult of emotions within you—fear, defiance, and a disturbing undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite name.
“You think you can just come into my life and—” your voice faltered, the defiance wavering under the weight of his gaze.
“I don’t think, I know,” he interrupted, his tone commanding and confident. His eyes, dark and intense, bore into yours. “You invited me in with every letter, every secret you shared. This connection we have—it’s real. And now, it’s time to face it.”
Your breath hitched as he pulled you closer, the proximity making your heart race. The air between you crackled with an undeniable energy, a mix of danger and an inexplicable pull that left you both terrified and entranced.
“You’ve got me all wrong,” you whispered, desperation creeping into your voice.
“No,” he replied, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “I’ve got you exactly where I want you.”
His words sent a shiver down your spine, the reality of your situation crashing over you. The walls of your sanctuary seemed to close in, the room shrinking as his presence dominated. You were caught in his web, and the more you struggled, the more entangled you became.
With a final, firm tug, he brought you even closer, his breath warm against your skin. “Let’s see how this night unfolds,” he murmured, a promise and a threat woven into his words.
In that moment, you realized there was no escape. You were his, for better or worse, and the night was just beginning.
His deft hands worked quickly, yet with a surprising gentleness, as he pulled at your blouse. He was careful, mindful of not tearing buttons or threads, his touch respectful in its slow haste to undress you. Each movement seemed deliberate, as if he were savoring the unveiling of your skin, as if he knew the value of each delicate inch.
Once your clothing lay discarded, you stood before him in just your bralette and panties, exposed yet somehow still veiled in mystery. His eyes roamed over you, taking in the sight of a woman—a vision of beauty that left him breathless. He drank in every curve, every line, every delicate feature, his gaze lingering on each detail as if committing them to memory.
He had seen countless women in his lifetime, but none had captivated him quite like you. There was something about you, something ineffable and intoxicating, that drew him in, leaving him hungry for more.
In that moment, as you stood there before him, vulnerable yet unyielding, he realized just how much he craved you. And he knew, with a certainty that bordered on obsession, that he would stop at nothing to possess you completely.
You knew that begging would likely be futile, so you chose silence instead, allowing your gaze to wander anywhere but at him and what he was doing. But he seemed to revel in being watched, his ego swelling as he unveiled each layer of your clothing.
His touch was insistent as his index finger and thumb grasped your chin, forcing your gaze to remain solely on him. You felt a surge of defiance rise within you, but it was quickly quelled by the intensity of his gaze.
With practiced ease, he removed your bra, followed by your panties. The air between you crackled with tension as he exposed you completely, and you couldn't help but feel exposed and vulnerable under his scrutiny.
A low groan escaped him, barely audible but unmistakable. It was a sound of longing, of desire unleashed after years of confinement. You realized then just how long it had been since he had seen a living, breathing woman, and the thought sent a shiver down your spine.
You stood there, naked and exposed, feeling his eyes on you like a physical touch. There was something primal in the way he looked at you, as though he were seeing you for the first time, drinking in every curve and contour of your body.
You tried to maintain some semblance of composure, but it was difficult under his relentless gaze. You felt stripped bare, not just of your clothing but of your defenses, your vulnerabilities laid bare before him.
As he stepped closer, the heat of his body enveloping you, you knew that there was no turning back. The night stretched out before you, a vast unknown filled with equal parts fear and fascination. And as he reached out to pull you closer, you couldn't help but wonder what other surprises lay in store.
Your cheek pressed into the cold, quartz floor of your bathroom, every nerve ending alive with sensation. You could feel the weight of him behind you, his eyes drinking in the sight of your rear pressing against his hips. His blazer, shirt, and pants had been discarded, leaving him in just his boxers. Despite the fabric that still separated your bodies, you felt everything from him—his warmth, his strength, his desire.
He had positioned you in a neat arch, your body stretched taut, every muscle straining against the confines of your own submission. His command was clear: remain still, hold that position until he was ready to take you further.
You obeyed, every fiber of your being thrumming with anticipation and fear. The cold floor beneath you was a stark contrast to the heat that radiated from him, and the sensation only heightened your awareness of every touch, every breath that brushed against your skin.
Time seemed to stand still as you waited, your body poised on the precipice of something unknown. You could hear the steady rhythm of your own heartbeat, a counterpoint to the electric tension that hung heavy in the air.
And then, without warning, his hands were on you, tracing the contours of your body with a touch that sent shivers down your spine. His fingers were skilled, mapping every curve and dip with a precision that left you breathless.
You felt him shift behind you, his body moving with a fluid grace that belied the strength coiled beneath his skin. You were afraid of the movement, wanting to look behind you to see what exactly he was doing. And when you felt the tip of him nearing your heat, you redacted the beautiful arch he helped you to create for him and tried to squirm away.
Before you knew it, he had your hair twisted in his hand, pressing your head painfully further against the floor, his breath fanning over your ear. “Move again… and I will crack your skull over this floor and with this treasure I’ll summon something worse than death for you.”
And then, with a suddenness that stole your breath away, he entered you, filling you completely with a single, powerful thrust.
The sensation was overwhelming, a flood of pleasure and pain that threatened to consume you. You bit back a gasp, your body trembling with the effort to remain still as he took you further, deeper into the abyss of his desire. He was much too large to enjoy, your stretched muscles struggling to comprehend the intrusion.
And as he moved within you, each thrust driving you closer to the edge of oblivion, you realized that there was no turning back. You were his, body and soul, caught in the grip of a passion that threatened to consume you both. And in that moment, as he claimed you as his own, you surrendered to the darkness that beckoned, knowing that there was no escape from the depths of his desire.
By the time he was finished, you had orgasmed nearly six times. The final was barely an orgasm, he had edged you and slapped your ass. Breathy laughs finding your ears and somehow you felt yourself able to share his laughter. Your cunt clenched against his twitching length, a feeling he relished in.
Just when you thought he was finished, he pushed your legs apart as far as they would go, nearly into a split, pressing himself further into you, impossibly deeper. Your eyes bulged, hips tightened and your cunt contracted against his deep-seated length once more, your cervix contracting and relaxing in slow bouts against his tip. He lifted your hips, allowing him a new arch, fresh angle, and an even deeper reach.
You wanted to sob, to beg him to stop, but you also wanted to see what he would do in this position.
He reached one hand in front, taking your neck into his possession and he pulled back just enough to keep you stationary and choke you slightly at the same time, the angle would do the rest.
And slowly, he pulled back, allowing just the tip to remain before he thrusts intensely inside of you, pressing against the spot he knew would drive you insane.
And you cursed him, screaming out all sorts of obscenities and lewd things as he continued to abuse the same spot. His girth squeezed in and out of you with much effort, the tightened feel of your cunt in this position was the one thing that kept him grounded, eyes drawn into a focus on your connected bodies.
He had cum so many times and this position had him dangerously close to blowing his load again, but he held back just enough. He wanted to cum with you again.
Increasing his speed, he pushed and pulled inside your pussy, watching as it sucked him and pushed him out simultaneously.
“S’kunaaaa… Fuuuccckkk! Pl-please!”
He knew what you were begging for, screaming out his name for. And he was so close to giving it to you. He had to give you what you wanted since you had been so obedient for him all night. He was nearing his end, bringing his free hand down to your clit and rubbing dangerous circles and odd shapes into it, nearly ritualistic in his methods and just he groaned his approval, you squirted. Full-body quakes erupting, your eyes rolling back into your head. Anyone watching the scene would have thought you were having a seizure.
But Sukuna knew. And you knew.
It was simply nirvana.
#sukuna x reader#sukuna ryomen#ryomen sukuna#jjk sukuna#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#mdni#sukuna#dead dove do not eat#pen pals#inmates#inmate#inmate pen pals#sukuna is humane and ooc a bit here#i loved it#sukuna smut#sukuna x reader smut#afab!reader#sukuna x afab!reader#sukuna ryomen smut#ryomen smut#ryomen sukuna smut#jjk ryomen#jjk ryomen sukuna
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Rural Bliss.
Real Dad! Leon X F! Reader (smut)
A/N: You, as a reader, are responsible for your own media consumption. It is up to you to read the tags that I have provided and determine whether or not this is a piece of writing that you would like to partake in. If not, scroll on by, if you do, please enjoy! Remember, I am not responsible for any discomfort you feel if you choose to read this.
Tags: incest (daddy-daughter), dub-con, oral (f receiving), LARGE AGE GAP (18 and 40+), pwp (light plot), mentions of predatory behavior, mutual creepiness, dark and disturbing content, choppy ass writing
Wordcount: 1.8k
!!! DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT/DARK CONTENT !!!
Your mom had finally done it. She found a halfway decent guy and let him wife her up faster than you could say 'I do.' You weren't exactly mad about it. He was a decent enough guy, and he made your mom happy, so whatever. The only part that you were against was the fact that you would be staying with your estranged father for the rest of your summer until your mom and her boy-toy got back from their extensive honeymoon.
Your dad fucked off pretty quickly after you were born. Moved himself far away into the middle of nowhere, not once reaching out or keeping in touch. A small part of you wanted to know him, but a larger part of you was pissed that you would have to now temporarily live with a man who you could just barely remember the name of.
What was it again? Leonard? Lucas? No, no, that's not right. Leon? Yeah, something like that. Leon.
Leon, the man who left you and your mom. The man who, instead of raising you, decided to lick his wounds in the deep country, likely making a meager living off of growing potatoes and carrots. The man who was a stranger, connected to you only by blood.
The man whose front porch you were currently standing on, banging on his door without a care in the world. You looked around while you knocked. It was a large bit of land. A few neighbors nearby, but not within spitting distance. At the very least, this town had a few stores with maybe a few people your age lingering around them.
"I'm coming, damn it!" His steps were loud, you could hear them from all the way outside. The heaviness of his work boots must've weighed him down quite a bit. The screen door flew open and his face softened. "Oh, hey kid. Didn't know you'd be here so early. Come in."
You followed him inside, letting your eyes trail his face and frame. You'd only seen a picture or two of him before. He wasn't exactly what you were expecting. He looked a lot older now than he did in the photos. More tired, less lively. His crow's feet and smile lines stuck out, but if the lonely, uncomfortable vibe of his house was any clue, you assumed he hadn't been smiling much in his life.
He wasn't bad looking, though. Time hasn't weathered him, and you could tell he took care of himself. His arms and chest looked strong, clearly he had found some way to stay fit out in his desolate chunk of farmer-country. You could see why your mom picked him. He looked like a good one, despite his fleeting nature.
"You're gonna be stayin' for a few months, yeah?" Leon didn't seem exactly uncomfortable with your presence, so you felt a bit more calm.
"Yeah, I guess so. Mom didn't really give me all the details, just kinda sprung it on me."
"Believe me, I know," he said under his breath. "Well, this place isn't much, 'm sure it's not what you're used to." He locked the door behind her and flashed an apologetic look.
"It's fine. I'll make it work." You looked around. It looked lived in, strangely worn despite nobody else ever living there.
He led you down a dimly lit hallway, the floorboards groaning beneath their weight, until they reached a single room. It was a small bedroom, adorned with faded wallpaper and completely wooden furniture. The single window offered a glimpse of the bare, green landscape outside.
"This'll be your room. You can unpack your things."
Hardly a week passed by and you were already sick to death of living with your dad. His jokes were bad. His cooking was shit. His attempts at bonding with you were creepy at best and damn near-assault at worst. He let his hands drift all over you when he pulled you in for hugs and tried pecking a kiss on your mouth before you went off to bed each night, and damn it, you let him.
Again and again, every night, letting that old man press his chapped lips against yours, holding back your urge to force your tongue into his mouth.
He bought you gifts that no other fathers would think about getting their daughters. Skimpy little clothes that left nothing to the imagination, while he wrote it off by claiming ignorance.
"That's what girls your age wear, right? I can't keep up with what you kids are into," Leon would say, covering his ass with feigned dopiness.
His only redeeming quality was that he was hot and mostly oblivious. It was fucked up to think about it that way, but without having much other male contact during your stay, Leon was starting to becoming quite the piece of eye candy. The best part is that he thought nothing of it, acting like his teenaged daughter spending hours staring at his half-naked, sweaty body while he worked in the hot sun was normal. Just another day. Nothing special.
He didn't make you work on the farm with him, so you got to do all the watching. You got to see those strong arms lift hay bales for the horses and chop trees for firewood. Most of your days were spent watching him from the front porch, mentally cursing yourself out when you felt your thighs clench together instinctually at his sexy movements.
What was wrong with you?
Were years of fatherlessness finally catching up to you? Couldn't muster any real love for the old man, so sexual yearning was the next best thing? Eye-fucking your dad and sharing touches that lasted too long were the cost of him skipping out on you.
You rationalized it the best you could. Maybe you didn't actually want him, maybe you the solitude of the countryside was getting to you. Maybe there was something in the air, some kind of sex-pollen floating in the breeze that made you wanna get bent over by a man twice your age that just so happened to be related to you. Closely related.
Leon didn't really know how to treat a woman well, but he tried his best with you. It was his first time really being a dad, but honestly, he hated it. Being a 'dad' sucked, especially when he'd rather have his daughter as his girlfriend.
You made him so frustrated, so unsure of himself. Leon's only experience with girl's your age was in getting them liquor they couldn't legally buy themselves, fucking them like plastic sex dolls, and leaving them for someone else to woo and screw.
He couldn't quite do that to you, though. He couldn't get you drunk and take advantage of you, pumping and dumping in your without a care about your pleasure. He had to take care of you, your health and comfort. All he really wanted was to take care of your body.
You were his little girl. He'd fuck you like he actually gave a damn about you if he ever got the chance, and he most definitely wouldn't be leaving you for anyone else.
That type of thinking brought him here.
"Daddy, please..."
The walls in his house were too damn thin. He could practically hear each thrust of your fingers into your cunt from his bedroom. Your bed screeched agonizingly against the floors, punctuating your moans and hisses of pleasure.
He saw his opportunity and took it. He had waited long enough, and this was the least he could do, right? You needed him, right? Right.
He pushed your door open, not having the decency nor the self-restraint to knock. You felt your body go still, but kept your hands between your legs.
"If you needed me, coulda told me. Don't like t'hear you in here whining." Leon sat on the edge of your bed, crawling his way between your legs. "Fuck, that's pretty."
He took in the sight of your fingers stuffed into your pudgy cunt, slick dripping between each digit.
"No, you're—! this isn't what it—" you tried prying your fingers out, but a strong hand wrapped around your wrist to keep you in place.
"Isn't what it looks like? How about what it sounds like, huh? Sounds like you want your daddy to dull that ache in you."
He was so far gone. He normally never did this. Leon was a man who took. He took younger girls virginity, mouth, pussy, or other. He was the one that got sucked off and got his perv dick wet. But for his baby? You, the little nymph who fell gracefully into his grasp? He was foaming at the mouth for a chance to slurp your pussy.
"Open up, come on. Got nothin' to be shy about," he urged, forcing your legs open, pulling your fingers out, and shimmying closer to you. "Nothin' I haven't seen before."
That was somewhat of a lie. Sure, he saw pussies all the time when he bullied his cock into them, but he was normally never nose to clit, ready to lick.
He stuck his needy tongue out, lapping up the juices that you worked up when you rubbed yourself raw. He swirled around you clit as a test, trying to see what felt good for you. He soon settled on puckering his lips around your bud and sucking, swapping his spit in and out of his mouth to keep you lubed up.
Your voice broke with hushed whines and chants. Yes's and oh's rang out, filling Leon's ears and his ego.
He pulled his head back and lob a wad of spit onto your clit, chuckling when you shivered.
"Feel good?" His thumb traced your clit in little figure eights.
"Mm, s'good." Your hands trailed through his thick, soft hair. You gripped it tightly, pulling his head back to your cunt. "No, don't stop, jus' need your mouth again."
His sharp, strong nose bumped against the top of your pussy while he munched down on you greedily. His tongue traveled around you in an indecisive manner. One moment, he was using flat strokes to lick on your swollen nub, then pointing his tongue while he fucked it in and out of you.
Despite the sporadic nature of it, the warmth and wetness of the contact of his mouth on you felt like heaven. It didn't matter what he was doing, as long as he was looking up at you with his piercing eyes and swallowing down your slick, you were satisfied.
"Dad, oh my God, yes!" It felt like venom coming off of your tongue when you moaned it, but tasted like honey at the same time. Something about it was so wrong, but felt so natural.
As your legs tightened around Leon's head and trapped him between your thighs, you knew it was meant to be. You were meant to be your daddy's princess. You were meant to feel like mouth on you, to be spoiled by his tongue, words, money, and his cock. You had been missing out on it for so long.
You spent the rest of your summer making up for lost time, discovering just what having a daddy was meant to feel like.
#smutfic#leon s kennedy x reader#cw incest#tw inc*st#dark content#dead dove fic#resident evil x reader#resident evil#leon s kennedy smut#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x y/n#leon s kennedy#resident evil smut#resident evil x you#leon kennedy imagine#leon kennedy x you
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A Tale of Three (First) Kisses
Thinking back to the first kiss of each couple, two things become pretty apparent:
Each first kiss is interrupted.
Each first kiss is interrupted by the future antagonist of that couple.
Twice is a coincidence, but three times is a pattern.
Let's start with Rhys and Feyre. Their first kiss happens Under the Mountain, under less than ideal circumstances, when it's essentially forced by Rhys in order to protect Feyre. The kiss is interrupted and witnessed by Amarantha and Tamlin, as well as the rest of the Court. Now, interestingly, who becomes the main antagonists in Feysand's story? Tamlin and Amarantha/Hybern. The next 2 books deal with the aftermath of UTM, Feyre's relationship with Tamlin, Rhys's 'relationship' with Amarantha and the eventual conflict with Hybern, which is directly related to Amarantha.
Cassian and Nesta are next.
Their first (almost) kiss takes place in a bonus chapter called Wings and Embers. Cassian visits the still-human Nesta and comes on to her. They almost kiss. The kiss is interrupted by Nesta kneeling him in the balls.
No one else is involved. It's just the two of them. No external factors interrupt them. It's Nesta herself.
Who becomes the biggest stumbling block to their relationship in ACOSF? Nesta herself. Their story was about Nesta and her struggles. There was no external enemy to fight, no war to wage, no scorned lover to avoid. The conflict was the internal war that Nesta was waging within herself.
That brings us to Azriel and Elain and their almost kiss.
Just like Cassian and Nesta, their almost kiss takes place in a bonus.
They are not like Feysand, where Feyre actively fights and despises the kiss. They are not like Nessian, where Nesta fights even perhaps when she doesn't really want to. No, for once, we have a couple who are fully into each other. There is attraction, there is desire, there is lust. There is offer, and there is permission.
But, they are interrupted. They are interrupted by an external force, but it should've been a friendly ally, who suddenly became an antagonist. It's an interruption influenced by politics and another party (Lucien). However, unlike Tamlin with Feysand, who witnessed their kiss and was an active player in their story, Lucien is there as an idea. He isn't an active participant. He doesn't catch Elriel in a kiss. He is a symbol--of a mate bond. Of the shackle that was placed on Elain, and which leads Rhys to forbid his own brother from seeking her out. The bond affects ALL of them. What's more, Rhys forbids Azriel from pursuing Elain as a High Lord. He pulls rank and forces his will upon his brother.
All of this leads me to believe that Elriel's book will be political in nature--the conflict, I think, will be between Rhys and Azriel, and I think it will have to do with Azriel's power and what we'll find out about him and his heritage in the next book. The other conflict will be around the Elucien mate bond. The bonus did not indicate a conflict between Elain and Lucien as people, but rather, a conflict around the concept of duty, obligation and expectations.
I think the way SJM structures the first kisses tells us everything we need to know about the couple and their journeys.
#elriel#pro elriel#azriel and elain#elain archeron#elain x azriel#the batboys#the bat boys and the Archeron sisters#SJM books#ACOTAR
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...So once again it's the time of year when I return to this piece of digital art (or its earlier versions), tweak it a little in the attempt to get closer to what I see in my head, and repost it for Pride. (ETA, 3 June 2024: image tweaked a little bit more via late-night re-render because the upholstery wasn't rendering correctly, and as a result the kitty sort of vanished. Which would not be at all her style...)
At the moment I'm looking at These Two Idiots (for so they are) and considering with the usual bemusement how long I've been working with them. Of all the characters I've worked with in print, the only ones I've known longer would be the crew of NCC-1701—and very shortly now, for the first time as paid writing, a couple of gentlemen named Holmes and Watson.
I first "met" these guys in late 1970 in the form of the fellow college students on whom they'd be based: a couple of gents (not gay, as it happens) who were friends to me when I needed some. They were a tall dark guy and a short blond one with a mustache that came and went... so that, not even knowing the word "trope" at the time, I fell headfirst into one.
Less than a year after I met them, I changed educational tracks and schools, and we all drifted apart. But something about them stuck. The nature and depth of their friendship was unusual. So was one way it manifested itself: in ruthless snark that had no meanness or cruelty about it whatsoever—just affection.
In the late sixties I'd begun writing some very derivative fic strongly influenced by Tolkien. Rather to my surprise, though, as I started nursing school in 1971, the nature of that fiction started to change, and began rearranging itself around two characters who had a friendship like those of my college friends. With them as its core, a rather different kind of medieval-ish fantasy world started knitting itself together from various scraps of themes and imagery lying around in the back of my brain.
Even so early in the construction phases of this world, something the characters quickly made plain to me in the writing was that their relationships with one another were not what mainstream 1970s culture would consider conventional. They were gay... but that was a background issue,* and not at all the most important thing in their lives. They had far more important business to deal with—as became clear as their personalities and priorities started filling themselves out in the foreground.
One of them turned out to be the deliberate, analytical, methodical son of a provincial nobleman, all too aware of the expectations of those around him: that he might well eventually wind up running that province himself. Yet at the same time he also became aware that he had other problems, chief among them the discovery of a nascent power that would kill him young if he couldn't master it. And in the last thousand years, no one of his gender ever had.
The other presented himself more and more clearly as a difficult case: someone who wanted very much to be good at the family business, but wasn't... and knew it. Kind of a screw-up, repeatedly doing the wrong things for what he was sure were the right reasons. Yet, no matter how often he screwed up, he was also the kind of person who keeps picking himself up and trying again, because he's been told over and over that that's what people like him have to do: otherwise they're no use to anybody.
Imagine my shock when I realized that these two men—initially canonically enemies in their adolescence, then best friends as they grew, and eventually much more—were the (incomplete) answer to the question I'd once asked my Mom at the end of the bedtime reading of some fairy tale or other: "Why can't a prince rescue another prince?" Because one of them got himself more than once into situations where he really needed one kind or another of rescuing. The other one obliged him, while once or twice getting rescued himself. Those interlocking patterns started to solidify out of concept and into character detail and plot, while their world grew and proliferated into its own detail around them.
Then, without warning, in 1978 both world and characters decided they were ready to get real. I was abruptly dragged gasping and flailing under the surface of a novel that would begin the tale of what those two characters had yet to become. The period it took to produce that first draft was possibly the most interesting six weeks of my life... and that includes the six weeks during which I first scrubbed in on brain surgery. Day and night, for days at a time, I barely even existed except as something for a novel to come out of. When it was done with me, it just as abruptly dumped me back into my life and wandered away, leaving me staring around, blinking and wondering if anybody’d got the number of that truck. Nothing like it has ever happened to me since, which may be just as well. I’m none too sure that these days I could handle the strain.
The book—which sold a couple of weeks after it landed on its first publisher's desk—kicked off my career as novelist and screenwriter, and in its way proved that the world was at least somewhat ready for epic fantasy in which the basic culture was pansexual, polyamorous, and inclusive in ways that hadn't been attempted before.
So I owe them a debt, those two gentlemen up there: the tall dark curly-haired guy with the amateur strategist's mind, the blacksmith's shoulders, and the peculiar sword, his background thought always nibbling away at the question of how to heal the world's wounds: and the short fair gent who if he could would stay at home, live quietly in town, and work in the local library... except for when saving the world (or his found family) requires him to subsume his being into that of his ancestral demigod. Due to the success of the book in which they made their debut, these two became, in their way, the fairy† godfathers of the Young Wizards—and additionally enabled all that Star Trek fanfic I'd started writing a decade before to proceed to its logical conclusion.
More to the point, though, a lot of people in the 1980s and '90s who'd never seen queer representation in a fantasy novel, found it first, or at last, while following Herewiss and Freelorn down their road. It's been my pleasure to hold that space for new readers, and keep adding to it... because (if you ask me) it's needed more now than ever.
So, to the readership of the Middle Kingdoms works—now pushing half a century old—and everybody else who's celebrating the season: happy Pride!
*Not least because everybody else in their world is (at least potentially) some shade of queer, including God.
†(snicker)
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Anywhere You Go | Read on Ao3
My piece for the @boatemvillagezine! The zine turned out spectacular, be sure to give it a read <3
—☾—
The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and the air is fresh in Pearl’s lungs as she slides open the van door and steps out into the small parking lot, gravel crunching beneath her boots. Turning around, she offers a hand to Mumbo, who still looks queasy from the bout of carsickness that’d struck him earlier on the road.
“Grian is trying to kill me personally, I think,” Mumbo mutters, holding Pearl’s arm for stability.
“If I wanted you dead, I would’ve been rid of you by now,” Grian comes around the front of the van saying, offering Mumbo a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.
Mumbo harrumphs, “You took that last turn faster than you had to and you know it. Why did we let you drive, anyway?”
“I’m a perfectly adequate driver, I’ll have you know! In my defense, I did not see that bend coming up—”
Scar climbs out of the backseat next, adjusting the tiny version of his scarlet top hat he’d insisted on bringing along, though his Swaggon attire had been swapped out for a more practical shirt and shorts combo of the same color scheme. Pearl admires the dedication to the theme, really.
Hooking an arm around Grian’s shoulders, Scar says, “Now, now, gentleman! Let the worries of our travels fall away as you admire the magnificent view all around us.”
Still sitting in the passenger seat, maps spilling out upon the dashboard in front of him, Impulse snorts, “You make it sound like you’re trying to sell them the forest, Scar.”
“Well, you know what they say, there’s profit to be had everywhere you look!” Scar hums, getting that all-too-familiar gleam in his eye.
“As your CEO, I appreciate the mindset, but you can’t sell us public land,” Mumbo points out with a laugh, straightening up looking significantly less ill. Scar shrugs, a cheeky smile on his face.
Adjusting the bandanna she’d tied around her braided hair, Pearl bounces on her feet. “Profits aside, we’re finally here! Let’s get going already!”
Earlier in the week, Impulse had proposed an overnight hiking trip, following a trail through the scenic foothills of the closest real mountain range, ending the day out by camping around the lake found in one of the higher-up valleys, to give the Boatem crew a break from building. The idea was met with enthusiasm, and just a couple days later, Pearl found herself crammed between Scar and everyone’s luggage in the backseat of Mumbo’s van as Grian drove and Impulse directed, Mumbo clutching the front of his pineapple-patterned shirt next to Scar for dear life.
After hours being stuck in the same uncomfortable position, Pearl’s more than ready to start up the trail. The others are quick to agree, and after packs are assembled, shoelaces are tied, and the van is locked, they’re off.
The woods feel like an entirely different world than the lot they parked in. Tall, thin trees with fluffy foliage form a lush canopy high above Pearl’s head, and between the trunks the ground is alive with brush, pocket-marked with fallen logs and framed by the soft brown pine needles of the forest floor. Lichen creeps up the boulders scattered throughout, and steep rock faces contrast beautifully with the greens of the plant life.
Mumbo’s the first to break the hush that had fallen over the group. “Wow,” he breathes, “just, wow.”
Impulse nudges Mumbo and points to a tree with a thicker trunk and hole in the center that, paired with the bits of bark surrounding it, almost resembles a mouth of sharp teeth. “Hey, look, it’s Treesa!”
Following his gaze, Mumbo laughs. “I see it! Could be Treesa’s cousin, maybe—it doesn’t quite have her eyes.”
“I knew it was going to be pretty, but I didn’t expect it to be this amazing! Would you just look at the shape of those trees!” Scar walks in front of the group and waves vaguely to the left, grinning.
“Uh, Scar, we’re surrounded by trees,” Grian teases in a deadpan.
“And they’re all beautiful,” Scar agrees, stretching out the syllables of “beautiful” with a studious nod.
“Oh, I completely get you. Look at this terrain! I’m getting so much inspiration for my mountain already.” Pearl wishes she’d brought her sketchbook with her. Such beautiful shapes! She’s determined to commit everything to memory to recount on paper later.
Scar and Pearl fall into step together as they walk, the path beneath their feet nothing more than a line of dirt trodden enough to be distinguishable from the undergrowth, laughter from Grian, Mumbo, and Impulse echoing all around them. Sunlight filters through the trees, dappling against the gorgeous landscape, and the conversation between Pearl and Scar is nothing short of gushing about every detail.
—☾—
The first three forks in the trail are marked with signs, and it’s easy to follow the arrow pointing towards the lake. The forth fork’s signpost, however, must’ve succumbed to the elements at some point, and now lays half buried in the mud puddle gathered on the side of the path.
“I can’t make out what any of it says, can anyone else?” Grian squints at the muddied sign, whose lettering has weathered away almost completely. After a chorus of no’s in response, he asks, “Impulse, would you be able to find the route on the map?”
“I sure can!” Impulse sticks a hand in his shorts pocket, only to frown. Checking the other pockets, his expression grows more worried, until he pulls off his backpack to root around its compartments. “I must have it here somewhere.”
Remembering the stack of maps piled on the dashboard of the van, Pearl sucks in a breath through her teeth and asks, “Did you actually grab it from the car? Before we left?”
Freezing mid-action, Impulse’s eyes go wide. “Now that you mention it… no, I didn’t. Do we go back for it?”
Grian shakes his head. “We’ve already been hiking for hours. If we go back now we’ll be trying to find the campsite in the dark. Should we just… follow the path and hope for the best?”
“It’s a terrible idea, but it might be our best option, and if that doesn’t sum up our group as a whole, I don’t know what does,” Mumbo agrees.
“Then it’s settled! Onwards!” Scar marches forward, before seemingly remembering that they haven’t decided which route to take. “Actually, which way are we going?”
Impulse points to the right, where the slope they stand on continues uphill. “The lake’s in a higher valley, it’d make sense to keep going up until we find it, right?”
With a shrug, Grian says, “Seems like a reasonable plan to me.”
From there, of course, it doesn’t take very long for things to go wrong.
Right over the crest of the hill they’ve been hiking over is a pool of sticky, deceptively shallow-looking mud that spans too far on either side to be avoided without getting tangled in dense vegetation. In their attempt to cross, Scar missteps and ends up in mud up to his ankle, his boot completely trapped underneath. Mumbo and Impulse manage to free Scar, but his shoe is lost forever, and the spare pair Impulse loans out to Scar is a size too tight.
On the other side of the puddle, the trail is notably not nearly as worn down as the rest of it has been so far, and after a while it fades entirely, leaving the group stranded.
“I can’t see anything!” Mumbo throws his hands up in defeat. “Isn’t a lake supposed to be big? Surely it should’ve been visible by this point?”
The part of the forest they’ve found themselves in is densely wooded, the trees close enough together that it’s near-impossible to see anything beyond the small clearing they’ve stopped to rest in. Paired with the slowly setting sun, Pearl’s suddenly struck by the feeling that she does not want to be here past dark, thank you very much.
Shrugging her pack from her shoulders, Pearl suggests, “I could climb a tree? See if I could spot anything from up there?”
The idea is met with mixed responses. “It’s definitely illegal, and stupid, and dangerous,” Impulse starts, “but… it would be good to reach a higher vantage point.”
“Oh, super illegal,” Grian agrees. “I’ll go with you, Pearl. We’ll make sure not to litter or destroy the tree. I’m sure the forest will understand.”
After leaving their bags with the rest of the group, Pearl and Grian set off to find a good climbing tree. The forest is predominantly made up of tall trees with narrow trunks, with their shorter, bushier counterparts dotted in between—nothing ideal for climbing.
“Oh, this one is pretty good!” Pearl says, as they come across a tree suitably large, with branches low enough down to act as footholds.
“Sure is,” Grian says, bending down to tie his shoe. As he straightens up, he tosses Pearl a grin. “Race you to the top!”
“Oi!” Pearl exclaims, grabbing at the first branch and hoisting herself up. The limb creaks, but holds fast, and Pearl reaches for the next. Partway up the tree, Pearl and Grian are neck and neck, and Grian sticks his tongue out at Pearl around the trunk, Pearl wrinkling her nose in response.
In the highest boughs that’ll support her weight, Pearl gives a whoop of victory, holding her hand out to Grian to help him up the last bit of the way. There’s no real place to sit, so instead Pearl takes to crouching on her branch with an arm around the trunk, Grian standing, holding a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun.
“See anything?” Grian asks, after a quiet moment of taking in the view.
Scanning the land around them, Pearl sighs. “No. It is quite lovely from up here, though.”
From so high up, the mountains are visible through blue-tinged fog, ringing the horizon like a crown. Rolling hills stretch out as far as the eye can see, and Pearl can just make out the rocks that break up the woods below. The cool spring breeze rustles the treetops around them as it does the loose hair around Pearl’s face, and when she inhales, Pearl’s surrounded by the scent of sweet, refreshing pine.
“Well, this was a bust, then.” Grian lowers himself, readying for the climb back down.
Carefully shifting her grip to join him, Pearl takes one final sweeping glance, when something shiny catches her eye. Turning fully towards it, she gasps, “Wait! Grian! I see the lake!”
“You do?”
“Yeah! Over there!” Pearl points to where the last remnants of the sunset sparkle over the water of the lake, mostly obscured by trees and uphill to their current position. “It’s not too far! We’ve been running parallel to it, looks like.”
Grian laughs, full of incredulous relief. “Sounds about right for us. Let’s grab the gang and get going!”
Feeling rejuvenated in their discovery, Pearl and Grian sprint to where the others are waiting in a small clearing, seemingly focused on the ground at their feet.
“Please do not destroy my shoes,” Impulse is saying as Pearl and Grian come into earshot. Scar, wearing said shoes, pouts in response, and Mumbo looks to be weighing the merits of the option.
“We found the lake!” Grian shouts in excitement. “It’s just beyond that hill over there!”
The trio looks up from the shoe debacle in almost perfect sync, which Pearl can’t help but snicker at. “You did? We’ve been this close the whole time?” Mumbo passes a hand over his hair. “I thought we’d have to camp out right here!”
“Don’t be dramatic, my good sir, have some faith in us! We would’ve been fine,” Scar assures. “Though, having an exact location streamlines the process, I will admit.”
“You were just planning to cut Impulse’s trainers into sandals!” Mumbo retorts. “You have no standing to be calling me dramatic.”
“My toes are all cramped! I see where Impulse is coming from, unreasonable as it is, but it would’ve been worth—”
“Fellas!” Grian interrupts. “We can keep arguing about shoes all you want later, but for now it’s getting dark and we still have a couple hundred blocks to go. Let’s get a move on.”
��Fair point,” Mumbo concedes, holding a hand out to help Scar to his feet. After Scar’s up, they’re moving, anxious to get to the campsite.
The woods beyond the clearing are far darker than Pearl expected them to be, and the torches are broken out almost immediately. The birdsong that had accompanied the daylight is quiet, save for a few stray chirps here and there. Even amidst the shadow, while surrounded by the glow of the torchlight and soft chatter of her friends, tired from a long day of hiking, Pearl feels safe.
Nighttime has settled over the land entirely once they reach the lake. Stumbling through thick brush, Pearl breaks through to the water’s edge—only to find herself looking at the campsite, tiny from so far away, on the other side of the lake.
“…Well, at least we found the lake?” Impulse winces.
Mumbo sighs, picking loose a few thorns stuck in his shorts. “There’s no way we can walk all the way around, is there?”
“We could take boats across?” Scar suggests.
“That’s a great idea, actually! I packed a few extra, just in case.” Pearl pulls the boats’ compacted versions from her backpack, setting three down in the water and watching them grow to full size.
“You’re a lifesaver, Pearl,” Grian thanks, climbing into one of the boats. Scar settles in behind him, and Mumbo and Impulse get into the next one together, leaving Pearl with her own.
Grian’s boat leads the way, and as Pearl rows behind it, she catches sight of the stars, reflected against the water, disrupted by the ripple of her oars. Slowing to a stop, Pearl lets her boat drift as she looks up to admire the scene, filled with more galaxies than she could count, the moon hung high above. Stars all around her, in the water and night sky, Pearl feels like she’s floating through the void beneath the Boatem hole, untouched by the chaos of the world above.
Apparently noticing Pearl’s inaction, Impulse’s rowing peters out, and she waves to let him know she’s alright. After a moment, Mumbo calls out for Grian and Scar to stop, and the soft lapping of the water against Pearl’s boat and rustles from the surrounding forest are the only noises to break the silence as they all take in the view.
They soon start for the site once more, docking against the sandy bank. Five tents are arranged in a semicircle around a campfire, and dinner is shared over it. S’mores are an irreplaceable classic to any good camping trip, and after a proper mess of sticky marshmallow and gooey chocolate is made, Pearl bids her goodnight, and heads for her tent, exhausted in the best way.
In the morning, the hike back is easier than the one the day earlier, and they make it back to the van in the early afternoon. The drive back home is filled with blasted music and recounts of their adventures, and towards the end of it, Pearl isn’t the only person to catch a quick nap on the final stretch of road.
Returning to Boatem, Pearl sets down her bag and immediately goes for her sketchbook, stored by her bed in her little starter boat. She has so many ideas for her megabase.
(Reblogs do more than likes!)
#hermitcraft#pearlescentmoon#grian#mumbo jumbo#goodtimeswithscar#impulsesv#boatem#boatem village zine#hermitfic#my writing#zines#YEAHHH BOATEM ZINE#i adore everything about how this project came out
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fic rec friday 17
hi!! welcome to fic rec friday. every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!
Drew Tanaka's True Love Connections by @buoyantsaturn
Will smiled. "I have an appointment next door with the, uh… Matchmaker lady?” He winced at his own awkwardness, trying to bite back the embarrassment he felt. “Well, actually my friend set it up for me, but-- Sorry, do you know anything about her? The matchmaker lady, not my friend, I mean. I’m just not sure what to expect, you know? I’ve never, uh, done something like this before.”
THIS WAS SO SICK I LOVED IT!!!!!! flowershop au with a twist oh yes ma’am. also im so pumped drew was in this every time i see her im like hello my love how are you
2. just desserts by @thegoldenappleofdiscord
It’s just a cupcake, Nico reminds himself. Surely that justifies breaking into the infirmary at the break of dawn.
or: nico's love language is baking and will solace gets a lot of cake as a result.
end note hate me GIGGGGLIIING. also i am OBSESSED with this author but i haven’t read the solangelo book yet so i haven’t read a lot of her stuff and i’m DYING to. this was as sweet as nico's baking fr!! i'm writing less of a note on this fic (altho i love it) bc the WORDS i have to say about the next one,,,
3. caught in the river of tears that i cried by @thegoldenappleofdiscord*
In all honesty, it was really for the best that Will didn’t think about all the strange things that sometimes happened around him. After all, his mama had more than enough on her plate already.
He was a good kid, and it was best everything stayed as it were.
(Though admittedly, the flock of flesh-eating maniac pigeons, men with hooves, and the growing darkness in his veins might just make this a tiny bit more difficult than he anticipated)
or: will can only push down a part of him for so long (will has plague powers, but he's known it from the very start.)
UPDATE WHEN UPDATE WHEN UPDATE WHEN REESE PLEASE 😭😭i am genuinely so obsessed with this fic and the WAY everything is woven together....like fear is a driving force!! you can feel it!! this is one of those starred fics fr bc it Changed the way i wrote and characterized will. he is fr a character who has been controlled by fear his Whole life actually. of the world and what it takes from him. of the Fates that do not care for your fragile love. of the things they are forced to do. of the precarity of life. and perhaps most intimately and ardently Himself, and the abilities he does not want to have, the life he does not want to live. the parts of himself that do not fit in the mold he has Built for himself and Forced himself into. and this fic shows that so so beautifully like this story is Woven.....i think about it literally all the time it's insane
4. a handful of almosts by @thegoldenappleofdiscord
He’d said it so easily: “Best friends don’t do that to each other, Will.”
It had been a throwaway comment after Will decimated him in a card game, which was usually Nico’s forte. Following that had been a furious, “Besides, it’s war. Entirely luck-based. Winning this game doesn’t mean anything. Stop laughing – why the hell are you laughing?”
He’d mostly been laughing because of Nico’s expression – eyebrows drawn tight, mouth twisted in an adorable scowl – but also because of the sudden elation pumped into him like helium. They were best friends – and maybe someone else would be hopeful for more, and maybe one day he'll pursue it (he did want it, had wanted it for a long time) but for now, he’s content where they are, sitting in Nico’s room and cursing at each other through a deck of cards.
or: 5+1 of will solace being a pining loser
A HANDFUL OF ALMOSTS!!! WHAT!!! every once and a while u just hit a title that Hits u u know. like a handful of almosts. yeah. what a deeply poignant and tragic thing. how fitting for the pjoverse, a universe of people who are haunted by their almosts. god. and then to turn around and make this story FLUFFY?? MAKE IT THE CUTEST THING IN THE WORLD??? "will solace and his rose coloured glasses" REESE!!!!!! PLEASE!!!!
5. Damage Control by @nikkira
“I couldn’t save Lee. I couldn’t save Michael. I couldn’t save Silena.”
“You saved Annabeth when she was stabbed, right? And Annabeth was kind of imperative to the whole saving the world effort. The people you save go on to do things and help people and save people. When you lose someone, you lose them. But when you save someone, you save a dozen more people.”
"i dream of the people i could not save. they're mad at me." oh i am UNWELL. ill i tell you. i read this line and had to sit down for a little while like actually. one thing about will solace is that he never stops punishing himself and no one got that like this fic nine years ago
thank you for joining me this friday!! happy reading!!
#if any of you are not busy.#and want to send me reminders on thursdays or something.#i would be forever in yoru debt.#i am so sorry that it is sunday. anyways.#pjo#percy jackson and the olympians#hoo#heroes of olympus#pjo hoo toa#will solace#nico di angelo#nico di angelo & will solace#nico di angelo/will solace#nico/will#will/nico#will solace angst#solangelo#solangelo fluff#will solace has plague powers#fic rec#fic rec friday#FRF#longpost
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Is a cat transitioning to being a gib social or do they take steps to display some physical traits associated with meewa-ness (like dying xeir fur grey)? Are there cases where there's hostility to it because other cats think xey aren't wise enough to fit that role?
Most transition between the genders is social, but yes, overall there's more pressure for transitioning into a gib. In comparison, going from molly to tom or tom to molly is much easier.
For one it's a lot MORE social than the other two genders. It's a little hard to explain, but meewa-gender is associated with a sort of charisma which is difficult to "learn" if you don't already have it. It's the aura of drawing people to you, having a tone, posture, and inflection like your words have weight or come from beyond you.
So when you don't have this arbitrary "energy," other cats in the Clan can become pretty hostile towards the idea of a trans-meewa cat in a way they usually aren't with someone who's trans to one of the other genders. It's that same feeling you get when someone's being smug, or some idiot is acting like a know-it-all and you want to see them get humbled and corrected.
This flavor of transphobia is more passive-aggressive than outright aggressive, though.
I feel like Berrynose actually vibes with being meewa, but knows very well that he's not seen as wise and magnanimous in the way a meewa should be. So he gave up the idea a long time back.
BB!Finleap also got some tweaks, and xey're multigender now. Fin also has issues with other cats feeling like xey don't fit what's commonly expected of a meewa, but Fin simply doesn't care. Berrynose probably massively resents this, I can see the two of them fighting a lot.
So because being meewa has more pressure than the other two genders, there's also more of an incentive to physically transition as well. Rosemary is used for cats with estrogen-heavy systems, and Lycopus is used for cats with testosterone-heavy systems. Generally a meewa-cat is trying to do these things with their transition;
Suppress their scent
Some "perfumes" can help, but the goal is to reduce smell, not cover it. Smelling like herbs is associated with ShadowClan, the only Clan that takes baths.
(yes i will cover shadowclan baths soon)
Reduce secondary sexual characteristics
Such as stud jowls in toms, having a higher voice in mollies.
Changing body function patterns
There's no eloquent way to put this. Toms and mollies have different scent-marking behaviors, which is actually caused by their hormones. Molly-to-Meewa cats are trying to go on long border patrols more often, Tom-to-Meewa cats are trying to do it less.
(This CAN be done without the need of HRT, but HRT will make their body do it naturally instead of timing their drinking schedules or anything else)
#clan culture gender#better bones au#meewa#This is a part of BB I play more loosely than other parts btw. It's like a bonus#It factors less into the politics and culture than other cultural overhauls#But I include it because it's fun to think about alternative cultural ideas of gender that aren't binary
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what do you see in equius ?? genuine question i don't mean to sound rude but to me she's just really offputting. she gives me such creep vibes that i can't seem to get over and every time i read a page with her it just gets worse..... like when i first read nep & eq's chats i was sitting there wondering if this was outright abuse or at least bullying of some kind??? it felt like it idk.......
but honestly i do wanna see an equius liker's opinion on him because i can't understand it like at all and i'm probably just missing something that all the equius likers saw and i didnt LMAO
Well, considering I’m an Alpha Trolls Enthusiast and have been for, like, a decade, as well as having Horror as a Special Interest since age… What, 3? I’d say I personally have a pretty strong stomach for Weird and Offputting in fiction, lol. Stronger than most. Equius isn’t a very palatable character at all, I’ll be the first to admit that - a lot of the characters I enjoy the most in Homestuck aren’t very palatable… But I find ‘em real interesting, personally. The fact that they aren’t palatable adds to the intrigue for me, and poor execution tends to be a total weakness of mine. Again, Alpha Trolls Enthusiast for a decade straight.
I have a post here that talks a bit about my reading of Equius, I’d recommend giving it a read. I see Eridan and Equius as being very similar characters - not necessarily due to their shared hemoloyalty, but because they’re both teens falling down online pipelines. They’re very prevalent Kinds Of Guy that no one wants to talk about.
But people talk about Eridan plenty even to this day - he was even a fandom favorite for a while, being the fandom’s first Prettyboy Sad Gay Anime Prince long before Dirk… So he doesn’t reel in as much interest for me as the chronically overlooked Equius.
If there’s anything to know about me, it’s that I love a good underdog.
Equius-Likers, from my experience, are very aware of his issues. It’s part of the draw. Enjoyment of him tends to be an analytical fixation. I haven’t met a single Equius-Liker that hasn’t had some very complex thoughts on him. They’re just kinda quiet about it. Fitting.
Unfortunately, I’m Aranea But Real, so. No quietness here.
Your response to Equius is valid. It’s also intended, I feel. To specifically address the bits about concerns of his relationship with Nepeta not being healthy… I mean, it’s not abusive, but it’s definitely more complicated than fan art would lead you to believe, as always. “Complicated” is to be expected from a Moirallegiance - remember what they exist for?
Nepeta is very much so in control of the things going on, and their relationship is pretty equal, all things considered, so I wouldn’t be worrying too much about that. She very distinctly does not lack agency here - Nepeta is the one who has a leash on Equius, not the other way around. Equius is mean, because that’s the way she is to… Everyone, more or less, but she’s not of any danger to Nepeta. They have a fine Moirallegiance. 1,000% more functional than whatever the fuck Karkat and Gamzee had going on.
Anyway. I think Equius is neat, and has both missed and oft overlooked potential. One of the very few characters I’d be 100% down to have seen more content of in the comic.
Once again, check out this post. I still think it’s decent. Maybe you will, too.
#also there’s a big difference between ‘Equius fan’ and ‘Meowrails fan’. i am very specifically referring to Equius fans. you understand.#homestuck#beta trolls#equius zahhak#eridan ampora#nepeta leijon#cw abuse#<== mentioned#meowrails.ship#equius.pdf#nepeta.pdf#nekro.pdf#nekro.sms
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brat taming with new zayne myth card? say less ;P
(special for @zayne-snowman hehe)
minors dni! nsfw undercut! (fem!reader because I suck at writing gn!reader nsfw fic 😞)
zayne is someone who's always calm and collected. so sometimes you made it your mission to get under his skin just to see what he will do to you when you finally able to snap that patience of his.
and today, it is your lucky day because you were able to do that with a some effort.
"do you really think you deserve to cum? after being such a little trouble maker?" zayne growl lowly, hips thrusting against yours roughly as he fuck your needy pussy with such an inhumane pace that send your eyes rolling to the back of your head.
"'m sorry! 'm so sorry zayne, please ahh!" you couldn't think of anything besides the fact that zayne is fucking you good with his cock. drool was practically dripping down your chin as you unconsciously stick your tongue out, so fucked put that your head could barely create a sentence that might satisfy zayne.
"now you're sorry? weren't you the one that wanted this? being such a brat, just begging to be fucked.. can't even wait for a minutes." zayne groan, never slowing down on his relentless pace. his hand trail down your stomach, before resting his finger on top of your clit, giving it a rough pinch that made you arch your back as a loud moan was ripped out of your lips.
feeling how your walls beginning to clenched tightly around his cock, zayne slow his pace down, his lips curved into a small smirk, "do you really dare to cum now honey?" you let out a loud whine in response, desperately trying to move your hips so you can fuck yourself into his cock. oh how badly you need to cum on his cock..
"please zayne! 'wanna cum so bad! need to cum on your cock so bad!" you beg desperately with teary eyes, forgetting your goal before zayne fucked you stupid like this.
"you want to cum on my cock? too bad only good girl get to cum on my cock." zayne chuckled, hips moving painfully slow and he doesn't even let you to move your hips, even for an inch, holding it tightly with the grip of his hands.
"'m so sorry zayne-! d-didn't mean to be a brat, just want your attention!" you sobs, couldn't take the painful delay to your high anymore. well it was half true, you did want his attention, but what you didn't expect was that zayne capable to be this mean.
hearing your answer, zayne lean towards your ear before whispering, "my attention? oh honey, you can always have my attention.. all you have to do is just ask.." zayne deliver another rough pinch on your clit, making you gasp at the sudden surge of pleasure before he continue to massage your clit gently, "yet you decided to be a brat instead.." zayne sigh in disappointment. you were trying your best to not just cum right then and right there, all because you don't want to disappoint zayne any further (not like you can, he just pretending to be disappointed, he loves you being a brat secretly 🤭)
"'m so sorry zayne," you let out another sobs, "I'll be good girl from now on, 'promise! p-please ah-! 'lemme cum please-!" you begged yet again, hoping zayne will finally let you cum on his cock this time.
but zayne only close he eyes as he move away, pulling his cock out of your needy cunt, earning a displeased whine from your pretty lips.
"how about you prove it to me? prove it that you'll be a good girl from now on and stop trying to get under my skin." zayne cock is now standing proudly in front of your face, glistening with your pre cum mixed with his own. your eyes sparkled at the sight of his delicious cock. you move closer as you wrap your hand around his still hard cock, drooling at the sight.
"if you do a good job, I'll consider you a good girl and let you cum on my cock, but if not.." zayne trail off, hand rest on top of your head before caressing your cheeks, forcing your eyes to lock with his as his gaze sharpen at your needy state,
"I will give you more punishment and you won't be able to cum for a long time."
×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××
author note : sorry for the crappy short fic, i haven't write filthy fic in such a long time 😭
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Cover your eyes! Announcing the Gorgon Initiative for Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy
(promotional art by @theblackwarden, one of our team artists)
Okay so, we had a bunch of stretch goals in the Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy Kickstarter, and we actually did hit more of them than expected, but there was one of them we didn’t hit, the playable gorgon.
The gorgon being a playable monster type was stuck at the very back of the stretch goal list, mainly because we thought of it way later than all the other stretch goals, but honestly it was one of the possibilities that I was most excited for, and apparently, so were a whole lot of our fans. The gorgon monster type would perfectly round out Eureka’s roster of playable supernatural creatures, and we would really like to make it happen, despite not really having the budget for it since we didn’t hit the stretch goal.
Here are a few of what the gorgon’s key features would have been:
>Anyone who makes direct eye-contact with the gorgon turns to stone.
>A venomous bite, making them gorgon the second playable monster type to be able to inflict a poison effect.
>Cold-blooded. Won’t feel great in low temperature environments, but won’t show up on thermal sensors either.
>Scaly skin.
>Snake hair optional.
>Claws.
>Eating people like a snake.
And all this wrapped up in Eureka’s unique humanity-focused approach to monsters. How will your PC cope with their power to instantly kill anyone who looks at them wrong, whether they want to or not? That’s the kind of character development you can look forward to with a gorgon in the party.
So here is what we are going to do to make it happen despite the budget not accounting for it. It’s going to be a patreon initiative.
(promotional art by @qsycomplainsalot, one of our team artists)
If we can get up to 50 total paid patreon subscribers by the end of June, we will put the gorgon in the game. Currently, we have 33, so if y'all can manage to make that climb to 50 by July 1st, we will promise to make time and budget to add the gorgon in to the rulebook before final release. Ultimately, even 20-ish more patreon subscribers is less money than the stretch goal would have been, but we feel that it would be a good enough addition to the game to justify, especially because it's what the fans want, and because long-term patreon support is very valuable. You get regular Eureka rulebook PDFs as a part of the patreon, and even though there is also a free demo, the more more-updates copies or Eureka floating around, the better. We want people actually playing this game, and playing better and better versions of it. We’d release it all for free if we didn’t need the money to “earn a living.”
Supporting us on patreon isn’t pure charity either. At the $3 tier, you get access to our patreon discord server where our team discusses development of the game and gets feedback from fans, as well in a vote on which projects we tackle next.
At the $5 tier and beyond, you get that, plus regular PDFs of the most current and up-to-date version of our projects. In addition to a version of the Eureka rulebook with many more features than the current free version, there’s stuff you currently can’t get anywhere else, like Eureka adventure modules, short stories, and even a novella, all unreleased anywhere else.
So, sign up to our patreon, it’s only a few dollars a month, and help out with the gorgon initiative. At the time of writing this, we have 33/50 paid subscribers, and I’ll update the goal as we go.
And below the cut, I’ll show you the current changelog for the Eureka rulebook, so you can see what all $5+ patreon subscribers are going to get in the next big patreon update coming Thursday, June 6th. This changelog isn’t even fully conclusive, as work will continue on the rulebook throughout the week to make it even better before Thursday. That's a whole lot for just $5! I will also post the rough notes that exist for the gorgon mechanics as they appear right now.
(A new version of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy will be coming to $5+ patreon subscribers on the first Thursday of the month every month until final release, and after that you'll start getting the beta versions of whatever our next project turns out to be.)
CHANGELOG
CHAPTER 1
Have started working on replacing the examples of play with updated ones that actually fit the current and slightly more stable version of the rules. These will be found in various chapters. You can see them in the table of contents.
Added a Foreword, a section on other media to offer you inspiration when playing eureka, and a section on some of the subtler themes of eureka
Copy-edited Foreword
A few minor clarifications in the Making Rolls section
Added a chart explaining the percentage chances of failures, partial successes, and full successes for modifiers from -7 to +7.
Added Heat optional rule. A whole new set of mechanics for tracking how much police attention the investigators may be drawing, as well as how law enforcement will respond. Currently a work-in-progress, but mostly functional already.
CHAPTER 2
Added the Forgery skill to write-in skills
Many new snoops have been added.
Removed the “Seating” stat for vehicles, you know how many people can safely fit in a car
Removed the placeholder boat entries from the item list because we did not hit that kickstarter stretch goal
Added Skateboard to item list.
Added four-wheeler to item list.
Added Acceleration values to all vehicles in the vehicle list. Acceleration is a new stat used with the new way that Speed is calculated for Chases.
Adjusted the Driving bonus of motorcycles and dirtbikes.
Changed Large Mansion cost to 25 Wealth Points in character creation.
Started copy-editing this chapter.
CHAPTER 3
Added vehicle crashes to irregular forms of damage section
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
Completely revamped the way that Speed is calculated.
Added a mechanic to determine how many nodes ahead a fleeing character starts.
Added an optional rule for bringing an end to chases
Added vehicle attack rules for use during car chases
Added more guidelines for how to make your own obstacles
Added recommended numbers of nodes for chases and recommended distance between obstacles
Added the work-in-progress random obstacle tables
On-Foot Urban Chase Obstacles table is finished but not edited
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
Increased capacity of an unfurled thing from beyond’s ‘stomach’ from three to fourteen.
Thing from beyond can now more easily attempt to engulf more victims after already containing one or more. This now prompts an escape attempt by victims inside rather than automatic escape.
Thing from beyond can now get a bonus to mimicry attempts by consuming a sample of the intended mimicry target’s DNA.
Thing from beyond can now attempt to mimic a person they have never seen or heard by consuming a sample of their DNA, but narrator makes a hidden roll about it, so accuracy of mimicry will be unknown.
Gave acceleration value to witch’s brooms and other flying transportation
Gave Acceleration of +6 to Superhuman Speed trait
Gave vampire small bat manifestation +2 Acceleration
Gave vampire wolf manifestation +4 Acceleration
Gave vampire massive bat beast manifestation +4 Acceleration
Gave wolfman wolf form +4 Acceleration
Gave lycanthrope wolf form +4 Acceleration
Added ability to resist curses to fairy and witch
Added ability for fairy to transfer curses to different names as a means of protecting themselves from curses. This gives them more of an incentive to collect names.
Added a tiny bit about the fairy world
Added Monsters Eating Monsters section to provide rulings for some edge cases where monsters might eat other monsters and what would happen if they did
ROUGH GORGON DESIGN NOTES
[Notes: Turn people to stone by looking them in the eye. Definitely not a power that the Gorgon can turn on and off, they will have to cover their eyes somehow, such as dark sunglasses or a veil, to prevent it happening to everyone they make eye contact with. Also works the other way around so you could protect yourself by wearing dark sunglasses. Still works even if the Gorgon is dead, like in the legends. Does not work through cameras, reflections, images, etc. Turning to stone is permanent, basically instant kill? Works like the witch curse except with infinite duration unless a witch undoes it like a curse. If there is no eye protection, could be a reflex roll on the gorgon’s part or on an aware victim’s part to break eye-contact quickly enough for the curse not to take effect. Also, they could have some kind of bonus to Threaten because all the legends say that they look particularly frightening.
Have claws and maybe scaly skin or scales in patches, maybe snake-like eyes and snake tongue that can taste air? Sharp teeth and maybe venomous snake fangs? People will really really want their gorgons to have snake hair even though in the legends, it was only Medusa herself that had snake hair. Compromise by making it an optional rule agreed upon by narrator and player that they have snake hair. Snakes may have venomous bite attack but the trade off is that it makes it way harder to conceal the gorgon’s identity as a Gorgon.
Gorgons do not regain composure points from turning people to stone, all other monsters regain composure points by *consuming* their victims in some way, except for fairies who regain composure from playing mean pranks because it makes them happy. Keeping with the rule of monsters eating people and also the fact that the legends always describe gorgons as having snake-like trait, maybe they swallow victims whole like a snake? Great horror concept but takes a long time. Could mechanically work very very similar to thing from beyond’s composure restoration where they gain 1 composure point each day for however many days. Could advise loose and bulky clothing to cover this up. Cannot really decide how to codify this because the most obvious way would make it pretty impossible to hide for a very long time. Could probably make multiple optional rules that regain composure at different rates and digest victims at different rates. One option that gets a lot more composure over time from a single victim like the thing from beyond but is very conspicuous that entire time. Other option that digests the whole victim extremely fast so they are only conspicious for a short time but ultimately less composure from a single kill. No option to regain composure from victim without killing them, like thing from beyond. No composure restoration from normal food but can eat it to stay alive, like the thing from beyond?
Do they have proper weaknesses besides just the normal things that everybody is weak to, like sharp objects? Probably should not have the Unkillable trait, but need to come up with at least one weakness that does not stray too far from the legends. Maybe they are cold-blooded, following the snake theme? Makes them very vulnerable to cold temperatures, and jackets and blankets don’t help because they don’t produce their own body heat. Big Physical skill penalties when they are in cold environments?
What is their second mandatory monster trait? They don’t *need* one but every other monster has their powers split across two monster traits.]
Actually it would be pretty good if they had to make a Monster(fear) Composure check if they saw their face in the mirror
Their blood is either healing or poisonous depending on if it is from the left or right side. left side kills, right side heals. Make it veinous vs arterial blood..... But this would have no effect on vampires
We have GOT to get the gorgon in if we have time, it’s such a good idea
Elegantly designed and thoroughly playtested, Eureka represents the culmination of three years of near-daily work from our team, as well as a lot of our own money. If you’re just now reading this and learning about Eureka for the first time, you missed the crowdfunding window unfortunately, but our Kickstarter page is still the best place to learn more about what Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy actually is, as that is where we have all the fancy art assets, the animated trailer, links to video reviews by podcasts and youtubers, and where we post regular updates on the status of our progress finishing the game and getting it ready for final release.
Beta Copies through the Patreon
If you want more than just status updates, going forward you can download regularly updated playable beta versions of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy and it’s adventure modules by subscribing to our Patreon at the $5 tier or higher. Subscribing to our patreon also grants you access to our patreon discord server where you can talk to us directly and offer valuable feedback on our progress and projects.
The A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club
If you would like to meet the A.N.I.M. team and even have a chance to play Eureka with us, you can join the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club discord server. It’s also just a great place to talk and discuss TTRPGs, so there is no schedule obligation, but the main purpose of it is to nominate, vote on, then read, discuss, and play different indie TTRPGs. We put playgroups together based on scheduling compatibility, so it’s all extremely flexible. This is a free discord server, separate from our patreon exclusive one. https://discord.gg/7jdP8FBPes
Other Stuff
We also have a ko-fi and merchandise if you just wanna give us more money for any reason.
We hope to see you there, and that you will help our dreams come true and launch our careers as indie TTRPG developers with a bang by getting us to our base goal and blowing those stretch goals out of the water, and fight back against WotC's monopoly on the entire hobby. Wish us luck.
#monsters#gorgon#medusa#ttrpg#queer art#ttrpg tumblr#ttrpg community#greek mythology#percy jackson#tabletop#eureka: investigative urban fantasy#eureka#roleplaying#rpg
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neuvie cuddles? fem!reader pls :)
Whoops, I got carried away and this is a bit long! (?) Anyways, general tags: sfw - cuddles - f!reader - established relationship - Neuv is being a workaholic again - Neuv calls reader "princess" and "love" - half dragon form Neuv (I am but a weak man)
It's nearing midnight; you've been quietly reading a book alongside your perpetually-busy Iudex, who, predictably, is still working on reviewing some cases. You frown slightly: immortal primordial being or not, Neuvillette, too, needs a rest. Unfortunately, there aren't many people that he would listen to regarding this matter; fortunately, you, being his lover and confidante, are one of them. Still, you decide to choose an indirect approach.
-Neuvilette, love? - you call out quietly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.
He leans into your touch much like a cat, rubbing his cheek on your hand.
-What is it that my princess desires?
This is where you put on a bit of a show.
-I'm feeling so lonely... I know you're right here, but you're so busy all the time!
It's not entirely untrue; while you enjoy just exsisting alongside Neuvilette, quietly going around your day even if you two don't interact, you do miss the rare occasions when his attention is entirely on you and you only. Besides, he does need a rest, and as do you.
Neuvilette makes an apologetic face.
-I'm sorry, love, I know I've been paying less attention to you lately... What do you want us to do?
-May we cuddle for a while?
He plants a kiss on your hand and gets up, suddenly lifting you up into a princess carry, smiling slightly. You giggle, not quite expecting him to have done that. His rather impressive height and inhuman strength mean you practically weigh nothing to him, and he does carry you around a lot because of that, but somehow he still manages to surprise you every time he does.
-Do you want us to lay down, or...?
-Yes! To the bedroom, please, - you ask him in a mock-commanding tone, pointing towards your shared bedroom in a spoiled princess impression. That makes him smile wider. He carefully maneuvres you around all the doorframes and finally places you gently onto the big, soft canopy bed, taking time to shed some outer layers of his complicated outfit to enter a more relaxed state. Meanwhile, you fluff the pillows, making some sorts of a nest for you two. With an exhausted, but still somewhat content sigh Neuvilette plops onto the bed next to you and immediately throws his arms around you. In this position his head is on your chest, and you really want to pet him like an oversized affectionate cat. When you give in to your desires, you hear a purr - right. Dragons, it turns out, purr. Because Neuvilette sure wasn't perfect before. You smile, looking at your adorable lover, who under your hands on his scalp has relaxed into a semi-conscious state... Oh, wait, what's -
You feel something slithering against your leg, waiting to circle it. It feels strange,and at first you get startled - but then you realize: Neuvilette's tail. Your lover became so deeply relaxed in your presence, his human form shifted into a more natural semi-draconic form. And his tail wants cuddles, too. You giggle quietly, planting a kiss on top of your lover's head; your legs become entangled with Neuvilette's tail, and, fast asleep, he mumbles something resembling "my love", before his body goes completely slack against yours.
Well, you definitely don't mind cuddling him throughout the night, then.
#genshin x reader#romantic#neuvillette × reader#neuvillette x reader#neuvillette#jen's barkings// own writing#requests
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reflections.
pairing: jongho x f!reader
genre: smau, best friend!jongho
warnings/topics: there’s quite a bit of plot before it gets to the actual smut, slight angst in the beginning, y/n goes through a breakup, lots of kisses and comfort, dacryphilia, pussy eating, protected vaginal sex, praises, excessive use of pet names, biting, marking, cocky jongho(?).
word count: 1.9k
she threw her phone across the floor after seeing even more photos on his story, deciding that she couldn’t bear to look any longer. it only increased the intensity of the pain in her chest, and she really couldn’t take that feeling in a stronger dose at the moment. her head fell into her hands; she knew she couldn’t contain the noises of her compressed sobs anymore.
as soon as she looks up to catch her breath, the sound of a key turning into her front door’s lock is heard. that’s when it dawned on her.
y/n hadn’t answered her best friend, jongho, in days. he was the only other person who had a key to her apartment.
before she could even attempt to compose herself, jongho pushed the door open and rushed in with a sense of panic and worry oozing from his body. “y/n? are you hom- oh.”
once jongho turned his head in the direction of the living room, he paused in his tracks and his words. he ran over to y/n, immediately kneeling in front of her wilting character. his hand made its way to y/n’s face, gently wiping the running tears from her cheeks. the other one went to her shoulder as a way to comfort her; he ran his hand up and down the small of her back as he scanned over her current state.
“y/n, what’s been going on these last few days? does it have something to do with that asshole? everyone’s been worried about you, y’know,” jongho spoke with his eyebrows furrowed; his eyes were glossed over with a pleading expression— he knew y/n wasn’t one to really open up about major problems, but this seemed way too serious for it to have just been ignored.
y/n sniffled, finally looking up to meet jonghos eyes. she frowned deeply, causing jongho to give her a sympethetic look. “it’s him… he– he dumped me, and i think he was cheating on me?” y/n hiccupped on her words, speaking with an unsure tone at the end. she went to reach for her phone that she previously thrown away from herself, but jongho quickly blocked her hand and proceeded to push the device even farther away from her reach.
“that’s so fucking expected of him too, god,” he paused, attempting to regain his composure after hearing what y/n had been so upset about over the last few days. “listen. everyone knew he wasn’t shit since the day he came into your life. he doesn’t deserve you, y/n. there’re so many other people who would treat you way better than he ever could— people who would cherish every part of you and not treat you like just another bitch in their contacts.”
jongho was seething. he knew his words were harsh, but he truly just wanted the best for his best friend. seeing her treated horribly by a man that was less than worthy of her attention was the quickest way to see jongho as angry as possible.
“well, i don’t know what i’m supposed to be treated like. i’ve only ever dated people like him, and now you’re telling me that i deserve way better? what does that even mean, jongho?” y/n questioned. her tears were now fully dried against her face, and the only noise that sounded throughout the room were her periodic sniffles and the occasional sighs from jongho.
“well,” jongho muttered in an almost mocking tone. his face was now closer to hers than it ever has been, which led y/n to wonder if jongho had always been this beautiful, or if it was just her mind’s desperate attempt at trying to forget her ex. “let me show you what that means, doll.”
before y/n even has a chance to process jongho’s words, he moves in to close the gap between their lips, kissing y/n with a feeling that couldn’t be any more foreign to her; love. y/n knew the intensity of jongho’s kisses and passion was definitely not something shared between friends. she decided she would confront him about it later; right now, she only wanted to focus on forgetting.
jongho slowly moved from y/n’s lips, down to her neck, painting it with dozens of sensual kisses and bites. he took his sweet time, as his whole goal was for y/n to take in and cherish how it feels to be truly appreciated by someone.
y/n would release airy moans each time jongho nipped at her skin– she could feel the blood rush to the surface of her skin, causing an overwhelming feeling to bubble in the pit of her stomach. “jongho, please, t-too slow,” y/n whimpered quietly from the agonizing pace jongho was progressing at. luckily, he took the hint from her words, immediately lifting y/n up from the floor— bridal style— and bringing her to the couch in her living room. He figured that would be more comfortable than the floor regardless.
“are you alright to keep going?” jongho speaks softly, almost in a whisper. y/n quickly responded to him with a stern nod, her head in a downturned position as she was fixated on jongho’s hands. she was this close to begging for his touch; y/n was sure jongho could feel her desperation at this point.
jongho sighed, using his index finger and thumb to lift her head up, forcing their eyes to meet before he spoke once again, “let’s use our words, sweetheart, hm? are you alright to keep going?” jongho’s gaze was strong and intimidating, causing y/n to look away quickly. she would be lying if she said the way he looked at her didn’t turn her on, and she knew if she met his eyes again, she’d moan from how dominant the gaze he held was. not that jongho would mind, anyway.
“yes, jongho, please, you don’t need to be so gentle,” y/n pleaded— she was more than certain that jongho wasn’t usually like this; his soft demeanor was most definitely because he was considering her current fragile mindset.
jongho only gave a smile at her words. he immediately went to pull y/n’s shirt over her head, to which she lifted her arms to allow him easier access for the action. once the shirt is off, he throws it to the ground, proceeding to pepper kisses from along y/n’s breasts, traveling down to her midriff. he cherished every portion of her body, almost as if he was worshipping it. eventually, jongho couldn’t handle any more of y/n’s breathy moans paired with the fall and rise of her stomach against his face.
jongho swiftly hooked his fingers onto the waistband of y/n’s sweats, pushing them down below her ankles and onto the floor. she wore a pair of lacy pastel pink panties that perfectly hugged her figure and complimented her complexion. he pressed his thumb gently against y/n’s clothed clit, earning a whimper from y/n’s lips as her legs attempted to squeeze shut. jongho pried them open, holding them in place as his lips placed even more kisses across her inner thigh, inching closer and closer to her core. he removed his finger, quickly pulling y/n’s underwear down where they joined the pile of clothes that slowly grew on the ground. jongho replaced his finger with his lips, now using his tongue to lap up the slick that oozed out of y/n’s hole. her moans increased in volume as jongho tongue fucked her gently and fastly— it was obvious that he’d had previous experience. y/n’s legs were basically trapping jongho in his current position, as the pleasure from his tongue was too intense for her legs to stay open.
soon enough, y/n came on jongho’s tongue, eliciting screams from her lips as jongho sucked on her clit to help her ride out the climax. her body shook from overstimulation, tears forming at the corners of her eyes before they fell down her cheeks.
“jongho, please— need you inside of me, i can’t,” y/n spoke, albeit incoherently, but jongho still understood what she was asking for. he removed his face from her wet folds, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie before bringing his face back up to hers. he carefully took in her current state— the fucked out look plastered across her face, the panted breaths that could be heard from up close, and the tears on her face that glistened in the light. jongho could feel his pants tighten even more than they already were at the sight, physically holding himself back from trailing his tongue across the stream of tears.
“i know, doll, you’re doing so well already, just be patient, okay? just for me, pretty girl,” jongho spoke softly, unbuttoning and unzipping the fly of his jeans, stripping his clothes off quickly. he grabbed a condom from the inside of his wallet, briskly ripping open the package with his teeth before rolling it onto his erect cock. he desperately lined it up with her entrance, teasing y/n slightly by tapping his tip against her clit. she mewled in frustration, to which jongho giggled, “alright, i’m sorry love, i’ll stop teasing— god, you’re so pretty like this,” jongho groaned as he sunk into her pussy slowly, allowing time for her to adjust to his size. the room was filled with sinful noises as jongho thrusted roughly into y/n, abusing her cervix as the slaps of skin and moans were the only things to linger around them.
“he’s never fucked you like this, hm? i bet he’s never heard all your beautiful sounds like this, hm, doll?” jongho mutters as he fucked at an animalistic pace, chasing both of your highs with his thrusts.
“yes, n-never, fuck, i’m so close, please, jongho,” y/n whined, quickly getting cut off as loud moans erupted from her throat yet again. jongho’s groans became more audible as his climax bubbled up inside of him, sweat dripping from his forehead as he bottomed out inside of y/n. the duo came at the same time, almost as if their climaxes were synced together. he released a vocal moan as his cum spilled inside the condom.
as jongho pulled out, y/n whimpered from the sudden emptiness inside of her. she felt as if she couldn’t even move with the numb and static feeling that plagued her body.
“feeling okay, sweetheart? come on, i’ll run you a bath, you look exhausted,” jongho smiled, returning to his gentle self once everything had finished.
y/n only gave him a nod, feeling too tired to speak. jongho understood, quickly slipping on his boxers again before lifting y/n up into his arms and carrying her to the bathroom.
y/n couldn’t thank jongho enough for deciding to check on her today.
#ateez#ateez fanfic#ateez fic#ateez smut#ateez x reader#atz smut#atz x reader#jongho#jongho x reader#jongho smut#jongho fanfic#jongho fic#choi jongho#ateez jongho
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when do you think Soukoku get married?
And what do you feel the wedding was like?
Chuuya: Crosses arms We got married during the fall. Dazai wasn't too keen on having a summer wedding, he doesn't like the heat. He's a wuss, and I'm the one prone to getting burned easier. Not to mention I have the feathers here.
Dazai: From across the room, he sticks his tongue out tauntingly
Chuuya: 💢
Chuuya: ...Anyway. It's around the beginning of October, Dazai usually nags me if I don't get him something for it. And the wedding? What do you expect? Huffs and shakes his head. Chaotic, that was what.
We were twenty-one when we held the wedding, brought everyone who could come. While there was the typical wedding stuff you'd expect, it was less frilly, and more focused on the stuff we could do.
Dazai: From afar Chuuya was the bride~!
Chuuya: Yes, yes I was the bride. Rolls eyes. Rowling was there, Gin was there, the whole of the Agency decided to come as well. Smiles softly Wasn't too bad, all in all. Fond memory.
#bsd#bungo stray dogs#chuuya nakahara#dazai osamu#soukoku#bungou stray dogs#au#dazai x chuuya#skk au#soukoku au#okay gotta say this was really fun to type out#did it make sense? Better hope it did#first time doing it and already loving it#send more asks like this!#Id be overjoyed to write more#or draw#when my finger heals that is#ask#ask answered#asks
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When skies are black
The last time I finished a story was so fucking long ago and I was starting to think I'd never do it again, but then I found a little guy with anxiety and depression and an asexual serial killer and my writer's block was cured (not really, but we're getting there!)
Anyway, I made something for RadioApple Week 2024! Today's prompt was Late Night/Early Morning, go check it out on AO3:
00:44
After long shootings, it had become a habit for Angel Dust to go sit at the bar with Husk, no matter how exhausted he was. It helped him feel like himself again, not only distracted but centered him, having the other’s eyes on him, listening to ruthless remarks in that raggedy low voice of his, forcing down some water to try to recover a tenth of the fluids he lost in the long filming hours. The man had become his sanctuary, and Angel wasn’t ashamed to admit it. In fact, he did it often, hoping to get the message across even when the barkeep refused to acknowledge the truth behind it. Angel didn’t mind much. He was in for the long run, so he would enjoy the chase while it lasted—he knew it would only make the catch all the more satisfying.
That Thursday evening, however, his sanctuary was already occupied when he made it to the hotel. Angel kept the disappointment off his face; he didn’t want to make the intruder feel bad, not if he could help it. He’d been surprised at first, to realize that their sovereign was just as volatile and emotional as his daughter, but it only made the little guy more endearing in his eyes. He genuinely didn’t want to see him upset, and not because he feared for his life in his anger (although after the extermination, he was reminded that Lucifer Morningstar truly was on another level, and perhaps he should be, if only a little, afraid for his life).
“Your Majesty, hey! I wasn’t expecting to see you up so late! Can’t sleep?”
“Angel! Welcome back!” Lucifer replied with a nervous grin, and he bashfully rubbed the back of his neck as he angled himself towards the sinner in a way he didn’t turn his back on Husk. “Is it really that late?”
“Well, no, it’s not that late, but don’t you usually go to bed quite early? You’re the first one to leave after dinner!”
“Oh. Yeah, I guess…” The king avoided his eye, downing what was left of his drink before elaborating. “I like to read before falling asleep, so it’s not that I fall asleep as soon as I go to my room, you know.”
“Ah, that makes sense,” Angel conceded, repressing the urge to make a dirty joke at the king’s expense. “Then what happened tonight? Did ya run out of books or something?”
“I just wasn’t in the mood to start anything new, is all.”
“Understandable,” Husk grumbled as he slipped a delicious looking mocktail towards Angel. “People underestimate the energy required to get to know new characters in fiction. Can I get you another one, Your Highness?” He nodded at the king’s empty tumbler.
“Please.”
“Now Husky, baby, got any fun tidbits about the new residents?” Angel asked, wiggling his eyebrows as he sipped on the pink straw of his sugary drink. Just because they weren’t alone didn’t mean they couldn’t talk like they usually would, especially considering their company. He didn’t know what had the monarch in such a jumpy state, not that he normally was calm personified, but he was kicking his feet in the air and fidgeting in his chair more than usual. Angel needed to unwind, and apparently so did The Devil, and he knew that good gossip about souls they couldn’t care less about always helped lighten the mood.
The bartender immediately caught his drift, his perceptiveness being just another trait of his that had the spider head over heels, and he placed his forearm on the bar to lean closer towards them, giving them an air of confidentiality that was hardly needed given the time and place, but was appreciated nevertheless. Husk’s insight to the newcomers’ vices, fears and desires was always delightfully detailed and usually right, no matter how farfetched it seemed. Not long ago on that very bar he had revealed what he believed of their king, though he had yet to relieve anything about the demon that owned his soul. Angel was madly curious, but also too terrified to press for information on that front. Some secrets were best left untold.
Without truly noticing, Angel finished off his third mocktail of the night, preceded by two full glasses of water, while Husk opened up a brand-new bottle of whisky for the king, when the familiar goosebumps warned him of yet another intruder to their evening. It was a small mercy that Husk hadn’t given him a drop of alcohol, otherwise, he just knew he would’ve made something crazy when the Radio Demon materialized from the shadows right behind Lucifer like the creepy motherfucker he was. Angel wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or he was just that immutable, but the king didn’t even flinch when a bony hand came to rest on his shoulder. Whether he was foolish or brave, Angel still had to admire the guy for his lack of a response.
Except, it wasn’t that he didn’t react, he would soon realize with the violence of an unexpected bucket of cold water falling on him. He just didn’t react the right way. Because who the fuck would smile in delight at having the fucking Radio Demon lean against them?!
“Good evening, gentlemen! What a pleasant surprise to find you all here this late in the night.”
“Yeah, wish I could say the same to you,” Husk grumbled. “What are you doing here so late, anyway?”
“He was at a party!” Lucifer revealed with exaggerated enthusiasm.
“Just a small gathering. It would’ve been far nicer without some of the guests, sadly.”
Angel forgot how to breathe for a moment when he saw Lucifer pout and send the Radio Demon a dejected look as he said: “Then why did you stay so long?”
Alastor blinked a few times, and Angel expected to see his eyes turn into radio dials at any moment, but it didn’t happen. The sinner simply appeared amused, if only a little tense.
“How much did you drink, Your Majesty?”
“You’re not answering my question.”
“No, I’m not. It is a dumb question. You should go to bed, Your Majesty. I shall go, too. I’m rather tired. Sleep tight, gentlemen.”
Alastor sank back into the shadows, and the king stood up abruptly not a second later, the angry scratch of the wooden floor making Angel Dust jump slightly in his own stool.
“Well. He’s right. I guess it is time for me to go to bed. Sweet dreams, Angel. Husker. Thanks for the lovely night. I’m sorry if I bothered you…”
“No way, I had fun!” Angel said, a bit awkward, thoughts reeling with distant possibilities, each one more insane than the last, but not insincerely. “We should do it again.”
“I’d like that,” Lucifer agreed, his own forced smile softening into a more genuine, gentle thing. “Good night.”
“So… that was weird, right?” Angel asked in a nearly hysterical whisper to the bartender as soon as they were alone.
“I am not acknowledging that, and neither should you. You had a long day. Go to sleep.”
Angel frowned. “You’re no fun!”
Husk sighed, but the lines around his eyes were kind, even if his mouth fought a smile.
“Maybe I’ll entertain you at a different time. I don’t think you’re ready to hear it, Legs.”
Angel’s heart skipped a beat, focusing on all the wrong parts of that sentence. He wanted to ask more; he knew whatever juicy story Husk was keeping from him was bound to make life at the hotel a hundred times more exciting, but when a gentle hand rested softly on top of his, a thumb delicately brushing over his knuckles, Angel’s knees went weak, his feet slipped from the stool’s cross stretcher and he nearly stomped his face on the bar like an idiot. He wasn’t even drunk! He was a master of seduction! How was it possible that the other man never failed to make him lose his cool and mind with the most innocent gestures?
“Go to bed, Angie. It’s late, and you’re tired. I won’t stay much longer either.”
“Okay,” he replied softly, slightly out of breath. It was the perfect time to ask the bartender to keep him company, to share his bed with him, to become more than what they were. But he couldn’t. The words just wouldn’t form on his tongue, stuck to the roof of his mouth as it was.
But that was okay. He knew he would have another chance, maybe on another night like that. Maybe after having some alcohol himself, with their king as company. And if the Radio Demon joined them at some point, well, maybe then Husk would finally give in and reveal all those secrets he kept, some even about himself, if he was lucky.
♪
03:33
“You’re drunk,” Alastor repeated as soon as Lucifer materialized in the sinner’s bedroom. “I didn’t even know that you could get drunk.”
“I wanted to be up when you returned,” Lucifer confessed, still pouting. The insufferable king had no right to be that adorable. It did unspeakable things to Alastor’s heart.
“I told you I’d be late.”
“I know. I didn’t care.”
“Clearly, you did. You’re upset.”
“No! But you said it was boring, and yet you stayed all this time! It’s suspicious!”
Alastor frowned in disbelief. “Suspicious? How, exactly? What are you accusing me of?”
“I’m not accusing you of anything. I just…” Lucifer sighed, and his shoulders sagged, as if all anger and tension was physically abandoning him. “I’m sorry. I know I’m being ridiculous. How was the gathering? How was Rosie?”
“It was exactly what I expected. Nothing more and nothing less. Rosie was alright. She sent you her regards.”
“Were the Vees there? All three of them?”
“Yes. As expected.”
Lucifer nodded his head weakly, still standing in the middle of the room, where he’d appeared, with his boots, coat and hat on.
Alastor narrowed his eyes, studying the man in front of him like he had just located the missing pieces that made sense of the picture in the puzzle.
“Did you have fun talking with Angel Dust and Husk?” He asked conversationally, walking towards the cabinet that stored his liquor as he undid the buttons of his coat. His ears moved to show that he was listening as Lucifer mumbled an answer, some story about a newcomer named ‘Steven’ or ‘Stephen’ or something like that, but Alastor wasn’t paying attention to the meaning of the words as much as he was focusing on the way they were spoken. His bowtie came next, pulling it off with one hand as he poured himself a finger of whisky. Then, after savoring his first long sip, he continued with the buttons of his shirt. His smirk widened as Lucifer’s tone went higher and higher the more skin Alastor revealed.
“What, what about you? Did you have fun? Did you speak with Vox?”
Finally. All Alastor had to do was take off his shirt, and the King of Hell easily revealed all that was troubling his mind and heart.
“I didn’t,” he said.
Lucifer frowned. “What, like nothing at all? Didn’t you at least say hi? You said it was a small gathering, no more than twelve people. You couldn’t possibly have avoided him all night. You were there for hours!”
“I didn’t avoid him as much as I ignored him, my dear. After a couple of laughable attempts, he stopped trying altogether.”
“Oh.”
Alastor hummed as he went to sit on the foot of his bed. Once there, he extended one arm in invitation, to which the other responded by flying to his side, wrapping his arms around Alastor’s middle and pushing him back on the bed. With his face pressed against Alastor’s bare chest, Lucifer mumbled:
“Good. I don’t want you talking to him. At all. Never again.”
“Even if it is to tell him that my heart belongs to another?”
Lucifer’s breath hitched, the hold he had on the sinner tightened before relaxing, and he slowly lifted his head to look up at him with eyes shiny with tears.
“You can tell him that. But I want to be there when you do.”
Alastor’s grin widened even further, while his own arms circled the shorter man, awkwardly pulling to bring their faces closer.
“Deal,” he said, and they sealed it with a kiss.
#fanfic#writing#hazbin hotel#ao3#appleradio#radioapple#radioapple week#lucifer morningstar#angel dust#huskerdust#alastor
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