#I figured that was going to be one of the things
Text
Toji invites you over with a simple text of:
You busy tonight, doll?
To which you respond:
I don't think so... Not that I know of. Why?
Toji laughs through his nose when he reads your message. Even the way you text him has your timidness imbued into it. It's precious.
Come spend the night at my place. You told me you're off tomorrow, right?
I am, but are you sure? Driving home is not a problem for me. I can hang out and go home after.
You're staying. I wanna try something with you and it requires you to stay the night. You can't go home.
Oh okay! I'll be there in 10.
Drive safe.
Toji likes that you're very precise about the time you'll be arriving somewhere, and if you're ever late when it comes to spending time with him, you apologize profusely, nonstop. You won't stop blubbering about why you're late and how sorry you are for making him wait, even after Toji's expressed that he's more than understanding. He's the king of showing up late to plans, so he can't be a hypocrite and scold you when you don't do it often at all.
You're so sorry, though, and you don't shut up about it until he makes you shut up with a kiss. You're helpless, and you can't for the life of you figure out where to put your hands when you're so focused on the grip he had on your waist to pull you up against him.
He releases your lips, cracking a grin at the look of wonder on your face. He can't deny the pride that swells in his chest at his ability to disarm you and prevent you from having a total meltdown over a three minute delay.
Toji has gotten so much better at handling situations like these with you. It's only fair for him to gain satisfaction out of making you feel better. After all, you are a first for him. You're emotionally fragile, you're a nervous wreck, and your voice competes with the wind just to be heard. Toji doesn't set aside the fact that you're also beautiful, warmhearted, and you try for him. He sees your attempts to be affectionate. You'll slowly reach your hand out to hold his and then bail the second he catches you. He ends up having to interlock his fingers with yours because your embarrassment doesn't allow you to try again. He still appreciates that you leave your comfort zone for him and allow him to guide you towards new experiences.
"Stop with the guilty feelings, ma. We have all night and all day tomorrow. What's a couple minutes to ensure you get to me in one piece?" He says, comforting your droopy self. You look like a sad, abandoned puppy, now sporting rosy cheeks from his surprising gesture.
"Okay," you say, feeling a little more at ease. "What did you have in mind for tonight?"
"Follow me," he says, leading you through his living room to his kitchen. He pulls out a stool for you and points at it. "Sit." You want to laugh at the way he says it like he's teaching commands to a dog, but you know he doesn't mean it that way, so you obediently sit down like one anyway.
"Have you eaten anything?" He asks, silently hoping you have because he doesn't have anything to make you dinner. He would have to order in or pick something up.
"I ate a couple hours ago. Still pretty full," you respond, watching him reach up for something in his cabinets. There's now a tall glass bottle with a red label and matching cap sitting on the counter.
"How 'bout it?" He says, a large hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle. "We could go to the couch and watch a movie or something."
He's never seen you under the influence of anything, but based on your reaction, maybe he'll get a show tonight. He's always wanted to know what you would be like if you were more extroverted and outspoken. There's nothing wrong with the way you are, but if things keep going the way they're going between you and Toji, he's bound to meet your chatty alter ego at some point in the future. What better way to have this experience than in a secure place with someone who can handle their alcohol and take care of you if it turns out that you can't.
"Okay, sure." You giggle, excitedly.
You're a lightweight. Even the fruitiest, sweetest alcoholic beverage will quickly take a toll on you while you're sipping on it. Wine is a step up, so you'll have to try your best to keep it together for the sake of not looking sloppy in front of Toji.
Toji brings down two glasses, and pours out the deep red liquid into them. One for you, one for him. He hands the glass to you, and nods at your quiet "thank you".
Toji watches as you immediately take a sip. He sees the way your nose scrunches at what you consider to be a funny taste, but the second you put the glass down, you smile like nothing. You don't like it at all. You hate the bitterness, and the fact that it's made with fermented grapes lives in the back of your head.
"How is it?" He asks, holding back a chuckle. You're too sweet for your own good, pretending to enjoy this for him.
"I like it," you say, pressing your lips together.
"Yeah? I think it's kinda gross. Guess I was expecting more from a fancy ass bottle, but brands are gonna brand, huh?"
You giggle, almost involuntarily. You're one gulp in, and already you're starting to feel the effects.
One of your worst habits includes chugging drinks that don't taste good, just so you can get them over with. You even do this when your drink is messed up at coffee shop. You're too nice to ask the barista to remake it, so you suck it up and drink the incorrect beverage solely for the caffeine you hope it has in it. This time is no different. You hate the taste of alcohol. You don't do plain shots, you can't stand hard ciders, and wine is no exception, but you're doing this for Toji. He cracked open the bottle to share with you, so you're going to drink every ounce of the liquid in the glass, whether you like the taste or not.
You bring the glass to your lips again, taking a much larger sip. The glass is a little less than halfway now, and your eyelids are starting to feel a little heavy. Not in a sleepy manner, but you can't seem to hold your eyes open as wide anymore.
You exhale through your nose, shut your eyes, and then blink them back open to take note of your altered state.
"That was a lot. How are you feeling?" Toji asks, noticing a shift in your demeanor. You seem a little more sluggish now. You turn your attention to him, your eyes rolling when they turn to meet his.
"I'm good, how are you?" You ask, like it was the start of a conversation rather than an ongoing one. Your eyes almost shut completely when you smile at him.
"You're tipsy already, aren't you?" He asks, with a grin on his face.
"Pshh, what? No, i'm not," you say, contradicting yourself with a giggle. "Answer the question, baby. How are you?"
"Fine," he responds, lingering on the pet name. You've got loose lips, now. In any other circumstance, you would address him by his name. Most of the time Toji is the one giving you pet names, for the sake of flustering you. He loves the way you look at him when he calls you doll or sweetheart, somewhat shocked every time the words leave his mouth.
"Yeah? That's good." You pick up the glass one more time, sighing before you mutter, "'scuse me. Gotta finish this."
With that last sip, the glass was now empty. Even Toji thinks you drank that too fast, but he still has the courtesy to ask you if you want more.
"Mhm, I'll have a little bit more. Just a tiny bit." Toji pours as much as he did the first time, chuckling when you nod in approval of the quantity. "That's perfect. Absolutely, perfect. You're a genius, my love." You flash him a smile before starting on the next glass.
Toji was considering having another glass, but that was before you called him "my love" in a tone so warm that he felt like he just had a bowl of hot soup that was now settling in his stomach. That was before you smiled at him in such a free spirited manner. It was too late for him to see you in this state while completely sober, but he sure as hell wouldn't be adding anymore alcohol to his system. He can't miss something like this, so instead he leans forward on the counter, and intently watches your every move.
"I got something on my face?" You ask, dragging your sleeves all over your face. You examine your sleeves and they're clean. "You liar. You're looking at me like that for nothing." You squint at him, a slight scrunch in your nose to define your defensiveness.
Toji laughs, his focus now on the small pinch in your brows. "Don't go picking fights over nothing. It's not a crime to look at my pretty baby."
Your faux tough exterior immediately crumbles, the irked expression on your face dropping to the ground, at the sugary words he uses on you. Your face feels very warm, and now there's an indefinite blush on it. You can't stop smiling at the look on Toji's face. He's so focused that he's gone speechless, and you eventually break into a laughing fit because of it.
"Hey... i'm usually the quiet one. Why aren't you talking, pretty boy? Need me to shut up?"
The pet name has Toji glancing at your glass, noticing that it was full for less than five minutes. This was new— you being flirtatious towards him. He didn't have any complaints about it whatsoever.
Once again, the quantity of the wine in your glass was below the halfway mark. "Nah, baby. Talk to me. You must really like the wine, huh?"
"Mmm..." you lean forward towards him, with your elbow on the counter and your chin in your palm. "What makes you say that?"
He actually snickers this time, earning a sly grin from you. "You're chugging it like it's water. It's either you love it or it tastes like ass and you're dying to spit it out."
You pick up the glass again, one last time. "Let's find out if I like it," you say as if you're not on your second serving. You let the liquid hit your tongue, and you are instantly repulsed by the flavor. The glass is tilted all the way up, signaling that you've finished two cups of wine in less than fifteen minutes. Your cheeks are filled with the drink, blown up like a puffer fish, which makes Toji smile softly with anticipation for your reaction. Your tongue stays on the roof of your mouth, keeping the wine in your cheeks separate, to give you a break for a few seconds. You release the bubbles of your cheeks and your mouth is flooded with the bittersweet liquid. You swallow the burgundy mouthful and smile with your lips pressed together once it's all gone. The mouth drying effect of wine is your least favorite thing about it.
"So?" Toji prompts.
"It's-" you gag, clasping a hand over your mouth with wide, slightly teary eyes.
Toji's chest and shoulders shake as he contains his laughter, his lips pressed together tightly to stifle the smile threatening to show itself, but his eyes tell you everything.
"Wooo, sorry about that," you say, chuckling through the embarrassment. "It's good," you repeat, still muffled by your palm.
"Yeah? Want more?" Toji asks, holding up the bottle with a teasing grin on his face.
You almost gag again but manage to control yourself. "No, thank you. Any more and I'll doze off, and we both know that's not what i'm here for." There was a hint of sultriness in your tone, something Toji was not sufficiently familiar with. It was a completely welcome shift from your normally tentative way of speaking to him.
"I know why you're here, but I wanna know what you think you're here for."
You stand from your stool and lean more of your body onto the counter. Your hand reaches for his, and for the first time, you don't pull back before making contact with his skin. "To love on you, of course," you say, with those pretty rosy cheeks. Your eyes remained glossy and your nose was still red from trying not to bring the wine back up earlier, but Toji thought you looked so cute.
"Is that right?" His thumb brushes over your knuckles, feeling the softness against his rough fingertip.
"Let's go watch that movie you were talking about and you'll see what I mean."
Toji was loving this. Your confidence, your lack of holding back anything you had to say, it was truly baffling how you could be someone else entirely with just a couple glasses of wine.
You keep his hand in yours, and as if it were your house, you say, "come on," and drag him along to the living room.
This time you say "sit" and point at the couch. This time he's the obedient dog and does as you say, sitting on the exact cushion you were pointing at with a smirk on his face. He moves the couch pillow aside to make room for you, but you had another seat in mind. You take two steps towards him before slowly dropping yourself into his lap, straddling him.
"I see you're finally taking your seat on the throne, hm?" He grins, resting his hands on your waist. This is the closest Toji's been allowed to watch you giggle without you burying your face into his neck and it's a trip. He can see the details of the creases around your eyes and the lift in your cheeks as you smile. He feels fuzzy, and he didn't even finish his glass of wine, so he knows it's not that.
"Stop making me laugh and pick a movie, will you? I'm here for that, too."
He picks up the remote for the TV and turns it on. "How are you gonna watch the movie while facing me?"
"Actually,.. can I tell you a secret, baby?" You ask, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your fingers play with the hair that reaches towards the nape of his neck, combing through it gently.
"What's that, princess?" Toji asks, vert eyes flitting between your eyes and that sweet smile of yours.
"I don't wanna watch a movie. I... wanna look at you... and that's it." Your nails gently scratch the back of his head, eliciting a tingly sensation that makes chills run down his spine.
"That's cool, too," Toji says, turning the TV off again, not caring that it was on for less than a minute before you changed your mind. He sighs, adjusting his position beneath you. Your thighs are secured around his hips, your knees touching the backrest of the couch.
"You're so handsome, my baby. God, look at those eyes," you whisper in awe, before giggling and bringing your hands to his face. You trace the bags under his eyes with your thumbs while admiring the haunting shade of green that scopes on you. Toji's hand comes up to loosely wrap around your wrist. He's not there to stop you, he just wants to move along with you as you observe his face.
"I know I don't say this to you enough, but I find you..." you sigh, blinking slowly, "enchanting..." You lean in and kiss the left corner of his lips—his right, and feel the smooth, tattered skin beneath your warm lips. "and I love you," you mumble into the cicatrix. "So fucking much, baby. And i'm sorry that you'll never know exactly how much because you aren't me." You're looking at him with so much adoration and touching him with a delicacy that can't be put into words. It's a deadly combination, one that has Toji in a chokehold and forces him to soften up even more for you.
He tightens the hold he has on your waist, pulling you closer until your stomach is pressed to his, as a result. You being so affectionate towards him is making him feel really good, and you have no idea because you're too focused on appreciating him. He's subconsciously leaning into your touch, his softened gaze meeting your lovestruck one.
"Fuck. I love you, too, princess," he murmurs, squeezing your wrist in his hand. He pulls your hand down to his chest. "Want you to aim for my lips, this time."
"Okay," you say, smiling before closing the distance between your lips and Toji's. He can still taste the remnants of the wine you inhaled minutes ago, but it tastes much better and a lot sweeter on you. Toji can hear your high pitched little hums as you kiss him, happiness pouring into your kisses. You're trying so hard not to laugh in his face, and trying is the best you can do, right now. You never were good at hiding your smile from Toji. He can't see it, but he can feel the way your lips widen, and he's occasionally kissing your teeth when your sluggishness keeps you from matching his pace. With little pants leaving you, you drag your lips away.
He sighs, frustrated by the loss of your softness against him. "Baby..." he groans, the sound almost whine-like to your ears. He wants more, so much more of you, and you're ignoring him. You're too busy kissing his chin, and his cheeks, and the tip of his nose.
You drag your other hand down to his chest and keep your hands splayed out on it as you let your lips trail his jaw, lightly sucking on the skin. Toji can't help but think about how this version of you will be gone in the morning. You won't be as outwardly affectionate, you'll go back to second guessing every move you make with him and shrinking every time he steals kisses from you, instead of confidently kissing him back like you did a minute ago.
You make your way down his neck, pressing kiss after kiss on him before you move towards his ear. "I love you, Toji," you whisper, kissing the shell of his ear after. "Love you, love you, love you soooo much," you barrage, before throwing him off with a bite to his earlobe. You giggle like a menace into his ear, the warmth of your breath luring goosebumps out onto his skin.
He chuckles, repeatedly squeezing the soft skin of your waist between his hands. "Yeah? Tell me again," he murmurs snaking his hands beneath the back of your shirt. Your skin is very warm, and there's nothing to blame but Toji and that shitty wine for making your body react this way.
With uninterrupted hands, you course your fingers through his hair and lean in to bite him again, this time on his neck. Toji chuckles at how you instantly rush to soothe him with your tongue and a warm kiss, even when you inflicted zero pain on him.
"I love you, Toji," you repeat into the wet indentations you left behind. "My love... my handsome man... I cherish you, you know?"
Toji is practically purring at all the affection you're showering him with. The slurring of your words is blocked out and they remain clear as day to him. He manages to hum a deep little "mhm" to your last statement.
"It's just so hard to talk to you sometimes. You... you're so intimidating, sometimes. I don't expect you to understand..." you divert your gaze to his shoulder, not able to look him in the eyes as vulnerability takes sudden control of your emotions. "It seems like I don't appreciate you sometimes—all the time, but I do, Toji. I do appreciate you, and I can't ever say I love you enough to show it. Words aren't always enough."
Toji catches the waver in your voice and his eyes dart to yours. You're tearing up, and you're trying to still your quivering lips by pressing them together.
"Shit," Toji mutters under his breath. You have the saddest expression he's ever seen and it's messing with his heart. He pulls his hands out of your shirt so that he can swiftly pull you into his warm embrace. "Hey," he coos. You're shaking against him, holding your breath to avoid sobbing. Your lungs burn, but you'd rather feel that than make a scene of your tears. "Don't be sad, mama. What's with the tears, hm?" he murmurs. He can feel your tears dampening his shoulder, but the fact that you haven't made a sound is concerning. "Breathe or you'll die," he says, only half joking. He rubs a soothing palm against your back, his other arm around your waist.
You let out what sounds like a mixture between a choked laugh and a sob, slowly but surely regulating your breathing. You don't even feel like saying anything anymore because you know your voice will give way to even more pity.
"You're more than enough for me," Toji says, his chin resting on your head. "I know how you feel, you know how I feel. We're complete." He can feel the way you scrunch his shirt up into your fists. As if he would go anywhere without you. "I get you and you're stuck with me. Got it?" You silently nod against his shoulder in response. "Sit up and let me look at you."
You really don't want him to see you this way. Your eyes feel swollen and you don't feel presentable.
"I can't..." you say, barely audible. You release his shirt and let your hands go limp behind him.
"Why not?"
"I'm not pretty right now. Don't look at me."
"I'm gonna look at you," he challenges with a teasing grin.
"Toji, don't look at me."
"Too late, it's happening. Plan's already in motion," he says, sliding his arms onto your shoulders.
"Toji, don't-" He effortlessly pushes you off his shoulder and gives you a once over. You look defeated and you're unable to look him in the eyes, but at least he can see you now.
"Don't know what you were so worried about. You look the same but more blush-y." You finally give him your slightly reddened eyes, a soft smile appearing on your face. You look like your sober self. "Yeah, you look the same."
"Are you lying?" You ask, still not regaining the full strength of your voice yet.
"I wouldn't tell you if I was, but no, i'm not lying. You're so pretty." Toji wiped away tears that were stuck beneath your eyes, and you giggled. He washed away your sadness within a couple minutes. Toji always did this for you in exchange for your love and affection. He lifted your spirits when you didn't feel deserving of him, and with time, he got much better at recognizing the signs that came with this ridiculous idea you planted in your head.
"You're done loving on me? Already?" He asks in playful disbelief.
"You're not done with me? Do you actually want more?" You ask, hesitantly.
"Don't want more, I need more," he corrects, returning his hands to their rightful place on your waist. "Get all up on me, princess."
You giggle, leaning closer towards him to peck a kiss onto his cheek.
"Mhm, like that," he says, contently, when you pick up the pace and start smothering him. "Yeah, baby, there you go." His forearms go beneath your shirt, encircling around your bare waist and pulling you close to him like before. "Who's getting spoiled like me?" He says through a grin. You're holding back laughs as he continues to praise you for your affection.
"S-Stop," you say through a wheeze, not able to contain the sound any longer when you looked at him.
"What are you laughing at, huh?" He chases you this time, pressing his nose into your cheek before planting a light kiss into your jaw.
"You're so unserious," you say, turning your head as he keeps going with the kisses.
"Mmm... I'm serious about you," he says, feeling the vibration of your laughter against his grin. "So serious."
Your cheeks feel incredibly hot from how much you've been smiling. In this little drunken haze, things are so good. You're so happy, you're so affectionate, and you talk so much. This isn't like you at all, but it's not hurting anyone, especially not Toji. There was one minor slip, but you moved past it so quickly like the words never left your head to begin with. You're just so simple... so easy to take care of.
Toji notices the way your eyes are starting to lid with tiredness, and while he would love for you to doze off in his arms right then and there, you'd probably prefer waking up in a bed.
"Let's go to bed, yeah?" He suggests.
"What? No! I just got here... We can still talk, and kiss and- I'm not even tired."
Toji grins at the way you fight him on this, and he has half a mind to indulge you when you look so adorable, but he has to stand his ground. He's right.
"But, you are. You can't even hold your eyes open, anymore."
You feel sad again because the rest of the night would be going to waste if you both go to sleep early. You're there to spend time with Toji, and yet you feel like it's your fault your time is being cut short. You're thinking you shouldn't have drank the wine so quickly, if at all.
"Listen, doll," Toji says. He doesn't like the sadness that resurfaces on your pretty face. He doesn't think you should look that way because of him. "We're just gonna go lay in bed. We don't have to go to sleep. We can stay up as long as you want. Light on or light off, whatever you wanna do, let's just move it to the room."
You sigh, still not completely convinced that the night isn't over, but Toji managed to persuade you. "Will you carry me, please? My legs feel like jelly."
"Of course. What kind of person would I be if I let you stumble into the room on your own?"
You sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, your face buried into the crook of his neck. "You'd still be my favorite person, but i'd be a little upset..."
Toji stands from the couch, humming in response to your quiet mumbles.
"...but not really upset. Just a little bummed. Not for too long, though, 'cause I love you, but I would expect an apology from you if I fell down," you draw out.
Toji cracks at your little ramblings. It's a ten second walk from the couch to the bedroom, and the whole time you were working through a hypothetical conflict.
"Yeah? You'd want me to say sorry?" He asks, setting you down on the bed.
"Mhm, and then I wouldn't be upset or bummed anymore," you mutter to yourself as you roll onto your back.
"That's fair. Want the light on or off?"
"Off," you blurt. "Let's tell scary stories," you trill, enthusiastically. You pull the blanket over your lower body until it reaches just below your chest.
Toji makes his way to the bed after turning off the light. He takes his shirt off, and out of habit lets it fall to the floor. "We're not telling scary stories this late at night," he says, joining you beneath the blanket.
"But, they're funny," you say, turning to face him. "I don't get scared, either."
"Depends on who's telling the story. I'm sure as hell not gonna feed you a nightmare, doll."
"Boo," you say, lowly. "Whatever, i'm over it already," you mutter, rolling your eyes.
Toji watches you grow more and more tired as you throw random, nonsensical topics at him. You're taking longer to respond by the minute, and you're dozing off while humming in thought. You shake awake each time it happens and try to keep the conversation going, but Toji just shushes you and tells you to go back to sleep.
"I can see the moon through the window," you mumble, looking past him.
"I know, shh..." he hushes you, again.
"There's only like... one star," you whisper, in awe.
"Baby, come here," Toji says, like he's about to lecture you about the rules of sleep, but really he's just thinking that if his body heat doesn't put you down, he's gonna have to stay up with you until you fall asleep on your own.
You scoot closer towards Toji, tucking your arms into your chest when he reaches out to pull you into him the rest of the way. His body exudes so much warmth, you feel like you don't need the blanket at all.
There was nothing left for you to say when you couldn't see or feel anything but him. It was as if you were gone the second he enveloped you in his arms. You were small to the brink of nonexistence, no longer there to tell him what your surroundings were, or to ask him thoughtless, silly questions. You were no longer there to fight off the sleep he only seemed to bring closer towards you. Feeling his warm skin against you made you change your mind about this invisible fiend that was pulling your eyelids down. You now welcomed the calls to rest from your steady heartbeats.
Your silence gave him the answer he needed, but for good measure, he poked at you with a whisper of, "Ma?" and waited a few seconds for your response. Nothing. He sighed and coiled around you tighter. Thoughts of the night ran through his head. Your soft, yet, occasionally bruising kisses and the imprints of your teeth on his skin, your unapologetic laughter, your certainty in using the pet names that claimed him as yours. He was weak for the amount of times you openly told him you loved him. It was a psychedelic dream, to say the least. One he hoped would continue once he followed you into slumber.
You woke up hours later, completely smothered by your bear of a man. All you could do was stare up at the ceiling, while you waited for Toji to wake up because he was literally breathing down your neck. His arm rested over your chest, his legs were tangled with yours, and his face was right beside your face. You weren't feeling the effects of the wine anymore, and luckily, you didn't have a headache or any signs of a hangover. You were back, which meant...
"What are you staring at?" A deep, raspy voice jolts you out of your thoughts.
You look at the handsome face next to you, and as if your heart can hear and see, it wakes up. "Nothing. Just woke up," you lie.
"Mm... you were staring hard at the roof. I thought it came to life or something," Toji chuckles. You smile, briefly, before looking at the ceiling again.
Toji releases you and flips onto his back, wanting to know what's so fascinating about the space you're looking at. "What are you thinking?" He asks, when he discovers nothing but blank space.
You take your time, not wanting to stumble over your words. Your heart skips a beat when he turns his head to look at you. In the time it takes for you to respond, you both could have gone back to sleep again.
"A penny for your thoughts?" he finally says, following the idiom with a question. "Did I even use that correctly?"
You can't help but laugh, nodding your head to answer his question. "I'm thinking about last night. Sorry if I said anything stupid."
Toji turns his body towards you again, thinking the only thing that's stupid is that he's still staring at the roof instead of staring at you. "You didn't. You were calm, from what I got to see, at least."
"So... boring."
"Not boring," he instantly catches. "You were perfect. You didn't have me running around chasing you, you weren't a brat—it couldn't have gone better, ma." He purposely missed something in his less than brief recount of the night to you. He can think back to the emotions that seeped through your little daze, and your insecurity about outwardly showing him love, all he wants, but there's no way in hell he's bringing that up to you, now. "You ramble a lot," he adds, a soft smile emerging on his face.
You can feel your cheeks warming up. "Oh god," you groan in embarrassment. "That's not- Sorry, that sounds... not so fun. Annoying of me, actually."
"Stop, it was cute," he assures, adding more fury to the blush creeping on your face. "Then you wouldn't go to sleep 'cause you kept seeing stuff outside the window."
You wanted to drown yourself in the blanket. Shame and embarrassment were winning their battle against you, as always.
"That was also cute," he says, watching the way your lips twitch as you bite back a smile. "You know my favorite part, though?" He says, grinning as he leans towards your ear.
"N-No, what?" You ask, trying so hard not to giggle.
"When you kissed me and told me you loved me," he murmurs into your ear like it's a dirty secret.
You snicker, the short sound of amusement evolving into laughter within seconds. You throw the blanket over your face and partially over Toji's face. The sight of your veiled body shaking with laughter lured out a couple chuckles of his own.
"That's funny?" He asks, pulling the blanket down, allowing you to see the sly grin he's sporting.
"A little bit," you respond, smiling— a remainder of your laughter.
"Silly girl. Come here," he says, dragging you back into his arms. There's no reason you should be awake at six in the morning on your day off. "Let's go back to sleep," he murmurs into the crown of your head. "We can go out for breakfast, later."
"Okay," you mumble, eyes shut already as you embrace the natural warmth of his body.
"One more thing," he murmurs. You don't raise your gaze, but your ears are open and you're listening closely. "Tell me you love me."
You didn't expect that, but you weren't going to deny him of such a simple thing. The words were easy to recite because you meant them with every fiber of your being. "I love you, Toji," you comply, immediately.
He sighs, contently, almost like hearing those words revitalized him. "Love you, too, mama."
That went out to every version of you.
#toji#toji x you#toji fushiguro x reader#toji fluff#toji fushiguro#toji x reader#toji x y/n#jujutsu toji#jujutsu kaisen toji#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk fic#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen fic#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x you#jjk fluff#fanfic#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk x y/n#jjk fanfic#jjk toji#toji fushiguro x you#dilf toji#jjk toji x reader#jjk fushiguro
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
the thing that really kills me about the Buck-Eddie-Chris dynamic is that it's not just that Buck is ALWAYS going to be there for them. It's that Eddie KNOWS that. It's that Eddie EXPECTS that. It's that he's had that expectation since before the tsunami.
He knows Buck loves them. He knows he loves Chris. He knows that Chris is and never has been a burden to Buck. He dropped his eight-year-old son off at his depressed best friend's apartment and said BYE HAVE FUN. like. that wasn't a request.
And EVERY time since we've seen Eddie entrust Christopher to Buck, it's never framed as a request. It's an expectation. It's a fact. It's an intrinsic truth he has never questioned. The will is obviously the most glaring example but the expectation is there EVERY time. it's in the way in 5x13 he apologizes TO Buck for scaring Chris. It's in s6 when Eddie asks Buck if Christopher is telling Buck his secrets, fully expecting that if there's something HE doesn't know about his son, Buck will. it's during the lightning strike when Chris demands to go see Buck and Eddie capitulates, because Chris's relationship with Buck is not something he can or ever will stand between. it's in the way in 7x01 Eddie says "Nothing. Not yet. I was kinda hoping...you would!" sounds almosttttt like a request but the way he says it very much isn't. It's "i do not know how to handle this so I am handing it off to you. BYE HAVE FUN."
Buck is not Christopher's dad. But he IS Eddie's coparent. That's pretty indisputable at this point. He treats him like one in almost every way. He doesn't just KNOW Buck will be there for Chris even when Eddie can't. he EXPECTS it.
And the thing is, Chris expects it, too!!!!! He called Buck in s5. He sat down with Buck and opened up about his complicated feelings about his mom in 7x01. Buck has been the most stable adult figure in Chris's life other than his dad for almost SEVEN years at this point.
The other thing is, I don't think Buck even realizes how important it is that they have that expectation. that they're ABLE to rely on him and trust him so intrinsically. that it's never been a question for either of them that Buck is supposed to be with them. HE knows he'll always be there for them, no matter what, no questions asked. ("I'm here, what can i do?") but I don't think he understands how monumental it is that Chris and Eddie both know that, too.
#sibyl speaks#911 spoilers#having so many buckley-diaz thoughts that scene made me so insane#what is going to happen to me when i watch the episode#i might die fr
718 notes
·
View notes
Note
Not to be This Guy I’m sure you have 100000 asks about this but do you figure the trump felony convictions actually mean anything
Probably not, honestly. I doubt very much that he will ever serve a term of imprisonment after this conviction and it's not going to do anything at all to erode his support.
It does, however, mean that he can't own firearms. Generally speaking, in most states, in most circumstances without having to take extra steps, people who have been convicted of felonies can't own guns.
I don't think that matters much because I don't think he's someone who actually uses firearms, but if you're looking for solid, material impacts of a felony conviction that's the one that I can think of off the top of my head.
Other than that? I don't think it's going to do much. In most states you've got more of a right to run for office than you do to *vote* if you've been convicted of a felony (and, to be perfectly clear, I don't think that a felony conviction should bar people from voting or holding office).
I mean, I guess a lot of people are going to get a lesson on how ineffective norms are at stabilizing politics when you're dealing with people who don't respect norms.
Like you're going to be hearing a whole lot about "hypocrisy" aimed at the GOP from dems who are like "well don't you want to strip felons of their rights? Don't you hate criminals? He's a criminal!" when yeah no that was never actually the problem for the criminals the GOP hates.
And the problem isn't that he's a *criminal* it's that he's the personality at the center of a fascistic cult of personality.
Though honestly I think the extremists kind of blew their wad at J6 and sank into the background to lick their wounds when they realized they hadn't been able to drum up massive popular support for their movement.
I don't know the entire thing is a giant fucking tire fire make sure to pay attention to your local candidates and check in with the lefties on your local school board to see how you can support them.
856 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi! Do you know any sort of dice formula (doesent have to be a conventional one) that would leave you with a range of posibilities 1-178? It can start with some higher number so long as the total set of answer are 178 options, but ive been racking my brain for a while trying to figure it out for this game im trying and now I wonder wether its even possible. Are there calculators or arithmetic for this sort of thing?
Unfortunately, that's impossible by conventional means if you need the outcomes to be evenly weighted. 178 is a multiple of 89, and 89 is a prime number. The number of possible evenly weighted outcomes a given set of dice can produce is always going to be a multiple of the factors of the number of sides on the individual dice, so in order to get exactly 178 evenly weighted outcomes you'd need an 89-sided die.
However, you may have alternatives depending on what you're trying to do with it, if you're willing to tolerate a small amount of rerolling. For example, if this is for a lookup table (i.e., so there's no need for the numbers used to fall into a continuous range), it's not hard to find a set of dice which yields 180 distinct, evenly weighted outcomes (180 being the closest number to 178 which is neither prime nor has a large prime factor), then reroll any outcome of 179 or 180.
Consider, for example, a two-stage arrangement where a d20 is used to select one of twenty sub-tables, then each sub-table has nine entries. A nine-entry sub-table can be achieved using a three-by-three grid where the row and column are selected via a pair of d6 rolls, such that each row or column spans two numbers. (e.g., rolling 2 and then 4 would give you first row, second column.) That gives you 180 evenly weighted outcomes; include two "dud" or reroll entries somewhere in your sub-tables and you have exactly 178 possible options.
583 notes
·
View notes
Note
touch starved reader with an oral fixation x kidnapper!Simon who’s all punishment and no physical affection? Please Simon just a little kiss? with tongues? :( (i just wanna make out with this man while my heart aches for him)
by Allah, you people are dogs. i will write the filth as usual.
DEAD DOVE, 18+ | dubcon. kidnapping. mean!Simon. dom!Simon. masking corporal punishment as affection. kissing. size kink, size difference. some thigh riding. degradation + humiliation (verbal). non-con pet play. marking (heavyyyyyy mentions of Simon biting you like a chew toy). choking. daddy kink (but in the awful, demeaning way). manipulation. forced affection. coersion. forced/manufactured dependency. brief mention of Simon stepping on your back to hold you down so he can whip you w a cat o nine tails. yanno. the usual Friday night.
idk. there's something so hot about you, completely naked, riding Simon's clothed thigh as he holds you up by your neck. tongue out, desperate for a kiss while he just mocks you the whole time.
It's survival.
At first.
A means of masking the innate horror of being stripped of your agency, your autonomy, by a man you barely even know. One you met once before (fate sealed), and now—outside of your apartment complex where he was idling by the foothold, smoking a cigarette as he leaned against the brick wall, head turned. Gaze narrowed as you approached.
Waiting for someone, you assumed, thinking nothing else about the matter.
Nothing else, except—
He looked familiar. You think you saw him before. He was staring at you. Hadn't stopped. Hasn't said a word, either. The silence was oppressive. Heavy. Your hands fumbled with the keys. Shaking. Trembling.
He's pretty, you thought, suddenly. In the way car wrecks can sometimes be. Jarring and awful and hideous, but—
Mesmerising.
Macabre. And that's what he is. Everything from the mask on his face (skulls, go figure), to the absurdity in his size, his width. The way space itself seemed to move around him, bending and distorting just to let him pass. His own gravitational pull. Magnetic. You feel it tugging on you as he pulls another lungful of smoke. Another. Another.
(like an hourglass, a timebomb, almost. you wonder what will happen when it runs out—)
He gives you the creeps. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. A visceral sense of unease curdling in the pit of your belly as he keeps staring, staring. Eyes—crystalline under the broken headlamp, washout into crushed topaz—drilling into your back, sharp enough to flay skin. Everything inside of you says to run, but your key won't fit inside the lock. Won't—
Ever.
And hindsight has always been a bitter thing, hasn't it? Cruel in her mockery. Had you known, then, that he wasn't a workman loitering by the complex, waiting for a friend; or a low-level drug dealer casting webs into the plum hewn aether, it might have saved you. Might have.
Maybe. Because he was there, waiting for you, all along.
Life has a funny way of paying back good deeds. All it took for your life to crumble down around you, rubble falling off of a shaking mountain, was kindness. Was seeing a large man in the pouring rain, already drenched. Black clothing sticking to the granite contours of his body, and offering sanctum in the shape of a rusting umbrella you found at a thrift store for three dollars.
(“here,” you said, chipper. All smiles. “i live just down the street, and you look like you need it more than i do. do you want it?”
and he—
he simply stared. stared. his eyes liquid, molten, as they carelessly dropped, roaming down the length of your body at his own leisure. leering. assessing. it was odd. weird, but—
he huffed, then. seemingly satisfied by whatever you measured up to in his head. his neck lulled back, and he gazed at you from down the crooked length of his nose, tucked neatly away under the thick band of a facial mask. skulls. how could you be so stupid?
slowly, like he was trying not to startle a mare, his gloved hand reached out, curling thick fingers around the hilt of it. he tugged once. in your stupor, you forgot to let go. embarrassment flooded in. he huffed again, quietly amused, as you untangled your numbed fingers from the umbrella.
in your distraction, he moved closer. smelled of ash, of mildew. sweat and stale cigarettes. there was something predatory in the way he slipped through space. a preternatural quiet. an eerie stillness.
you hadn't realised he was there, looming, until he rasped out, “more ‘n you could ever realise, pet.”
and you're sure why you do it. did it. but your hand slips into your shopping bag, eyes widen. heart thundering in your chest.
“are you hungry? i, uh, i just bought some apples, um—”
his eyes are lavascapes. shackles. chains. “i could eat.”)
And now—
Forced to play this strange cat and mouse of his where he treats you like soot on the bottom of his shoe, and you pretend that it's affection. Love. How godless.
Protection, he calls it.
("mine," he whispers, orison soft, into your ear. "ain't go' nowhere else to go, do you, pet? world's big. would eat a small thing like you up. safer here. wit' me. only me.")
You wonder what he'd do if you told him the biggest danger here was the madness nestled inside your head, the one that sometimes made you look at him like he was your salvation instead of the warden holding the end of your leash in a firm hand. Unyielding—like everything he does. Is.
Withholding, too. Everything must be earned. Nothing given. Nothing handed out. And you know that this is a ploy, a tactic. Subterfuge meant to chisel into your sense of self, dehumanise you. Turn you into a simpering, obedient little doll for him to play with as he wishes. You know this, and yet—
It's survival, you promise yourself as he tugs on the hook latched to your collar, testing it for weakness. Survival, when his hands—bare, bare; warmed skin against skin, you could just weep—brush over your throat, nails skimming goosebumped flesh as he wedges one, then two inside, hirsute knuckles tickling your pulse. It tightens the collar to near choking. Intentional, you know. He likes it when you beg—for air, for food, water, him.
Vile man. Awful.
(You want to roll on your belly at his feet.)
This cold, cruel touch lights a fire under your skin. It's been months since he's last done so. Always wearing gloves when he has to. Using paddles, belts, when you misbehave. Never his bare hand. Not anymore.
(“m’hand is for good girls,” he slurred, words merging, meshing together, painted with exertion. He wedged his boot against the small of your back, holding you down, and cracked the end of a cat over your bare ass, thighs. Unbothered by your howls, your screams, as the whip bit into your skin. You've never so much as been hit as a child for misbehaving, and now, as an adult, you have a madman standing over you, introducing you to something called a cat o’nine tails—a favourite in the army, lovie. “bad girls,” his boot pressed down harder, heel digging into your spine. “Bad girls get the whip—”)
Bad. Bad. Because you tried to run, to leave him. He dressed you up, called you Mrs Riley, and you—
Ducked out the back door when he turned away for a second.
Stupid. It was poor timing. A test. He set you up, measuring your loyalty to him, your commitment, and you failed. Failed.
(“this is what ‘appens when spoiled little cunts get their way too much. they act out, don't they? bitin’ the ‘and that feeds. you'll learn soon enough, though—”)
Ghost—sir, sir (master, maker, god; you'll call him anything he wants if he touches you again)—pulls his fingers away, depriving you of his touch once more. And it's all so stupid. So fundamentally wrong, deplorable, but you follow. Needy. Whining for it in the back of your throat.
It's been months. Months without touch. Without sensation outside of leather lashing across your thighs, your ass; harsh, gloved fingers digging into your jaw, braced against the back of your head, as you swallow down his cock in an effort to prove to him you've been good. So good. Can be good. His good girl.
You need to touch him. Need his touch. Ache for it, for something outside of this nook he placed you inside of, denied the privilege of living upstairs with him after you tried to escape.
You want to. Badly. Your fingers twitch. Ghost sees it. Hums.
“Need somethin', pet?”
Your mouth is dry. You swallow. It burns. It hurts. “Yes—”
“Yes, what?”
“Sir—”
Behind the mask he's yet to take off for you fully, only ever hitching it under his chin to devour your cunt whenever you've been good, his jaw tightens, the fabric bunching up.
You reel back from the look of sheer displeasure etching harsh lines into the hollow gaps of his eyes. Heart thundering. Stomach churning.
“Mas—” he cuts you off with a soft sigh. Marked with his irritation. “D—dad—”
Dad. A new one. Daddy. He didn't seem like the sort to be into this type of play, not with his sardonic, deadpan eyes. His mockery. His dessicated humour, awful and biting. You'd have sooner expected him to laugh at you—in that slow, deep hum he gives; a little chuff, full of condescension and jeer—than to get off on it. On you, kneeling between his legs with your chin braced against his palm, mouth open, tongue out, as he fucks into the tight clench of his fist, groaning as you beg daddy to give you a taste.
It's gross. Disgusting.
It's not done for anything else other than to humiliate you. To crush you under the heel of his boot—little bug—so that you will always know where your place is in this scenario. His little wife. Mother, mum—
He pulls on the leash, jerking you forward. Purrs, “good girl,” and then steps back, moving away from you. Cruel. Dismissive. You hate him, hate him—
(Need him so deeply. With every fibre of your being—)
You watch him as he goes, mourning the loss of his presence already, as he paces around your space, your cage. Broad shoulders barely fitting inside. Head ducking to avoid hitting his crown on the popcorn ceiling. It's strange seeing him here like this. Prowling. He usually comes when he wants you, when he needs to enact more merciless punishment on you for whatever perceived evils you committed (not greeting him with a kiss when he walked in, not letting him suffocate himself in your cunt when he had you sit on his face, not making him cum all over your face quick enough when you knew he had other engagements to get to—), or when he ruts, heavily, between your thighs, cold and detached. Seeking pleasure from your icy flesh, and giving nothing in return but white hot agony.
Him here, idling in your presence, is revolutionary.
“S–sir—?”
He hums, quiet. Sits in the chair as you gather the fragments of yourself littered on the ground. His mood is malleable, it seems.
You push, fingertips sinking into the putty of his agreeable temperament. “Can I—”
You waver when his sharp eyes raze over your bare body—clothes are for good girls, after all—pupils sloshing over the edges, bleeding into midnight blue.
Your body is a battlefield. Every inch of skin branded with his mark—pretty, thrawn rings of teeth tattooed in silver, haloed in black and red, desecrate your flesh: neck, collarbones, breasts, belly, thighs (a particular favourite of his), ass, mons; all bitten through, chewed up. It weeps when you move, has blood trickling down your skin. The cracking scabs make him coo, poor thing, all bloody fer me? and he licks at them, sucks, until only a pinkish wound in the mimesis of canines remains.
Uprooted, turned into something new—
His chest expands when he settles his gaze on the sliver of space between your spread thighs. Concealed in tenebrous, hidden from his leering, lecherous view. He cocks his head, considers something unknown to you. His thoughts, his mind, worlds away. Untouchable.
(only to bad girls, he’d snarled out when you asked why—)
“Testin’ my patience still?” He doesn't rip his gaze away from your cunt, speaks to it sometimes more than he speaks to you. “Thought this alone time might’a cleared your ‘ead.”
You flush. Embarrassment roiling through you. His displeasure is a palpable thing. Heavy. You hate the weight of it.
“I need—I need you.”
Another toneless hum. “‘Course you do. Ain't got anyone else.”
He's awful. Hideous. You want to rip his tongue out of his mouth. “I—I want you. Please.”
Ghost doesn't answer. You stopped expecting him to a long time ago, his moods odd measures of ebbs and flows; passive and mild, cracking terrible, awful jokes as he strokes your back, hands riveted to your skin, and then biting and caustic the next. Pushing and pushing until you lash out, snap, so he has a reason to push you down, punished and smothered under his bulk, as he ruts into you like a beast, a man starved. Tells you it's for your own good. That you need him. Would be lost without him.
Bludgeoning a hole into you wide enough for him to crawl inside of. Poisoning you from the inside out with the same nocuous rot that flows in his veins.
Maybe that's been his agenda all along. Maybe. To make you want him as badly as he wanted you. Desperate, obsessive. Going so far as to follow you home, lost little mutt waiting in the shadows outside of your door until you threw him another bone. And when that didn't work, when the food stopped being enough—
He took you. Held you captive in his house deep in the wilderness. A place so endlessly green that you sometimes stare out at it—unfathomable sea of phalthos and jasper—and feel dizzy. You'll get lost out there—
just like he says.
As he turns your obsecration over in his head, you wait, supplicant to this man as you rest on your knees. Pretty pet with a golden collar adorned in gems.
Fitting, you find. With his head cradled against his thick knuckles, you can't help but shiver at the way he looks shrouded in the gloaming embers of a fading twilight. Leonine. A king perfectly at ease in this thick, caliginous atmosphere.
His eyes burn, magmatic, in the low light. Vats of endless ink. Black holes that will swallow you whole if you get too close. But he's poised. Contemplative. Assessing.
And then grips the end of the leash tight in his other hand. Tugs.
You obey the wordless command, crawling on your hands and knees to where he's spread out on the recliner. Laxed, dripping with a careless indifference as you wander to him, resting your chin on the spread of his knee.
Looking up, up, at him, waiting. Wanting.
There's so much of him—a fact that has been the catalyst to your downfall the moment you saw him standing under the awning; this massive creature. Thighs wider than the width of your body. Burly forearms. Broad shoulders. He's big. Indomitable. Thick, endlessly so. But there's a give to his body. Valleys of softness hiding corded muscle. Firm, but—
Your fingers sink into the soft give of his belly when you reach out, bracing against stomach. Pulling yourself further into the bracket of his spread thighs, inching closer to him.
He meets your reverent stare, eyes liquid along his lower lash line.
“Thought you were gonna keep me waitin’ all night,” he muses, giving another pull on the leash. It destabilises you. Your nose bumps into his sternum, and you moan at the sting.
There's a dissonance in the back of your head. A hairline fracture in the line that keeps a degree of separation between pleasure and pain. They meet against the crack in the divide, merging into a abysmal polyphony conducted by his hand.
He watches, amused, as you whimper, sniffing harshly against the burn. It's not bleeding, and not broken—small mercies, you suppose—and you let it simmer into a dull ache as you slowly clamber into his lap.
Ghost leans back as you settle, greedily taking in the sight of your thighs stretched wide over his leg, cunt pressed, tight, against the rough scrape of his jeans. The touch burns. He hasn't touched your pussy in weeks—
“C’mon,” he urges, hand spanning the width of your lower back. Coaxing. “Show me ‘ow good you can be.”
It's all the permission you need. Slowly, slowly, your hips start to gyrate, dragging your slit over the coarse material. The friction is agony. You need more—
He draws his other hand up, curls it around your neck, forcing your head back, back. You gasp, staring at him, dizzy, from down the slope of your nose. The clasp of the collar digs into your skin. It hurts. It's too much.
you don't want him to stop.
His hand is huge. It spans the entire length of your neck, thumb to your pulse, pinky grazing the hollow of your throat. It forces you to lift your chin higher just to let him fit.
He likes it, too, you know. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of his bare hand, scarred and thick; dusted with a cropping of fine hairs along his scabbed knuckles, sitting against the whole of your throat. Swallowing you up. Can feel how much he enjoys the sheer depth between your sizes when his cock twitches, stiffening more
The look on his face is appraising, anatomising. There's a cold measure of distance in his gaze. A barren polynya. You want to cross it. Chart these untamed lands until they're deeply ingrained within your being. Cimmerian effigy burning to keep you warm.
It's survival, you think, and arch into the palm of his hand.
He holds you like a doll. One hand on your lower back, pressing your cunt to thigh. The other tightening around your throat. Bare skin against bare skin, and oh, you could just cry—
But this is not what you need. What you want. And he knows. He always does. Knows the inside of you like it's written down—inked on paper. Thumbs through the makeup of you, chapter by chapter, until no mystery remains.
“Tell me what you need, pet. Beg for it.”
“Let me—” his hands tighten, choking the air from your throat. Crushing your collar against your neck. “Lemme—kiss you, please, please—”
Tighter. Tighter. The world around you swims under a thin ocean. Phosphenes swim, untethered, in your periphery, ghosting along the curve of his shoulders. He might kill you yet. Keeping going, going, until those brittle, bird-like bones in your neck snap—
You'd let him, you think, muscles falling lax. Submissive. Just the way he says he likes even though you know he fucks you harder, touches you more, more, when you act out. Misbehave.
“Kiss me?” He taunts, words abrasive. Strident. Scrubbing hard against your skin. “Ain't that jus’ the sweetest thing I ever ‘eard.”
You burn, blister. “Please—”
“Reckon I ought to. Kissed your pretty cunt ‘fore I even kissed your lips, huh, pet?”
Your chest folds over itself. Stomach knotting. Balling tight. Unease is a razor blade scraping your nerves.
“Simon—”
“Ah, ah—” his hand tightens. Vicious. Chiding. “You ‘aven’t earned the privilege of sayin’ my name, ‘ave you? Cheeky thing. Might ‘ave to take a cane to you next.”
“No, no, no—! I'm—”
“Sorry?” He mocks, cocking his head. Condescension drips from the corners of his eyes.
“Please, sir—”
“Dad is gettin’ tired of this attitude of yours, pet—” his fingers dig into your skin, hard. Biting. A warning, you know. The blunt press of a blade to your jugular. But it thrums along the suture line to your desire, a wellspool of murk coiling low in your guts. You throb, cunt clenching down around nothing. Achingly empty. “Thought we got rid of it this time ‘round. Learned our lesson.”
The words are frank, prosaic. Had you any sense of self still malingering in the back of your head, you might have struck him for the blatant disrespect. But as you struggle to reach for it, pawing around in the vacuous abyss for any fragment of who you were before this, before him, you know—without any doubt—that none exists. Nothing. He’s too ingrained in your marrow, hewn into your skin. Copper sutures holding his filament within you. Cradled between your thighs, nestled in the rotting vacancy of your heart.
He knows you. Every part—
“We did—we did, da—daddy, please—”
It’s shallow. Muffled, like he’s trying to swallow it down, but you feel it rumble through his broad chest. A guttural sound. A groan. Drenched in pleasure, in want. So thick, you could almost taste it.
He hides his need under a layer of derision.
“Such a needy thing, ain't you? Desperate little slag like you wouldn't last out there, would you?”
His hand digs into your hip, pushing you off of his thigh. Eyes skewering into the wet stain on his trousers. A huff spills out—the sound a near perfect mimicry of crushing charcoal in your hand.
“No. You'd be eaten alive. Torn to pieces. World's too big for somethin' like you.”
Mindless, dazed, you nod. Arching into him. The leather leash snaps against your chest. “Yes, yes—”
His cock presses into your thigh, hard, fat. Your mouth waters. Drool dribbles down your chin.
He smells of tinder when he leans in close, blood drenched words biting into your skin. “messy today, aren't you? Be lost without me. Tha’s why you wear a collar, isn't it?”
Pitifully, you nod. Eyes full of tears. Each word is a bludgeon into your resolve. Into your sense of self.
But it earns you his affection, and his thumb presses into the corner of your mouth, unhinging your jaw until it falls open, lax. He holds you like that, mouth lax with his hand still around your neck. The other lifts away from your lips, goes to the thick band around the bridge of his nose, slips inside.
There's no buildup to it. No lingering sense of anticipation. Practical, detached, he merely tugs it down, and lets it snap under his chin.
Your breath is punched out of your lungs at the sight of him. Barefaced. Scarred. His nose is crooked; a jagged hook with scar tissue delineating the spots where it's been broken too many times. His lips are—
Full.
Mangled.
Scars run in thick slashes over them, denting the flesh in places. Burn marks line his pale flesh. Charcoal rubs into his eyes, highlighting the whites of his lashes against smeared soot.
He's—
Pretty.
Like a car crash. Calamity. The broken remains of a town after a hurricane, a tornado, ripped it apart. Ugly, brutal. His face looks like it's been mauled by a bear, a tiger. Scarred and hideous, and—
You shiver. His eyes drop, landing on your own lips. The soot on his brow flutters down, lands on his eyelashes when he lifts his brow up mockingly. Derision curdling an awful smirk on the corner of his mouth. Crooked. Like him. Like his teeth. His nose. His boxy jaw. His lips—
You kiss him.
Can't help yourself, really. There's a pull. Gravitational. Magnetic. You need, need, to taste him. To quench this ache in your jaw that makes you want to wrap your tongue around something, play with it between your teeth. Soft and sweet—
Ghost's lips are plump beneath yours. The thick scar tissue is almost velveteen when it glides over your bottom lip. You moan into it, into the feeling; victory—however pyrrhic—swims like mercury in your veins. Finally.
And he doesn't kiss you back. Doesn't make any effort to reciprocate at all, but he's not tense beneath you. Not stunned. Or reluctant. He’s pliant. Malleable. Agreeable, willing to let you devour his mouth, his taste, as much as you want. Doting. Letting you spoil yourself on him. With him.
Because you need him, don't you?
Like the air you breathe. The food he gives you—apples, always, on rainy days; salmon and rice in a pretty bowl with your name etched into the porcelain—and the attention, the affection—
(suck my cock, pretty girl. don't make me put a gag on you—deeper, you can take it, can't you? take my fat cock all the way up inside your sweet little cunt—my pretty girl—)
—it’s all so divine.
His hands on your body, your throat, spasm. Once. Just once. Against your leg, his cock twitches. Leaks prespend into the demin. You rut against his thigh, aching for it. Whimpering—
And then he's groaning into the kiss, snarling out your name until it wedges between your lungs, syphoned in from his scorching breath. Another brand in the shape of him.
Ghost kisses the same way he eats—messy, sloppy; all teeth and tongue, and full pretty lips. Clumsy, like no one taught him how to properly hold his silverware and he's trying to mock what he saw on television. Brumish. A broken, contemptuous pastiche of sumptuosity. A starving dog, snarling around its plundered morsel. Protective. Possessive.
It coils around you. Thick, smothering.
He sucks your tongue into his mouth, catching it between his teeth. The sting brings tears to the corner of your eyes, and when you pry them open, you find him already staring at you (always, always, always—), lidded. Heavy pools of desire shaded in the brume of a winter dawn. A bonfire flickering in the distance of a whiteout. Sanctuary from the cold—
He seems to catch himself. Expression flickering. Warbling around the edges. It closes off in a blink. He pulls back. Locks into the ashlar veneer of this indifference he wears like a suit of armour.
But you saw it. It was there. Within reach—
“Need me, don't you?” He drawls, timber a needlepoint between cruelty and desire. Sultry, low. Husky. He knows what it does to you. How he can unravel you at the seams with just his voice alone. “Need me so fuckin’ much, pet. Would be lost without me—”
“Please, Simon,” you whisper, feather-soft. Cunt throbbing, pulsing. Needy. “Please—”
The strident reprimand for using his name doesn't come. His hand tightens around your throat, unconscious. A paroxysm that has pleasure carving itself down your spine, electric.
“Come get it, then,” he rasps, voice wrecked. Raw. Curling at the edges, thickening his accent until the words elide.
Hand to your throat, he drags you close. Closer still. Keeps you sat pretty on his lap as he pulls you in for a bruising, hungry kiss. Tongue shoving between your teeth when you gasp.
His kisses are always hungry, but this is different. Greedy. He devours you whole. Eats you alive. His hand falls to your lower back, holding you tight to his chest.
You moan into it, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. Squeezing until your knuckles blanche, joints twinging in discomfort.
After months of nothing, this alone is bliss. His taste soaking onto your tongue, drenching it in the bitter tang of sage, wheatgrass, and stale cigarettes. Intoxicating. It leaks into you, nocuous. Infects from the inside out.
His plan coming to fruition, you think. What he sought out to do all along, ever since you wandered close to this untameable Tartarean guard, and offered yourself up to the jowls of a starving beast.
He pulls away with a heavy breath, eyes charing around the edges; brittle briquette.
“Gonna be a good girl from now on? Come upstairs, be a good mum for dad? Or am I gonna ‘ave to cane this—” his hand drops, grabbing a fistful of your ass in his hand, fingers digging into the skin between your cheeks. Possessive. It cracks like a whip down your nerves. “—tight lit’le arse?”
You shake your head instantly. Quickly. “I'll be good,” you whisper into his chin, tongue flicking out to lick across his scars. The dried sweat on his skin tastes briny. Reminds you of the ocean on a brumous November evening. The incipient yawn of a ravenous hurricane gathering its lot on the shore.
Sirens blare in the distance. Fear curdles in your guts, sits heavy like a stone. An anchor.
“So sweet f’me,” he mutters, words deepening as his head falls back, letting you pepper kisses across the underside of his jaw. Mouthing along the constellation of scars. His voice is rumble. It shivers across your lips, tongue. Shakes the marrow in your bones. “Better stay this way, pet.”
Into his pulse, you murmur, “I think you like it better when I’m bad.”
You can feel the snarl brimming in the back of his throat. Your ass stings with the phantom burn of when he lashed out with the whip. It drags a whimper out from deep within your chest.
His hand tightens around your neck. A warning. “Got some guests over f’dinner tonight. Would love to finally introduce them to my sweet little wife—” deft fingers slip across the dewy skin of your folds, knuckles grazing over your drenched hole. The touch makes you squirm. “But if you’re gonna be bad, then I’ll leave you locked up down ‘ere.”
“I’ll be good,” you swear, words a hushed breath over his jugular. His finger flattens, drawls soft, slow circles around your clit. “Ah, I’ll—I’ll be so, so good, Simon—”
“Good girls deserve rewards, don’t they?” His palm flexes possessively around your throat when you nip at old scar tissue. “Maybe I’ll let you sleep in our bed tonight instead of in your dog house. We can ‘ouse together. I’ll fuck you proper—” he roughly shoves two fingers into your hole, leering when you gasp, back arching in a bow. “Know this pretty pussy has been achin’ for me, ‘asn’t it? Gonna breed it full—”
There’s static in your head, ringing in your ear. The noise distorted, pulled underwater. You think you say something, plead—no, no, no, anything but that—but his hand tightens around your throat, fingers pushing up, up into you, notching against that spot inside that makes your head swim, your vision flicker. The abyssal chasm inside of you aches, rages; its waters swell, currents frothing, slamming against the ceiling of its iron prison, and—
Simon pulls away. Fingers stilling inside of you. No friction, no relief. Hypoxia renders the world silent. Muted. Held in stasis, stagnating at the edge of a gaping precipice he holds you over, secured by the fragile curve of your neck, fine bone china.
Phosphenes swim by. The chossy wobbles.
This distance is agony. You need to be closer, closer, to crawl inside of him, to live in the brackets of his ribs, safe and protected from the world he warns you about. Stone cold. You mewl, whine—
“Gonna be my good little wife?”
Gasping with broken lungs, you nod. Nod, nod until you’re nauseous. Dizzy. Sick—
His spit cools on your lip. Your hackles raise, body shuddering in revulsion—some primal part rears, hisses it’s infectious. Wrong. Get rid of it—
“Not gonna run?”
Slowly, you lick your lips, catching his sickness on your tongue. Swallowing it down until it sinks like a stone to the bottom of your belly. Heavy, for such a small, damning thing.
How absurd, you think. How absolutely mad.
Then you whisper, paperthin, “kiss me again, please, Simon—”
And he moves. Liquid in the gloam. Made more for shadows, midnight, than for golden apricity, where the light is harsh on his face, unveiling ruins and ravines; monoliths meant to be paid tribute to in the dark. Your hands lift to his jaw when he moves in, catching your lips in a bruising, biting kiss.
His touch is searing. Owning. He isn't laying claim: no, you're already his.
It's possessive and angry. No finesse. All slate teeth and tender tongue. They slide together in a strange game; little fawn stupidly nipping at the tiger's heel. He lets you, groaning into your mouth when you arch back, hips pushing into his fingers, taking him deeper. A pale pantomime of what's to come when he lays you on his soft bed, sweet and divine, and buries himself deep.
It should scare you. Ought to. And maybe it does. Survival, you think, but you still pull him closer. Deeper. Because it’s bliss, you find. The world around you falling dead. Silent. Pulled into a vacuum. Teetering on the edge of a black hole, event horizon. He drags you in.
Simon hums, pulling you closer. Touching you—soft, sweet. Palms a gyve. Shackles, chains. His fingers lift from your neck, trailing down the slope of your throat until he reaches the golden loop of your collar's hook. His gaze glides, magmatic, down to where your leash dangles between your heaving breasts.
It's almost tender when he grabs it into his fist. When he pulls, pulls—
Your back arching. His fingers slipping deeper inside your cunt. Obedient little doll.
When he lifts his eyes, the look you find is hot enough to char bone. You taste blood in the back of your throat—
Into the seam of your mouth, he purrs, “good girl.”
—and you swallow it down with a moan.
(after all, you know better than to run from starving dogs—)
#when your kidnapper is mean and rude as hell but you've been dtf since day one: the manifesto#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#i forget where i put peoples hands sometimes and then have to go back and remind myself where everyone's at lmao#hope you enjoyedddddddddddd#i'm gonna go pour myself a glass of bleach bye#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#cod#ghost#simon ghost riley#simon riley x you#ghost x you
650 notes
·
View notes
Note
Okay I have a request. Lando with his long time girlfriend and when Oscar joins the team they warn him to stay away from Lando’s drivers room after a race because him and reader love to ‘celebrate’ no matter the result of the race. And Oscar finds out the hard way. But McLaren are like use to it. 🤭🧡
Please and thank you.
a/n: i'm sorry this is short, but i literally couldn't come up with more for this :((( i'm trying to push through my little writer's block and put out as many fics as i possibly can while i still have a little time (i have my first exam on Thursday and I have so much shit to learn it's actually not even funny, but here i am writing fics instead of doing just that, yay me)
In all fairness, Oscar had been well warned about Lando and his girlfriend’s antics post-races. Given that the walls in the motorhome were very thin, as Oscar had stated previously, the team felt like they should let Oscar know what he was in for.
He hadn’t quite taken to heart what he had been told. He had been thinking to himself, how bad can it actually be? And oh boy, it was bad.
You and Lando had made a pact from the beginning of your relationship and when you started coming to all of his races that you would do something to celebrate his every race outcome, no matter how good or bad. You vowed to see every race as something positive and take something from each one.
The McLaren team had become accustomed to your shenanigans, knowing not to go anywhere near Lando’s driver room in the hours after the race. They had come to learn to stay away the hard way, if you know what I mean.
And yet, Oscar chose to ignore them. Why? He didn’t even know.
Maybe it was just pure curiosity, maybe it was ignorance, one could only make suppositions.
If he had managed not to hear anything that even remotely resembled the warnings he had been given up until that moment, he was in for a treat this time.
You had attended the Miami GP with Lando, catching a break from your studies and having promised him that he wouldn’t have to go to a race alone after failing to attend Japan. And imagine the joy you had felt once Lando had taken the checkered flag in P1. Scratch that, imagine what was going through your mind about the celebrations you were about to have with Lando as soon as he came back to the motorhome ;).
Your boyfriend had been thinking the exact same way, trying to make his way back to the hospitality as soon as he possibly could, but still politely stopping for interviews and photos or autographs.
But once he finally reached his room and saw you waiting for him, dressed only in your underwear, he knew he was in for an enormous treat.
Oscar hadn’t heard Lando get back. He had been so deep into thought and so focused on the music he had been listening to with headphones on that he hadn’t heard the door opening, the squeals that you let out once Lando had practically pounced on you as soon as he locked the door.
However, he was pulled out of his thoughts when he started hearing bangs, moans and dirty talking through his wall. At first he had thought he was hearing things. There was no way you were actually celebrating that loudly, right?
Wrong.
When he turned off the music and took off his headphones, he realized just how fucking loud you guys were being.
He didn’t even know how to react. What was he even supposed to do? Was he just supposed to leave his room and find somewhere else to hang out until you guys were done? Should he knock on your door and ask you guys to keep it down? No, Lando deserved the win and winding down whatever way he saw fit.
Sighing, he felt himself growing redder once the sounds on the other side of the wall only intensified. He couldn’t just stand around and listen to his teammate probably getting the fuck of his life after his maiden win, so he figured he would just get something to eat and hang out with either Mark or Logan.
The moment a member of the PR team, David, had seen him coming from his room, his cheeks a heavy crimson and refusing to make eye contact with anyone, he realized Oscar had just been the victim of Y/N and Lando.
“You heard them, didn’t you?” David asked him, an amused smile stretching on his face.
Oscar blushed even heavier, if that was even possible. Shyly, he nodded, making David laugh and pat him on the back.
“I didn’t think they were actually that bad” Oscar said, playing with his fingers as his ears could still pick up the noises he had done his best to avoid.
“We tried telling you, you didn’t want to believe us” David chuckled, patting him on the back again as he departed.
When you and Lando finally emerged from his room almost an hour later, the both of you laughed when you noticed how Oscar was avoiding eye contact with the both of you.
Poor Oscar…
comments and re-blogs help us grow!
much appreciated!!
REQUEST HERE
#imagines#oneshots#fanfiction#one shot#formula 1#formula one#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 fic#f1#lando norris x y/n#lando norris fanfic#lando norris x you#lando norris x reader#lando norris blurb#lando norris fic#lando norris fluff#lando norris imagine#oscar piastri#lando norris one shot#lando norris drabble#lando norris first win#ln4#ln4 x reader#ln4 imagine#ln4 fic#ln4 fluff#mclaren#mclaren f1
491 notes
·
View notes
Note
pogue!rafe who you call over to fix every minor inconveniences.. theres a cockroach bothering you or your ac’s acting up and rafe is the first guy you call 🙂↕️ he acts all nonchalant being “you could literally call the ac guy or your neighbor or someone. youre saying i come all the way here for this?” but you js go “but you’re the only one i trust rafey!!” and he eats that shit UP 🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️
: ・ෆ・┈・┈・ᕱ⑅ᕱ・┈・┈・ෆ・ :
perhaps you have strict kook parents who don’t let you bring men into the house — but rafe has worked on the house, they trust him — so he’s allowed right? he really doesn’t wanna come all that way just to press a few buttons on your ac that he knows you could do yourself — but he can’t help it, he’s just a man and you’re feeding his ego when you say stuff like “i’m not good at this kinda thing rafe, you’re all smart n’know how to fix things. oh, and my parents like you so they wouldn’t mind if you come here whilst they’re not home!” which makes his ears perk up like a rabbit of course. he reluctantly agrees and heads straight out.
it’s a specifically hot day, so when he turns up you’re walking around in just the tightest tiniest bikini because the ac is broken and you just couldn’t bring yourself to put clothes on.
he’s being his usual mean self, telling you to stay out of his way whilst he figures out the problem, and then once he figures it out starts telling you that you could have done it yourself — but you’re just smiling, barely listening, staring up at him looking all soft and grabbable which makes it hard for him to concentrate. you’re finding ways to get him to stay longer, offering him iced tea and food to which he declines every offer. before he leaves you get all upset, brow furrowed and pouty and he can’t stand it.
“what, huh? why are you looking at me like that?” he throws his arms up from the doorway to your bedroom, watching you sit on the bed sulking.
“why do you wanna leave so bad?” you mewl, genuinely sounding like you’re on the verge of tears and he sighs, scratching behind his ear.
“doin’ my job, kid. you’re not payin’ me to hang out and besides — m’not taking your money today.” he waves a hand and for a second you lose focus of your goal.
“wh— why?”
“i came over n’pressed a few buttons. s’not rocket science.”
“i’m still gonna pay you.” you cross your arms stubbornly and he spreads his palms carelessly, looking around.
“well uh, i’ll send it back.” he sarks and you huff, staring at your feet. he watches you for a moment, before giving in just a little and leaning on the door frame. “still upset? huh?”
“yes.” you pout.
“whats the problem now? you kook girls have got plenty’a shit to entertain yourself with alright you— you don’t need me for that. not a god damn babysitter.”
“you’re not babysitting. not even that much older than me, anyways.” you whine, only seemingly proving his point and he huffs out a laugh.
“jeeeesus christ.” he drawls under his breath before he strolls over to stand infront of you. you don’t look up at him, pointedly, so he taps beneath your chin twice. “hey.”
looking up, you look so sweet — he couldn’t deny it. “whats the issue?” he reiterates, and from his clipped tone you can tell he’s not gonna ask again if you refuse, he’ll just leave.
“want you…” you murmur, eyes getting hazy and low, pupils dilating before his very eyes like you’d flipped a switch. it’s tempting, very tempting but he backs off anyway.
“nah, nah you want a toy. go fuck on a dildo, m’not your slave.” he huffs tiredly as he drags his big body over to the doorway again. in almost a panic you let out a devastated noise, tears welling up.
“no i want you. rafey, c’mon… you have no idea. s’hurting.” you complain, and now his interest is piqued, turning around once more he licks his lips irritably at the back and forth, blinking at you.
“you think that shits not gonna hurt with me? huh?” he tilts his head, reaching down and boyishly grasping at the shape of himself through his jeans. “this shits bigger than any of the other suckers you’ve had. trust me, you don’t want this kid. go back to playing with kook boys.”
fed up and whiny, you bring your feet up onto the bed, spreading your thighs as you pull your bikini bottoms aside. he freezes on the spot, eyes locked in to the sight, only just taking in the pained look on your face. you weren’t lying, your cunt is a mess of slick, practically pulsating and clenching around nothing infront of him.
“i can take it. make me take it.” you request quietly, peering up at him. he exhales hard out his nose, looking around the room helplessly before storming towards you.
“yeah? alright. i’ll make you fuckin’ take it.”
: ・ෆ・┈・┈・ᕱ⑅ᕱ・┈・┈・ෆ・ :
463 notes
·
View notes
Text
summary: [ cs55, cl16, mv1, lh44, fa14, sv5, dr3, mwebber, jb22 x fem!reader ]
three major kinks + a couple minor kinks for each driver
word count: 1.8k
content warnings: smut under the cut (minors dni pls!), pwp; i'm not going to tag all of these bc that would take 5ever BUT 1) everything is consensual & in the setting of a happy, healthy relationship & 2) dm me if you are needing any specific tw's/cw's & i'll be happy to share those!
a/n: it's been a hot, hot minute since i've had the energy to write (i was busy surviving my surgery core rotation at a level 1 trauma center & pediatrics at a major children's hospital), but i've been brewing up a lil something for awhile now! i was stalling out on writing the last part of corsica, so i figured i'd at least give you this to get the juices flowing again! i started this blog about six months ago, & i'm nearly at 500 followers & i wanted to take a moment to thank you all! i love you so much and i hope you enjoy this! these are the kinks i think each of these drivers has! what proof do i have, you ask? absolute fuck-all! enjoy, loves! xx
creampie + breeding kink — he’s a family man & lord knows how badly he wants his own. he’s possessive, too, & this sates both of those desires well for him. he’s always whispering something in your ear, hand low on your belly about how good you’d look carrying his babies. and once you’re actually pregnant? sweet jesus, he’s never taking his hands off of you.
shower sex — he’s talked a number of times about how he’ll shower multiple times a day, and something tells me he’d never object to a partner. more than once he’s had you against the tiled walls until the water ran cold and your teeth were chattering. he’d then proceed to take it upon himself to warm you up again, ever the gentleman.
post-workout sex — there’s something about the way you look, out of breath & drenched in sweat that sends all the blood in his body rushing to his cock. you’re trying to push him away, afraid that you’re just too gross, but this man does not give a single fuck. he adores you in all your sweaty, sticky glory & is on you the second you make it back from your class, peeling you out of your leggings and wrangling your too-tight sports bra over your head. and it goes the other way as well: his favorite workout cooldown is fucking you senseless; there’s something deeply primal about the exertion of a workout that clouds his head with only thoughts of you, out of breath & on the brink of orgasm.
minor kinks | hair pulling — rough sex — cockwarming — pussy worship — possessiveness — soft dom — teasing — dirty talk
praise kink — he’s a talker in bed, and that means that he’s telling you just how delicious the tight clutch of your velvet walls feels around his cock. one language is not enough to tell you all the ways you make him feel, how good you are, how badly he’s wanted you. it certainly doesn’t hurt when you reciprocate, but the sounds he’s able to work out of you are often enough for him.
vanilla sex — listen: it’s no secret that this man is a romantic, and there are few things as romantic as good ole vanilla sex. sure, some spice is nice every once in a while, but he doesn’t need it to get his rocks off. he’s too caught up in the romance of it all—the tangle of limbs, skin pressed against skin, stuttering breaths, and stammering hearts—to want anything else. all he needs is you.
kissing — similar as above, charles is a sucker for romance, and a good makeout sess is just the right thing to get him hot and bothered. he’s very talented with languages, and his mastery of his tongue doesn’t end with words. *wink wink*
minor kinks | oral sex (giving + receiving) — creampie — cowgirl — bathtub sex — breathplay
mutually drunk sex — no matter how much he loves a club scene, he’d always find himself back in your arms. happy, sloppy, messy sex. as much as he loves a g&t, he loves the taste of you more.
wax play — we’ve seen the clips. he likes dripping the wax just as much as he likes being dripped on, and every time you go to light a candle his eyes get that hungry look like he could devour you whole; you’ve learned how to use this to your advantage.
dirty talk + praise kink — as we all know, this man is a certified YAPPER. and, unsurprisingly, that extends to the bedroom, too. always groaning, grunting, whispering sweet nothings in your ears, there’s very little that leaves him truly speechless; you’ll always know exactly how he feels when you're riding his cock or taking him deep in your throat, whether that’s in dutch, english, or the french he’s been trying to practice. and, given his upbringing, he lives for the praises that fall past your lips; he aims to please, and your sweet words are all the motivation he needs.
minor kinks | restraints (giving + receiving) — spanking — threesomes — nipple play — sensory play
massage — he takes great pride in his physique, and he thinks every inch of you is perfect. he loves watching all the tension leave your body. with such limited time in his busy, busy life, he thrives on the time he gets to spend with you; few things can compete with the peace, intimacy, and pleasure that comes from the feeling of your hands working over the tight muscles of his back and legs. and if they happen to wander somewhere else? well, what a happy accident that would be!
fingering — if there’s one thing lewis knows, it’s that a man’s most important tool isn’t the one between his legs. he loves all the ways in which you unravel for him, your back pressed against his chest with your legs draped over his own to keep them open. he’ll play with you like that for hours if he could, unlacing your composure until you're boneless and melting into him with every touch. (also, dear god, have you seen his hands? female gaze bait of the highest form.)
the lingerie stays on — there’s a litany of pick-up lines about clothes, etc. looking good on you but better on their floor, and a one mr. hamilton disagrees with that sentiment; we know well how he appreciates fine garments, and he loves them even more when you’re wearing them. he’s most certainly one to spoil his partner, and if he’s going to buy you that agent provocateur set, you can bet he wants to see you in it.
minor kinks | soft dom — cowgirl — voyeurism — intimacy — dirty talk — shower sex — pillowtalk
face riding — why do you think he takes so much pride in his neck strength? and even when you’re squirming away from overstimulation, he’s more than able to hold you in place by hooking his toned biceps over your shaking thighs. he’s a menace, but he never leaves a partner wanting for more.
wearing his clothes — okay, this one isn’t original in the slightest because i simply cannot get this blurb by @folkloresthings out of my head. nando would keel over at the sight of you in his clothes, especially if there was a particular lack of certain undergarments. he’d pull you in by the excess material and have you right there if feasible.
anal sex — all the nando fuckers know that he’s a little freaky—can i get an amen? that being said, his experience goes a long way in helping his partner get the most out of it and making it a pleasurable experience for all parties. he’d take his time working you open, pairing it with leg-shaking orgasms to wash away any doubts in your mind. it’s a new sensation, but a welcome one at that.
minor kinks | swallowing / facials — teasing — spanking — rough sex — sloppy sex — aftercare
teasing — a tyrant on the track and one in the bedroom as well. or in the car. or at a dinner with a few too many pairs of eyes. regardless, being a tease is his favorite above all else despite his own inability to handle a healthy dose of his own medicine.
overstimulation — this more or less goes hand-in-hand with his teasing, but he loves the way you beg when you’re coming down from one high and coasting right into another. “just one more, liebling” or “you’ve got another one, don’t you, schatz?” or “i know you can take it, kleiner hase” before making your vision go white as he wrings another orgasm from you.
morning sex — but, above all else, sebastian is a lover, and few things are quite as intimate as slow, fumbling, half-awake morning sex where you’re mumbling praises and communicating in soft, hushed sounds of pleasure. chasing sensations and desires before your mind is even fully awake takes a strong, trusting bond, and he prides himself on this with his partner.
minor kinks | cockwarming — spanking — mutual masturbation — toys — soft restraints (giving + receiving) — creampie / breeding — praise kink — dirty talk
cowgirl — this man & his mobsession w/ texas—need i say more? how does that saying go, again? “save a horse…”
photos/sextape — daniel3.jpg would like a word. he’s obsessed with this new medium, and what’s a better way to remember a spicy moment than on film? plus, when you’re traveling 200-plus days a year, you need a way to bring a piece of home with you however you can, whether that’s watching you fall apart while arching your back as he grips your shoulder tight or taking him into the back of your throat as you look up at him through damp lashes or riding his cock or or arching your back as he grips your shoulder tight…you get the picture.
threesomes — considering the way that everyone fawns over him on the grid, this man could so easily work himself into some surprising pairings. his love language is physical touch and he’s not afraid to share it. that, combined with his competitiveness and desire to please, turns into a dangerous desire for him to see you fucked out and overwhelmed by your own need for more.
minor kinks | mirror sex — dirty talk — thigh riding — facefucking — rough sex — hair pulling
rough sex — aussie grit. there’s nothing else i need to say other than he’s a wild ride.
aftercare — any rough lover worth their prowess, though, knows the importance of aftercare, and mark is no different in that regard. he takes it very seriously and is always checking in afterward to make sure you enjoyed yourself as much as he did, peppering you in sweet kisses and warm embraces.
pussy worship — we’ve all seen the clip, right? this man knows how to eat pussy and he’s damn good at it. better yet—he loves doing it. you’d practically have to pry him off you from the overstimulation, his tongue, lips, and teeth finding alllll the right ways to make you fall apart.
minor kinks | cockwarming — spanking — possessiveness — massage — swallowing / facials
exhibitionism + voyeurism — the grid slag. he’s confident about his body and his abilities, and he’s not afraid to share. he’s not overly possessive and an unabashed hedonist to boot, so this pairing works perfectly to get his rocks off (and hopefully yours, too). he’s a little freak, and he’s not afraid to let it show!
spanking — when you’re especially mouthy (frequently to get these exact reactions) and he’s a little bold, jenson is partial to taking you over his knee and seeing how long you can keep up the act before you’re a whimpering mess. frequently this ends with him literally kissing your ass, two fingers buried knuckle deep in your dripping cunt while another toys with your too-sensitive clit.
brattiness — again, like above, he loves when you backtalk or drag your heels on him, making him work for your pleasure and, on some nights, your submission. (though, he’s not afraid to admit how fucking hot he finds it when you take control, using him for your pleasure and taking what you need. all that matters to him is raw, messy, dirty fun.)
minor kinks | threesomes — begging — degradation kink (giving + receiving) — nipple play — oral sex (giving + receiving) — toys
final note: that's all, folks! now what do you think? let me know! 🤍 as always, you can follow my writing sideblog @velvetsainz-writes where i reblog inspo & recs!
#f1 smut#formula one smut#formula 1 smut#f1 driver smut#charles leclerc x reader#cl16 x reader#cl16 smut#carlos sainz x reader#cs55 x reader#cs55 smut#fa14 x reader#lh44 x reader#mv1 x reader#mv33 x reader#dr3 x reader#sv5 x reader#jb22 x reader#jenson button x reader#fernando alonso x reader#fa14 smut#lewis hamilton x reader#lh44 smut#max verstappen x reader#mv33 smut#mv1 smut#daniel ricciardo x reader#dr3 smut#danny ric x reader#sebastian vettel x reader#sv5 smut
744 notes
·
View notes
Text
“Oh my god, Robin.” Steve is whispering into the mouth piece of his desk phone, begging she can hear him. Because he’s not going to be removing his hovering hand from over his mouth, while he groans into the phone, risking being overheard.
“What?” She sounds exasperated but not annoyed.
“You know the new guy? The one starting in IT today?”
“Yeah?” He can hear her clicking the ballpoint pen he thought he hid last week.
“He is so hot, and I need your help finding out if he plays for our team.”
“Your team, Steve. If he played for my team, this would be a different conversation. Why can’t you figure it out yourself?”
“Because Mike was the one that brought him by and you know how Mike feels about me. I’m pretty sure he told Eddie I was an asshole or something because he barely made eye contact. I don’t want to come on too strong and then I make it worse if he’s straight.” Steve glances over his cube wall to ensure no one’s listening. “Please, do this for me and I’ll buy you tacos for lunch.”
“Fine, oh speak of the devil. Here they come.” Steve hears her chair squeak. “I’ll call you back.”
They hang up and Steve leans in his chair trying to peer down the aisle and see if he can watch the interaction. Robin’s desk isn’t quite down the line so he can only see the top of Mike and Eddie’s head. Neither of their skulls are giving anything away so he sighs and accepts he’ll have to wait for Robin’s call.
After a painstaking 7 minutes Steve’s phone rings. He grabs it immediately and grunts an acknowledgment.
“Um.”
Steve’s stomach drops because that’s not Robin’s voice. “Sorry, this is Steve.”
“Hey, um, it’s Eddie. We just met.”
“Yeah,” Steve’s voice lilts up. “What’s up?”
“Oh, Robin said you had a question about something.” Of course she did.
“Uh, did she mention what it was about?” He’s going to murder her.
“No,” he sounds annoyed.
Think quick. “I was…do you play softball? I’m on a league and we’re always looking for new players.”
“No?” He’s probably wondering why he had Robin ask him to call. “Not really a sports guy.”
“Oh, yeah ok. That makes sense.” Steve rubs the back of his neck scrambling for conversation.
“Why does that make sense?”
Shit. “No, I just noticed your rings and nail polish. I can never keep polish on my nails during the season. Gets chipped too easily.” Eddie hums some kind of acknowledgment that Steve can’t interpret. “You’re probably in a band or something, way cooler than softball.” Steve sighs and needs to get out of this shit show of a conversation stat.
“I play guitar,” Eddie states simply.
“See? Yeah, so much cooler than softball. I never learned how to play anything. Wanted to, thought it would get me more chicks in high school.” Steve realizes what that sounds like and rushes to add. “Or anyone now.”
“Yeah, ok. Was there something computer related you needed help with?”
Steve wants to jump off the fifth floor of this building because why is he such a disaster at this? “Sorry, no. You’re probably busy. It was nice meeting you.”
“Yeah, you too, man.”
“Bye,” Eddie doesn’t respond and Steve drops the receiver down like he wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole.
“Well that was embarrassing.” Steve whips around to see Robin hovering behind him. “I set you up an easy hit and that’s what you do with it?” She has her right hand on her hip and her left hanging on the edge of his cube wall.
“You sabotaged me.” He points his finger at her then pushes himself to his feet. He needs more coffee.
“I did nothing of the sort.” She follows close behind as he weaves through the maze toward the break room.
“Yes you did. I asked you to find out and keep me away from the entire thing. You didn’t even send me a courtesy Slack message. This does not equal tacos.”
“Not fair!” She whines as he pushes the door open with his shoulder.
“It’s only fair since you didn’t do anything. I was the one who looked like an idiot fumbling to come up with something to say to the guy because my best friend refused to find out if he’s queer on her own.”
Robin’s eyes are wide and she’s not speaking which slightly terrifies Steve. He turns around to see the man of the hour pouring himself a cup of coffee.
“Hmm,” Eddie tuts, then leans against the counter with a level of nonchalance that shouldn’t be doing something for Steve. “That explains that. Glad I won’t be obsessing the rest of the day about what in the world the hot guy was going on about.”
Eddie’s eyes flick up to Steve and when Steve sees the corner of Eddie’s mouth tick up he can’t help it when a blush spreads across his cheeks. Steve thinks he hears Robin back out of the room but he’s not going to turn around to verify.
“My band has a show this Friday. You should come.” He says while pushing his body away from the counter and stalking toward Steve.
“Yeah,” Steve watches the man move closer.
“I’ll email you the info.” Eddie stops a foot in front of Steve, much too close for casual, and it sends a rush of butterflies through his gut. “Harrington, right?”
“Uh huh.”
“Cool,” Eddie puts his hands on Steve’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze as he steps past. “Oh and it’s too bad you don’t paint your nails more. I bet your fingers look pretty wrapped around…that bat.” Steve feels the weight of the pause and so does his dick if the twitch it gives means anything. “See ya later, man.”
When Eddie disappears through the doorway and Steve’s alone he exhales loudly just before Robin’s pushing her way back into the break room.
“Soooooo?”
“Wanna split the carne asada plate?”
“Yes!” She fist bumps into the air. “Knew it.”
“Also, how does manicures at lunch tomorrow sound?” She cocks her head at him. “He thinks my fingers would look good painted when holding-“
“Don’t!” She interrupts.
“A baseball bat,” he says innocently.
“Uh huh,” she narrows her eyes. “As long as you’re driving, I’m game.”
#Eddie finds out how good Steve’s fingers look late Friday night#modern office romance au#steddie#platonic stobin#steve harrington#eddie munson#robin buckley#my writing#steddie ficlet#steddiecameraroll posts
463 notes
·
View notes
Note
early season Spencer and his gf who’s a bit cynical and hyper independent but every time Spencer does something for her (like zipping up her coat and such) she’s can’t string a sentence together
Spencer loves you. He loves your frown and the way you scowl at almost everyone at any time of the day.
He’s figured out how to get a smile from you over the months of being together. It’s not so much a smile, it’s more an uptick of your lips and a pretty little stutter as you try to sift through your words.
You’re stubborn to a fault, you like your independence and Spencer likes you independent but every once in a while he puts his foot down and you acquiesce to what he’s asking of you.
Like now, he’s about to put his foot down and Derek can’t wait to experience this sternness.
It’s peak fall season in Virginia and you lose body heat easily. Still, you resist the sensible need of a sweater and Spencer hates how your lips go purple and your hands are icy.
Spencer has one of your sweaters in his bag, he’s just waiting for you to ask. He’s been waiting all day. He might end up waiting all day, you seem to have no intention of getting warm.
He calls your name and you look up, eyes meeting his over your computer. “Cold?”
You narrow your eyes and Spencer bites the inside of his cheek to hide a smile. “No, are you cold?”
Spencer shakes his head, and waits for the hustle of the lunch hour to approach you again. He digs through his bag and then approaches you.
“C’mere.” He murmurs, helping you stand and frowning when your hands are colder than they should be. “You lose heat too fast.” He mutters, helping you into the sweater despite your scowl. You note mutely that it’s your Hocus Pocus sweater- the warmest one you have.
Spencer can feel your heartbeat stutter, he hears the hitch in your breath as you say, “I know, s’normal.”
Spencer shakes his head. “It’s actually not. It can be linked to a lot of things. Have you ever checked it out?”
You bat his hands away as they sneak up the bottom of your sweater to fold it the way you like. Spencer smiles when you trip over your words, “I um, I have. It’s estrogen related.”
Spencer stamps a kiss to your temple, “I’ll make you a hot chocolate and bring your lunch.”
You go to argue, tell Spencer that it’s not necessary but he’s already off to the kitchen. You sit with a little smile on your face as you get back to your files.
You miss the way Derek grins, crunching on a carrot as Spencer sets the kettle on. “Okay, pretty boy! I see you.” Spencer’s cheeks are red hot.
#spencerreid#spencer reid#spencer reid one shot#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid blurb#spencer reid fluff#dr spencer reid#spencer reid x black reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x yn#spencer reid x y/n
342 notes
·
View notes
Text
sleepovers
chris sturniolo x fab!reader
summary: you moved in with the sturniolo triplets per their request and of course being their best friend you said yes. but you soon realized you never needed a bedroom as you were always sleeping over in the youngest’s bedroom the most.
word count: 1388
genre: fluff
warnings: curses, suggestive content (i couldn’t help it), bad writing :/ (i'm new to writing for the sturniolo’s leave me alone), slightly proofread
This was the first night you didn’t end up in his bed. You were woken up by Chris and Nick yelling at each other. “You literally just said-,” you overheard as you walked out of your vacant bedroom. The only thing was your bed and your dresser that had a few clothes in it.
“Guys, why are we fighting?” you spoke up, entering the kitchen with the three of them occupying the space. You moved your hand up to groggily rub your eyes. Chris and Matt were eating breakfast while Nick was standing there on the other side of the table. Matt was idle on his phone, silently listening to the bickering between his brothers.
“Nick keeps fucking telling me that I’m yapping but he’s literally yapping telling me this shit,” Chris responded.
“Cause you literally have been yapping all morning,” Nick spoke up, smirking, “did y/n not sleep with you or something?”
Your head turned quickly towards the two, a slight blush appearing on your cheeks. Nick glances at you, already knowing the answer. Chris had finally slept by himself last night. The only reason being he passed out almost immediately after a long night filming their Friday car video. You decided to take advantage of that fact and slept in your own bedroom. Although, it felt extremely odd not having his warm figure beside you. At first Chris would always sleep with his brothers. But one night you had been in his room, hanging out with him and he asked you to sleep with him since you were already in there. You contemplated for a good minute, finally becoming comfortable in your new bedroom. You ended up saying yes after he gave you his increasingly hard to say no puppy eyes.
“Chris went to sleep before me,” you shrugged, grabbing a spoon for your cereal. Chris’ eyes lit up seeing you about to come sit next to him. Of course the seat you claimed as yours was next to his. You walked over and sat next to him, giving him a slight glance before turning to the oldest in front of you.
“Anyways, today is upload day!” Nick giggled. You grinned, excited to see what they talked about. Even though you already knew because you walked in on Nick editing the video last night. You watched as Nick walked away, you assumed to his bedroom. Matt had also rambled on about needing to get dressed for the day and left to his own room.
“Hi,” Chris spoke up first. His thoughts still linger on the fact that you didn’t sleep with him last night. “Why didn’t you stay with me?”
“I didn’t want to disturb you,” you admit. “You looked peaceful and you finally were the one to sleep before me.” You expected him to just shrug it off but his gaze on you didn’t change.
“You still could’ve joined me,” he frowned.
“I’ll sleep with you tonight, okay?” You inquire. He nodded, standing up to go down to his room. You sat there silently, already ready for the day.
The four of you ended up going to the mall to do some shopping, mainly for the three triplets, but you did enjoy yourself while with them. You were back at home, sitting on the couch eating dinner and watching a movie before going to bed for the night. The movie this time was Harry Potter, a suggestion from you. It wasn’t a surprise in the middle of the movie Nick and Matt had fallen asleep on the couch, while you and Chris were still up intently watching the movie.
“I swear to god if Dobby doesn’t shut the fuck up,” Chris spoke up.
You grinned at him, “No but he’s so cute, I love him so much.”
Chris glanced over at you, immediately noting that your mouth was agape in a yawn. “Baby, wanna go to bed?” he asked. You nodded your head, confused about the nickname, too tired to even react. He walked over to your figure bundled up in one of the blankets and helped you up, grabbing your hand and putting his hand on your waist for a moment before leading you to his bedroom downstairs.
You giggled at the image of an excited boy ready to go to bed with his favorite person. Of course Chris would never tell you that, knowing that his feelings needed to be subsided. But he couldn’t help but feel passion for someone like you. You were always there for him when he needed it. His bed is always occupied by the both of you, laughing your asses off from a random tiktok he scrolled on or sleeping peacefully as the moonlight shines on your soft face.
As he opened the door, he told you he needed to ‘piss really badly he might piss his pants’. Which left you alone in his room, you opened one of his drawers on the bottom and decided to pick out one of his shirts instead of wearing the sleep shirt you were wearing at the moment. Without thinking you took off your shirt the moment the door opened, Chris looking up from his phone and gasping. “Shit, y/n, fuck I didn’t mean to walk out on you.”
“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” you stated nonchalantly. His cheeks turned a bright pink briefly before he cleared his throat, his mind roaming to the previous times you two ended up wrapped in each other's arms naked at night. The burning sensation of needing to be even closer to each other was stronger than before. Besides, he’s walked in on you changing ‘on accident’ maybe a few too many times before you both first experienced each other in a more intimate way.
You scrambled yourself together and walked over to the bed that Chris had already plopped onto. Like literally plopped, he made a funny noise too. He sighed, waiting for you under his covers. You didn’t know what you two were. All you knew was that there was definitely more than just friends. You two don’t normally end up wrapped in each other without clothes, it really is just a rare thing you two do.
Chris patted the spot on his bed you always lay on. You said, “I have to brush my teeth first, I can’t stand stinky breath.” As you were brushing your teeth, you could hear Chris’ phone going off with what you assumed to be tiktok. A few chuckles coming out of his lips before setting his phone down.
“Y/n, if you don’t hurry up and get in here I think I might explode from lack of affection,” he joked, slightly. You huffed, quickly spitting and rinsing before finally leaping on top of him, laying on his whole body. He grunted.
“You wanted me to lay with you, this is how I’m going to lay on you, pretty boy,” you stated. His arms wrap around your waist, moving your bodies to be side to side. “You bitch!” you exclaimed, pouting, “I was comfortable like that.”
His eyes focused on the slight glimpse of light reflected in your eyes. His mind paid no attention to what the source was, only admiring how your eyes squinted creating a small eye smile, as one would put it. He loved how you would smile with your eyes before your lips.
“You know, I really did think about staying with you last night, I just thought maybe it was better for both of us to sleep separately… for one night, baby,” you explained as you watched his lips turn into a frown at your statement. You giggled at the image. His arm was wrapped around your waist, your bodies touching with your head now slightly on his chest. Looking up at him, with your hand combing through his fluffy hair, smiling. “You know you’re really pretty,” you sleepily commented.
His hands rubbed your back, chuckling, his chest moving up and down making your own body follow his movements. “I really lik-” he started before hearing a loud snore erupt in the relatively quiet room. Your peaceful figure laying there in front of him, he moved his arm on your waist to bring you closer to him. He smiled to himself before closing his eyes to fall asleep too.
tags: @recklessmatt @scvrllet (if you would like to be added, feel free to comment or go in my asks!)
#chris sturniolo#chris sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo#chris sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo smut#christopher sturniolo x reader#sturniolo triplets#matt sturniolo#matt sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo angst
291 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sam fumbled Gwen’s Bonzo reveal… but he’d been primed to do so
I suspect that there's going to be a LOT of conversation around Sam after this episode, and since this episode was so good that I couldn't think of a meme or shitpost, I decided I'd throw my hat into the ring and do some character analysis instead. CW: Spoilers for The Magnus Protocol episode 18, "Solo Work" under the cut.
Episode 18 finally gave us the Sam and Gwen interaction I (and I think a lot of others) have been so desperate to finally see, and boy oh boy do I have Thoughts… none of which are new per se, but Sam’s reaction to Gwen dropping the Bonzo Bomb seems to have reinforced the way I’ve been reading (and projecting in fanfiction oops) Sam, his personality, and his motivations.
Out of everyone new we’ve been introduced to so far, Sam has by far gotten the most explicit development and conversation around his personality. Even before episode 1, folks who participated in the ARG got a preview of our favorite baby shrimp’s personality through access to the child database spreadsheet that was, presumably, used to document the results of the experiments run on children participating in The Magnus Institute’s “gifted and talented program.” From this spreadsheet, we can gather that Baby Sam is logical, empathetic, works towards the benefit of others (prosocial), and fair… but also a rule follower and highly willing to follow the lead of an authority figure, even if it is in conflict with his personal views. The picture this information paints is an interesting one, but when taken in a vacuum leaves us with an impression of Sam as someone who is kind but lacking in backbone.
This idea of Sam as “kind but lacking in backbone” is further reinforced in canon, as Alice of multiple occasions rags on him for being “noodly” and “ickle fawn” and a “baby shrimp,” all seeming to highlight that Sam has the sort of helplessness about him typically ascribed to sopping wet kittens and baby birds. And I think that if we view Sam’s outburst when Gwen brings up Bonzo through this lens alone, it’s going to seem WAY out of character for him and a downright cruel response.
Now while I do believe that Sam is empathetic and fair and, sometimes, a little helpless, I’ve been inclined to believe from early on that much of Sam’s affable self-deprecation is a way to cover or soften what can be, at times, a tendency to be hard-headed, temperamental, a little manipulative, and petty (and I’m totally not just saying that as a people-pleaser-and-gifted-kid-in-recovery who has been projecting hard on Sam since Day 1). And it’s this second batch of personality traits, the ones that make Sam so real and interesting to me, that I think set up the disaster of a conversation between Sam and Gwen.
We have definitely seen hints of Sam’s hard-headedness and manipulative leanings in previous episodes: it comes out most often around Alice, showing his stubbornness in the form of refusing to give up his lines of questioning and curiosity about what is happening in the cases and at the OIAR; and revealing his willingness to manipulate a situation the form of subtly redirecting Alice’s focus away from prying into his crush on Celia and during the mocha incident (I have, of course, already explored Sam’s manipulative tendencies in my totally comprehensive shitpost).
And we’ve even been shown at times before episode 18 where Sam can be petty, his buzzed insistence that Alice try and keep things “professional” at work after his date with Celia being at the top of the list. The case headers filed for “Putting Down Roots” and “Pet Project” also suggest to me Sam’s ability to be stubborn and petty: in both instances, Alice and Gwen suggest a different classification than the one that Sam ultimately files. In the case of Gwen in “Pet Project,” she’s dismissive of him when he tries to ask if she’s all right.
While there’s no way to know for sure, I interpret this interaction as part of the reason why Sam ultimately disregarded Gwen’s suggestion for how to file the case—she shut him down and shut him out, and the petty part of his heart couldn’t resist ignoring her recommendation out of spite. This scene also begins to lay the foundations for Sam and Gwen’s interactions in episode 18 and, I suspect, the rest of the season.
So with all of this in mind, let’s look at episode 18. When Gwen emerges from Lena’s office, Alice has just finished shutting Sam down, again. Throughout most of this season, Sam has been desperate for some validation that the cases they are listening to are real, that whatever happened to him at The Magnus Institute was real, and that him pursuing this line of questioning and wanting to find answers isn’t a waste of his time. Alice has, of course, been not-so-gently nudging him away from this line of thinking for most of the season, while Gwen has been icing him out about it up until this point. Just about the only one who has given his questioning any air has been Celia who is, conveniently, not there. Even after Alice has her very own supernatural experience that is reaffirmed in the case Sam receives, she strongly pushes back on his idea that they should investigate and pursue this further. He understands why she doesn’t want to learn more, but it’s clear that he’s still frustrated at the end of the conversation.
Enter Gwen. Here, for the first time, it seems like she’s opening up about what is going on at the OIAR, and Sam is immediately hooked, even dropping his softer and sympathetic side when Alice tries to redirect with one of her classic barbs.
After being shut down time and time again, Sam is so eager for confirmation that there is more to all of this than meets the eye. And then Gwen says the B-word, and Sam loses it.
Sam is laughing here, but honestly? I think he’s angry, and his reaction is one of complete disbelief that Gwen would set him up like this just to, in his mind, take the piss out of him. He thinks that, at best, Gwen is having a breakdown and he’s once again being shut out or, at worst, Gwen is making a joke at his expense. Now, he’s used to being the butt of a joke thanks to being friends with Alice, but despite that we’ve never heard him call her an asshole the way he does Gwen. Temperamental and petty, turning around his hurt and anger over being stonewalled again and again to lash out at Gwen with his joke.
And honestly, can you blame him? (I can’t.)
Of course this wasn’t the ideal reaction. I have been waiting for Sam and Gwen to have a serious heart-to-heart about what’s going on forever, and Sam pretty much blew that chance without even realizing it. And I would be surprised if we get an apology out of him anytime soon, not only because this interaction is likely to push Gwen away from wanting to even be around Sam, but also because he’s not going to believe that Gwen wasn’t making fun of him or that Gwen isn’t having a delusional breakdown until he sees Mr. Bonzo with his own two eyes.
I also think this conversation would have gone very differently had Celia been there instead of Alice. Sam’s slew of psychological testing suggests he’s willing to follow the leader, and in this case he doesn’t seem immune to Alice’s general dismissiveness of Gwen. He may have even been primed to lash out at Gwen in this moment because Alice is constantly ragging on her; chameleon-like, he’ll take on the shade of the strongest personality when he’s on uncertain or dangerous footing. It’s almost a guarantee that Celia would have taken Gwen seriously, not only because she’s likely from or connected to the TMA-verse of horrors, but also because it was Celia who received the first Mr. Bonzo case. And had Celia been there to temper the disbelief, Sam would have absolutely been ready to hear Gwen out in full. I honestly cannot wait for Celia to be back in office; she’s going to walk in to these new, rancid office vibes like Troy from Community walking into the whole room on fire while casually carrying the pizza.
So, what do I think this means for the rest of the season? Well, the title of this episode seems telling: Solo Work. Gwen and Sam’s respective desires for their experiences to be validated and their goals to be taken seriously paired with the seeming dismissiveness of those around them are going to push them along their separate paths, dangerously alone. And I suspect that it is only going to be Celia or, more likely, an encounter with Bonzo, that is going to put them back on the same path—if it happens at all. Good luck, babes!
#The Magnus Protocol#tmagp#tmagp theory#tmagp spoilers#The Magnus Protocol spoilers#tmagp ep 18#tmagp solo work#samama khalid#Sam Khalid#gwen bouchard#the magnus institute#character analysis#sam khalid character analysis#Teal's TMAGP takes
372 notes
·
View notes
Text
New in the Suburbs – New Neighboor! Joshua
Warnings: Smut, fingering, pussy eating, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, lots of flirting and dirty talk, hair pulling, clit stimulation, g'spot stimulation, overstimulation, oversensitivity, good first impression (both).
Word Count: 4.5k
On a bright and sunny day, you found yourself outside your house, taking advantage of the weather to give your car a well-deserved wash. The gentle breeze carried the scent of soap and water as you stood there, hose in hand, working diligently to make your car shine. The vehicle was parked just outside the garage, basking in the warmth of the sun.
The water gushed from the hose, soaking both you and the car. You leaned casually on the hood, propping your feet up on the tall tire to ensure you reached every nook and cranny with the rinse. Your skin glistened under the sun, creating a glow that seemed to catch the attention of anyone passing by.
As you immerse yourself in the task, a voice interrupted your thoughts. Glancing over your shoulder, you spotted Dokyeom, Jihoon, and a new face you had never seen before. The unfamiliar guy wore khaki shorts and a crisp white buttoned shirt, adorned with the subtle elegance of the ARMANI logo. He radiated a captivating charm that caught you off guard.
To his eyes, you likely appeared enchanting—looking like the movie cover of a hot summer full of tanned, toned people. Your white tank top clung to your form, its transparency accentuated by the water, and your shorts molded against your body, creating a silhouette that seemed straight out of a summer fantasy. With your wet hair tousled from the refreshing shower you gave yourself, the trio approached, curious and captivated.
Dokyeom, noticing the enchantment in Joshua's gaze, decided to take the initiative and introduce his friend to you. With a playful smile, he nudged Joshua and gestured towards you.
"Y/N, meet Joshua," Dokyeom announced, his tone carrying a hint of mischief. "He just moved into the neighborhood."
You turned your attention to Joshua, and your eyes met his. There was a warmth in his gaze, and you couldn't help but return his friendly smile. "Nice to meet you, Joshua,"
He extended his hand, shaking yours with a firm grip that lingered longer than the usual greeting. A subtle connection sparked in that moment as you exchanged smiles.
"The pleasure is all mine, Y/N. I must say, Dokyeom has been singing the praises of this neighborhood, but meeting you adds a whole new level of charm."
Dokyeom chuckled, nudging Joshua playfully. "Told you it's a great place. And Y/N here is one of the reasons why."
Feeling a playful embarrassment, you couldn't help but blush as you lightly hit Dokyeom's chest in response to his teasing. He laughed, clearly enjoying the lighthearted moment.
"Alright, alright, I see what's going on here," Dokyeom teased, exchanging knowing glances with Joshua. "We'll leave you to do your car wash duties. But Joshua, make sure you get settled in properly, alright?"
Joshua nodded with a smile, still holding a lingering gaze that didn't go unnoticed. "Absolutely. Thanks for the warm welcome, Y/N. I'll catch you around."
As they turned to leave, you bid them farewell with a wave. "Sure thing! Nice meeting you, Joshua. And Dokyeom, don't you dare make this a neighborhood gossip!"
Dokyeom laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I won't say a word! Have fun, Y/N."
As you resumed attending to the car, thoughts swirled in your mind. You wondered what it was about Joshua that made him so captivating. While you couldn't quite put a finger on it, there was a magnetic draw to his presence.
As the day went by, you continued your routine, occasionally stealing glances toward the house where Joshua had moved in. The encounter replayed in your memory, leaving you curious to see him again.
The next day, as you lounged in your backyard, basking in the sunshine while you wore your bikinis, a familiar figure caught your eye. Joshua, his athletic frame glistening with a touch of sweat, ran past your house.
Just as he passed by, he suddenly stopped and turned towards you, leaning against the fence that separated your yards. His eyes widened slightly, as if he hadn't expected to find you there in such a relaxed state. A warm smile spread across his face as he gave you a friendly wave.
Joshua leaned against the fence, his breath slightly labored from the run. He looked at you and grinned. "Well, this is a pleasant surprise. You look absolutely glowing in the sun."
You chuckled softly, a slight blush creeping up your cheeks. "Thanks, I suppose the sun has a way of bringing out the best in everyone, including you. Running, I see. You always this energetic in the mornings?"
Joshua shrugged playfully, raking a hand through his sweat-soaked hair.
"Ah, you know it's part of my morning routine. Gotta get the blood pumping before the day begins. But I must say, the sight of you basking in the sun has added a few extra beats to my heart."
You grinned, a mix of surprise and amusement dancing in your eyes. "Is this your way of flirting with me, Mr. Energetic? Or are those "extra beats" just from your run?"
Joshua chuckled, a playful glint in his gaze. "Ah, you caught me. It's a bit of both, I suppose. Can you blame me for being flirty when faced with such a captivating view?"
As you walked toward him swaying your hips, Joshua's eyes tracked you as you approached, his smile widening in response. Once you reached the fence and leaned against it, Joshua's eyes flicked up to meet yours.
"You know, it's the second day and you're already flirting with me? My friends will surely enjoy hearing about this!" you taunted, your voice laced with a hint of teasing challenge.
Joshua's eyes tracked you as you approached, his smile widening in response. Once you reached the fence and leaned against it, he responded with a teasing tone.
"Oh, am I making such a strong impression already?" He teased, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "If my flirting is that obvious, I guess I can't keep it a secret from your friends for long. They'll find out real quick that I can't help but flirt with the beautiful girl next door."
A soft laugh escaped your lips, enjoying the light-hearted banter between you. You leaned in a little closer, keeping your gaze locked with his. "Well, I'll make sure to let them know. But don't worry, I won't tell them how eagerly you've been eyeing me in my bikinis."
Joshua's cheeks flushed slightly, a hint of embarrassment creeping onto his face. He quickly regained his composure and grinned. "Fair enough. I'll keep it subtle, or at least I'll try to. No promises, though."
You couldn't help but smile at his response. The chemistry between you was palpable, leaving a flutter in your chest. Leaning back a bit, you teased, "Well, if you can't resist your eyes wandering, I might have to start wearing something more... revealing. I'm sure you wouldn't mind that, right?"
Joshua's eyes widened, a blush deepening on his cheeks. He stuttered slightly before mustering a playful reply. "Ah, now you're just doing it to torment me, aren't you? But you won't hear any complaints from me."
Your smirk widened, enjoying his flustered reaction. "Oh, not tormenting, just giving you a little taste."
Joshua's eyes glimmered with anticipation as he played along. "Just a taste? I'm starting to think you're a master of teasing." He paused for a moment, his gaze shifting to your lips before meeting your eyes again. "But I can play that game too."
Joshua took a step closer, his body nearly against yours. His eyes held a mixture of playfulness and desire. You looked back at him, a hint of a smile on your face. "Can you?"
He nods, his voice low and husky. "Oh, I definitely can."
You stepped back, creating a small gap between you, and glanced back at him with a sultry gaze. You turned back around and laid back on the lounger, giving him a teasing look over your shoulder.
Joshua paused for a moment, his gaze roving over you before leaving a casual comment. "You know, I might have to run near your house more often if this is the view I get." He chuckled softly, his eyes meeting yours one more time before he started to walk back towards his house.
You watched him leave, the events of the conversation replaying in your mind. The chemistry between you was undeniable, leaving you curious about what the future might hold.
As the week progressed, you observed the hustle and bustle next door, catching glimpses of Joshua moving into his new home. From time to time, you would spot him jogging past your house during his morning runs. The sight of him sent a flutter in your chest, and you couldn't help but wonder if he was intentionally passing by your place on his runs.
[...]
Today was Friday, and after a long day at work, you stepped out of the shower and wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel. As you padded into the kitchen, there was a sudden knock on the door. Surprised, you hesitated for a moment, wondering who could be visiting at this hour.
You approached the door and peered through the peephole, curiosity piqued. To your surprise, you saw Joshua standing there, wearing a casual outfit and a friendly smile.
You widened your eyes slightly, a mix of surprise and excitement flooding your senses. Quickly, you adjusted your towel and took a breath to compose yourself. Opening the door, you greeted Joshua with a warm smile, quickly running a hand through your damp hair
"Hey there, Joshua. What brings you there?" You asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Joshua's smile widened as he saw you, taking in the sight of you in your towel. his eyes momentarily flickering down before returning to meet yours. He ran a hand through his hair in a casual gesture.
"Ah, I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time," he stuttered slightly, clearly trying to keep his mind from wandering to the sight of you in a towel.
You chuckled softly, not missing the momentary distraction in his eyes.
"Not at all. You just caught me right after a shower."
"I noticed you just got home a while ago, so I thought I'd drop by to see how your day was and maybe..." he hesitated for a moment, a playful glint in his gaze. "Maybe invite you to hang out tonight. If you're not too tired, that is."
"I just wanted to invite you to my housewarming party tonight. It's nothing grand, just some friends chilling and having a good time."
You nodded with a small smile, appreciative of the invite, but feeling slightly embarrassed in your impromptu outfit.
"Sure, that sounds great! Let me just change real quick and I’ll be right over."
Joshua’s expression turned playfully sulky as he responded with a touch of disappointment. “Ah, do you really have to change? I quite liked the sight of you in that towel.”
As his sulky expression intensified, you couldn't help but tease him a bit. You laughed playfully, a mischievous glint in your eyes.
"Ah, now you really want me to wear just a towel?” You teased, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “Well, I suppose I could give everyone a treat, but then again, where's the fun in having me all to yourself if there's a crowd?"
Joshua's disappointment melted away, replaced by a sly smile that matched your own. He took a step closer, the distance between you growing increasingly intimate.
"You're right," he mused, his voice low and suggestive. "Crowds are overrated, especially when there's a chance to have you all to myself." His gaze fixated on your lips, a hint of desire in his eyes.
As he stepped inside, the air thick with tension and desire, you found yourself leaning against the wall for support. His closeness sent a shiver down your spine, and as he closed the door, the moment grew even more intimate.
Your breath hitched slightly, and your eyes widened, meeting his intense gaze. You could feel the wetness between your legs growing, and the desire within you intensifying, despite your best attempts to hide it.
"You sure' you want to change?"
Your breath hitched as his mouth hovered near your lips, anticipating a kiss. But instead, Joshua planted a kiss on your neck, gently nibbling and sending a bolt of electricity through you. A moan escaped your lips, the sensation causing your chest to heave.
His body pressed against yours, and he pressed his lips into your skin, trailing a path of kisses down your neck and collarbone.
"You've been on my mind all week, you know that? Every time I ran past your house, it took every ounce of restraint not to come knock on your door and finish what I started that first day." His mouth then traveled up to your earlobe, nibbling it gently.
As his hands gripped your waist, you were flush against the wall and his body, the towel doing little to shield you from the heat of his touch. His breath mingled with yours, warm and tantalizing. You parted your lips just as his caressed yours in a soft tease.
Joshua took advantage of your parted lips, gently coaxing his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. His other hand found its way under the towel, tracing the curve of your ass possessively. You gasped softly, the pleasure intensifying.
His hand caressing your breast was both gentle and masterful, with a slight shift in movement, the knot of the towel gave way, and you gasped against his mouth. He took the opportunity to pull you closer and explore further.
With you even more exposed, the feel of your bodies pressed together without barriers intensified the sensations. Joshua kissed his way down your jaw and neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses in their wake. You could feel his arousal pressing into you, a delicious friction that made you ache for more. The sound of your moans and heavy breathing filled the air, adding to the wanton atmosphere.
He guided you to the dining table, the surface cool against your heated skin. You sat on its edge, the cool sensation only adding to the contrast of sensations. As he pushed your legs apart, exposing your wet dripping pussy to him.
His attention and touch on your thighs were both possessive and admiring, leaving behind a trail of shivers with every caress. He whispered words of praise, telling you how much enjoyed the sight of you like this, vulnerable and naked before him.
His thumb brushed against your sensitive bundle of nerves, and your back arched in response. You gasped as jolts of pleasure shot through you, leaving you breathless.
''Joshua! Hmm…"
"Oh, that's right. Say my name, sweetheart. Let me hear how much you want me," he whispered against your skin, his voice low and seductive. You gasped, arching further under the ministrations of his touch.
"Joshua..." You moaned softly, your body shivering with pleasure. "Yes..." he murmured, his thumb circling your sensitive clit.
Joshua continued with his thumb moving in slow circles, driving you closer to the edge. "You sound so lovely when you’re all needy."
You let him do with you what he pleased, lying back on the table, with chest rising and falling fast, you arch your back as he continued to tease you. His touch grew more insistent, determined to bring you to the brink.
Joshua penetrates two of his fingers inside your pussy, your cunt swallowing his fingers eagerly continued their work, stroking and gently rubbing, while his other hand moved up to caress your belly and chest.
You moaned softly, a desperate edge to your voice. "I’m close," you murmur, every syllable quivering with pleasure. He picked up on your need, his breath warm against your ear. "I know," he whispered, a teasing lilt in his tone. "I can feel how close you are." His touch against you intensified, determined to take you over the edge.
He worked you to the brink of ecstasy, his touch and whispers driving you wild. Your body arched and trembled under his ministrations. "Let go," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "Cum for me."
You grabbed onto his forearm, holding on tight as you came undone. Your body tensed and arched, a strangled scream escaping your lips as waves of pleasure washed over you. His hand continued to move gently as you rode it out, coaxing every last spasm from your trembling body.
Even as you began to come down from the high, Joshua continued his ministrations, not giving you a moment reprieve. You writhed and squirmed on the table, oversensitive and breathless. "Wait," you stuttered, your voice strained. "I can't take it anymore."
"Shh," he whispered, his hand cupping your cheek. "Just let me take care of you." His touch gently persisted, pushing you to another edge.
Your gasp was followed by a plea, his name falling from your lips like a desperate refrain. The pleasure was overwhelming, verging on the edge of pain, and the knot tightened in your belly, the sensations building again. "Joshua," you gasped again, tears welling in your eyes as he continued to coax you towards your second climax.
Joshua kneeled down between your thighs, his gaze darkened with desire. The proximity of his mouth to your sensitive clit was enough to drive you wild, even before he touched you. And when he did, you let out a sharp cry, the heat of his tongue adding to the intense sensations.
You grasped onto his hair, needing something to anchor you, as the pleasure built with each movement of his tongue. Your vision blurred at the edges, the world starting to lose focus as the climax approached again. Joshua's groaned against you, the sound reverberating through your body and sending more waves of pleasure through you.
In the aftermath of your climax, you lay on the table, your body boneless and breathless. Joshua ran his hands gently over your trembling form, coaxing you back from the heights of pleasure.
"You okay, sweetheart?" He murmured, his voice soft and tender.
You nodded, your gaze hazy and satisfied. Joshua continued to caress your skin, his touch light and soothing.
As he tended to you, Joshua's kisses and caresses became increasingly needy. His mouth on your neck, biting and nibbling, while his hands roamed your body possessively.
You could feel the hardness of his cock pressing against you, the contact sending a wave of heat through you. Despite your recent climax, his touch reignited your desire and set your nerves aflame.
His mouth moved lower, trailing down your chest to reach your sensitive nipples. He teased, his tongue swirling around each hard bud. You gasped at the sensitivity of it, your hand grasping at his hair.
His tongue flicking against them teasingly, as he looks at you.
As Joshua's lips continued to explore your body and his actions grew more intense, you couldn't help but notice the evident bulge in his pants. His control, usually so steadfast, seemed to falter slightly, the desire between you overwhelming his restraint.
"J-Joshua," you managed to gasp out, your voice thick with desire. "You're... so hard."
He lifted his head, meeting your gaze, his eyes darkened with need.
Joshua's gaze darkened further as you mentioned his arousal, the words only serving to heighten his desire. "Can you feel what you did to me?" he managed to say, his voice strained with restraint.
He shifted slightly, his body pressing more firmly against yours, letting you feel the full extent of his need. Heat pulsed between you, leaving no room for doubt about how much he wanted you.
You responded to his words with an ardent sigh, the sound dripping with need. "I want– " you gasped as his mouth found your neck again, planting a hot kiss. "I want to feel you. All of you." Your words were barely above a whisper, but their meaning, clear.
His control slipped further, the hunger in his gaze deepening as he looked up at you. "You'll have me," he promised, his voice filled with desire. "Every inch."
As your hand strayed down your belly, your fingers teasing your throbbing clit, Joshua watched in awe and desire. The sight was almost too much, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to resist the urge to take control.
He tried to focus on breathing as he watched your actions, his own desire straining against the confines of his pants. Your eyes met his, and he could do nothing to resist his lust. He quickly unstrapped his belt, tossing it on the ground.
As you caressed yourself, Joshua's control shattered. His pants hit the floor moments before he closed the distance between you, his hands finding your wrists, gently drawing them away from your body.
"No," he said breathlessly. "Let me."
In that moment, all rational thought faded away, replaced only by sensation and heat. The feeling of him pressing his cock against your slit, sent shivers through your body, your breath catching in your throat as you waited for him to fully enter you.
"Eyes on me, sweetheart." Joshua commands.
You tried to focus on his gaze as he entered you, but the sensation of his size stretching you was overwhelming. Your eyes rolled back slightly, the pleasure and slight twinge of pain sending your mind to another multiverse.
With every slow and sharp rock of his hips, your whole body trembled, the sensations overwhelming. Joshua's moans echoed through the room as he held your gaze, the heat between you intensifying with each moment. Feeling him fight to hold back, to prolong the moment, ignited a fire within you.
As you clenched and unclenched around him, his expression grew more and more strained, the struggle to hold back evident in his gritted teeth and sweaty face.
"Is it good Joshua?" You ask between gasps and thrusts.
You watched as his eyes closed, his expression contorting with the effort to hold on for you, a tortured groan escaping his throat.
"Yes–," he managed to gasp out, the word leaving his lips in a rush of breath. "It's so good, so good. I can't–"
You knew the pleasure he was experiencing was immense, his body trembling as he fought to maintain control for your sake.
Each time you clenched around him, his body tensed in response, the feeling of him inside you driving him closer and closer to the edge.
Joshua's eyes met yours as you felt a sudden surge of moisture between your folds, his expression shifting from a mixture of ecstasy to amazement. "You're so wet," he gasped, his voice dripping with desire.
He increased his pace, his gaze never leaving yours, his hands finding purchase on your hips. His grip was firm, as if pulling you closer only deepened the pleasure.
The sounds of flesh against flesh echoing in the room, as your hands roamed over his chest, needing something to anchor you in the waves of sensation.
His thumb finds your sensitive bud again, a wave of pleasure washes over you, making your entire body convulse beneath him. You curse, writhing helplessly as he continues to tease and caress you, pushing you closer to the edge. Your voice is a breathy mix of pleasure and desire, the only words leaving your lips a pleading, "Don't stop."
With a swift move, he turns you, your body now braced against the table, and then, he thrust into you again, the table scraping against the floor as he pulls your hair roughly.
Joshua's grip on your hair tightened as he pulled your head back, exposing your neck to his kisses.
A strangled moan escaped your lips as your breath came in pants, the intensity building with each passing moment, as if you could feel him deeper from this angle.
His cock finds the spot, and you sobbed, the sensation almost overwhelming, and he chuckled softly against your skin, his voice filled with satisfaction. "Is this it?" he whispered, his words husky and seductive. "I think I found it."
Each time he repeated the motion, you could only gasp out a choked, "Yes!"
You felt him hit against that sensitive spot again and again, each time eliciting a sharp gasp or moan from your parted lips. He knew exactly where to touch you, his touch teasing and expert.
With each hit of that spot, your legs trembled, threatening to give out completely and your body went limp. A mixture of pleasure and pain surged through you, your tears mixing with the sensations as he roughly grasped your hair. "Don't hold back," he muttered, his voice low and full of need. "Let me hear you."
"Joshua," you gasped between sobs and moans, his name a broken plea on your lips. your body had lost all control, helpless against the torrent of sensations and his masterful touch. "J-Joshua," you gasped, your voice breaking. "Please... I can't... I'm going to..."
Your words ended in a strangled groan, the intensity of the pleasure too much. You felt yourself clench around him, your body beginning to unravel, pushed over the edge by his relentless pace. "Oh god–" you managed to gasp out, your nails digging into the table.
And then it hits you, waves of ecstasy crashing over you like a tidal wave, drowning out all coherent thought. You arched your back, head thrown back as you cried out, the intensity overwhelming.
Your pussy tightened around him, drawing him closer to cum as well.
Through it all, Joshua held you, one hand steadying your hips while the other still gripped your hair, grounding you through the storm of pleasure. He rode out the waves with you, his own breath growing ragged as he fought to hold back his own release.
The tears fell faster now, blurring your vision as you lost yourself to the raw lust and desire. Your body convulsed and trembled as you whispered, "Fuck, fuck, fuck..."
He loosened his grip on your hair as you sagged against the table, and you nearly fell forward onto the table face-first. Joshua steadied you quickly, supporting you with one strong arm while he turned you to sit on the table. He gathered you, holding you close in a soothing embrace, allowing you to catch your breath.
''Take your time. I've got you." he murmured softly as he caressed your scalp.
You finally managed to find your voice, albeit somewhat raspy and breathless. "Joshua," you whispered, lifting your head from his shoulder to meet his gaze. "You know your friends will be wondering what's taking so long."
"Let them wonder," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of humor. He brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle. "I'm in no rush to leave. Besides, I'm far more interested in tending to your needs than worrying about them."
You chuckle.
Joshua chuckled softly, still holding you close. "They'll be fine," he said, "What's a few more minutes?"
As if on cue, a sudden knock sounded on your door, followed by the sound of a familiar voice. "Joshua? You in there, man?"
#seventeen imagines#seventeen reactions#seventeen headcanons#seventeen scenarios#seventeen x reader#seventeen smut#seventeen fluff#seventeen#svt smut#svt imagines#mingyu smut#joshua#seungcheol smut#joshua fluff#gose#joshua smut#seventeen fanfic#hong jisoo smut#hong jisoo#hong jisoo fluff#joshua hong x you#joshua hong fluff#joshua hong x reader#joshua hong#joshua hong smut#joshua x y/n#joshua x you#joshua x reader#joshua hong x yn#hong jisoo x reader
217 notes
·
View notes
Text
Cooking With Gale
Gale wants to make himself useful and bring the camp together with his love of cooking, but one evasive half-drow just isn’t biting. How’s a wizard going to solve this?
Read more BG3 comics here!
Aaaa I’ve been working on this 2-3 months and so glad to have it done! I was starting to lose confidence in the middle, that it wasn’t going anywhere, but I’m very satisfied seeing it all together and the progression of the camp.
Aldiirn grew up in poison-happy drow society and is incredibly skittish about accepting food from others, and here’s poor Gale trying to prove he can be useful to the party as their cook and has to piece together what he’s up against night by night. Aldiirn is used to evading uncomfortable things non-confrontationally, which works fine when his job has him moving place to place but not when he’s stuck with the same group of strangers long-term. I like to think that since Mystra and Eilistraee are so close, and Eilistraee’s biggest temple is in Waterdeep, that Gale knows -just- enough to figure out Aldiirn’s deal with food and the code word to show it’s safe.
354 notes
·
View notes
Note
how can i start writing more often?
That's going to depend what's stopping you from doing so. I'll tackle some of the common ones and see if that helps you out.
You're working or going to school full time or otherwise have a lot of responsibilities that fill your days
Writing doesn't have to be done in large chunks of time. You can write for ten minutes and still get something onto the page. You can also write by dictating a voice note into your phone and using speech-to-text to transcribe it. When you have a day off or a larger amount of downtime, try to block off some of it for writing or for editing those speech-to-text transcripts into a more polished story.
You don't have any ideas
Seek you writing prompt blogs. Make a post on your tumblr asking for requests. Expand the type of idea you're willing to write - not everything needs to be a 100K multichap, so think of a oneshot idea and write that instead.
Every time you think about posting a fic, you get so anxious you just stop writing
Write something that you're not planning to post. Write something by hand so that you can't post it without making the decision to transcribe it and post it later. Focus on the writing instead of the possible audience reactions to the writing.
You have an idea you love, but writing all of the backstory to get you to that point is so demotivating you can't even start
Make a bulleted list of all of the backstory components that need to be in place before you can get to the part of the story you want to write. Now write the part you're actually interested in. After you write that, check in with that bulleted list and see if any of those parts are more interesting now. If they are, write those too. If they're not, you're done and can move onto the next story. You can post those criteria as your summary or author's note or tags.
You have an idea you love, but all of the research you have to do first is so demotivating you can't even start
Do you actually need to do the research? Can you write the story in a way that hand-waves things (bring in some pseudo-science or a Fantasy Costco or something to get around what you're trying to figure out). Is there someone else who has done this research already? Do you know someone who loves researching that you could get to help you out? Is the research just an excuse for procrastination because the idea isn't fully baked yet?
You spend so much time researching that by the time you're ready to start writing you don't have any time left
Do you enjoy researching more than writing? Is there someone you can partner with to write the story based on your idea and research? Do you tend to research and write in the same block of time? In that case, separate those activities out. Research until you get to a good stopping point and then write until you run out of research and need to learn more.
Every time you start writing, someone interrupts you
If the interruptions come via social media or other online means, mute your notifications while you're writing. Change your status from online to do not disturb. If the interruptions are IRL, have a conversation with your family or roommates and work out an agreement where you can get blocks of time without interruptions or where you can put up a signal that you're writing and can't be disturbed. Get a whiteboard or sticky notes or something so that people can write down what they need from you and you can check it when you're done.
Every time you try to write, you get distracted by a bunch of other things and can't actually get much writing done
If you write on a device that connects to the internet, you can get really distracted by the internet. There are lots of tools out there to block out those kinds of distractions to help you right (example). You can also try writing by hand on paper so that the internet is further away from the task.
Writing is really intimidating. The blank page taunts you.
Start by writing out your idea at the top of the page. It doesn't have to be in-depth, it can just be something like "A and B are stuck in different locations for a long period of time and they discover they're in love with each other while writing letters back and forth." By doing this, the page is no longer blank so you can fool yourself into thinking you've already started writing and just need to continue.
When I sit down to write, I don't know where you start.
If you're in the process of writing a story, try not to end a writing session on the end of a scene. Either write the start of the next scene or stop writing before you hit the end of the current scene. Then the next time you write, you have a place to pick up from and don't need to make a choice of where to go next. If you're starting a new idea, start at the point where it's interesting. You can go back and write the boring part later if you decide you really want or need to.
There are lots more things that stop people from writing, but I'll let people in the notes add more examples. If you're a writer, how do you make time for writing?
340 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Doctor experiencing racism, firsthand, for the first time in their life...Oh, man, I gotta go through this.
First, I love that he doesn't realize what's wrong at first. He just figures that the rich twats are being twats. No big deal, The Doctor dealt with twats before, he can handle them once more. So he tries, he tries using every ounce of logic to convince them that going with him will be for the best. But they refuse anyway because they're uncomfortable with someone like him and his wild story about a blue box that's bigger on the inside.
Yet he doesn't care. The Doctor still wants to help these people, even if they don't trust him. It speaks volumes of the kind of good person that The Doctor is, no matter the face. They will always help someone--EVERYONE--because to them, no life in the universe isn't worth saving. He makes this clear in his desperation to make them STOP their crazy plan to become pilgrims and let him take them to a new, safer planet. Except that they still refuse, and he's stunned. He can't understand how they can be so insane to not accept his help.
And then it hits. He finally gets the reason why they don't want his help. It's all because of this one, vile concept that still managed to persist for decades, centuries, GENERATIONS on a distant planet. Despite the time and the distance, racism still persisted and The Doctor was too blind to notice the signs. The fact that there was no other person of color in that bubble or how often Lindy was annoyed and disgusted with The Doctor specifically while being more lenient toward Ruby. She blocked The Doctor immediately, but was willing to hear Ruby out despite how clearly aggravated she became with her. It was all there, and none of us noticed, not even The Doctor because...they're not used to thinking that way. They're used to people trusting their face and listening to them because they've always remembered being White and never once considered that someone could be prejudiced towards them.
All of this comes to The Doctor all at once...and it is so ridiculous that all he can do is laugh. The sheer utter lunacy that racism existed and he just now realized HE could experience it is insane. It's insane that this is something he never thought of. It's insane that this is STILL something he has to think of. And that laughter soon turns to anger because he HATES that it's still a thing he has to think of. He hates that he couldn't safe what's left of a civilization because of something that should have been outdated LONG ago.
The Doctor finally experienced racism first hand, and it broke both of his hearts because of it.
#doctor who#fifteenth doctor#ncuti gatwa#doctor who spoilers#fucking love that doctor who is good again
256 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
eu-vi-pra-voce
Sem título
love-sunnah
Love.sunnah
zona-outbound-lembang-bandu-blog
Outbound Lembang Bandung
snowydiscord
welp