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bonny-kookoo · 6 months

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Jungkook

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 | Part 17

Attempt #2

Tags/Warnings: Game Designer!Jungkook, Brat Tamer!Jungkook, kinda himbo!Jungkook, Non Idol AU, established relationship, mentions of smut but SFW chapter, he's such a scatterbrain

Length: 1k words

Callob with @euphoricfilter ! 💜

-> Masterlist

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After pushing through the rest of the dinner, and simultaneously creating a new plan inside his head, he’s currently slowly waking up again.

The bed in this home truly is amazing, and he makes a mental note to ask Maria after this trip what kind of mattress she uses here. One look to the side offers him a good look at you still fast asleep, hugging one of the pillows while your legs are very much thrown entirely over his lower body. You always sleep this close to him- and he loves it, wouldn’t have it any other way if ever asked. Even his hand is still holding yours- something you do even if you end up fighting. Or rather, most of the time.

During your biggest low yet, he’d only been able to latch his hand onto the hem of your shirt maybe, and even then, only if you were asleep already.

But right now, you’re fine again- and he can hold you as much as he sees fit once more. So he sleepily reaches over to pull you close, just to freeze halfway through it, remembering yesterday’s dilemma he’s had to face. He’s got to make sure it’s there this time, because if it isn’t he’s royally fucked, and everything was basically for nothing.

He slowly unravels himself from the covers and you as well, before he walks towards his travel bag, just to find it zipped shut. Fuck. There’s no way he can open this without you waking up- so he has to find a different moment to check on it later, possibly after a good breakfast. Yeah, that makes sense- perfect plan!

He jumps on the bed again, this time absolutely with the intention to wake you up, body covering yours above the covers as he presses kisses to your neck and cheek until you begin to stir awake. “Jungkook.. What the fuck..” You mumble, turning away from him to hide your face into the pillow you’re holding.

“Come on baby, let’s go have some overpriced breakfast somewhere!” He beams down at you, arms pushing and lifting from the mattress to make your body shake. “Baby~!” He whines, hands moving towards your sides-

“Jeon Jungkook, tickle me and I’ll kick your balls I swear.”

His hands move away again, fairly quickly, as he moves to sit up properly and have you turn over, just so his hands can pull you up by your wrists into a sitting position. “Come on, I’ll go get ready first while you wake up-” He smiles, pecking your lips before he gets out of bed. “-and you can try and wake up a little.” Your boyfriend laughs, before he disappears into the bathroom close by.

You’re not a morning person. In fact, you’re not a waking-up person at all. Especially considering that he kept you occupied in bed until 4 AM this morning, and it’s now not even close to 10 AM. How he can work on such little sleep is beyond you- but you’d love to sleep the entire day away, if he’d let you.

And if you wouldn’t get a raging headache from it.

But a few hours later, after both a good shower and some physical love during that shower, you’re now at a random restaurant that’s not very fancy at all- but the burgers online looked great, so you insisted on going. Jungkook isn’t sulking either, excited as he spotted other people’s food around you at other tables looking just as portrayed in the web search earlier. “Do you want to go to that museum later?” He asks, as someone puts down your food for both of you.

“I don’t know?” You shrug. “It was just a suggestion.. It looked pretty cool.” You say, and he nods.

“Listen, this trip is mainly for you baby.” He smiles, watching how you happily beam at your food. “So whatever you say is what we’ll do.” Jungkook urges, making you nod happily.

“Oh, by the way-” You say while he’s starting to eat. “-did you bring some of your equipment to the trip?” You wonder, and he frowns a bit in confusion, shaking his head. “Cause there was a small box on the bed yesterday, and I thought I’ve seen it on your table at home before, so I put it in your bag just to not have you forget it or something-” You mumble between bites of fries, and his blood runs cold.

Fuck. He completely forgot about that.

“Uh-” He coughs from trying to talk too quickly after swallowing, needing a sip of his soda to calm down again. Think Jungkook, think! “Yeah, it’s the uh, box from my smart watch.” He offers.

“Oh?” You say, drinking as well. “But you never really wear it.” You chat away, making him sweat.

“Yeah but like, I thought it was pretty expensive you know, I should probably wear it more often.” He tries to wiggle himself through his web of lies he’s creating right now, hoping that you’ll drop it.

“Huh, makes sense.” You shrug, much to his relief. “Should I remind you to wear it more often? I mean, you’re literally not wearing it right now either.” You laugh, and he nods, trying to keep it in mind that it’s safe, in his bag, everything’s fine.

“Ah, yeah!” He nods, before biting into his burger just to have an excuse not to talk about it much further. He’s got no clue how to make his next move again- the restaurant was supposed to be the perfect moment and place for it, and now that it got fucked over, he’s got to improvise.

And he’s not good at being spontaneous. Not at all.

Especially not when later, on the way back to the house he’s rented out for the week, you’re busy riding him in the driver’s seat, car parked somewhere where you both can’t be easily seen, and his brain is just empty once more as he holds your waist. You fail to make it home in time to get ready and really visit the museum, instead lounging around in the large living room area drinking wine and eating all the different snacks that Maria had stocked up on, while watching trash TV.

And only later, back in bed, does he realize that none of what you both did today was any different to your normal days off back home. Another day, another wasted opportunity.

How the hell is he supposed to make his move now, with only three days left to go?

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagines #jungkook imagines #jeon jungkook fanfic

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nomazee · 10 days

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hello, could I request a model! Dan Heng x fashion designer! Reader? Here’s some keywords if they might help, tiredness, praise, warmth, try-on. The timestamp is 17:57, thank you so much!

as always i had too much fun with this... i love the idea of model dan heng but i still made him an awkward wet rag in this one (because i love him) THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST!!!

my 1k event!

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You greet Dan Heng with your usual warm smile and a “hey, love” that never fails to fluster him. He’s heard it from you a handful of times now, visiting your studio a few times a week at your request for fittings and some brainstorming sessions. He thinks that the frequency and timing of his visits is definitely unnecessary from a professional standpoint, but he’s not planning on bringing that up any time soon. Not when your hands are so kind, light on his shoulders as you guide him through your studio.

“I started on the pieces that I showed you the sketches for, um, last week, was it? I’m kind of losing track of time.” Dan Heng wouldn’t tell you out loud, but he can tell. There’s a huge table in the center of the room, and he can barely see its surface beneath all the cut fabric and tracing paper and tangled thread from your serger. For someone working under deadline after deadline, you’re handling yourself better than he would, but he still can’t help the heat of concern flickering in the crease of his brow.

This is your debut show, he knows as much. So he won’t meddle with your workflow. Only hope that you can somehow pick up the signals that he’s sending you to please sit down and maybe drink water?

“I need you to try them on,” you tell him, a gentle command as you hand him a hanger draped in silky fabrics and delicate laces. “There’s pants and a lace shirt. I’ll turn around while you change, but you need to be wearing pretty much nothing underneath these, if that’s okay. And then I’ll hem your pants—let me get you some shoes…” you’re trailing off, passing the clothes to him before turning around in a rush to find him a pair of heeled boots.

The fabric is— it’s nice. The pants are some kind of silky, lustrous material, dark blue and cool on his skin, and the shirt is embarrassingly sheer but you’ve seen him in and out of clothes in the last month often enough that he can’t really be too sheepish about it now. What does make him flush, however, is the look on your face as you turn around to stare at him, black heeled shoes forgotten in your hands as your eyes flit across Dan Heng’s form.

He can hear the soft breaths that you take, no more labored than usual, but it feels so intimate and so quiet that his palms grow damp. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he waits for you to— say something, anything, tell him to take it off and go home or maybe stay, instead. The back of his neck feels itchy and he’s pretty sure you haven’t blinked yet.

“The, um. It looks…” you’re trailing off, again, but you’re also walking towards him until you’re so close he can hear your breathing even more distinctly than before, along with the rustling of your own clothes as you lift up a hand to play with the ornamented collar of his shirt. “The color is nice on you. It’s different from the other pieces I’ve made you try, right?”

Dan Heng only has enough strength to nod in response, the rest of his energy taken away by the feeling of your finger tips on the soft, pliant skin beneath his jaw. He’s sweating— so much, it must be gross, but he can see you chewing the inside of your cheek as you drag your fingers to the seam on the shoulder.

“I was thinking a sash around the waist, but I don’t think it suits this outfit. Maybe I can add something like that to the pieces from last week, though.” And you’re back to your usual self, much to his dismay. Your rambling is endearing and tender, but your previously weighted gaze has now lightened, focused on the waist of his pants and the hand-sewn hook-and-bar closure, and Dan Heng misses having it trained on him. You’ve never been this close, this warm, this focused on him in particular, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to fight the urge to take your hands between his own.

“Dan Heng,” you say his name, breaking him out of his anxious reverie with a quiet call. “You have a lot on your plate for this show. You have three outfit changes, which can be a lot, but I know you’re capable. Do you know you’re capable?”

He wants to say this is silly, that you’re the last person who should be telling anybody else that they have a lot on their plate, considering that you’re sewing more than a dozen garments all on your own, with no assistants besides your in-and-out mentors who rarely find time to help. He says none of that, though, because your gaze is trained on his again and he’s busy hoping you don’t notice all the little involuntary twitches in his face.

“Yeah, I’m— I know.”

You smile, again, something saccharine and addictive and he wants to chase it, over and over and over. “Good. You’re my favorite model, you know. It’s important that you’re ready.”

Dan Heng could say a million things. He could say this is unprofessional, or joke and say that he’s currently one of your only models, or tell you that he’s always ready as long as he’s wearing something put together by you and your hands alone. Instead, he nods like a fool, stumbling over a weak “okay” and trying to ignore the way his stomach twists when you laugh a little.

“I’ll be doing your makeup for the show, too. I hope you don’t mind that. I just wanted to do something specific for you,” and it’s hit after hit with you, and his throat squeezes again because you’re still smiling and talking all about him like he’s your prized gift, and he really really doesn’t hate it. “You trust me with an eyeliner pen, right?”

His mouth is dry, but he forces himself to joke back before you kick him out for being so awkward. “I trust you with a needle more than I trust you with a makeup brush.” And you laugh, and his stomach still hurts but the tightness of his mouth loosens up into a diffident smile. It’s just a joke, really, because he wouldn’t mind you handling a brush against his face, or the gentle press of your fingers on his cheeks and on top of his eyelids, or the awestruck look you give him every time he tries something on, or the weight of your hands on his shoulders when you drag him around your studio.

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gen taglist: @tragedy-of-commons @lasiancunin @hanyi-writes

fill out my event taglist (pinned) or general taglist (navi) to be tagged in upcoming works!

#nora hits 1k #dan heng x reader #honkai x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #danheng x reader #dan heng hsr x reader #hsr dan heng x reader #i have been progressively going more and more over the 1k word limit i set for myself

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kiatheinsomniac · 1 year

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KINKTOBER 2022

✩*⢄⢁✧day thirty: age difference - Thranduil

tag: #Tyelpëlos Kinktober Event

notes: I told myself I wouldn't write any more long oneshots for kinktober and did I listen? No AHAHA which is why this is late BUT this fic marks the end of my kinktober! This was so much fun and I'd love to do it again next year with Eden! This is my first time writing daddy kink and I would like to just really emphasize that all characters are 18+ and I was hoping the mention of reader having some alcohol would help convey this however I later realised that might be misinterpreted as underage drinking otherwise lmao. Reader is an adult but it's just a family vacay, ok? Good. Now that that's out of the way, enjoy!

word count: 5.3k

warnings: smut, NSFW, MDNI, age difference, older man/younger woman, modern! AU, mentions of alcohol consumption, daddy kink

You flipped through pictures of your holiday so far: of your family and that of your brother’s friend Legolas. Your fathers met through their sons and got on really well and so your two families had ended up planning a holiday together, staying in a flashy hotel on a hot coastline. In your hotel room, you revelled in the salt in their air from the balcony door, the quiet whir of the air conditioner, the cool chill of it against the aloe vera on your skin after being between the blistering sun and warm shade all day on the beach, near inhaling one of the books that you had brought with you for entertainment.

Speaking of entertainment, you were – very guiltily – finding that your fantasies were no longer restricted to the characters to your book but seemed to have latched onto Legolas’ father Thranduil. The epitome of a dilf, you had thought the first time you saw him. He looked like he had stepped right out of one of your fantasy worlds, Game of Thrones or something, and had just perfectly settled into the modern world – well, except for his rather pointed ears which his son seemed to have inherited from him. He was utterly gorgeous: possessing a towering height, a face that could strike envy within an angel, hair like flowing silk and a powerful sort of confidence about him.

Some stupid part of you was thrilled to be looking so dolled up in his presence tonight. You weren’t one to splash your cash on designer clothes but your heart had just been ensnared by this particular dress. The price tag was enough to put you off for a moment but it was just so beautiful and nothing that you would see everyday. It was a soft white and fell to your mid-thigh, short and sheer puffy sleeves, a dipping neckline that wasn’t low enough to really be considered anything scandalous. It had a sheer layer that shimmered slightly over the silky material of the dress that felt simply exquisite against your skin, the sheer layer being decorated with lacy butterflies and flowers that just slightly lifted away from the material they were sewn too. Trying it on in the fitting room really had been enough to tempt you into spending your money for that month. You couldn’t afford to treat yourself to anything else and had to be careful with your money until you got your next paycheck at the end of the month but as you sat down in the hotel’s restaurant, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it one bit.

Dinner was going really well and damn did Thranduil look good in those hunter green slacks and that white button down, undoing the top buttons and rolling up the sleeves- You had to stop yourself from nearly drooling as you glanced at the young man with long golden hair at the table, reminding yourself that you were thirsting over his father who was a widowed man. How terrible could you possibly be? Besides, even if he were seeking a partner, you were near sure that it wouldn’t be someone a year younger than his son.

And that was when dinner stopped going really well because your brother dropped his phone and, in reaching out to try and grab it before it hit the table, he knocked over your glass of vodka and orange juice which went rolling off the table and straight down your front and into your lap with how close you had been sitting to the table to avoid dropping anything in your new expensive dress. There was a big fuss about it, especially from your mother who got to scolding your older brother as though he were still a child but you weren’t interested in being fussed over or hearing your brother apologise, you were just upset over your new dress, the one thing you had treated yourself to in a long time, being ruined. You would feel stupid for crying about it in front of everyone – let alone in public – so you simply dismissed yourself from the table, saying you would return to the hotel to get out of the dress and take a shower, the orange juice already feeling sticky against your upper thighs.

So, you did exactly that. You left the restaurant to go to the lift where you went up to the floor of your hotel room, shifting your phone in your hand to get the keycard before remembering that you had left it on the restaurant table. How could you be so careless? Likely because you were very upset. You let out a single sob at how one bad thing had happened after another but caught yourself, knowing that you would have to face everyone again when you went to collect your key. So, you marched back up the corridor to the lift, pressing the down button before the doors opened to reveal Thranduil who then held up your key between two fingers.

“I thought you might need this.” His usual stoic face softened to a sympathetic look, “Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you cleaned up.” He spoke, setting his hand between your shoulder blades and guiding you towards your family’s room, unlocking your door and holding it open for you. The door locked behind you. “You seemed so upset, I thought you could do with some company so you wouldn’t be alone with it this evening.”

“The evening?” You raised a brow at the implication of his words.

“Everyone else has decided to go out for drinks but I have an important work call to take in the morning so I had to pass on it anyway.” The corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement, “I’m trusting your father will be able to keep Legolas in line.”

“He raised my brother, I’m sure he can manage anyone at this point.” You replied, making Thranduil laugh lowly and it quelled your want to weep for your ruined dress. But the silent tears were still there and you lowered your head to try and hide them, feeling that he would see you as silly and childish for crying over clothes.

“Oh, sweetheart,” He cooed and watched as you sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at the orange juice staining the lap of your white dress. You felt the mattress dip with his weight beside you and you kept your head down, cursing the hot tears brimming in your eyes, “it’s such a shame, it really is a beautiful dress.” He complimented and it made your heart flutter for a moment to know that he liked it. No, you reminded yourself, you shouldn’t swoon over Thranduil – a widowed father – liking your little dress.

“It was expensive too…” You mumbled, “I don’t usually buy expensive clothes but this was just so pretty, I couldn’t put it back on the rack and I was skint for ages after buying it but I never really treat myself to stuff like this.” You sniffled as you did your utmost to stop your tears from spilling down your cheeks but you tasted defeat in their salt as they ran down to your chin and the corners of your mouth. Thranduil kneeled down in front of you and cupped your face in his hands, shushing you while affectionately swiping at your tears with his thumbs. You couldn’t help but melt into his touch and turn your face into his palm. He smelled like aftersun and some warm spice you couldn’t quite put a name to. Your lips just barely grazed against his hand and you fought the urge to press them to his skin over and over, settling for trying to steady your breathing instead.

While you were in turmoil, Thranduil was in his own. Here you were, such a sweet and beautiful little thing in tears with your lips against his skin as he knelt in front of where you were perched on the bed. If he could, he’d quell your tears with kisses and throw you back onto the bed and give you a reason to forget the ruined dress that you seemed to have treasured so much. But you were so much younger than him and should he make any sort of advance and you rejected it, everyone he was on this holiday with would be out for his blood. Your parents and brother would kill him and he was more than sure that his son wouldn’t like to find that he had tried to pursue a woman a year younger than him, his best friend’s little sister no less.

One of his hands on your face dropped to your knee, a safe enough place he thought: it could seem like he was keeping his balance while kneeling and it was not too far up your leg to be considered provocative. His thumb swiped once against your knee in the same way it had done beneath your eyes and he didn’t miss the way your thighs pressed together slightly. Arousal or recoil? He wasn’t sure and so he rose to his feet and withdrew from you entirely before he could possibly make you uncomfortable.

“Why don’t you get changed, hm?” He offered, “I’m sure that’s not comfortable to be in.” You nodded your head and got up to get changed in the privacy of the bathroom, pausing on the threshold of the door to announce that you would likely take a shower to wash off the stickiness from the juice. However, once you had stripped off your precious dress and started running the water, you realised that you had forgotten your hairbrush and so you wrapped yourself in a towel before going back into the room to grab it, finding Thranduil had been gazing out of the glass doors to the balcony before turning around to spot you. You suddenly felt very vulnerable and bare in just your towel and even Thranduil seemed surprised that you had left the bathroom in such a state of undress.

“Forgot my hairbrush…” You murmured, realising it might have even been better to put the stained dress back on just to grab it.

“I’ll see what I can do about your dress.” He replied and walked past you as you began to quickly brush out your hair. You could hear the tap run in the bathroom and when you had set the brush back down again, you stood awkwardly in the bathroom doorway as you watched Thranduil soak your dress in hot water to try and lift the stain before it could truly steele into the fabric.

“I really appreciate the help but I’d like to be able to…” You trailed off, almost feeling as though you were rejecting his generous help, just desperate for the hot water of the shower to wash away some of your sadness at having your dress near ruined.

“I won’t look.” He simply replied, turning his body at a slight angle so that he could continue working your dress in the sink while his back faced the shower. You were sure he wouldn’t be able to see you in the mirror, given the angle, and so you simply agreed with a quiet ‘alright then’ seeing as he had already turned around. You trusted Thranduil. The towel was set on the rack before you were under the steaming water, letting out a content sigh at the high temperature, beginning to wash your hair and then wash the stickiness of the orange juice from your skin. As you lathered your body in vanilla and honey scented bubbles, you couldn’t help but fantasise about the gorgeous man who stood no less than three metres from your naked form. He could so easily betray the trust you had placed in him, could gaze upon your exposed body, use the sight to spark lust. A part of you yearned for him to initiate something, to give you an excuse to just give into your desires if they were to be presented before you in such a ripe opportunity. Would he dare? You didn’t know how to provoke or seduce a man and so you found yourself improvising, against your better judgement. He was just so stunning and in fantasising about him, you had worked yourself up. You moaned at the feeling of the heated water against your skin, of the delectable scent of the soap on your body. You found yourself cupping your breasts in your hands as you rinsed yourself. Yet, Thranduil took no notice of you.

At least: he showed no signs of taking notice. His bright blue eyes were already stealing glimpses at you in the mirror, unable to see much due to the angle that he was standing at, fighting his impulses in an attempt to continue working at your dress as you showered behind him.

“Hey…” He heard your voice call out softly, “Do you think you could pass me the exfoliant on the counter? The beige tub with the white lid.” You asked and he found that his teeth were grinding slightly with how hard he had clenched his jaw. He found the item in question and stepped backwards, extending his arm backwards too in order to hand it to you.

“There you go.” He spoke, his voice slightly quieter but neutral, cleverly balanced out as to not betray a word of what was going on inside his head.

“Thank you.” Your voice had softened, was slightly airy as you took the tub from his waiting palm, your fingertips gliding against his wrist and down over his palm, your fingers almost wrapping around his as you savoured the small skin-on-skin contact. You might have been under the impression that the gesture would seem innocent enough, fumbling or clumsy even, but Thranduil knew much more than you, it came with his age.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” His voice cut through the silence that was beginning to grow thick like the steam in the room.

“I-I’m sorry?” You stammered out, face instantly flushing at having been caught. Thranduil looked just slightly over his shoulder, his eye meeting yours from the very corner and wandering nowhere else on your exposed body. In your eyes he saw your naivete and yet he also saw a mix of fear and embarrassment at having been caught. You had been teasing him intentionally and the look on your face was all he needed to confirm such.

“Get out of the shower, Y/n.” His tone was quiet and yet no less authoritative than the voice you had heard him speak with over business calls. You swallowed hard and turned off the water, now feeling much more bashful and attempting to cover your bare chest with your arms. Thranduil took down the towel from the rack, warm, and wrapped it around your body, hands squeezing your shoulders momentarily before you gasped when his hands landed on your waist and hoisted you onto the counter. His hands gently patted you down, keeping you covered with the towel and you watched him do so with bated breath.

His fingers skimmed over your thighs, just above your knees where your towel didn’t cover them and he let out a soft sigh, pale blue eyes roving up to meet your gaze.

“Do you want this?” He asked and you swallowed hard. He didn’t need to elaborate on what it was he was offering. You nodded your head, eyes stealing a glance down to his lips. “I need to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“I want this…” Your voice was airy with a sense of excitement and anxiousness. His fingers trailed up your body until they were beneath your chin, tilting your head upwards and leaning in oh-so-slowly with lidded eyes, providing you with ample time to pull away should you realise that you did not want this. However, your hands came to rest on his shoulders, fingers skimming against his neck as your lips collided. He felt you shudder against him as you arched your back and leaned into him, your body silently pleading for more contact as your fingers slid upwards and into his hair. You couldn’t help but let out a soft moan at discovering it felt just as soft as it looked. Thranduil’s hand under your chin slid to cup your cheek and his other hand slid down to squeeze at your hip. The kiss grew more heated and you felt light-headed as you tried to keep up with Thranduil’s pace, relieved when his lips began to trail down your neck, drawing soft sighs and moans from your lips that he fully intended on leaving kiss-swollen when he was done with you.

“Have you done anything like this before?” His voice had dropped as he hummed out the question against your pulse.

“I have…” You replied quietly and Thranduil seemed slightly surprised. Truthfully, he had been unsure but a part of him was almost so sure that you were a virgin. “He… put me off, I suppose. It ended up being a one-time thing.” Your face flooded with heat and you couldn’t meet Thranduil’s eyes as he looked at you thoughtfully.

“A boy your age?” He was met with a nod.

“He was… selfish, I suppose is the word for it.” You heard the man before you tut as his arms wrapped around you and his lips languidly peppered kisses from your temple, across the softness of your cheek and to your lips.

“I’m going to assume it was over before it could even begin for you and he left you unsatisfied.” He punctuated his prediction with a slow kiss to your mouth, nibbling your bottom lip.

“Yeah…” You breathed out as you felt him push your thighs apart so that he could slot himself between your legs and pull you even closer.

“Would you like me to show you real pleasure then, y/n? Pleasure given from a man who knows a woman’s body?” He was met with an eager nod.

“Yes please…” Oh, how well-mannered and adorable you were. He couldn’t resist crashing his lips onto yours once more and you felt him untuck your towel as he kissed you dizzy. You gasped when his hands cupped your breasts and he pulled away from your lips.

“Is this ok?” You eagerly nodded your head and your hands gripped the collar of his shirt to pull him back into the kiss, thighs squeezing your hips as you yearned to keep the closeness between you two. He smiled at your eagerness and relished in all the little moans you let out as he palmed your soft flesh and began to tweak your nipples between his fingers, testing how much you could take before letting out a little yelp into his mouth, allowing him to slip his tongue inside and to coax you into a deeper kiss. Once more, his lips trailed down your neck and then even further down to the top of your left breast, pausing along the way to nip at your collarbone. His tongue poked out to lap at your damp skin before encasing one of your hardened buds in the warmth of his mouth and sucking down gently, earning a drawn-out moan from your throat while his hand paid attention to your other breast, assuring that it was not neglected.

He could gather from your reactions that this was not something you had experienced before and he couldn’t help but think on how undeserving that body must have been to have had such a pretty, responsive girl in his grasp and to still ignore her needs entirely.

“Thranduil…” You whimpered out his name when he switched breasts and you could feel him groan against your sensitive skin before he wrapped his hands under your thighs and hoisted you upwards, making you gasp and steady yourself with your hands on his shoulders. He carried you out of the bathroom and sat down on the bed with you in his lap, not wanting to potentially overwhelm you by putting you under him just yet. His fingers skimmed up your bare back and then went down to your hips, holding them firmly and lightly coaxing you to grind down on him as you were now straddling his lap. You could feel him gently roll his hips against you, creating such sweet friction. You buried your face against his shoulder to muffle the sounds of how good he was making you feel.

“I bet he didn’t focus on you at all, did he, y/n?” Thranduil’s voice cooed in your ear, dripping with a tone that just reminded you how naive you were than him in this. You simply clutched onto his shirt and shook your head, puffing out a content sigh as your clit caught against the material of his trousers. “I bet he didn’t even know how.” He continued, a hand reaching upwards to carefully stroke through your wet hair. “Would you like me to show you?”

“Yes please.” You murmured once more, face leaving the crook of his neck to tentatively kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Alright…” And he shifted you around so that you were laid back on the bed with your head against the pillows, his body hovering over yours, “But I have just one request for you, to make us both feel good, hm?” He suggested, fingers trailing up and down your side, tickling you slightly and causing goosebumps to erupt across your skin. You nodded your head for him to continue, feeling his palms on your thighs, parting them slightly. “I’m older than you… more experienced… I want to take such good care of you…” He continued, leaning down to kiss you so tenderly, as though you were cracked glass or thin ice that was ready to shatter at the slightest pressure. “Why don’t you call me daddy, hm?”

“I…” You bit on your lip. You were aware of daddy kinks, sure, but were you into it? You had never put much thought to it.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to…” He said softly, hands roaming your body up and down as though trying to memorise the shape of you.

“No, it’s not that, I just… I don’t know if I’m into it, I suppose? I’ve never really thought about it.” You shivered slightly when his fingers skimmed between your hips, across your abdomen in a way that was pleasurable but also rather ticklish, watching as his eyes flicked up to meet yours in order to assess your reaction.

“How about this then:” He proposed, “I’ll tell you when to moan for me and we’ll see if you like it then, while I’m making you feel good, hm?” You thought over his suggestion for a moment before nodding your head, watching as he smiled before pressing a kiss to your navel. “Good girl.” He praised, “Spread your legs further for me.” You did as told and he kissed a trail down your skin until his hot breath was fanning against your pussy, finding you glistening with need already, dripping from your slit. “I’m going to use my mouth on you now, is that alright?” His lips pressed to your inner thighs in the meantime.

“Yes, it’s alright…” You mumbled out, bringing a hand up to press to your mouth in anticipation, your breath hitching and your fingers muffling a long moan when his tongue delved straight into your slit and pushed all the way up to your clit that he began to kiss and suck with such devotion. Your head fell back against the pillows and the hand against your mouth fell beside your head, gripping the plush fabric beneath it as Thranduil hoisted your thighs up on his shoulders and began dipping his tongue in and out of your walls. He kissed his way back up your slit before pausing, exhaling over you and drowning in the scent of your arousal.

“Moan for me now.” He commanded just before sucking down harshly on your clit the moment you opened your mouth.

“Da-addy~” Your voice broke and your hands shot down to tangle in his pale hair at the unexpected pleasure as you felt your thighs tense up and the beginnings of an orgasm rush over your limbs before crashing to your core where Thranduil held your hips down as he eased you through it, the first orgasm you had ever been given by another. He kissed your clit one final time, almost a farewell, before rising back up, chin glistening with your slick.

“There…” His thumb caressed your cheek and he watched how your body slightly trembled, “Did you enjoy it in the end?” There was a tone of amusement in his voice that told you he already knew the answer.

“Yes…” You breathed out.

“Yes, who?” He hummed and you let out a low whine.

“Yes, daddy.” You were rewarded with a kiss where you could taste yourself and you were much too aroused to have any disgust towards such a thing.

“Normally, I’d spend a lot more time on such a pretty thing like you, sweetheart…” He said, “But I don’t want to give you more than you can handle.” You moaned once more when his fingers prodded at your entrance, slipping one inside experimentally before quickly adding another. He stroked over that sweet spot inside you that had you whimpering beneath him, moaning out broken little phrases of ‘yes’ ‘please, daddy’ ‘more’ ‘just like that, daddy’ ‘please’ ‘so good’. Each one had him feeling much too hot and constricted in his clothes as he slowly fingered you, scissoring his fingers apart to feel how your walls had to stretch around them, trying to prepare you for the size of his cock. Eventually, he withdrew his fingers from your squelching hole and got to impatiently stripping off his shirt, rising to remove the rest of his clothing before he was practically diving on top of you once again, cock in his hand. You watched as he stroked himself in front of you, pressing the flushed and weeping head of his cock against the heat of your soaked slit. He reached for your legs and you let out a small grunt as he pushed them upwards, almost pressed to your chest.

“Hold them there for daddy…” He watched in adoration of your obedience as you immediately complied, “Such a good girl…” He resumed stroking his cock before lining it up to your entrance, sliding the tip of his cock up and down slightly over your entrance before pushing in deep. Arousal pooled within him at the yelped moan you let out and his hands squeezed your hips for a moment before he pushed the rest of the way in, revelling in the way you whined at the stretch of his cock in your tight walls. “Fuck, I know you’re going to take me so well…” Your cunt clenched around him at hearing him curse like that. You had never heard Thranduil curse, he always seemed much too refined for it and yet here that eloquence was, bleeding out of him all because of how inviting your pussy felt squeezing and fluttering around his cock. He couldn’t risk making a mess here in the hotel room that your family would return to later on in the night so he planned on making this part quick. He could always pamper you a bit and bring you back to his own room after.

A surge of pride filled him when his slow and harsh pace, each thrust kissing the deepest parts of you, had you quickly babbling at how good his cock felt inside of you. You had previously been unsure of how you felt about calling him daddy and yet here you were wantonly moaning it like it was the only word you knew.

“This is exactly what you’ve been missing out on, isn’t it?” He asked, leaning down by you so that he could press your legs even more, folding you into a mating press as his thrusts began to drill down into you, the head of his cock bittersweetly bullying your cervix with each thrust. “Having an older man who knows exactly what you need… an older man who knows your sweet- fuck- young body in ways that boys your age don’t.” His dirty talk had your nails raking down your back and high pitched moans squeezing from your throat, “That’s why you didn’t turn me down like all the other boys who you knew just wanted to use you.” He let out a guttural moan by your ear that almost turned into a whine when the sound made your body clench further down him. “Do you want to come again, y/n?” You quickly nodded your head, scrunching your eyes for a moment to try and quell the tears that were building in them. “Then ask for it, ask your daddy if he’ll make you come.”

“Daddy, please, please, can I come?” You pleaded. “Make me come again, please?”

“Oh, well, seeing as you asked so nicely.” You cried out when his thumb began to draw circles on your throbbing clit and you buried your face in his neck as your nails curled into his skin, muffling your sob as your thighs wrapped around him, tiny cunt spasming around his thick cock. Just as quickly as you had tensed up, you went limp and Thranduil used the opportunity to pry your legs from him and kneel over your body, stroking his cock with lewd noises made by your slick as he spilled his hot cum over your bare chest, making him moan at the sight. He laid down beside you and watched as you panted for breath.

Thranduil propped himself up on an elbow to lean over you, tenderly pushing wet hair away from your face and kissing from your temple, down your cheek, to the corner of your jaw. “You did so well, sweetheart…” He praised, “I’m so proud of you.” He punctuated his words with a kiss yet watched on as you still panted for breath, not yet down from your high. “Come,” He cupped your face to gently turn your head to face him, pressing his forehead to yours, “breathe with me now…” And he began to take in deep breaths, hold them and slowly let them out until your body had calmed right down and you turned onto your side and buried your face in his chest, caring very little about how his hair was tickling your face.

“I feel much happier now.” You laughed slightly, making him laugh too as he reflected on how you had been sobbing over your dress earlier.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He kissed the top of your head and smoothed your hair back affectionately. “I… I would much prefer this be kept a secret- '' He began, “-not because I only used you, no, I wouldn’t do that to you, but because I don't think our families would be all too happy. If you want to tell anyone what’s happened between the two of us, I understand but if we want to do this again, it might be best if we… see where things go before we tell anyone. This is just my suggestion but I leave the final decision down to you. I won’t tell you what to do.” You hummed and began to trace idle patterns on his skin with your fingertips.

“You would… do this again with me?” You highlighted.

“More times than you could possibly count, my sweet.” He replied with a slight laugh.

“I… would like to keep this between us while I see how things go then.”

“Very well…” He kissed the top of your head once more, “Let’s stay like this for a while then we can have a shower together, how does that sound?”

“Wonderful…” You hummed.

☾ ⋆ﾟ MASTERLIST / RULES / TAGLIST FORM

☾ ⋆ﾟlike my work? why not:

∘ buy me a coffee? ∘ join my taglist ∘ consider following/reblogging

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#kinktober 2022 #tolkien kinktober #lotr kinktober #silmarillion kinktober #silm kinktober #smut #tw: smut #mdni #thranduil smut #thranduil oropherion #sassy thranduil #thranduil of mirkwood #modern thranduil #thranduil x reader #thranduil x reader smut

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thehaberdasheress · 2 months

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In the Studio: February 2024

This month has been a lot of boring background work, like moving my work studio from my dining room (80 sq ft) to my living room (150 sq ft). This means now there are two separate workspaces so I can bring in a helper and work without constantly bumping elbows. (Now I just have to hire a helper)

My mom has been lovely in helping me move things, stop and think about it, and decide to move them into entirely different places. Partly because I get fatigued really easily and could almost always do with a break, we always stop banging and clanging when Emily-cat comes out of the bedroom to pet her and promise we don't want to take away all her places to snooze and hide. We're just shifting them around a bit.

I also had one of those moments where I needed to create something for myself or I was going to scream. Which happens sometimes. So I grabbed a design from a 1919-1920 home decor stencil catalog I have and cut a version in removable vinyl for my wall. Here it is, 99% finished, on my newly installed makeup table (cupboard door from ReStore & intricately painted Ikea shelf brackets no one will ever see)

It's an art-nouveau dandelion, which I've never seen before and think is just really frigging cool.

And yes, I know I could try to monetize these images since they're out of copyright and I had to work to make the grainy base image into a better stencil, but like... I am le tired. I have to market so many things. SVGs on Etsy are up for all of five minutes before someone else traces your listing photo and sells it in a bundle with a bunch of other stolen art. I just want to share something small and lovely. Here you go.

This work is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

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lovely--lover · 2 years

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Hellfire Club Things

Just my thoughts on the Hellfire Club members and there role in the club 😊 thank you for the idea @sat-nam-saint

Eddie Munson

🔥The leader of course!! Bosses everyone around and tells them what to do and they listen because they all look up to him

🔥Takes credit for the creation of Corroded Coffin but it was totally Gareth's idea. Gareth was like we should start a band 😊 and Eddie said no that's stupid and like 2 weeks later Eddie was like we should start a band 😊 and ta da Corroded Coffin was made

🔥Loves to DM because he gets to do different voices and be dramatic the entire time (and he gets to control the story)

🔥Asked his uncle to build him the D&D table because the one the school gave wasn't big enough. He and his Uncle stayed late at the school for a week building it.

🔥Gives all the members a ride home when it rains because if they were sick they couldn't make game night but its actually because he loves them or whatever 🙄 lol

Gareth

🔥 All I can say is poor Gareth 😔

🔥Gareth is the Hellfire Club pickle trash can. If its cheeseburger day at school there will be a small pile of pickles on his tray and the other members won’t let him leave until they're gone.

🔥“Gareth this smells weird...eat it” “Gareth I saw a spider in this box.....stick your hand in it” “Gareth there’s something on your shirt.....got you!”

🔥Eddie throws dice at him when he’s mad

🔥 Watches romance movies and tried to talk about it with the club and everyone was like "Shut up Gareth" 🙄

🔥What I’m saying is Gareth cant catch a break!!

Jeff

🔥He is the most ‘normal’ member of the group (his name is literally Jeff)

🔥Sets up study sessions for Gareth and Eddie. Eddie will not study at all and raid his pantry. Gareth will study for a little before joining Eddie and eating all of Jeffs food and playing his games. (And yes Jeff’s mom does yell at him because were does all the food keep going she just went grocery shopping 🙄)

🔥Secretly loves to bake and occasionally brings them to Hellfire Club and says his mom made them

🔥Washes his Hellfire Club shirt by itself because he doesn't want it to accidently get ruined

🔥When the club name was being created he suggest Dice Dudes and Eddie was like I’ll hurt you don't say that ever again

Dustin Henderson

🔥 Watches romance movies and talks about them with Gareth in secret (he wants Eddie to think he's cool 🥺)

🔥Argues about the accuracy of fighting techniques in D&D

🔥When the other members need help with homework they immediately go to Dustin because he is the smartest of them all!

🔥Brags about having an amazing girlfriend Suzie to all the other members! And tries to give them dating and love advice since he is so experienced lol

🔥Always tells Eddie how he should continue the campaign and what should happen next. Writes out detailed documents to Eddie about different storylines

Mike Wheeler

🔥 Designated Hellfire Club spider killer. Everyone else is too baby but Mike is like whatever 🙄 stomps on it

🔥Puts up with the foolery because he likes D&D

🔥 Also is the foolery because he always comes late and unprepared to sessions. No dice, no pencil, character sheet? Must of left it at home

🔥Forgets Gareth's name so he’s always like “Hey....you!” because he doesn't want to ask and later on Dustin is like “You forgot his name again huh?”

🔥Honestly is there for the vibes and Dustin

Lucas Sinclair

🔥What do you think 🙄

🔥(Before the betrayal) He would always forget to wear his Hellfire Club shirt

🔥Whenever something was up high or out of reach the other members would always ask Lucas to grab it

🔥The most reasonable D&D player and make everyone wait while he plans out the different scenarios that could happen and everyone is like omg hurry up!

Erica Sinclair

🔥Everyone is lowkey scared of Erica (as they should be 😌)

🔥Puts everyone in their place when they're out of line

🔥 Tells Eddie his hair is as bad as his DM skills when he gets on her nerves which is often

🔥 Gareth asked her about My Little Pony once and she was like get the hell away from me now!

Freak 1

🔥He’s there to laugh at Eddies jokes and hype him up basically

🔥 Chronic cheese dust fingers

🔥I do not know this man sorry if he’s your babe or whatever lol

Masterlist

#hellfire club #hellfire club imagine #eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #dustin henderson #dustin henderson x reader #mike wheeler #mike wheeler x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #lucas sinclair #lucas sinclair x reader #erica sinclair #gareth stranger things

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overdevelopedglasses · 6 months

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The Simple Things

1507 words

Rating: General Audiences

Relationships: Kiryu Kazuma/Majima Goro

Characters: Kiryu Kazuma, Majima Goro, Sawamura Haruka

Majima is visiting Kiryu and the Morning Glory kiddos. Everything's going well. That is, until Majima comes face to face with a spider.

Chaos ensues.

Inspired by this post!

—-------------------------------

On a peaceful afternoon at the Morning Glory Orphanage in Okinawa, Kiryu sits on the floor of his room, fiddling with some of his old Pocket Circuit cars. The children have shown interest in having a friendly race, and who is Kiryu to not let them indulge? The familiar car designs bring with them a heavy load of nostalgia. While his most prized car, the Cool Striker he customized for his hardest race, was kept safe on a shelf well out of anyone else's reach, his numerous other cars from both the 80s and the 2000s have been disassembled. An assortment of tires, bumpers, gears and motors were strewn all over the floor, as Kiryu rebuilt the cars to be as balanced as possible. The process, while different from building for optimization, brought Kiryu back to simpler days. Times where he didn't have all of this weight on his back.

He's grateful for this time alone, which he was only getting because Majima had come down to Okinawa for a visit. While the kids were initially all intimidated by the man, Haruka especially, they quickly warmed up to him once he showed that he didn't bite. It's a serene kind of alone, one that lets Kiryu lose himself in monotony and peace, and not have to worry about a kid drowning in the ocean. He sets down the newly customized Golem Tiger next to the other finished car, and picks up the frame for the third car, quietly humming a small tune to himself.

A scream pierces the air, and Kiryu's blood runs cold. All of the kids were outside on the beach today, so unless Majima just screamed like a little girl…

Dropping the parts onto the floor, he rushes out into the main room, and sees… well…

Majima is standing on the main dining room table, staring at the closed door of the kitchen.

"Nii-san?"

Majima's head whips over, and Kiryu internally braces himself for an attack.

"KIRYU-CHAN!!!!!"

Majima's shout carries fear, which is very unusual for the Mad Dog. Kiryu is unfazed, but definitely concerned.

"What do you need, Majima-san?"

"I was comin' in to get the kids some of those tiny ass water bottles," Majima explained, no longer yelling but still a bit shaken, "and when I went in the kitchen… Oh god, Kiryu-chan, I almost lost years off ma life! Please, I will owe you for this, but can ya-"

“Is it another bug?"

A silence falls between them.

“.....maybe."

Kiryu sighs.

“What kind?"

Another moment of silence.

“A spider."

Kiryu turns and walks towards the landing of the building.

“DON'T LEAVE ME HERE, KIRYU-CHAN!" Majima cries out, fear reentering his voice.

“I'M GETTING SOMETHING. JUST KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE BUG." Kiryu shouts back as an attempt to calm him down.

“I DON'T WANNA LOOK AT THAT SHIT! ARE YA CRAZY!?"

“NII-SAN!"

“FINE!"

Kiryu opens a cabinet in the landing of Morning Glory, pulling out his trusty can of Multi-Bug Kill Spray, and walks back into the dining room to find the kitchen door open, and Majima pointing at the floor.

“Ya little fucker… yer done! Ya hear me!? Goro Majima wins this one!"

“I wouldn't call this a win, nii-san." Kiryu replies, setting the cap of the spray on the table next to Majima's foot.

“Don't bust my balls in front of the spider!" Majima retorted.

“The spider doesn't care." Kiryu said flatly.

“I care!" Majima's outburst causes Kiryu to chuckle a bit.

“Alright, where's this…. Uh..?" Kiryu trailed off, noticing the spider was no longer where Majima was pointing. In fact, it seems to have disappeared.

Majima's eye went wide.

“Ohgodwheredafuckdiditgo." Majima said, spinning around frantically.

"Are you sure it was real?" Kiryu asks, really hoping he didn't have to deal with a spider infestation.

"My little shits try to prank me with those fake ass spiders ya get with those dumb prank books, so I know when one of those fuckers is fake… that shit was real, Kaz." Majima says with a shaky breath.

"I believe you, Majima-san. We just have to find it now."

Kiryu trepidatiously walks into the kitchen, scanning every surface for the creature. Nothing.

"Do you see it out there?" Kiryu called out.

“No.” Majima replied, his voice now unusually small and coated with fear.

“Come back in here, then.”

Kiryu walks back into the dining room, and Majima meets him there. An idea flashes through Kiryu’s brain that he wishes he didn’t think of, but now he can’t let it go until he checks.

“I hate to say this… but stand still, and spread your arms out just a bit.”

“Haw?”

Majima seems confused, but obliges with Kiryu’s order. As quick as he can, Kiryu looks Majima up and down, trying not to linger in one spot for too long. He even lifts Majima’s jacket at places, ensuring the creepy-crawly wasn’t taking refuge directly on the Mad Dog and Majima hadn’t noticed.

“Ya checkin’ me out, Kiryu-chan?” Majima's slightly less fear-coated voice attempted to tease the dragon.

“Do you want to know what I’m actually doing?” Kiryu replied, repositioning one of Majima’s sleeves.

Majima falls silent as his eye goes wide, his flirtatious remarks falling away as what Kiryu assumes is a newfound fear fills him. He chuckles at Majima’s misfortune, but desperately doesn’t want to give him room to catch him off guard.

“The spider isn’t on you, nii-san.” Kiryu says, trying to feign confidence, and stepping back from him.

“Well.. it could be on you, Kiryu-chan.”

“What?”

Before Kiryu can protest, Majima starts to examine Kiryu up and down, taking noticeably a bit more time than Kiryu did with him. He silently thanks his past self for taking a shower that morning. Silence feels the space, and Kiryu becomes hyper-aware of every movement from Majima, and can almost feel his eye wandering around his body. Kiryu swallows, trying to erase whatever is happening from his own mind.

He feels his shirt lift slightly, as Majima's warm breath hits his lower back, and Kiryu has to fight an oncoming rush of redness to his face. Majima giggles quietly, noticing Kiryu’s fists clenching.

“Ya like that, Kiryu-chan?” Majima says almost against his skin, making the fight even harder for poor Kiryu.

“Now’s not the time, nii-san.” Kiryu says through gritted teeth. He wasn't even sure what was happening, just that it couldn't happen now.

The two then hear a loud stomp, and both men practically jump out of their skin. Kiryu feels the back of his shirt fall into place as he turns towards the entrance to Morning Glory. His heart immediately slows as Haruka enters the space and sees him staring in her vicinity.

"Hey, Uncle Kaz! Are the pocket cars done yet?"

"Hey, Haruka. Uh…. Not quite. There's only a couple more left, but I got a bit distracted by a bug." Kiryu looks behind him, and sees Majima's eye wide, practically pleading with him. Kiryu resists the urge to smirk. "Majima was helping me find the bug, but we seem to have lost it."

Majima's eye goes back to normal, gratitude filling it. Kiryu smiles ever so slightly, and cocks an eyebrow to say 'You're welcome.'

“A bug? You mean the big spider?”

Kiryu sees Majima’s eye go wide again.

“Did you see it, Haruka?” Kiryu asked his daughter, shifting his focus back to her.

She nods, and holds up a shoe that Kiryu only now notices is in her hand. “Don’t worry, I killed it. I have to wash the bottom of my shoe though.”

Kiryu lets out a small laugh as Majima sighs next to him.

“Nice work. Just don’t leave any spider bits in the sink.”

“I won’t.” Haruka then turns to Majima. “Oh, Uncle Goro. Taichi and Mitsuo were asking for you.”

Kiryu sees Majima go through many different emotions at once.

“Oh… uh, I’ll be down there in just a second, Haruka-chan. Just have to… y’know, actually do what I wanted to do up here.”

Majima and Kiryu exchange an awkward glance, as Majima clears his throat and walks into the kitchen.

"Did I say something wrong?"

Kiryu looks down at his daughter.

"No. I think that's the first time he's heard you call him that. Must've got to him."

Haruka nods. "Makes sense. See you in a bit, Uncle Kaz!"

Haruka runs into the kitchen. Kiryu sighs, and chuckles to himself.

How did I get so lucky?

Shaking his head, Kiryu walks back into his room, and decides to pay attention to the voices he can hear through the thin walls of the orphanage.

“You wanna see the spider?” one says.

“HELL NO! Get that shit away from me, Haruka-chan!” the other shouts.

A chorus of female giggles echo into Kiryu’s ears, and he smiles. Sounds like he’ll have to invite Majima back to the orphanage, especially if he’s getting along with Haruka enough for her to tease him.

Though, he makes a note to check for spiders if Majima agrees to come back.

#my writing #ao3 #yakuza #ryu ga gotoku #rgg #kiryu kazuma #majima goro #haruka sawamura #kazumaji #link in title #*rings bell* come get your food kazumaji nation #first fic since Tojoctober! a fun one to write too :)#glad the energy from tojoctober carried beyond the month #more will definitely be coming!#Just decided to put the ao3 link in the title... makes more sense :)

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thedawningofthehour · 5 months

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Making Fun of Rich People Round 2

This one's a little bit different. This house is in Arizona, listed for a clean 20 mil, eight bedrooms ten baths, 16,000 square feet. The outside is really nothing special, looks like every other southwestern wanna-be movie star mansion so let's

Kicking things off with a bang.

You know. I can't even say anything bad about this. Like, the other house, they were people who clearly had more money than taste and built their house as a shrine to their bank accounts. It was not meant to live in, but to prove their wealth. It was ridiculous and stupid and they deserved to be made fun of.

These people. These people know their house is ugly. They know that table was an obscene waste of money. They know that couch screams "my coke dealer was redecorating." They do not care. They love bringing people in and watching their expressions of horror. They rub their hands together gleefully as people try to think of a compliment that isn't too obviously pulled out of their ass.

I mean, come on. That green chandelier, they're absolutely trolling us.

And I'm going to be honest, this looks like a living room I'd actually feel comfortable hanging out in. I can see someone on that couch eating ice cream out of the carton at 3 AM. People sit on that rug and play board games on that table. These people furnished their house to live in, not to display.

I am still going to tease them about it, however.

I'm laughing with them, not at them.

Is it just the angle or does that bed seem super short?

I...don't even know what I'm looking at here. I think this is the closet?

No, okay, they have a whole mall outlet store in here. This is like that one scene in Princess Diaries 2 except Julie Andrews would politely show herself out.

Why the marble. Why do you need a sitting area in your closet.

I will admit, I'm disappointed that the owner of such an interesting house has this many black pumps. I get that they go with everything, but-that's the point. They're universal. You don't need over a dozen of them. I expected better shoes.

Nobody:

Rich People: "make the bathroom...ROUND."

fr, their insanity always seems to come out full-force in the bathroom. I legitimately think rich people might not poop or bathe, because it's always some crazy shit that would be incredibly uncomfortable or downright impossible to use.

Another thing I've noticed, rich people all seem to want bathroom doors that open to the outside. Why?!

Especially when this is the outside they're opening up to!

Seriously, what is the point of this?! You're buck naked and decide to go have a smoke next to some cactuses and your giant patio geode. That's all that's out here. Why. Why.

Actually, it looks like there's little paths, which...just makes this worse, honestly. Imagine you're taking a leisurely stroll through the cactus garden and you pass your parents' bathroom patio, getting a full view of your mom taking a bath through the floor-length windows.

"Yes, in our dining hall with the light fixture that looks like birthday sparklers and our collection of Totally Real cactuses."

I've seen designers rag on those unfinished wood tables before, and while I didn't really agree with them at the time I kind of do now. I think this would look cool as like, a side table or accent table, but on a dining table it's just kind of awkward.

This is the same room, they just kept panning out.

While I made fun of the other house for their grand piano, I have no doubt that someone in this family is a drug-fueled musician. This room looks mega-comfy to lay back and watch a movie in, and I love the sheep.

I'm just...in awe of the audacity.

They didn't even try to match. Didn't even pretend like they cared. And I'm not gonna lie, the red countertop is doing something for me.

"When we want the bugs to join us for dinner."

I can't stress this enough, they have multiple patio sets.

See, the last people didn't show off all their alcohol at their bar because they thought it looked more refined not to. These guys probably have art supplies tucked away in their bar just to keep you on your toes. (they don't need a bar, these are the kind of people who carry flasks around with them)

So like...objectively, this bathroom is hideous. It's way too much, the feather thing is ridiculous, that cabinet is ugly as sin.

But I kind of love it?

Just a reminder: this is in Arizona.

...I have nothing to say here.

WHAT IS UP WITH RICH PEOPLE AND THEIR UGLY BATHROOMS?!

Again with the doorway to the outside! And I see this a lot, but so many rich people bathrooms don't have storage spaces?! Like, look at those sinks. What.

More to my theory that rich people don't have any need for bathrooms.

This is the bedroom I wanted as a thirteen-year-old and just now realized I still do.

THE WALLPAPER IS EVEN BIRBS!

Like, I can't even make fun of this. I am just in awe. This entire house looks if sixth grade me had access to the Sims 3 Create-A-Style and the motherlode cheat, and I honestly love that for them. I hope these people find a new house to be extremely fucking cool in.

Leaving with these calming lemons in the backyard! Pay no attention to all the bathrooms that open up directly to the garden.

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lou-writes-things · 22 days

Text

Hello. I have again written something. ao3 link here

***

Mirror Mirror

Flynn stared at Alex’s “ghost friend” over the coffee table, watching him flip one of Alex’s drumsticks end over end, catching it in his palm with a soft smack before tossing it again.

The others were gone, doing “band stuff,” and so here she was sitting in the studio collecting dust with a fossil. They squinted at him and his gaze flickered to theirs for a moment before he looked away again, his face screwing up slightly. Flynn just stared a little more, narrowing her eyes.

“Um,” he finally said, pausing in his drumstick throwing to look up at them, “Can I…do something for you?”

Flynn huffed, sitting back against the couch, “No.”

“Ok…”

Flynn’s gaze drifted up to the ceiling for a minute, looking at the chairs hanging there, those had always seemed like a particularly inspired design choice to her, they were fucking weird, which she loved.

“What would you do if you had tits?” She asked. Willie didn’t respond, so Flynn tipped their head down to find him staring at her incredulously.

“...What?”

“Like. If you woke up with tits tomorrow, what would you do?”

Willie stared at them some more, opening his mouth a few times before closing it again.

“Why are you asking me?” he said finally, setting the drumstick down on the coffee table with a clatter.

“I kind of want to get rid of mine.” Flynn said, a foreign knot of anxiety forming in her stomach, “So I was wondering what you thought.” They had no idea why they were bringing this up with Willie of all people, but the thought hadn’t left her alone for a week, and they guessed that they just really wanted to tell someone about it.

“I probably wouldn’t do anything different,” Willie answered, his voice hesitant.

Flynn raised her eyebrow, “You’d just be comfortable walking around tits out like that?”

“No,” he huffed a little frustratedly, “Just. Nothing would change.”

“Ok…?” Flynn furrowed her eyebrows, confused.

Willie screwed up his face again, seemingly debating something with himself before speaking, “Nothing would change because I already have them.”

Flynn paused, “What- really?”

“Yeah.”

Wait.

Fynn leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, looking at him with wide eyes, “You’re trans?”

Willie nodded a little stiffly and Flynn grinned, jumping to their feet and rounding the table to flop down next to him, turning her body to fully face him and crossing her legs under her. “Oh my god! You should have said before, this is the best!”

Willie leaned a little bit away from her but smiled anyway, watching Flynn practically vibrating in her seat. “Wait,” she said, “So you were trans in the 80s? What was that like?”

Willie turned to face her, shoving his socked heels into the crack in the couch cushions between them, “It sucked.”

“Wait,” a thought struck Flynn and they considered him for a moment, “Were binders invented yet in the 80s?”

Willie laughed a little at that, “Not really. But we didn’t use ace bandages either if we were smart,” he sat up straighter and tugged at his crop top, pulling it up to show Flynn the bottom of what looked like a wide elastic band, “They sold them for stomach control, but we figured we could repurpose them.”

Flynn hummed in understanding, “Is it uncomfortable? How long can you wear it?” she questioned.

Willie shrugged. It’s not the worst, it’s way better than walking around,” he paused, tilting his head back and forth a couple of times “...without it. And we didn’t really have guidelines for the health of these things, at least I didn’t. Nowadays it doesn’t matter, I’m dead anyway.”

Flynn supposed that was true, “That’s so cool,” They said.

Willie laughed at that, “I guess so. Thanks.”

Flynn was silent for a moment before thinking up another question, “How does it feel?”

Willie furrowed his eyebrows, “How does what feel?”

“Being flat, having them gone.” Flynn said, tucking her hands into her lap.

Willie cracked a small smile, “Amazing.”

Flynn grinned back, letting themself rock forward a little bit into Willie’s space, “Oh we’re definitely gonna hang out again.”

“Yeah duh,” Willie said, “Let’s talk about how we’re going to fix your problem first though.”

Flynn laughed a little bit giddily, “do you want to help me do some binder shopping?”

“I would love to.”

An hour later found them pressed together on the couch looking at Flynn’s laptop. Well, as pressed together as they could be when one of them was an incorporeal being. Willie’s knee passed through hers every once in a while, which was slightly unsettling.

They were on their fifth website and Flynn had a bright red binder pulled up on screen, clicking through the pictures of the model wearing it.

“Wouldn’t it be smarter to pick something more neutral?” Willie asked. Flynn raised their eyebrows at him, looking down at her outfit. Willie huffed, “right, forget I asked.”

“This one’s got personality you know? Yours is so plain and boring.”

Willie raised an eyebrow at them, “Right, sorry we didn’t have bright red binders in the 80s.”

Flynn shrugged, “I’m just saying, it seems like just the decade to like something like this.”

Willie rolled his eyes, “Yeah sure, if we weren’t all dying from a death plague I’m sure we would have been right on that.”

Flynn paused, “Oh shit yeah. That must have sucked.”

“Yeah.”

Flynn was quiet for a minute after that, debating on whether she should continue the discussion. She clicked off of the binder and found a new one, this one a pretty blue color. It didn’t seem as fitting to them, but they supposed it was fine.

“What was it like?” she finally asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“What? AIDS?”

“Yeah.”

Willie paused for a moment, considering the blank wall opposite him before he answered, “I died in the late 80s,” he started,”I was too young near the beginning to know anything, but from what people told me, they didn’t get angry for a while, they were mostly just scared. Everyone was dying and they didn’t know why. By the time I figured my shit out we had a name for it. And we knew no one cared to help us.”

Flynn was silent for a moment, “Did you know anyone who died?”

Willie’s eyebrows raised, “Yeah. I knew a ton of people who died. Everyone knew people who died. I attended like, a funeral a week.”

“That’s horrible.”

Willie hummed, returning his gaze to the wall, “When I died, we were starting to get angry. Act Up was a thing. And, have you ever seen the Silence = Death posters?” Flynn nodded, “You would see those everywhere by the time I died.”

Flynn fiddled with their touchpad, “Good.”

Willie flashed them a small smile before it disappeared again, “Sometimes I wish I’d lived, just ‘cause it was stupid to have another person die, and not even of the fucking disease.” he said, sighing and leaning back into the couch cushions, “That’s a useless thought now though.”

Flynn didn’t know what to say to that, but she did have a pressing issue she could use to break the silence, so she snapped her laptop closed, “What do you think Julie will think?”

“About what?”

Flynn wrinkled their nose, “Me getting a binder.”

Willie turned to look at them, frowning, “She’s already ok with you being non binary right?”

“Yeah,” Flynn admitted, “but what if this is too much? What if I’m not enough of a girl and she doesn’t want to be my best friend anymore?”

Willie lifted a hand and then dropped it back into his lap, like he wanted to reach out for them, but knew it wouldn’t work, “I haven’t known Julie for very long,” he said instead, “But I still can’t imagine a world where that would happen. Julie loves you, you’re her favorite person in the world. I don’t think anything could change that.”

Flynn let out a shaky breath, running her hand down her face, “You’re probably right. It’s just hard.”

“I know.” Willie said, and he really did. He was the first person Flynn had talked to about this who truly did understand her fear about this, and how wrong her body felt, and how everyone around her seemed to be fine in their own skin, so why didn’t they?

“Do you want to help me take my measurements?” she asked after a moment.

Willie smiled, pushing himself up from the couch, “yeah sure.”

By the time the band got home, Willie and Flynn were crowded into the small studio bathroom with a sewing tape measure, trying to get Flynn’s measurements. Willie had it held up to the width of her shoulders, trying to get the measurement without touching them and having his hands phase through their back.

They heard the studio door open before Julie stuck her head into the bathroom, “So I guess you two are getting along fine,” she said, “What are you doing?”

Flynn turned to look over her shoulder, causing one of Willie’s hands to pass through her shoulder blade. It was a weird feeling, and she let out an involuntary shiver. Willie made a noise, stepping away and pressing his back to the wall to get out of her way.

“Getting my measurements,” Flynn said.

“For what?” Reggie piped up from his spot, crowded in behind Julie with the rest of the band.

“I’m gonna get a binder,” Flynn said, more confident sounding than they felt.

Julie’s eyes lit up, “Oh that’s fantastic! What color are you going to get?”

Flynn smirked, hiding the relief crashing through her chest, “Red.”

Willie huffed behind her, “I still think you should get something more neutral.”

Flynn turned around to look at him, “Can it, ghost boy.”

Willie just laughed, slipping behind them and out of the bathroom. He made his way over to Alex and wrapped an arm around his waist. Alex leaned down to whisper something in Willie’s ear, making him smile. They were disgusting honestly.

“Hey Jules,” she said, grabbing Willie’s abandoned tape measure from the counter, “you wanna help me with this? Willie keeps phasing through me.”

Julie smiled, taking the tape measure from them and stepping into the bathroom, “Of course.”

Flynn turned away from her, catching Willie’s eyes in the mirror, as Julie started to measure.

“Thanks Willie,” she said.

“Anytime.”

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #willie jatp #flynn taylor #fanfiction #fanfic #parker writes

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tavyliasin · 4 months

Text

ATG 2 - Taste? More

In which a sip becomes a gulp.

----- Summary ----- Pairing: Astarion/Tav SPICE Rating: 3/5 (mostly vanilla sex) Content Warnings: Sexual activity, light restraint, blood, biting, mention of scars, slight power play

Spoilers Setting is the end of Act 1. This covers the events after resolving the Grove and Goblin Camp, and includes some most of Astarion's early backstory. Canon Compliance Canon Compliant/Expanded - Takes some of the start of the romance scene directly from the game, but expands it with more detail and a couple of different actions to how the game plays out. Other Notes (from the original posting) First ever smut, Darlings, drink it in. This chapter hints at more darkness to the backstories of both Astarion (canon) and Tav (headcanon urchin rogue), and explores a little of the feelings they both bring to the table. Use of Mage Hand cantrip - see Spellbook for more. Clear and enthusiastic consent because consent is sexy. Suggested Song Pairing Breathe by Miracle of Sound "Sweet are the days of the soul searching pleasure when Deep in a daze I can hold you to myself again Relive the memory map I couldn't want more I'll give you everything that you ever want for Don't worry honey I've got nothing to say Tonight we wash all of your troubles away So lay your body down babe Forget about your troubles, hit the lights Lay your body down babe I'm gonna give the world to you tonight Breathe Honey I can feel your heartbeat Baby I can feel you breathe" ---

FULL CHAPTER BELOW THE CUT

As time passed, Tavylia felt ever more drawn to Astarion. His every word and motion felt designed to pull her in, to entice her towards his arms, and she did not see any reason to resist. Since the first time when she corrected his mistake, he had proven that if she allowed him to feast upon her blood again, he would have the self control to stop without needing to be asked. She began to feel safe exposing her weaknesses to him, whether it was turning her back to his blades in battle or offering her neck to quench his thirst at night. But now, her own thirst had been growing, and she was stirring with the second hard rule learned from a long life on the streets of Baldur's Gate. Although the first rule was simply to stay alive, the second was to truly live . Just like the first rule, this was a goal reached easier with allies than alone.

Decades ago, Tav had realised pleasure is a cheap thrill that one can indulge in with few consequences. Even traded, when necessary, like any other commodity, though this wasn’t something she chose to pursue unless absolutely necessary…or absolutely pleasing in her favour. Love seemed a fool's game, but lust? The rules of lust were clear, and a night of passion was never a night wasted. She had indulged her curiosity more than a few times before her untimely stay upon the Nautiloid, and the current beneath the airs and graces of her elven companion made it clear that he, too, was no stranger to desire. Besides, she couldn’t deny that particular curiosity; what would it feel like to have sex with a vampire?

Which brought them to this moment, a clearing in the woods outside of camp. The occasional clink of bottles in the distance told them that a few of the attendees were continuing the party until dawn, but that didn't matter.Tav had enjoyed more than enough loud company for one evening, and no amount of wine could quench this particular thirst. Even Astarion had dropped the flirtatious innuendo to make his intentions for their meeting perfectly clear.

Watching him appear from behind a tree, Tav felt her breath catch in her throat. He wore only his trousers now, his well defined chest clad in moonlight highlighting the contours of his muscular form in ways she had only dreamed of. Dreams, of course, could rarely compare to reality, and what a reality this was. She barely registered his greeting, honeyed words soothing her ears as he drew closer, his scent filling the cool night air with an aroma almost as intoxicating as his voice. Such a sweet blade, she thought, that a single sentence could bring me to my knees . But she stood her ground, for now. Her senses were alight already, the lurking edge of fear at the clear danger swept swiftly aside by the anticipation of laying beneath the stars. The briefest flitter of a laugh almost escaped her lips at the thought that he had a star in his name, and he was quite willing to have his- “Waiting since the moment I laid eyes on you. Waiting to have you. ” Astarion’s voice silenced every fleeting idea in Tav’s mind. Perhaps if she had any sense within her she might have replied with her usual wit rising to meet his silver tongue, but not a single syllable had a chance of passing her lips at the sight of his crimson eyes piercing her soul. As he stepped closer she could feel her pulse quicken, catching his gaze slipping to her exposed throat for just a second before he closed the last inches between them and met her lips with a kiss. The stillness of the night air surrounded them as they succumbed to desires that had long been suppressed beneath the need to keep moving forwards, the wounds and weariness of countless battles melting in the heat of shared desire. Astarion’s practiced grace maneuvered Tav so her back was against a tree, cool and slender fingers working tantalisingly slowly to free her from the simple outfit that was suddenly feeling suffocating to her. Her hands began to drift from caressing his hips, sliding up his back only to pause as she felt unusually rough scars. She had her own, of course, but these didn’t feel like simple battle wounds- Astarion’s teeth nipped playfully at her lip, before he moved to whisper in her ear. “Later, love, you can see, ask, anything you wish. For now, wouldn’t you rather feel me instead?” He pressed his hips closer against hers, the meaning of his words exceptionally clear, and the only question remaining in her mind now was how the leather of those trousers could withstand the tension. Tav rolled her head back playfully, exposing her neck more as both answer and invitation. Ironic, she thought, to invite a vampire to “enter”-

Her thoughts cut short by a low chuckle in her ear. “Darling, there’s no rush. We have until dawn, wouldn’t you rather enjoy a banquet than a snack?” She felt a shiver up her spine as his finger traced the lines of the arteries in her neck. He had revealed she was the first person whose blood he had tasted, having relied only on animals before, which was a thought that she savoured just as he seemed to delight in sampling frequently. But his teeth stayed teasingly far from her neck now, and instead his lips moved gently along the edge of her pointed ear with sweet kisses and sweeter whispers.

Tav felt herself melting into the moment as her clothing slipped away piece by piece, gentle hands and gentler lips soothed every bruise that spells and potions had yet to heal. He even seemed to cautiously avoid touching any of her own scars. Keeping what senses she could within the haze of desire, she stayed away from his back for now. Instead Tav returned his attentions in kind, taking her time to enjoy the feeling of muscles tensed in anticipation beneath her fingertips and ending the torment of those poor trousers before the seams could split completely. Astarion’s soft moan against her shoulder was a sweet reward for her efforts as they were both finally bared to each other, bathed in the moonlight and in lust.

As much as the teasingly soft touch was lighting up every nerve with desire, Tav was becoming impatient. She chose her moment and turned the tables on her lover, in one swift motion raising his legs around her hips and pressing his back against the rough bark of the tree instead. Their tongue entwined with a passionate thirst, the kiss deepening as she pressed their bodies closer, relishing the little moans that rumbled in Astarion’s throat.

Soon, however, they were on the grass, and though he was beneath her she felt his desire to take back the control - something she was more than happy to indulge him in. Firm hands took hold of her hips, keeping her back from what she wanted most. What she didn’t expect, however, was the feel of another cold hand on the back of her neck - a firm but not unyielding pressure encouraging her to lay her chest against his.

“Don’t panic, just a cantrip - I’ve always wondered what a Mage Hand might add to an evening~” Astarion’s words calmed Tav as much as their meaning brought new thoughts to her mind.

“Oh, you are devious.” She chuckled, letting herself relax a little more as spectral fingers caressed her hair, Astarion’s own hands maintaining their strong hold on her hips.

“And the night has barely begun, darling~” The spectral had gripped the back of Tav’s neck more tightly now, and his fangs pierced her throat.

She gasped, the heat rising further as she desperately wanted the rest of her wanton flesh to feel him within her. Still, his hands held firm, prolonging her lust to a maddening fever pitch. Even her blood was being sampled agonisingly slowly, his tongue caressing the punctured flesh, delighted moans matching her own as she felt her head swimming with every sensation.

Just as she felt her knees weakening, the vampire proved he had more strength yet and rolled so she was beneath him. “Tell me, what is it you want?”

She bit her lip, almost furious that he had the audacity to question her, but his eyes held a spark of sincerity behind the lust. She steadied her breath, such as she could, and whispered her reply into his lips as she curled her fingers into his hair to pull him into a deep kiss. “You. I want you, Astarion.”

Her response seemed to be enough to please him, the taste of her own blood sharp on his tongue as it tangled with her own. The time for holding back, it seemed, had passed.

After he had mounted her, the spectral hand had briefly vanished from Tav’s perception. She didn’t have time to wonder where it had gone for long. Astarion guided her hands above her head, pressing her wrists together then removing his grip and allowing the cantrip to take over. “If you change your mind, at any time, remember our word.”

She closed her eyes as his hands and lips began to move across her chest, teasing gasped moans from her lips with a light pinch, a soft stroke, or the tantalising hint of sharp teeth mingling with the heat of his tongue flicking and caressing. She did, however, remember. An agreement made after the first night he fed, when he almost lost himself to the hunger. “Angel”. A word neither would utter in casual conversation, syllables that would not pass their lips in the heat of the moment. A simple sound that would ground them in reality and safety once more.

Tav pressed her head into the cool grass beneath her, arching her back and playfully straining at the light grip of the Mage Hand. It couldn’t apply enough force to truly hold her, but she was delighted to find that mixing danger with pleasure was truly- She gasped as she felt her pale lover kiss closer and closer to different lips now, his hands wandering her thighs and guiding her legs apart. As with the rest of her body, Astarion’s affections were generous, gauging her reactions from the timing of her breath, the moans that he could draw from her increasingly parched throat, the way her hips rose towards him subconsciously declaring her desires. Please. More. Now.

Finally her growing impatience was met with sweet satisfaction. His tongue was swift in tasting her, teasing her, and setting her entire body alight with pleasure as it felt like the ground beneath her might shake. This was no fumble in a store room with a quick fling she could rob when they were done, no simple tryst to pass away the time in the city’s long nights. He knew exactly what he was doing, and his intention seemed to build her up until her knees were shaking, hands clawing at the grass beneath her, barely remembering how to breath as the orgasm ripped through her entire being with a mindshattering force. He held her tightly, not willing to relent for a moment, tongue mercilessly caressing and dragging the climax out as her hips shook and bucked with every wave of pleasure.

Just as it began to ebb, he shifted, plunging his tongue instead deep inside her to fully taste the fruits of his efforts. A delighted moan rose from between her thighs as he looked up towards her flushed face; “Delicious…”

After this latest appetite seemed to be sated, Tav realised - as she was able to breathe in more than just ragged gasps - that the Mage Hand had released her own. Finally, she thought, my turn. However, her vampire lover seemed to have other ideas in mind, and it was becoming impossible to refute those decisions. Still, her hands were now free, and as he shifted above her she rested them on his hips for a moment. A signal, a subtle cue, a smirk pulled at her lips as she thought it to herself. Well, vampire, I grant you permission to enter.

For one horrifying second she realised that their unusual connection and the strength of her desire had pushed the very thought directly into his mind as his delighted laugh echoed in the quiet of the night.

“How very kind of you, darling, it would be terribly rude of me to deny such an invitation.” He punctuated the last word with a thrust, entering her with a smooth motion that set her body aflame all over again.

Their bodies entwined, motions synchronising to find every inch of pleasure between them and draw it out in glorious and overwhelming desire. Occasionally his lips would dip back to her neck, tasting just a little more of her blood, dagger-edge teeth keeping her adrenaline high and lust even higher as she found herself craving that sharp and sweet pain. The night could’ve lasted forever, as he drew each new climax from her body echoing into his ear like the sweetest melody. Tav found herself wishing she might hear more of him, too, her hands seeking to find the most tender points to increase his pleasure along with her own, careful always to avoid the scars she had felt at the start of their encounter. The chorus they made together became less subtle as they became fully enveloped in a long overdue release.

---

For his part, Astarion had been remarkably careful only to take a little taste of Tav’s blood each time, never truly feeding but instead savouring the sweetest wine he could imagine. He had meant precisely what he said, this was a banquet to enjoy not a snack to wolf down in a moment. And oh, how he was enjoying it more than he imagined. Each time he felt the moans in her throat against his lips, he could’ve sworn the taste became even more, well, delicious. There was no other word for it, for her, as he let the pleasure overwhelm them both until they lay in the grass exhausted, fulfilled, and entirely satisfied.

A small pang of guilt twisted his mind as he watched his latest conquest - no, not that. His…companion, yes, that word would do quite nicely. As he watched Tav fall asleep, still naked beneath the stars, pale skin glistening with sweat, he wondered if perhaps he had let himself go too far. This was supposed to be a mutually beneficial arrangement; she gets a night of passion and the pleasure he knew he could offer, and in return he gained her trust and a better chance at making it out of this alive. He wondered, however briefly, if that was also how she saw their encounter. A dalliance and an alliance, an unspoken agreement “we will keep each other alive”. He frowned as he saw her eyebrow twitch in her slumber. Not tonight, bloody tadpole, let her rest. She’s earned that much.

He sighed and laid back on the grass, an endless expanse of constellations above winking down at his own foolishness. In the morning, he would tell her about the scars, about stupid fucking Cazador. But for now, the taste of freedom was intoxicating. He wondered perhaps what else they shared, as Tav’s own body was a map of scars, each a lingering reminder of some pain or another that no potion or healer had yet removed. Although, he mused dejectedly, some of those scars may be more than skin deep. We all have our secrets don’t we, “darling”.

----------- ----------- ENDING NOTES ----------- ----------- There it is, the first actually sexy sex that Lia wrote. Goodness how far we have come since this chapter~ But it still stands strong, I enjoyed delving in to those emotions, the deeper meanings, and the other similarities they share as characters with Tav's backstory. There's a lot of complexity in Astarion's romance, and it would do it a disservice to not show that within the early moments. There's a lot more to each line, each little motion, and seeing behind that is sometimes a little heart-breaking too.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #astarion #bg3 tav #fanfic #a tav's guide #astarion x tav #f!tav

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rawliverandgoronspice · 10 months

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I love totk, love it with all my heart. But even I feel a bit disappointed with a lot of the aspects.

The one that gets me the most is just, the Zonai in general?

When I think back to botw, I remember all the wild and exciting theories and thoughts about what the Zonai could be.

I remember theories that they were some iteration of the Kokiri because the spiral symbols were similar, and a lot of the structures were in forests. I remember everyone being so sure that they were a warlike race because the Barbarian Set were found exclusively in the Lomei Labyrinths. Everyone was wondering what the owls, boars and dragons meant to them.

Then we actually get to see the Zonai, the big mystery of botw and there's just.

Nothing.

All we learn is: there’s 2 of them, they had advanced tech, and they had magical macguffins.

It feels so hollow knowing there was so much potential for another race to be introduced to the Zelda universe and we essentially get Sheikah 2.0 with some Mesoamerican vibes.

We don't even learn anything about them as a race, like where the rest of them went or how they were accepted so easily as rulers or why they're called "Secret Stones" when it seems like everyone knows what they are.

The only real upside to this total lack of info is that it lets people with actual creativity create headcanons and fits without having to worry about being canon compliant.

Just rings hollow.

Yeah, I absolutely feel that. I think the Zelda theorists, and I both include myself and say this with all the love in the world, tend to overhype the specificity of things that tend to remain vague in Zelda (and sometimes that vagueness is great, because it's exactly what fuels us next!), but.... I have to agree that Zonais really didn't deliver on that aspect for me either.

To be frank, I was never super into Zonai lore (because I was never super into BotW lore, but it's really on me and not at all a criticism or anything, the community and I missed each other on the hyperfocus moment), but I got super interested to see the Mesoamerican vibes going on in this game to the point where, when Nintendo dropped the Gameplay trailer and I got... honestly pretty underwhelmed (like design wise that sounded great and fun but it kind of cemented the sort of playground direction they were going with, and it got me pretty worried about other aspects, namely the story :) ), I decided to spoil myself with the leaked artbook just to give me... something to latch onto I guess? Because I really wanted to get excited! And the Mesoamerican vibes did the trick: I got super curious about what that could mean, what the Zonais would bring to the table culture-wise, what sort of cool legends involving them would be investigated, etc... Also it just wasn't a kind of setting that Zelda ever really explored (and still has not, in my humble opinion), so it kind of quieted down my worries of having a game that looked so similar to BotW in terms of artistic direction, to the point where I became afraid it wouldn't have anything different to say (which... ended up kind of being my final opinion, unfortunately).

I think the Zonais both lost a lot of their mystery while not really clarifying anything? I kind of would have loved them to remain otherwordly figures, almost? Or maybe to just have hints of a culture that would be very different to Hyrule's, instead of basically the same thing but with robots and things fly around also --I would have loved deeper implementation of Mesoamerican mythos or cultural elements, instead of it remaining.... kind of a costume, honestly? Like, what even is zonai culture, beyond the automation (which was already kind of the Sheikah's thing anyway?) Where do the stones come from? Where are the other zonais? I'm not asking for direct answers, but just enough vagueness, murals, legends, ancient spirits to set the theorists' brain on fire. The Depths would have been amazing to hint at more (and doubly so for the Sky Islands), but right now, in spite of having spoken to two different live (kind of) Zonais, I still have zero idea what their deal is. They could have been hylians and nothing would have really changed.

So, yeah! Agreed! And sorry for the late ask aaa

#asks #tloz #totk #totk critical #totk spoilers #zonai #thanks for the ask!!#the last part being why I really do not buy the whole “mesoamerican coded” reading of totk #because??#like if I dress up as a native american for a party it doesn't make me native coded it just makes me rude #I would love for them to actually be mesoamerican coded (in a good rich interesting way)#and invoke the complexity of their power structure their religious practices their economical exchanges... make chocolate super valuable!!#or for ganondorf to be this invading force mirroring the spanish invasion #(given the gerudos in oot loosely referenced the invasion of spain that could be interesting too)#like then sure!!#but here it's just...ganondorf is the underdog power-wise!! so the comparaison doesn't go anywhere!!#plus he was the one living in Hyrule first! the game establishes this!! nobody asked the game to do this but it does anyway!!#anyways!!! sorry!!!#got a little offtrack here oopsi oopsi #totk storytelling confusing

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bas-writes · 1 year

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Fortunate Apple Pie

Character: Drake Reader: female (trans inclusive) CW: tooth-rotting fluff, a crumble of second hand embarrassment Word Count: 1375 Synopsis: Drake loves you. But he’s shy. Drake tries to be a gentleman. But you distract him. Drake really wanted it to resemble a normal date - even if it happened by accident - but the tragedy could be saved only by the taste of an apple pie. A/N: repost of an old fic of mine, the old post is broken beyond editing 😭

If asked, Drake would have no idea how to explain what had just happened. One moment you two were strolling through the narrow, snowy streets of the harbor town, the other—sitting squeezed in a corner of the cheesiest cafe on this side of the Grandline. Memories and awareness were mixed in Drake’s mind, he barely could process the present reality, let alone unscramble the sequence of events. You had been outside. You had been caught in the early, first snow, which had quickly turned into a blizzard. You had got lost the way… Most likely? At some point you had found yourselves in the middle of unknown nowhere and, afraid to get you separated, Drake had grabbed your hand. It had been so small and tender in his, so different and softer than steel he was used to touching—but also so cold and trembling, sucking the warmth out of his fingers with an esurience of a starved castaway. He had glanced down at you, at your freezing cheeks and little, cute simper...

…And it was over.

Something was telling him it was him who dragged you two here. It would be in his style to lose his cool and rational mind because of a woman. And it wouldn’t be the first time he snapped and did something stupid because you touched him. Or because he accidentally glanced on your cleavage for a bit too long. Or because wind swayed up your clothes and a glimpse of your usually covered body grasped his attention. Or because you changed your shampoo and he could smell it everywhere on the ship. Or because you leaned over his desk to help him with a log and your softness grazed his arm. Or—

Drake cleared his throat and focused on a cup he was holding. Or rather: on getting his finger out of its tiny handle. Whoever designed it, definitely hadn’t men of Drake’s size in mind. Porcelain adornments were pinching his knuckles and honestly, if it wasn’t for you, he would just break it a long time ago. But the presence of a lady obliged. Besides... He wasn’t feeling quite comfortable in that cafe. Everything screamed: kitsch and extravagance, pink and cuteness, old ladies and fat cats. Maybe other clients ran away in panic at the sight of the notorious pirate entering the cafe (and knocking down a vase with an axe, absolutely unintentionally, it was just your hand suddenly touching his wrist…); maybe the owner was trembling like a leaf when bringing you your tea and apple pie, but Drake still had a feeling he would end whooped by his late grandma as soon as he would even thought of breaking something.

So, he was sitting as carefully as he could, shrinking legs under the little table, curling shoulders to not touch the curtains, eyes glued to the cup, just to not glance at you, not even once, not when it was so soft and warm and cozy and he could get weird ideas. Drake knitted eyebrows together and focused on pulling his finger out, internally praying to all gods of sea he could name for not breaking fragile porcelain. Gods jeered back at him through ugly as hell, cross-eyed fat cherub painted on the cup. Drake could swear this little bastard was just waiting for him to fuck this up. To boot, he was just about to sneeze, cardamum and cinnamon were tickling his nose, candles and bibelots, and ugly imitations of rococo were spinning in his eyes—and overall, whenever he dared to glance at your direction, he could spot your enamored smile and heat was blooming up his cheeks.

Truly, even Impel Down was using more subtle tortures.

“Do you need help?” You innocently reached towards the cup stuck on his finger. “I could smooth it with a lip balm maybe—”

“No, I’m fine!” He snapped it back. Porcelain didn’t stand the tension and broke into pieces. The biggest, dabbled with cherub’s ironic sneer, landed on top of his pie. Drake just groaned, barely holding curses back in his throat.

“Are you hurt?!” Your worried chirps were like red-hot needles stabbing right into his pride.

Yet, he didn’t dare to confront you, just shook his head and showed a clean hand as a proof. The rest of your words got swallowed in the noise of worries and embarrassment in his head. The lamp over your heads was throwing rainbow light on the table, colorful reflexes were dancing between your hands, almost touching each other, despite his best pains and efforts to move away from you as much as courtesy was allowing. In this light and angle your hands (Drake allowed himself to risk one, quick glance) resembled the hands of saints on paintings he saw in churches of North Blue. For some reason this sight made him feel at home, even though he never was religious in the first place. Fuzzy, cozy and warm feeling clenched his heart, he wanted to touch you so bad—isn’t it what couples do in such places?—but the mere thought of it made his head spin. He jerked back and—ah, damn those narrow spaces!—knocked his own axe down. The weapon fell with a huge bang, the owner hid in the back praying and cursing in the same time, your hands suddenly disappeared from the range of Drake’s sight.

Serene easefulness disappeared.

“Why do I have to be like this?” Drake murmured to himself, his lips hidden behind his hand so you wouldn’t hear. Carefully, as if he was dismantling a bomb, he reached for a cake fork, smaller than his pinkie, and scooped a piece of pie.

At least it was tasty, he had to admit it. His pride and sense of aesthetic might be hurt and his head might be empty, but at least his stomach couldn’t complain.

“Are you sure you are okay?” You set the ball rolling anew, concern audible in your voice. “You are changing colors from pale to red every minute or so.”

His eyes darted up against his will and met yours. The colorful reflexes were dancing along your face now; the game of light and shadows on your cheekbones, lips and brow ridges was drawing the essence of your beauty together with a gentle, encouraging smile—that cute little smile, barely curving corners of your mouth, the one Drake loved so much. His jaw slowly dropped, a piece of pie missed its destination, sticky bits of apples and crust landed everywhere but where food should land.

And he couldn’t care less about it, so mesmerized by your beauty.

You chuckled, quite fond of the cute (and dumbass) expression he made.

“You’ve got something on your lip.” Absolutely overusing his confusion on purpose, you reached towards his face. “Here, let me.”

Feeling your tender fingers on his jaw, Drake froze. It was warm. It was soft. It was gently wiping the unlucky piece of pie from his chin. It was touching his chin, his corner of mouth, his lips—

You dragged your thumb along the bottom lip, gathering all the little crumbles you could spot. Drake’s canines—a bit bigger and sharper than people usually have—were prodding your fingertip. An unaware invitation was made. You just couldn’t help yourself.

And Drake couldn’t move from his spot.

It could barely be called a kiss. You just quickly ducked forward and pecked his lips, taste of tea and apple pie didn’t even remain on yours when you withdrew a second later. But for Drake—for poor, shy and so madly in love with you Drake—it was more than enough.

If asked, Drake would have no idea how to explain what had just happened. He woke up in his bed in the captain cabin, his head was spinning and aching, and the first thing he did was sneezing exactly three times. For some reason he could still smell cardamum and cinnamon.

He could only suspect he fainted, it wouldn’t be the first time he did so because of you, but everyone remained tight-lipped. If asked, you just smiled mysteriously.

“I really liked this cafe,” you were saying. “We should get out more often. And eat more apple pies.”

#one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #x drake x reader #x drake x you #x drake x y/n #bas writes #x drake #female reader

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lycanlovingvampyre · 1 year

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Thinking about the whole reveal of Not!Sasha being, well, not Sasha as the build-up to the S2 finale made me think. I saw people, who didn't catch the change of Sasha, saying it was cool to discover this alongside Jon, as it dawns on them at the end of MAG 76 and gets confirmed in MAG 77. To get their minds blown like this. And I kinda mourn missing out on that experience because it does sound hella cool. And we did get a bunch more mind-blowing revelations or twists in S3, 4 and 5 and I remember how amazing those felt!

And I noticed something then: This is the only time we as audience know more about what's going on than Jon does. Everything else after this point we will discover alongside the characters (mostly Jon, MAG 134 and MAG 196 it's with Martin though and Jon catches up shortly after). Usually we are just as much in the dark as the characters and I found it so extremely cool, for example, to have the absolutely same reaction as Jon in MAG 154 for example (being: saying "fuuuuuuuuuck..." out loud). But the way the Not!Sasha's arc was laid out the podcast gave us all the tools we needed to understand what's happening to Sasha in Artefact Storage in MAG 39 in the last few episodes of S1 - in MAG 36 Jon asks Tim what the table looks like, bringing up the hypnotic pattern and the square hole in the middle / in MAG 37 Martin even calls the statement-giver of MAG 3 - which provides the relevant plot to the table - by name. This was clearly done to give us an exact idea, that it was indeed this exact table and what happened to a person, who was in its "area of effect". We as the audience were supposed to know what's going on and it just happened organically that a lot of people missed it (which I understand, not everyone is like super invested to get all the cross references the first time around).

I wonder if this has been a conscious choice to not repeat having "secrets" already openly accessible to the audience by design so only the characters would get their minds blown when finally stumbling across the revelation, or if it just happened along the way of writing. As far as I remember, Sasha getting not!them'ed was a bit of an improv as the VA sadly couldn't continue with TMA in the way that it was planned for Sasha? So this might have been planned differently? (Oh, @a-mag-a-day)

#tma #the magnus archives #magnuspod #tma meta #tma s2 #tma spoilers #sasha james #not!sasha

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brain-bumbler · 10 months

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hey. hey. you know that one au you did? where dion got a job in the mailroom? think about it again. think about its wonder and greatness. and gimme deets 🤲

oh that is my greatest work ever. i will forever have so much to say about it.

Dion starts out not enjoying the job or looking forward to it, just doing it since his mom won't stop talking about how proud she is of Raz and Frazie, and he needs something to do to fill the hours. Plus a paycheck is nice.

But despite his reservations, the minute Raz walks into the mailroom Dion has his feet up on the table smirking like his swivel chair is a throne. Big brother instinct to show no weakness.

Raz is torn because this is sort of his brother making an effort to ger more involved in psychic stuff. He genuinely wants Dion to do better and learn to cope with the changes in their family.

But also, he's ten. The Psychonauts is HIS thing in his head. He wants Frazie to join him because she was his secret psychic buddy that he probably trauma bonded with and he wants to heal the divide between them. I think it'd be normal for him to not be 100% stoked about it. Like oh great, maybe the mailroom is where evil villains are made and Dion's gonna decide to turn to the dark side.

At first Dion is jumpy and standoffish with people. But luckily he unlocks the pure dopamine of sorting objects for his repressed adhd-autism brain. He completely zones out during his shift and then snaps back an hour after closing time when the packages stop coming. Holy shit stacking boxes of different sizes into cubes like tetris and then sorting them based on color, he's not showing it but his brain is just enjoying it So Damn Much.

He gets so hyperfocused that he forgets to slack off and act superior and grumpy. He clears out the blacklog in 3 days and then designs a new sorting system. It needs revisions but that just means more stacking and sorting fuck yeah!

Gisu was expecting him to skip work to come see her but he's in the ZONE and its hard to break him away from it. But after awhile it is easier to leave because he needs variety in his day, which makes flipping across the Motherlobe and finding new ways to deliver mail great.

He makes up challenges for himself. Can he sneak packages to people from the vents like a spy, something he'd never admit to thinking was cool? Can he do deliveries while playing "the ground is lava" in his head?

Also he keeps writing letters to Gisu that have to be "hand delivered" so they can meet up. Hollis lets it slip since he solved their budget crisis by discovering Nick was stealing money, and Dion is insanely effective at his work. If only she could get him to wear anything business casual.

Dion's biggest bad habit is skipping meals. He doesn't like eating in the Noodle Bowl without someone he knows, it makes him nervous. So if he doesn't bring lunch he ends up skipping it, or even if he dues he just throws it away without telling anyone.

He makes the mailroom the most popular part of the Motherlobe tour by putting on an acrobatics performance that enthralls all the visitors. Maybe he slips out some pamphlets for the Aquato circus, it never hurts to advertise!

Having the alone time and investing in something not related to his family is really good for his personal mental health and boundaries.

#psychonauts 2 #psychonauts #ask bumble #dion aquato #dion's mailroom au #Gonna think of a snappy title for it #dion's mailroom debut #hmmm needs work #thank you for the ask i love this au i wanna talk about it more

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nohoperadio · 4 days

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[this is responding to @wellmetmat's reblog of my aesthetic self-modifications post, I'm only quoting them in part so you should click and check out the whole thing if you wanna keep up. Replying like this to keep the thread from getting crazy long!]

Tattoos: I like the idea a lot. I like face/body-painting even more: not make-up, mostly, and not usually henna (blobby, a stain rather than a paint, almost a normal skin colour but a bit off, not glorious at all); but war-paint and costumes and body glitter under blacklights - gorgeous - and the tradition of children's face-painting at fairs, and getting, too rarely, to draw on people with coloured zinc cream by way of sun protection, and smearing my face and limbs with ochreous clay or ashes from a campfire, something I have a strangely recurrent urge to do and feel modern urban life is rather impoverished for lack of. I liked Darth Maul's appearance. I think most people look better in eyeliner, and would look even better again with their faces transformed into unearthly blue-black masks of woad and ashes, at least on special occasions.

This is cool there's lots of examples I wouldn't have thought to think about here! I'm gonna try to extract some takeaways about what the things you mentioned might bring to the table in contrast to tattoos and makeup, although I have little to no hands-on experience with most of it so tell me if this doesn't ring true:

I get the impression that the tactile element is important in several of these, as much as the visual element? Especially with "smearing my face and limbs with ochreous clay or ashes from a campfire" which feels like a very sensuously-motivated description, but possibly this is in play with the body-paint and war-paint too? I like this idea because it implies that the goal is a transformation where you can feel yourself changed, it's a more first-person kind of change than either makeup or tattoos where all the emphasis is on the visual effect, and therefore (perhaps?) implicitly on what other people perceive. You actively want to feel these things on your skin and feel how your body's different.

Is there an element of democracy that's important here? Tattoos/makeup are both things where there are high ceilings one can exploit both in terms of how much money you're willing to invest and how much skill you have available (with tattoos the skill part is outsourced to someone else, but still). Whereas with a lot of things on your list the materials are simple and relatively inexpensive, and the desired effect isn't particularly intricate or subtle and most people can achieve it for themselves untrained (I think!). This doesn't necessarily apply to face/body paint but I feel like it does to a lot of the other things.

There's also a quasi-ritual social aspect to some of these which I guess is somewhat connected to the previous point, I like that you've introduced the experience of being the "artist" of other people's modifications into the conversation, it's a nice contrast to my very I-centric post.

Despite that, I don't have any [tattoos]. Partly because of pain and needles (significant deterrents! I'm not brave), partly because as of last year I have a skin condition which can be pretty wretched and the thought of voluntarily seeking more skin misery for any reason at all is offputting (and I have a lot of little scars and discoloured patches from it now, and they look distressingly messy, and the addition of tattoos would probably increase the general look of shabbiness and disorder); and in the main because I'm very indecisive and slow to commit to anything.

Very reasonable to not want to put your skin through another ordeal when it's already been through a lot! I do think tattoos that incorporate scars and such as a basis for the design are one of the coolest uses for the technology, although I guess you mostly only hear about people who were lucky enough to get the kind of scar that sets up something good. (I mean "lucky" is obviously a wrong and borderline callous word but you know what I mean!)

I don't think I mentioned "reluctant to commit" in my bit about tattoos but yeah definitely a thought I always have when I think about tattoos is "how could I possibly know whether, ten years from now, I'll still be the kind of person who thinks this is a good idea?" I guess the positive spin to put on this is that I put a lot of value on leaving room to change one's mind and change one's feelings about everything, which I do genuinely think is a virtue. The negative/depressive spin on it is that at any given point in my life I've always felt like I have a lot of personal growth still to do before I'll be somebody I'm actually happy being, kind of as if my current identity is a provisional one that I hope will at some point be replaced with something better and more solid, and so making what's basically a small lifelong commitment while I'm still inhabiting the "provisional" self feels reckless. (Damn sorry wasn't expecting this paragraph to take that turn! I should clarify I'm doing pretty alright for the most part, my full-on depression days are long behind me now.)

All of your tattoo ideas sound awesome to me! The dandelion is particularly compelling, I like the idea of a tattoo that's expansive enough across the body that you can't necessarily easily see all of it at once, and it's a good example of a design that really uses the medium well, you couldn't get anything like the same impact with an ink drawing on paper.

I hadn't heard of a winter count, it's a very beautiful idea, I feel like I would stress too much about my years not containing enough significant events to come up with a summarizing icon though!

I don't think I need to tell you how much I approve of the pigeon.

Hey thanks for sharing this was fun! Fwiw chatter will always be welcome, I'd like to increase the amount of chattiness in my tumblr use in general, but more to the point I've always enjoyed your ( )-shaped thoughts whenever you've shared them so always feel free please!

#touched to learn that our hands have similar personalities also #the devil's policies to reverse unemployment disproportionately target certain idle hands it seems #wellmetmat #replies

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