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ganondoodle · 6 months

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still thinking about how even just the decision to basically act like the shiekah tech never existed is just ... so baffling to me

bc again you could have done all the sonau tech does with shiekah instead, and they were perfect to be explored more in a sequel, why wouldnt you grasp that potential, the literal building blocks for more??

if you are that tired of shiekah tech .. dont make it a fuckign sequel to the game prominently featuring it???? totk doesnt take place generations after botw in which things could have changed drastically, its just a few years afterwards??

you want to reuse the map and get rid of shiekah tech? ok fine take LINK into the past then and the focus is for you to find a way to return; do some neat twist where its revealed that link was the one who sealed gan bc he couldnt defeat him without zelda or something if you dare (they wouldnt)

want less work than that and still reuse the map and get rid of shiekah tech AND reuse characters? ok then make it some alternate universe thingy like majoras mask in which everythign is the same but also isnt, its weird and creepy how characters you thoguht you knew suddendly dont act like themselves, shiekah tech doesnt exist, malice is now miasma, etc, it would give reason to why you feel so much like something about this world is familiar yet also very wrong

as far as im aware every "sequel" we have had so far were either generations apart from the first one, some alternate universe or a different location altogether- in all of which its plausible that things are different, things seem weirdly familiar but also wrong, or that another continent just works different from hyrule

but totk does none of that, its supposedly just a few years after the first game, same world same character, but its BUILT like some strange jumbled mess of stuff from botw and new stuff out of nowhere that just .. doesnt fit, but feeling a strange sense of otherness, a déja vu of something you know but it acts off, like an imposter, thats NOT intentional and it shows, its a mess of botw stuff, from stuff that people missed from the old games and entirely new stuff; i dont doubt it CAN work but the way it turned out is like a mix of 3 different puzzles forced together and being told 'see it fits!' even tho you can clearly see the pieces dont look right in these places

again it feels like a sequel that desperately wants you to forget the first game happened, that anythign from it mattered at all

and that isnt really ... the sense of a sequel? why insist on it being one when it only creates problems? is it marketing?? just like it was marketing to call age of calamity a telling of what happened before botw but then it wasnt that at all and that is still the sole reason why i dislike it? bc i was lied to? totk is like 10000 times worse than that, its a main title and doesnt even have the excuse of yeah its basically an excuse to play all your fav characters in fun ways and the game beign well aware that being its main appeal; what is totk appeal? a toybox with botw aestethic and none of the flavor?

(on a sidenote; the sonau tech doesnt even .. matter? in botw at least calamity ganon was made of shiekah tech parts and him overtaking other tech is a big point, the sonau tech doesnt serve anything but .. idk minerus useless mech? gan doesnt even aknowledge it, he doesnt care, all it is is toys for the player, not link, but the player. the monsters mining the tech materials? what for? gan doesnt give a damn and they dont work for the yiga either??)

i said it before but it gives me the feeling that the way botw invited you to theorize, to look beneath the surface, the way it intrigued you and laid the groundwork for so many interesting things without denying anything.. was accidental? or perhaps put in the game without the directors noticing? i cant stop thinking about them saying sth like "after botw zelda wondered if the kingdom of hyrule needed to keep existing the way it had been before the calamity, but then totk happens" bc it just feels like they realized too late that botw naturally led into questioning the status quo and they scrambled to fit it back into a flat and boring road we have seen so many times before (or even worse really) with totk

zeldas character naturally leads into her questioning and reexamine their history and set of rules? we gotta teach her a lesson of why she is importante god given monarchy girl that has to keep it bc what if evil brown man shows up again for no reason

maybe im grasping at straws here but looking at it this way the sonau .. make more "sense"; the shiekah were a group that was under the rule of the royal family, and misstreated before (oh no look soemthing interesting) so they dont lend themselves well to be used for teaching zelda that lesson- the sonau however are tailored really to be just that; they are a supposedly godly race from the literal sky that founded this version of hyrule, that had tech even more advanced and better than the shiekah, she gets put in the past to meet the perfect god king of goodness personally, also his very fridgy wifey that zelda later replaces in a way, shes put there and treated like family and then gets to see just how evil that evil big man from the desert is, sonia is falcon-punched to death solely so zelda can feel obligated to take over her role, have her new, better 'family' hurt by gan; similarly so raurus sacrifice, look what a noble and good king he is, he payed the ultimate price to lock that evil man away, now zelda you cannot let their sacrifice go to waste, rebuild that divinely good kingdom like it was!!

and even though they go so much out of their way to put the cart back onto the rails of black and white-good and evil in an even flatter way than the old games, it still doesnt feel right, at least to me, it still feels like zelda shouldnt have gone along with all of that, it feels like even her character from botw was walked back entirely, except for the intro, it made her feel like a stranger to me-

because this is a sequel, i know this zelda, she wouldnt act like that after all that shes been through, this feels ... off

and it all just insulting to anyone who cared about botw more than surface level, or the zelda lore in general, i dont even care much about the timeline, but theres alot of lore and themes beyond it that felt ignored, especially so given that .. its a damn sequel, non AU, not generations apart, directly part 2-

but its not.

it even feels very "corporate", put zelda in a dress again, people liked that, put crazy abilities in the game to flashbang people with how insane it is even if its not the best for the gameplay or the story, put a new asthetic into it out of nowhere bc its 'new' and act like its been there the whole time, put gan in there bc people miss him and find him sexy even if his role is just as flat as that of an evil cloud monster-

*sigh*

you know, i saw a post that said aoc was like a bad fanfic (affectionate) and totk was like a bad fanfic (derogatory) and tbh thats like one of the best comparisons/summaries i have seen ..

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dycefic · 1 year

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Tom Saves The World

Everyone knows that it’s super-heroes who save the world. They fight the aliens, or the monsters, or the bad guys. And mostly, that’s true.

But not always.

I’m a psychic. The thing is, my range isn’t that great. I don’t have much detail more than about 36 hours out, 48 for something really big. I’d had a nebulous sort of bad feeling for about a week before this one finally hit, and it was big. Something very tough and very supernatural was going to come up out of the harbor of Nova Roma, and the death-toll was going to be high. Crazy high.

I did all I could. I told the Unaligned Supers Job Placement Agency, and they put the word out to everyone on both sides of the Line. The Henchman’s Union don’t like natural disasters any more than anyone else, and they’re often quite helpful against eldritch horrors and stuff like that. Things that don’t hire henchmen and ruin the property values.

The trouble was, nobody big was around. The only really big team of heavy hitters on the West Coast were away dealing with some sort of doomsday cult - I never was clear on what that was about - and Guarde and Dog Fox were out of touch and even Mx Frantique was out of town at someone’s wedding. It was going to happen in less than two days and we couldn’t find anyone to help and I was seriously considering calling in some kind of bomb threat or something to get people away from the docks, at least.

And then, about eighteen hours out, it just… went away.

Which never, ever happens.

My powers might be short range, but they’re reliable. I don’t get stuff wrong, and I hadn’t been able to find any way to prevent what was going to happen, or even been able to identify anyone who could. But someone did. Someone had done something to stop the threat, something that happened literally while I was opening my car door. When I reached for the handle, thousands of people were going to die. By the time the door was open, there was no threat at all.

At first I thought it must have been a ranged thing. Like, whatever I’d been seeing (all those teeth, I saw them in nightmares for months after) had been distracted by something tasty on its way here and gotten off track, that it’d come up somewhere up or down the coast. My range isn’t that big, either. Anything outside about thirty miles might as well be on Mars for all I know about it. So we kept a watch out, and warned the chapters of the Union and the Agency in other cities.

But nothing happened. Nothing at all. I couldn’t explain it, and I was really unpopular for a while. Supers do NOT like people who cry wolf. There’s enough freaky shit we have to deal with without someone panicking everyone with a dire prophecy that fizzles out.

Thank all the gods that Tunny showed up. Nobody’s really sure what Tunny actually is - sentient fish creature, some kind of really mutated human, an alien, or what. She changes her story a lot. But she’s pretty friendly, especially for a twenty-foot-long horror-movie-mermaid-thing with four arms, so when she came into harbor to pick up some supplies a guy from the Agency went out to tell her what I’d seen. I’d gotten a wharf and dock number, so she went down to check.

I don’t think anyone had ever seen Tunny scared before. Her English wasn’t good enough to really explain what she’d found hibernating down there, but it was something very old and very powerful and very dangerous, and if it’d been woken up my vision would just have been the start of the crisis.

She rounded up a bunch of whales to help her move it, once she was sure it hadn’t been agitated and wasn’t likely to rouse if moved carefully. They towed it out before dawn, not wanting to scare the civilians, and when I saw the footage from the helicopter the Union sent up, when I saw how big the swell was, how many whales were pulling, I swear I nearly crapped myself. No wonder I’d been getting hints a week in advance. Somehow we dumbass humans had built a whole fucking city almost on top of some kind of Ancient Old… THING, and eroded the sea-bottom until it was exposed, and if someone hadn’t done whatever it was we’d all have been dead long before Tunny arrived. And not just all as in ‘all of Nova Roma’, it could have taken out half of the continent... or all of it.

It took me years to find out what happened. YEARS. It turned into a kind of hobby, tracking everything that might possibly have come into contact with Wharf 38 on that particular day.

And what I found, eventually, was a city employee named Thomas Briggs.

I’d found out early on that 38 wasn’t in good repair. Not that bad, but not great. It was old, things were getting a bit saggy in a few places, but there’d been no sign that anything was likely to fall off on the day. It had sat there for a couple of years after the crisis that never happened,, doing its job without problems then been rebuilt without any drama at all.

Entirely, completely, and totally because of Thomas Briggs.

The story, when I finally pieced it together, went like this.

There’d been some project or other to build some sort of high-budget science project over on the other side of the harbor, hanging it off’ve Pier 8, the furthest out on that side. Something about tracking sea-life or ships or something. My conversational English is near perfect, I’ve been here for years, but I don’t speak science nerd in ANY language. It’d all been approved, some university was covering most of the cost, it was all gonna be fine. And it was gonna be over on 8 because that side of the harbor is the shallow end. It’s where the sailboats go. All the big stuff that would block visual sensors and deafen the thing with engine noise was over in the thirties, in the real deep water.

They were almost ready to install the thing when a bunch of rich dudes suddenly got their panties in a bunch over having a big sciency tower thing ruining the view from their yachts, and tried to get it moved.

To, and I’m sure you guessed this, Wharf 38.

Which was completely insane. It wouldn’t be able to do its job over there, it’d be way more in the way, and (although they couldn’t have known it) the installation would definitely have woken up the Thing sleeping by the wharf and we all would have died. But rich dudes with yachts don’t care about that stuff. They’d bitched out and bribed up their friends on the city council, and those friends had done their thing, and the scientists had been left in the dark, and it’d almost gone through. They’d figured to install it right away, so that when the science guys found out it’d be too late and they’d either have to pay a lot to move it or just use it where it was.

Enter Thomas Briggs.

Mr Briggs, Tom to his friends, didn’t give a crap about the yachts or the science. He was a senior money guy for the commercial wharfs, the one who figured out things like how much money they’d take in in a quarter, and what the repair budget should be, stuff like that. He found out about this thing two days before the disaster would have happened, and sat down and did the math.

Then he sent out an email to the guys trying to push this through, and he ripped into them like they’d threatened to knife his mother. I got my hands on that email, and I didn’t understand a lot of it any more than the council guys would have. It was ALL numbers. But at the top he wrote it out in plain English. Pier 8 was new, and rated to handle the weight of the thingy. Wharf 38 was going to be scrapped in a few years, and it was NOT rated for that kind of structure. Pier 8 had plenty of room around it. Wharf 38 was already a tight fit for the big commercial ships, and adding a structure sticking out on one side would block off at least half of the wharf to those ships completely.

Bottom line, putting the thing on Wharf 38 would cost the city hundreds of thousands of dollars more per year than putting it on 8, AND the city would have to eat the cost if 38 collapsed under it which it could easily do, AND the city would have to pay to move it in a couple of years anyway when 38 was due to be rebuilt.

And he cc-ed every important person he had an email address for, including the mayor, the anti-corruption people, and several reporters.

He must have sent that email right when I was opening my car door.

The whole plan collapsed right there, and some people got fired. There was no news story because the whole plan got killed before the reporters even got to the right office. The installation was started on Wharf 8 a few weeks later and I never connected it to a commercial wharf on the other side of the harbor.

One email, and a man who I never could have located in time, a man who had no powers at all, a man who was just conscientiously doing his job looking after the city’s money saved the city, and the continent, and maybe even the world.

Who could have predicted that? Not me, that’s for damn sure.

I can’t deny that I went home and got drunk off my ass that night. Just thinking about how close that had been made my hands shake. One man. One honest man who’d done the math.

I put the word out, once the hangover wore off. What had happened. That Thomas Briggs was the reason we were all alive and everyone better make his life real nice from now on, because he’d done what none of us could do and nobody but the supers would ever even know it.

He’s got a lot of luck coming to him, I can tell you. We don’t forget debts like that.

And I knew that’d freak him out, because honest men don’t like it when people start doing them a lot of favors for no apparent reason, so I tracked him down at the little bar where he likes to have a quiet beer on Friday nights before he goes home. Hell, I was the one who’d gone through it all, back then. I should get to tell him.

I sat down beside him at the bar and looked at him. I saw a thin, small, balding man who looked like he worried too much and didn’t get enough sleep, with lines around his eyes. Yeah, he looked like a man who’d do the math. “Thomas Briggs?”

He blinked at me through his glasses. “Yes? Do I know you?”

“No, you don’t. My name’s Barkhado Omar, and I’ve been looking for you for a long time.” I offered him my hand and he shook it, still looking confused. Which was fair, ‘cause I doubt a lot of seven foot tall Somali women came up to him in bars even when he was young. He’s got to be close to retirement now.

He frowned. “Looking for me? Why?”

I smiled at him. “Tom, let me buy you a drink and tell you about the day you saved the world.”

It’s usually us who save the city, or the world. We have all the intel, all the advantages, all the powers.

But sometimes it’s not. Sometimes it’s someone like Tom Briggs, doing the right thing at the right time and never knowing that he changed the course of history.

Wild, huh?

This story is a direct result of me and my ex chatting about how different the entire Marvel Universe would have been if Jean’s first ‘resurrection’ - being found in a life pod under a wharf, IIRC - had happened at like... any other time. Earlier. Later. It would have changed SO MUCH.

And we speculated about how it could happen, how someone just puttering around in middle management might have unknowingly saved countless lives, prevented Madelyne’s corruption, the legacy virus, all of it, just by postponing that particular set of repairs a bit longer.... and I couldn’t resist writing a version of the story in which Tom does, in fact, save the world.

#short fiction #dyce's supers universe #comics inspired #sometimes something just goes right #horseshoe repair

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vashs-turtleneck · 6 months

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Say my name.

Rating: EXPLICIT (18+ ONLY) Summary: After your heartfelt reunion with your boyfriend, Vash realizes how much he's missed hearing you say his name. Pairing: Eriks!Vash x fem!reader Word count: 6.5k Content: smut, angst, established relationship, oral, p in v sex, reunion sex, very service top Vash A/N: bro this took me so long. I put more effort into this than anything else I have ever written. Anyway, this is my first ever smut fic so uh please enjoy (had to make it eriks because he does things to my brain chemistry)

NSFW below, 18+ only, minors do not interact!

Vash holds your hand through the rickety, quaint house, helping guide you as you walk, avoiding the floorboards he knows creak louder than the others. As much as Granny and Lina adore you, he didn't feel like explaining why he was sneaking you in so late at night. Not only that, he didn't want to explain your relationship to them just yet. After all, the two of you haven't even gotten the chance to properly talk yet, about what your reunion after his two year absence means for you both.

Vash finally guides you into his little bedroom, quietly shutting and locking the door behind you two. He cringes at the how the door hinges creak loudly into the hallway, hoping it wasn't enough to wake anyone.

"So 'Eriks', huh? Did you pick the name all by yourself?" You tease him as your eyes dart around the room, taking in the space your lover has been living in these passed two years. Or... he was your lover. Is he still your lover? For all you know he found someone else during his time here. No, wait, that can't be right. He just snuck you into his bedroom.

Vash chuckles quietly, his gaze never leaving you. "Yeah... guess I did."

You can feel his eyes burrowing into you. His gaze follows you as you curiously take in the room, as you pat the bed draped in old linens, as you look out the window, taking in the scenery, the stars and moons illuminating the sky above. You've always had a tendency to look up at the sky.

God, you're as beautiful as he remembers.

He's pulled out of his own thoughts when you speak again, realizing he's been staring at you the whole time.

"Nice little spot you have all to yourself. Sheryl and Lina are both so sweet. They really do love you, I can tell. They're like family now, hm?" You say as your eyes finally meet his, your voice remaining soft, yet a hint of somberness weaving its way in. "You... You have a good life here."

You feel your heart start to beat faster, your head filling with a million questions that you're almost too scared to know the answers to. What if there was no room for you in his life anymore? What if he wanted to leave everything about his old self in the past, including you? What if, what if, what if...

You start to absentmindedly pick at the skin around your nails and rubbing your palms, subconsciously trying to calm and ground yourself. You're starting to lose yourself to your own mind, horrible thoughts filling your head like a poison.

Vash immediately notices the change in your tone, the subtle, shaky uncertainty in your voice, the way you anxiously play with your hands... Old habits die hard, huh?

"I do. The people here have been very kind to me. It's mostly quiet, apart from when I get myself into trouble. I'm grateful every day for it."

He takes a step towards you, his arms outstretched slightly.

"But, my life here is... incomplete without you by my side, mayfly."

He wants to hold you, feel your body against his, remind himself that you're really here, but he hesitates. What if you despise him for abandoning you? For leaving you behind to think he was dead? Worse, what if you hate him for the sins he's committed? For destroying July and taking the lives of its people? Not that he could ever blame you if you did. He hates himself for it. It's the whole reason he left you behind in the first place. How could he ever face you again after he became the walking demon with the 60 billion double dollar bounty on his head? He deserves every bit of venom spat his way for the things he's done, every bit of the nickname 'The Humanoid Typhoon'.

Yet, despite how much he knows he doesn't deserve you, he wants you so bad. Every moment without you had been agony. He didn't know where you were, how you were doing, if you were even alive. Hell, he wondered if he killed you in July too. So when he finally saw your face again, he swears he felt his heart beat for the first time in two years.

"Mayfly, I... I don't deserve you. I don't. I'm a monster." He takes another step towards you, trying to bridge the gap between you both. "...but I can't live without you. I... I need you. Here. With me."

He's fighting back tears, trying desperately to keep himself together. His vision is blurring from the tears pooling in his eyes, and all he can see is your wide-eyed expression. You're so beautiful, even if you might be about to break his heart.

"If you don't feel the same, I understand. If you want to hit me and yell at me for all I've done, I won't put up a fight. If... If you hate me-" Vash's words are cut short when you rush towards him and plant your lips against his in a feverish kiss, throwing your arms around his shoulders and clinging to him desperately.

Vash stays motionless and rigid in a moment of shock before he's flooded with relief at the feeling of your lips, your body, just you. His prosthetic naturally encircles your waist, pulling you in closer as his flesh hand tenderly cups your cheek, tilting your head to meet his lips with a practiced touch that makes it feels like you were never apart.

You became a shell of a person the day you watched him fall from the sky, like an angel stripped of their wings. You spent the passed two years believing, convincing yourself he had to be alive, or else you would have been lost completely.

With his lips finally pressed to yours, you feel whole again.

Vash can feel your lower lip tremble against his own, your tears mingling with his against both your faces as you each pull the other closer, closer, until there's no space left between your bodies, his stubble scratching your chin.

Your lips meet again and again, each kiss more desperate than the last, pants and sobs and the sounds of lips smacking filling the otherwise dead silent room.

"I missed you." You breathe against his lips, voice cracking from the overwhelming feelings of relief, love, and pain flooding you.

And Vash whines in turn, prosthetic tightening its grip around you.

"I missed you too. So much. Every day I thought about you." He whispers back, his voice strained, flesh hand pulling your face closer by the back of your neck. "I love you, I love you, I missed you."

"Love you too. Missed you so much..." Your voice comes out as a sob, trembling and broken. Your hands tangle into his soft locks. His hair is much longer now, the golden blonde mixing with dark raven.

You feel his tongue tease your lower lip, the warm muscle begging for entry, and you're happy to grant it. When your tongues entangle, he feels himself shudder with want, his body heating up as he gets reacquainted with the taste of your mouth. His hands move down your body, sliding down your waist, past your hips, and hooking themselves beneath the plush of your thighs. He lifts you up with ease, encircling your legs around his waist.

It's not close enough. He needs you closer.

He carries you to the edge of his bed, gently lowering you and as he towers over you, broad shoulders caging you in beneath him. He pulls himself from your lips and holds his weight on his hands, palms against the mattress beside your head. His face is flushed, lips wet with your kiss.

Vash is silent as he looks at your face, tears still staining his cheeks, his gaze reverent and adoring, yet filled with tragedy, like he almost doesn't believe you're real. His flesh hand cups your face again. His thumb traces your lips, your cheekbone, your jawline, his palm resting against your cheek. He takes in your features, committing the way your face has changed over the past two years to memory. You have new lines around your eyes, signs of how time kept passing for you, even without him around, signs of aging that he knows you won't see on his face. Fuck, he's lost this precious time with you, years he'll never be able to get back. Gone, just like that.

He'll be damned if he loses anymore time with you.

His hand trails down, thumb sliding along the side of your neck, down to the bit of your collarbone peeking from under your shirt. His breath hitches at the feeling of your soft skin beneath his hands, how your legs stay wrapped around his hips, your arms clinging to his shoulders like a lifeline. He can feel your body heating up at his touch, like it remembers him. He's missed you. He's missed your touch. So much.

"Please, I- I need to see you. Please." He begs, voice already breathless and needy.

"N-Need to see you too. I need you so much." Your voice comes out as a pathetic whine, but at this point you don't care. He's here. You have him again. You need him.

Vash wraps his prosthetic around your waist as he gently lifts your upper body up enough to pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside. With your shirt finally off, you can feel contrast of his arms on your body, the cool metal of one, and the warmth of the other.

"I missed you. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for leaving you, mayfly. I'm so-"

You stifle his apologies with another hot kiss, your hands weaseling between your bodies and working quickly to take off his white button-up. Your fingers fumble with the buttons until his shirt is open, exposing the scarred muscles beneath. His hands leave you for just long enough to push the fabric off his shoulders. When his shirt is finally off, both his hands move to the back of your neck, pulling you in for another heated kiss, making you both groan into each other's mouths.

Your hands trail along his chest and back, tracing over the myriad of rough, raised flesh. Your touch is gentle, as though you're trying to heal him. He wishes you could. He wishes your touch could take away his 150 years of anguish, only made worse in your absence, and heal this body he's so carelessly destroyed. Yet, he knows he deserves every bit of it for what he's done. If nothing else, at least your touch is a momentary reprieve from it all, a moment for him to just be.

His hips twitch when he feels your hands trail down his chest, over his abdomen, to the hem of his pants, fingers working to undo his belt and buttons, working them off his body.

"M-Mayfly..." Vash mutters, his breath hot against your face. He works the rest of your clothes, practiced hands swiftly unclasping your bra before moving to peel off your pants, tossing the garments somewhere in the room, leaving you both in just your underwear.

Vash gently pushes your shoulders, moving you slowly like you're made of glass and laying you flat against the bed. He sits back on his knees to get a good look at you, propping himself between your thighs, his half-lidded eyes practically glowing as he drinks you in.

You're suddenly filled with this overwhelming shyness as you're laid almost completely bare in front of him. It's been so long since you've been looked at like this, and you can feel the heated rising to your face. Your body has naturally changed since he's last seen you, and the thought that he'll be disappointed weasels its way into your head, flooding you with insecurity. Without thinking about it, your hands move up to cover yourself, draping your arms over your chest and stomach.

Vash's gaze break from your body before darting up, his eyes softening when he sees your blushing and flustered face.

"Oh, sweetheart..." he coos, bringing himself down to pepper your face with soft kisses, stubble grazing your face. "Come on now. Don't hide from me. Please? I want to look at you. I love looking at you." His large hands gently wrap around your wrists, trying to coax you to uncover yourself. "Please. Let me see you. I missed looking at you so much."

Oh, how silly you are to think he'd look at you with anything but pure adoration and worship. He's only ever shown you love and acceptance, just as you have shown him. Vash can't even fathom the idea that you'd see yourself as anything other than breathtakingly perfect. Your body is his place of worship, every sound you make a prayer.

So, with a quiet whine, you let him pull your arms from your body, his hands gently pinning your wrists next to your head flat against the mattress.

"There you are..." Vash whispers adoringly, pressing a chaste kiss to the tip of your nose before leaning back again to look down at you.

He takes in the sight of you beneath him for the first time in two years, his hands letting go of your wrists and tracing up and down your curves slowly, savoring the feeling of your warm and soft flesh. The world hasn't been kind to you in his absence, your body baring new scars he knows weren't there before, and he hopes to God you didn't get all those looking for him, sacrificing yourself for his unworthy soul.

"So beautiful, mayfly." Vash purrs. His hands trail up your middle, up your sternum, before parting to grope your breasts, thumbs rolling over the perked buds. The act sends a wave of heat straight down between your legs, your hips involuntarily writhing against the bed. In turn, your reaction makes Vash suck in a breath, his hips gently grinding against the plush of your thigh, letting you feel his hardened cock.

You both need this. Badly.

"Mmph- you like that, huh, baby? That feel good?" Vash whispers, voice hoarse with desire as he circles his thumbs over your nipples again, this time rolling his hips right against your clothed sex.

You howl at the pleasure, hips bucking to meet his own. You bite your lower lip to muffle your cries, nodding your head up at your lover. "M-Mhmm!"

With a lewd grunt, Vash brings his head down, pressing his lips to your inviting body. He sucks on your neck, nibbling and licking slowly and sensually, finding the spots he remembers would make your breath hitch, your back arch, and your grip tighten around him. He lets out a deep groan against your neck when you react the way you used to, your voice pitching up to a needy, wanton moan when he sucks on your neck just right. You tangle your fingers in his hair as shivers dance up your spine, rolling your hips up against his.

He leaves a trail of kisses along your form, giving special attention to any scars he comes across along the way, just as you had done for him countless times before. His lips reach your chest, kissing along your sternum before moving his mouth to one of your breasts, his skillful lips enveloping your perked nipple, tongue circling the peak. His hand moves up to massage your other breast, kneading the soft flesh in his palm.

And you can only do what your body tells you to, your voice quivering into what only comes so naturally to you when he's worshipping your body like this.

"Vash." His name leaves your lips as a broken moan, but they hit him like a typhoon, shattering him to pieces.

Vash's body tenses, all his actions pausing as his lips part from your nipple with a quiet smack, his hot, ragged breaths against the wet skin of your breast. He tilts his head up, bringing his face closer to yours, letting your noses brush and his forehead press intimately against yours. His beautiful baby blues drink you in, eyes upturned into a longing, pleading stare. His eyes captivate you, trapping you under his gaze. From this close, you feel like you could drown in them.

"Please... Say it again." His voice is raw, fragile, and begging.

You have to blink yourself out of your trance, completely ensnared by him. Even though he's the one begging you right now, with that look on his face, you'd do anything he asked. So, without hesitation, you say it again.

"Vash."

And he whimpers.

A name he hasn't heard in two years, lost to his new life. A name that, despite the heavy weight it carries now, was gifted to him by someone very important. A name that has always rolled of your tongue with a softness he never felt he deserved, that he used to hear you cry out over and over when your voice was pulled taut with pleasure. His name.

He didn't realize how much he missed hearing it, and especially how it sounds leaving your lovely lips.

"Again. Please."

"Vash."

"One more time. I beg you."

"Vash."

Vash groans again, his eyes fluttering before pressing his lips to yours again, catching your bottom lip between his teeth as he pulls away.

"Mmph... Fuck, mayfly. The things you do to me."

His lips capture yours in a hot, wet kiss, tongues tangling, his hips undulating against yours and seeking out that little bit of friction between your bodies. He can feel the heat coming off your core against his hard cock, and his mouth waters as he thinks about how wet you must be right now.

"Need to taste you, mayfly."

Vash pulls back before he stands up between your legs and pulls you by your hips to the edge of the bed, grinding himself against your thigh again. His fingers hook to the elastic of your panties, his eyes not missing the wet spot forming on them already before meeting your gaze again. "Let me take these off you, baby."

And fuck, you are absolutely reeling right now, barely able to form a thought as he continues to handle your body with so much care and deadly precision, like he know it better than you. And really, he does. Despite the time you two have spent apart, his confidence in his knowledge of your body and his desire to please you is naturally weaving its way back into his mind like it's pure instinct. You can't tear your eyes from him as he stares down at you with the darkened, hungry eyes of a man that looks like he's just found his first sip of water in days on No Man's Land.

He tilts his head as you stare at him silently, taking in your half-lidded, hazy eyes. His fingers unhook from your panties, palms resting against your thighs.

"Mayfly? Do you want me to? I won't do it unless you tell me to."

You whimper needily, shifting your hips back and forth, unintentionally teasing him as your body begs for more of him.

"Please. Please, Vash. I need you to touch me." You beg, your voice shaking. You need him right now, both body and mind begging him to do something, anything to ease the ache between your thighs.

With a smirk that flashes his sharp canines and sends another shivering wave of heat to your core, Vash swiftly pulls your panties down your legs, letting them drop to the floor.

With you completely exposed to him now, Vash hooks his hands under your thighs, pressing your legs up and opening you up to himself, spreading you out on the mattress before him and watching as your slick drips from your sex as he practically folds you in half.

"Breathtaking." He purrs, staring down at your sweet flesh. "And so wet already."

"It's... It's because of you." You say back, your voice a pathetic, high-pitched whimper, feeling yourself pulse with anticipation.

Vash chuckles breathily, his eyes never leaving your sopping cunt as he lowers himself to his knees, propping himself between your thighs.

"I know it is."

With a soft sigh, Vash presses his tongue against your cunt, taking his time as his licks his way from your dripping entrance all the way up to your clit, gathering your sweet juices on the flat of his tongue with an audible eagerness. His mouth presses a fiery kiss to your clit, his lips wrapping around your little sensitive bud as his tongue flicks it with a skillful precision that is downright deadly, like it's all muscle memory coming back to him in this moment, as though his place in this world is right here between your thighs.

For Vash, you truly are an oasis on this desolate planet. In a life that's been so lonely and so filled with tragedy, you have been a solace that he never felt he deserved, yet he selfishly let himself indulge in. After being by his lonesome for so long, how could he ever turn away from your open arms? You unconditionally loved and accepted his broken mind and tattered body, and he was never able to deny your affections, no matter how much he told himself he didn't deserve them.

You are the only piece of heaven he's ever had.

"Mmmh... Taste so good, angel." He coos against your sex, licking his lips of your slick before tonguing another stripe up your cunt. "It's been too long. I'm absolutely parched for you, baby."

"Oh fuck, Vash!" You gasp out, your hands moving to tangle through his two-toned hair, holding it back and away from his face. You can feel his stubble grazing your plush folds as he eats you.

"Say it again, mayfly." He mutters against your cunt, the vibrations from his voice sending shocks of pleasure coursing through you.

Your mind is a pleasure-filled haze. You're barely able to think as your lover positively devours you, gorging himself on your dripping sex like it's more for his own pleasure than it is for yours.

"Ahh... w-wha-?" You manage to mumble, barely understandable.

His head pops up from between your thighs, hungry baby blues staring back up at you.

"My name. Say my name again for me, angel. Please."

"V-Vash..."

He growls as he dives back down to your cunt, his tongue teasing your entrance as his nose presses against your clit.

"Say it softer. Please."

"Vash..."

"Say it louder."

"Vash!"

His hips rut against the mattress as he pleasures you, pathetically rubbing his still-clothed cock against the old linen in tandem with his mouth. He can feel his boxer-briefs soaking up the pre-cum from his engorged tip. His body is aching for you, but he'll be damned if he doesn't make you come on his tongue at least once before he fucks you. He needs to taste you as you come.

His right hand slowly trails up the soft meat of your thigh, fingers dancing along your hot skin until they reach your pulsing flesh, swirling his fingers over your wet heat. Then, he gently presses his middle finger inside you, the long digit curling and pressing against your warm walls, gently stretching you as he takes you apart from the inside out.

You have to throw your hand over your mouth to keep yourself from crying out in white hot pleasure, hips undulating against his mouth and hand, seeking out more of the pleasure he's giving you.

"This okay, mayfly? Feeling good?" Vash whispers before circling his tongue over your clit again.

You don't trust yourself to speak right now, instead nodding your head frantically as you moan and wail silently against your hand.

Vash groans hoarsly when he sees just how well he's taking you apart, eyes fluttering closed as he focuses entirely on your pleasure. When he feels your body relax around his finger, he slips in a second digit, his dexterous middle and ring fingers meticulously and lovingly abusing that sweet spot inside you until he has you seeing stars behind your eyelids.

Your hand gently tugs at his hair, biting into your palm and clenching your eyes tight, your thighs trembling against his head. You pull your hand away from your lips just long enough to call out to him, your voice breaking, your body ready burst, "Vash! M' gonna c-come..."

He growls against you when he hears his name leave your sweet lips in a such desperate tone, tongue lapping away at you more eagerly, your juices dripping from his hand.

"Yes, baby. Come. Come all over my tongue. Wanna taste you..." he grunts, panting as he fucks you with his tongue and fingers and grinds himself against the mattress. Fuck, he's gonna come all over himself if he doesn't reel it back.

His mouth devours you, digits pumping faster into your fluttering cunt as he chases your high.

When Vash feels your body tighten and convulse against his fingers, your sweet whimpers filling his ears, he moans louder than you, as if your pleasure is his pleasure, and it takes every bit of willpower in him to not come along with you.

Vash has always denied himself the pleasures in life, deeming himself unworthy for the sins he believes he's committed. But when it comes to you, to your pleasure, he's always eager to let himself indulge, his tongue lapping away at your sex like your come is a reward for his efforts until his mouth is dripping with you.

When he feels your body relax, your muscles unflexing, he licks one last strip over your cunt before pulling his mouth and fingers away. He licks your sweet cream from his digits, his other hand removing the boxers that have grown unbearably tight from his lower half. Slowly, almost like he's reluctant to leave his place from between your thighs, he raises himself up and towers over you again.

"You're so perfect, angel." He whispers, voice hoarse with desire, and you can see his need from the way his cock twitches as he stares down at you, his big hands holding you by the softness of your thighs. He brings his pelvis forward, gliding the hard length of himself along your dripping pussy, coating himself with a mix of your come and his own saliva.

"Vaaash~" You call to him weakly, your head still fogged from your intense orgasm, but your body craving him. Your hips rise to meet his own, and he grinds against you more desperately.

"You want this, angel? Wanna feel me inside you?" His tone is breathy and light, almost teasing, but you know more than well enough that what he's seeking right now above all else is your consent. How you got so lucky as to find yourself such a caring and thoughtful man (plant) is beyond you.

"Want it more than anything, angel." You purr back, using the loving nickname he's given you back at him as your hands reach for his shoulders. Because let's be honest, if anyone is deserving of the nickname, it's him.

A soft smile crosses his face when he sees you reach for him and, like a moth to a flame, he leans down towards your touch. One of your hands clasp over his shoulder, gripping him and pulling him closer to you. The other traces your thumb over his cheekbone, your finger dancing over that adorable birthmark under his left eye.

"Don’t go stealing my words now, mayfly." He teases back before his lips cover yours. When he pulls away, you feel him pant against your face, his body shaking and his cock gliding over you folds. Despite how much he's been holding back, putting your pleasure far before his own, you can feel now just how badly he wants this. He's at his limit.

Still, a pang of concern crosses over his handsome features, always thinking of you despite the agony he's in right now.

"If... If it hurts, I want you to tell me. Tell me and I'll sto-" You shush him before he can keep going, your thumb quickly moving from his cheekbone to his lips.

"You won't hurt me, Vash." You whisper tenderly, trying to ease the worries undoubtedly forming in that pretty head of his.

Hìs face softens again, his expression changing from one of concern to one that can be described as nothing short of reverent. His eyes might as well be hearts from the amount of love you see in them. With a shaky sigh, he nods his head once, and you move your hand from his face to his other shoulder, holding him tightly against you.

"Alright." He places doting little kisses to your temple and cheek, his hands on your thighs gently parting your legs further. "Let me take care of you, mayfly."

One of his arms weaves its way between your bodies, grasping his cock and aligning himself with your inviting entrance, placing a gentle pressure against your core with the tip of his cock. Vash's gaze never breaks from yours as he slowly sinks himself into your tight heat, the head of his cock splitting you open as he sheaths himself inside you, his mouth falling agape with a mewling whimper as he feels every inch of your sweet warmth.

Your breath hitches as he presses himself inside you slowly, your body taking him inch by sweet inch until he gently bottoms out, your nails digging slightly into his broad shoulders. You can feel him stretching you out on his thick cock, a mixture of the sweet sting and pleasure filling your entire body. You take in deep breaths to calm and relax yourself, your eyes fluttering up at your lover.

You're everything he's ever wanted, everything he's ever needed, everything his soul craves and begs for. He caresses your thigh and whispers between gasping breaths, a sweet smile on his face as your catch your breath, "You're okay, mayfly. Relax. Take your time. Tell me how you feel. I'm here with you, all the way." He coos, peppering your cheeks and neck with soft kisses as he whispers gentle words of praise and encouragement. His expression is one of pure love and adoration, seeing your body relax as you adjusts to his, your walls moulding to his cock, your breath slowly coming back to you.

"A-Ah... I need you to move, Vash. I think I'll explode if you don't move right now." You whine, hips bucking and writhing against his own, begging him to fuck you already.

His adoring smile never falters, chuckling breathily as you beg for him.

Fuck, he's missed feeling needed.

"Well, we wouldn't want that now, would we?" He teases with a shit-eating grin that splits his perfect face. He places a tender kiss between your brows before gazing back down at you.

"Hold on tight now," he purrs against the shell of your ear, tightening his grip on your thigh, his prosthetic palm pressing against the mattress by your head. He's trying so hard to keep himself together, but you can feel his arm shaking from the sheer euphoria as he supports his weight.

Gently, he pistons his hips against yours, his cock gliding along your inner walls at a sweet and tender pace and giving you the chance to adjust to the feeling of him stretching you out. As fogged as his mind is right now in a haze of lust and need, he is still acutely aware of you, and it would break him more than anything if he hurt you.

Vash stares down at where you two connect so intimately, watching how your body engulfs his cock over and over and coats his shaft with your arousal.

"You feel so good, mayfly. Taking me so well, like your body remembers me," Vash praises you sweetly, his face falling to the crook of your neck.

"V-Vash..." you mewl, thighs gripping his waist tighter, cushioning his hips as he pumps you full of himself. "Feels so good. M-More, please. I need you more."

"Of course. I'll give you more," he whispers, his voice dripping with tender affection as his hands move to your thighs, lifting them up and hooking your legs over his shoulders, folding you in half again. You moan wantonly at how deeply he can reach in this position, the head of his cock kissing your cervix.

Vash increases the pace, his thrusts gradually growing more deliberate and quick, pumping into you so deliciously that he wrings out every sweet sound you can make from your throat. He rocks his hips, his muscles tightening and relaxing as he pushes himself all the way in and pulls back out again, letting himself feel every inch of your velvety walls. Every pump of his hips has him pulling himself out to the hilt, leaving just his hot tip inside, giving you no time to breathe before he pushes himself back inside again, fucking you deeper and harder than before. Every time he pulls out, he sees your lips part slightly as you wait for him to ram back inside. And he does, over and over, making both of you moan louder as the room fills with the sounds of skin slapping.

"I love you, I love you! P-Please, please don't leave me behind again. Stay. I need you!" You cry out in rapture, tightening your grip around him and pulling him so his patchwork chest is against yours, your breasts squeezing and bouncing against his pecs.

"I'm here, mayfly. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I can't- I'd die without you. I love you too much." He grunts against the side of your face, the sound of his labored breaths filling your ears.

He thrusts into you faster and harder now, the withered bed creaking and groaning beneath you both along with the sounds of your pleasured cries.

"Mmm~ Vash... Feels too good. Gonna come. Gonna make me come."

Your words break the last bit of restraint in his lovedrunk mind, grunting loudly against your ear.

"Fuck, say it again. Say it- Say it like you missed me. Like you thought of me every day. The way I thought about you."

"Vash!"

You can feel your body quivering and pulsing around him, and it only makes Vash moan louder, your pussy practically sucking him back in every time he pulls away. He moves a hand from your thigh to thumb at your swollen clit, desperate to feel you come undone around him.

"That's it. That's it! Mmm fuck~ I can feel it. Say it as you come all over me, baby. Please. Please."

Your orgasm hits you like a sandsteamer, your back arching harshly off the bed before you even have the chance to cover your mouth, crying out his name with a melodic and broken moan.

"Va- Vash!"

He's quivering, his grunts and breaths shaky as he feels your pussy clench around his aching cock like your body is trying to milk him for all he's worth.

"Ahh- S' too good... M' gonna c-come, mayfly. Gonna come with you."

Vash bites his bottom lip, trying to stifle the sounds of pure agonizing rapture, only for your name to leave his lips like a beautiful song to the heavens as he spills himself deep inside your heat. His hips stutter as he fills you with his hot come until you feel like you're bursting, hips slowing and gently rocking into you as you both ride out your highs until they gradually come to a stop. He feels his muscles go limp, pressing his weight down on you more than he means to as he collapses against your smaller frame. He covers your temple and cheeks with weak, tired kisses, whispering sweet words of affection until you've both gathered your minds a bit more.

"I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you." He chants over and over again with every breath like a prayer, eyes closed, relishing the feeling of euphoria filling his body.

He stays inside you well after you've both come down for your climaxes, cockwarming you on his thick shaft like he can't bare the thought of ever being separated from you again. But when he feels his cock softening, he carefully pulls out of you with an almost pained groan, disappointed at the loss of your warmth but his body completely satisfied and drained regardless. When he sits back on his knees and sees his seed spilling from your dripping hole, he groans, cursing under his breath. The sight is enough to get him hard all over again.

_________________________

After a night full of round after round of hot and passionate lovemaking, your exhausted bodies lay beside each other. The sheets are wet and tangled, your bodies slick with a mix of your arousals, but you're both far too content and tired to care about the mess right now, enveloped in each other's embrace.

"Mmh... bed's comfy. I see why you like it here," You coo against his head, his hair tickling your nose.

"Having a bed to sleep in has definitely been nice. Beats sleeping out in the desert," He mumbles and pulls you in closer to himself, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, his stubble scratching at your skin.

"But this bed might as well be a bed of sand if I can't sleep in it with you, mayfly."

"Always such a smooth talker," you chuckle at him. Then, your smile turns to a look of reluctance as you gently raise your head. "But I should probably go, huh? Don't wanna explain to Granny and Lina what I was doing here in the morning."

"Well, you were doing me." Vash snickers back at you, eyebrows wiggling teasingly.

"You're hilarious," you scoff with a deadpan stare, but you can't help the little amused smirk forming on your lips, "I'm glad to see your sense of humor hasn't gone anywhere."

He chuckles against the hollow of your throat, his lips ghosting over your skin.

"I know, I know. It's just one of my many charms."

"You won't need to say anything to them. I'll do all the explaining for you." His grip tightens around your waist, any thoughts of leaving the bed vanishing from your mind. How could you leave after everything that's happened? After you've both finally found your ways back to each other?

"Besides, they might already know you're here. We weren't exactly... uh, quiet." He chuckles nervously, and you can feel his face heating up as he thinks about just how much noise the two of you were making. You feel your own face heat up too. Yeah, the morning's gonna be a bit awkward.

Vash grips you tighter, his warm body flush against yours, clinging to you.

"Stay, mayfly. I need you."

Your body settles back into the bed, cuddling yourself up against the man you love most, and the world feels a little brighter.

"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

#vash the stampede x you #vash x you #vash x reader #vash the stampede x reader #vash smut #vash the stampede smut #eriks x reader #eriks x you #eriks!vash #eriks! vash #trigun smut

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honeygrahambitch · 1 month

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"Will. I hope my timing is not too inconvenient. Do you happen to be in Baltimore?"

"Yes, what happened?" Will said as he picked up his phone.

"My Bentley was towed. Do you think you could pick me up so I can retrieve it?"

"Send me the address and I will be there in a moment."

***

"See what I believed?" Hannibal said as he showed Will the parking lot.

"And you were absolutely right. I always park here. There are always cars here. Look at that one parking right now. Since when are they towing them?"

"Could be a new rule."

"How much did you have to pay?"

"More than I would have liked."

"Let's go, get into my car. I am having a word with them." Hannibal didn't comment. The individuals who picked up his car were anyway destined to end up in his plate sooner or later.

No one touches his Bentley.

***

"Go there right now. Have a look. And tell all those cars the same thing."

"Sir, it's the law."

"The law my ass."

Hannibal lifted his eyes from the paperwork he was filling. He had to bite his tongue in order to stop himself from smiling.

"Excuse me but who are you? Since you are not the owner of the car?"

"You are damn right. That's my husband's car that you towed. And I am not leaving this place until you admit that it was a mistake on your behalf."

Hannibal dropped the pen on the floor and didn't even bother to pick it up. He almost dropped the papers as well.

"Sir, I would like to ask you to leave the room...your behavior is not very respectful."

"Did I hurt your feelings-" Will stopped to have a look at the name tag "Jeremy? I found your behavior to be more than unacceptable yet here we are. And listen, my husband might be very gracious with matters like this, but trust me, I am not."

"I am calling the police."

"Yeah?" Will said and pulled out his credentials. "Tell me again about the law."

Jeremy gulped and put his phone down. At this point Hannibal had to take off his coat. The temperature in the room was very high, of course.

"I know the law, and I am very much aware of the fact that you are towing only the expensive cars. It's been a matter the FBI has had its eyes on for weeks. So now, before my team arrives, you owe my husband some money. And an apology."

"Sir...our wages are low...please don't get us into more trouble. If our boss finds out..."

"I don't like repeating myself."

Jeremy was shaking but he rushed to took some money from a drawer. His trembling hands made counting them a lot more difficult.

Will turned to Hannibal who showed the same expression he would show in a museum. Fascination. Admiration. And something else.

The man gave Hannibal his money back and apologized multiple times.

"That was impressive, Will." Hannibal said as they left the building.

"I can't tolerate this type of things. Especially when it's you."

"Tell me, how much of it was real?"

"It was mostly bluffing. The FBI is not coming. But I had a feeling my assumption related to what they're doing is true." Will explained. "They never tried to pick up my volvo."

"We really need to get you a better car." Hannibal said, impressed by Will's mind even after all that time.

"Snob."

"I liked seeing you like that."

"Oh, I know. I put on a show mostly for your own entertainment."

Will's hand found his.

#hannibal #hannigram #hannibal lecter #will graham #hannibal nbc #hannibal series #hannibal fanfiction

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wiltedreamofbaldursgate · 5 months

Text

Steady Hands, Frame My Love

characters: Astarion x race/class neutral fem!Tav/reader word count: +3.2k Rating: M trigger warning: mild-ish sexual content. bad eyebrows. This hasn't been beta-read nor am I a native speaker. read on ao3 read more BG3 one shots

Entrusting you with his face isn’t easy for Astarion, which is exactly why you’re so nervous about the whole thing to begin with. You want to do your very best—make him look his very best so that Astarion can feel good about himself. You couldn’t bear anyone making a bad comment on his appearance when he trusts you to be his mirror.

“Come out, spawn. There is no use in hiding.”

You know there is trouble when you spot Lae'zel in front of Astarion’s tent. Her tiny nose is scrunched up in a way that would be cute if it didn’t mean she wants to skin someone alive. The perfectly sharpened blade twitching in her hand is just another hint that she’s out for blood. You almost can’t blame Astarion for hiding from the Githyanki warrior’s wrath—almost, because it’s within every reason to assume he’s brought her wrath upon himself.

Taking a quick look around camp, you find that everybody is suspiciously busy minding their own business for once, skillfully ignoring the one-sided commotion in front of your lover’s tent. You can’t really blame them either; it’s been a very long day, and everybody wants to get some rest before dinner. You have half the mind to do the very same when Lae'zel’s intense gaze suddenly locks with yours—an honest rookie mistake.

There’s no use pretending you haven’t noticed her now, so you put your journal aside and approach the red tent with long strides and a smile that you can only hope will have a calming effect on her. Unsurprisingly, your hopes are shattered instantly.

Lae'zel doesn’t wait for you to friendly inquire about what the fuck the matter is this time; before you can even open your mouth, she’s all the way in your face.

“The spawn does as he pleases!”

Lae'zel would need to get a great deal more specific when it comes to Astarion, but you refrain from telling her so, opting for a questioning look instead.

The young warrior shakes her head, annoyed that her explanation isn’t sufficient enough for your small istik brain to comprehend.

“It is the spawn’s turn to fetch water from the stream. Thus is his duty,” Lae'zel explains slowly, accentuating every word with a well-placed hiss to get her point across. “A duty he fails to perform.”

You think it is progress that she isn’t waving her sword at you, although she does glare at you as if you were the offending party, which—since your relationship with the pale elf has become common knowledge around camp—you somewhat are.

“Where I am from, we make sure to keep our mates in check, however pleasing they might be. You might want to do the same.”

Maybe not so much progress, after all.

“Haven't I made myself quite clear on that before, Lae'zel?”

Holding her intense glare, you stare the warrior down. You have made yourself clear on occasion—you aren’t Astarion’s keeper.

It takes a moment, but Lae'zel is the first to break eye contact, eventually taking a step back. Not lowering your gaze, you wait patiently for her to continue.

“The spawn would better honour his word, or else…” She spits, not at you, but at Astarion’s firmly closed tent flap.

“I will remind him,” you assure her, not unkindly.

Lae'zel looks you up and down before she inclines her head ever so slightly.

“I trust you will,” she drawls, glaring at the tent one last time before she stalks away.

Left to take care of the issue at hand, you frown at the closed tent flap. As much as Astarion bitches about pulling his weight in camp, it’s unlike him to not do his chores one way or the other. And now that you think about it, he’s set up his tent uncharacteristically fast earlier, too, not even trying to rope anyone in to help him do his work. The realisation that you haven’t seen him since he vanished into said tent quite a while ago settles unpleasantly in your stomach.

“Astarion?”

You step closer to the heavy fabric closing off the tent’s entrance, listening. There’s no answer, although you do hear some hurried movement from within the tent. It’s a good sign, you suppose.

“You good in there?”

The silence stretches for another moment before Astarion finally lets out an exaggerated sigh. Going by the sound of it, he, too, must be standing rather close to the entrance.

“Truth be told, darling, I have been better.”

“Are you hurt?” You ask, not bothering to hide the obvious worry lacing your voice.

When could he have even gotten hurt? Haven’t you checked up on everyone after your earlier fight with some overly pesky, giant spiders? Or is he just messing with you—trying to avoid his laborious chore after all?

It takes yet another moment for Astarion to mumble something incomprehensible in reply. With raised eyebrows, you repeat your question, which earns you another sigh from him, this time more exasperated than theatrical.

“I just so happened to get some acid in my face when we took care of those cursed spiders and—”

“And?” You press, alarmed.

“It’s nothing, darling, really; it’s just—well…”

“Astarion!”

The vampire curses, and you can hear him step even closer to the tent’s opening, closer to you. You’re almost sure that if you pressed your hand against the fabric shielding him from you, you would be able to touch him.

“They're gone,” he says, his voice so low you have to strain your ears to hear him.

Your frown deepens. “What is?”

More mumbling reaches your ear, and Astarion has to repeat himself twice before you can eventually make any sense of his words. You stare at the tent flap in disbelief. You can't have heard right.

“Your eyebrows are gone?”

Astarion inhales sharply. “Must you scream it around for everyone to hear? Come in, come in!”

Not knowing what to expect, you enter the tent.

Astarion has retreated to the shadows; his hand is firmly pressed against his forehead. You stare up at him, trying to assess the situation. He looks pained alright, although you have an inkling it’s more from wounded vanity than actual injury. As you step closer to him, you give him a reassuring smile.

“So, acid, huh? I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

He is not convinced. At all. Wordlessly, he’s staring back at you, his jaw set. Your smile fades.

“Let me take a look?” You try again, feeling your already shaky optimism dwindle further.

He thinks it over for a couple of heartbeats before he slowly drags his hand to his hairline, pushing up the stands of white hair that usually fall so gracefully in his face…

Astarion must’ve drunk a healing potion because the presumably once-angry burns on his skin have already faded into pale red blotches sprinkled all over his forehead. By morning, nobody would even be able to tell the acid burns were ever there—were it not for Astarion’s eyebrows, or what’s left of them, that is.

You instantly force your face into a mask of neutrality. You have to approach this very delicately.

“It’s… salvageable. Really,” is all you can blurt out, though.

Astarion’s crimson eyes grow comically round, accentuated by the lack of eyebrows; he doesn’t believe a word you say, which you can’t really hold against him. You’re talking shit. It’s bad, and you wonder how in the nine hells you haven’t noticed this before.

“You can redraw them here and…there,” you go on for lack of anything better to say—Gods, you really should shut up. “Fill them back in, you know…?”

Astarion wets his lips while you're evading his piercing gaze.

“Why, what a grand idea,” he breathes, shakily. “I never would’ve thought of that myself. If only there wasn’t this one peculiar little thing. What was it again, my dear?”

You cringe. Of course. Of course… How could you forget?

“Ah, right…” You only notice the delicate hand mirror Astarion was holding when it flies across the tent, shattering somewhere on the bare ground farthest from you. “I can’t fucking see my face!”

As if all strength has left his body, Astarion sinks to the ground, where he lets himself fall back into his pile of blankets, arms draped over his eyes. It’s all rather dramatic, but you guess you can’t have one without the other.

Grimacing, because you’re sorry for him, you sink to your knees next to him, gently tugging at his sleeve.

“Do you want me to do it? Redraw them, I mean.”

You can tell by the way Astarion sits up as if struck by lightning that he was only waiting for your offer. Suddenly very close, he considers you with narrowed eyes.

“I suppose you could,” he muses, tracing the shape of your left eyebrow with his index finger. “You usually look presentable enough.”

You let the comment slide, but not without rolling your eyes at him. It’s just show, though, a way to suppress a smile. Astarion thinks he’s sly about it, but you catch him often enough looking at you as if you were the sun at dawn.

Of course, you would never dare mention that to him.

“Give me a minute,” you say instead, already rising to your feet, were it not for the cold fingers curling around your wrist.

Astarion gives you a stern look as he's holding you in place, his nose nearly brushing against yours. “Not a word to anyone about this.”

You give him a solemn look in return as you comb your fingers through his hair, gently guiding some stray locks back into place. “I’ll take your secret to the grave.”

Your hand is trembling just a little—enough for Astarion to notice. Enough for that damn smirk to find its way to his lips. You hold your breath.

“Nervous, love?”

Yes, and it’s stupid because you’ve done this often enough—daily, even. It’s just easier to apply cosmetics on yourself, sitting in front of a mirror and not kneeling in front of him, trying to evade his piercing gaze.

“Why would I be?” You scowl, readjusting the hold on your charred willow stick that has yet to make contact with Astarion’s skin. “Aren’t my eyebrows, are they?”

You shift closer to him, brushing against his leg with your knee, which doesn’t help your case at all. You can’t help feeling a little shaky when he’s this close—and he knows it.

“No need to tremble like a virgin, then, my sweet.”

Giving him a sharp look, you draw back a little, although you don’t make it far.

“Maybe you just need to come a little closer still,” he purrs as his hand takes hold of the back of your knee, pulling you onto his lap in one swift motion. “Might be less distracting for you…”

For someone close to having a meltdown less than fifteen minutes ago, he’s surely having lots of fun now. Biting your lower lip, you adjust your weight, straddling Astarion properly. Trying to ignore the hard body pressing against yours, you assess the natural growth of his eyebrows again, eventually setting the tip of the charred willow stick down on his skin, only to remove it again. This won’t work like this.

“Honestly, can you please just close your eyes?”

Astarion scoffs. “Should I blow out the candles, too, while I’m at it? Leave the nightdress on?”

“Shut up, or you’ll end up looking like a clown.”

That eventually does the trick. He gives you one last look that is somewhere between peeved and wary before he closes his eyes.

Entrusting you with his face isn’t easy for Astarion, which is exactly why you’re so nervous about the whole thing, to begin with. You want to do your very best—make him look his very best so that Astarion can feel good about himself. You couldn’t bear anyone making a bad comment on his appearance when he trusts you to be his mirror. The thought alone makes you shudder.

Astarion’s hand wanders up from your knee to your hip, giving it a gentle squeeze; this time, his touch is more encouragement than teasing.

After taking a deep breath, you lean back in.

With steady hands, you begin to redraw the missing parts of his eyebrows. Taking your time, you make sure to follow the natural shape of them; to blend out the colour where the charcoal comes off as too stark a contrast to his white hair.

While you’re working, Astarion doesn’t move one bit, eager—for once—to not fluster you. It’s not until you lean back to consider the fruits of your labour that he opens his eyes again.

“And?”

“Well,” you muse, “you look presentable enough.”

He scowls as you throw his own words back at him; you suppress a laugh before you take his face between your hands.

“If I could see the stars right now, I could not tell them apart from you,” you proclaim, mimicking his dramatics once again. It’s not as funny when you do it, so you’re quick to add, “You’re as beautiful as ever.”

You mean it, and Astarion knows it; trusts that you do. He leans forward to brush a kiss against your lips, hugging you to him, which is as much thanks as you expected to receive.

“Will you do it again tomorrow? And the day after,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck, “please?”

“Of course,” you assure him, deepening the embrace, “until they’ve grown back.”

Astarion hums in agreement and you remain like this for a moment before you pull back to look into his eyes, which are once again framed by a pair of sharp eyebrows accentuating his perfect features.

“I should’ve noticed earlier,” you say, at last. “I’m sorry. I’m not a very good mirror, it seems.”

Astarion frowns at you, the intensity of his gaze taking you aback as it is wont to do.

“Don’t be,” he urges, gently taking your dominant hand in his. He runs his fingers along the back of it, careful not to put too much pressure on your still-raw skin. His touch stings nonetheless, reminding you of your own acid burns that have yet to heal—those spiders really are a menace. “You should be more careful, too, you know? You’re the only working mirror I have.”

You’re lying flat on your back before you can even gasp in surprise. To your embarrassment, your legs have already wrapped around Astarion’s waist; all you can see is that damn smirk on his lips as he’s towering over you, his face barely a finger width away from yours. Your breath hitches as you take him in; nobody has any right to be this beautiful.

“It would be a shame if I lost it, my precious little mirror,” he sighs before pressing his lips to yours.

It’s a far cry from his earlier kiss—heated, needy. Knowing you don’t stand a chance against his tongue gliding over your lower lip, you open your mouth to him, slowly losing yourself in him. There’s really nothing easier than that.

Your hand moves to the back of his neck, pulling him even closer as your fingers dig through his locks, eliciting a low moan from him. This is a lot more thanks for your service than you’ve expected, but you find yourself unable to complain. Your mouth is far too occupied for that anyway.

It’s almost obscene how easily Astarion can undo your stays and by the time his hand finds its way underneath your thin shirt, your mind is long clouded by lust. Leaving goosebumps in its wake, his hand glides over your belly up to your sternum before it firmly cups your breast. The lazy pace of his thumb drawing circles around your hardened nipple has you aching your back, trying to ease the wet heat gathering between your legs.

Wet.

Somewhere very far in the back of your mind, you remember that you had a reason for coming to him earlier—way before you ended up on his lap, let alone underneath him. Let alone this damn wet. What was it again?

You break loose from Astarion to take a quick breath. Not wasting any time away from you, his lips begin to trace along your jaw, your throat, your collarbone; his wicked grin is painfully obvious against your skin. By the time you realise Astarion is scheming something, he’s already pushing his knee under your ass, repositioning you so that you can feel his hardness pressing against your core. You hiss at the sudden contact.

Ah, right—hiss! Lae'zel.

You throw your head back with a sigh as Astarion begins to grind his hips against you, making any thought of the Githyanki warrior evaporate quickly. Fuck Lae'zel and her sense of duty and honour. You can just sit out her wrath with Astarion right here, right now, however long it may take. It doesn’t really matter that you’re not sitting much, either.

But then again, maybe this is why your companions take offence at you the moment Astarion is stepping out of line, although you’re sure they would be biassed, too, if they knew how positively divine he feels—especially when he’s teasing the waistband of your trousers with his long fingers as he does now. Your hips move in answer to his touch, and yet…Fuck.

You groan. Not with pleasure but from your own sense of duty. The others trust you as much as Astarion does; that’s why they somehow thought it wise to make you their leader. Almost annoyed with yourself, you prop yourself up on one elbow, pressing your hand against Astarion’s chest, telling him to stop before you’re way past the point of no return.

He raises an eyebrow at you. His hair is messy and his lips are red and swollen from your kisses and by the Gods you want him to fuck you. It takes you a very long moment to gather yourself.

“Now that we took care of your issue,” you pant, tracing the shape of his left eyebrow with your index finger, “you might wanna go fetch water if you don’t want Lae'zel to wipe them off right away.”

Tilting his head, Astarion gives you a long look. His fingers keep digging into your thigh which has you grinding your teeth to suppress another sigh. He doesn’t buy your attempt at keeping order and peace, not when he can undoubtedly feel you trembling with need for him. You’re not even protesting when he leans back over you, one arm next to your head to support his weight.

“So, what?” he breathes against your shoulder before planting a hot kiss against your skin. And another. And another, as he is slowly kissing his way down your body. “You said you would redo them over and over and over again, didn’t you, darling?”

Holding your breath, you watch your shirt being pushed up the lower he’s moving down on you, gasping only when the crisp evening air caresses your exposed chest.

Astarion’s trail of kisses comes to a halt right below your belly button. His crimson eyes are looking at you expectantly but you’re too preoccupied with his fingers slowly undoing your trousers to make any sense of his wordless question. You swallow.

“You did say that, didn’t you?” He repeats, the amusement evident in his voice.

“Yes,” you nod rather enthusiastically. “No problem. Not at all.”

“That’s what I thought,” Astarion grins, finally freeing you of your trousers to see how pathetically ready you already are for him.

Duty can wait a little longer, you decide as you give yourself over to the pale elf. You only promised Lae'zel to remind Astarion of his chores, not that you would make him do them, you reason.

You’re not his keeper, after all.

341 notes · View notes

gimmeurtmi · 1 year

Text

routine — seungmin

pairing: kim seungmin x fem!reader

tags: getting together, smut!!!🔞

warnings: swearing, dry humping, making out, messing around over clothes, shy!reader turned brave, bestie han for a minute, cheesy ending bc i couldn’t help myself, unspecified relationship

inspo: requested by anon! Humbly requests dry humping with Seungmin👀

notes: some of you might’ve noticed kim seungmin has captured me in his spell. this is the first of many minnie fics i have to write to deal with my feelings. thank you. rbs and feedback are much appreciated 🫶🏻

{ wc: 2462 }

Your routine with Seungmin was quite simple. You’d come over to the dorm when the other boys were busy and get to spend some time alone with him. He usually put something on the TV—a reality contest about singers, but he never watched the episodes chronologically, so singers would disappear and reappear every time you watched another one. Sometimes he’d watch the finale before the auditions.

You thought it was crazy, but the truth was you weren’t there to watch the singing competition with him.

You were there to spend time with your crush.

After watching two episodes he’d order some food (almost always getting you the pork belly you liked) and then you two would eat.

Then you’d talk about things. He’d share the troubles he had at work and you’d share your stresses and then he’d crack a joke or two and then you talked about happier things and without fail, his head would end up in your lap as you played with his wonderful hair.

Once the silence settled around the pair of you, Seungmin would stretch, yawn, and ask you if he could kiss you.

He’d kiss you for a few minutes, softly, and then he’d ask if it was time for you to head home since it was getting late.

The routine was like clockwork.

And like clockwork, Seungmin would ignore the kisses you shared once they were done.

You did complain about the situation to your best friend, Jisung, who sadly was also Seungmin’s best friend. All Jisung had to say was, “but you like him, how is this bad?”

“Because I want more than dinner and some pecks,” you whined.

“Okay. So initiate that,” he shrugged back at you.

“I can’t,” you helpfully explained.

“He’s a coward,” Jisung said simply as he took another spoonful of ice cream, “he’s obviously too scared to start something. So if you want more just do it. What happened to girls can make the first move?”

“Girls can,” you took another bite of the ice cream you were sharing with Jisung, “but I can’t.”

“Then stop complaining.”

“You’re so good at advice, I’m so happy I picked you as my best friend,”

Jisung grinned at you, his cheeks full of ice cream.

“He likes you, he wants to be with you, and with the little schedule you have going on he gets that. Why would he risk it?” Was Jisung actually offering you advice? “If you want more then put on your big girl pants and start something.”

“What I want is to take off my—“

“—no! Don’t wanna hear that!”

You grinned at your best friend before you got back to your ice cream. Perhaps he was right.

Next time you saw Seungmin you decided the only way to get a different result would be to break the routine.

As the first episode of the show started you brought your hand in between your bodies. Slowly, you crawled your pinky across the sofa until it touched his hand.

Seungmin did not react at all.

In fact, he remained frozen for the rest of the contestant's song—only reacting when he rolled his eyes at the judge’s praise.

“That guy is biased,” he started, “that wasn’t a good cover, it sounded like karaoke.”

“You should be a judge on one of these shows,” you said, finally gathering the courage to link your fingers together.

Seungmin hummed.

“Maybe when we disband and I—“

“—Ahhhh la la laa!”

He squeezed your hand, a chuckle on his tongue. “what?”

“You’re not allowed to say that word!”

He laughed, his eyes disappearing under his bangs. “Okay.”

You held hands through the whole episode, Seungmin’s thumb rubbing against your palm in rhythm with the songs playing. You liked that a lot.

And then, after you finished the food and telling him all about your big fight with your mum, his head was in your lap again.

You ran your finger through his hair.

It was quiet.

Only this time you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. You had to break the routine. That was the only way. He was going to ask to kiss you and you would say no. You’d say you wanted more. Yes, that was the plan.

“Hey, pretty?” That was different.

You hummed.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Since when do you call me pretty?”

“Since when do you hold my hand?” He asked right back. The hand that wasn’t playing with his hair was resting by his head, and Seungmin had reached out for it and laced your fingers together.

“I dunno,” you mumbled, “I just wanted to.”

“It’s not bad, I like holding your hand,” he looked up at you with a smile, squeezing your hand.

You smiled to yourself, brushing his bangs into his eyes.

“I liked it too,” you said. Seungmin hummed.

The silence took its turn again.

“So.. about that kiss?”

“Oh, uh,” you started.

As soon as something other than ‘yes’ left your lips, Seungmin lifted his head from your lap. He turned to you, eyes wide, waiting for you to say something.

You were still holding hands but one of you had started to sweat and both your palms were now incredibly warm.

“Um, yeah,” you said after a few moments.

“Um, yeah?” He repeated, eyes squinting at you.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about something,” you nodded, “I’m here now.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He offered, almost getting back into position for Phase Three. But you were ready now for Phase Five.

“No, let’s kiss instead.”

So there went your plan to say no. But maybe you already changed too much today—holding hands was a great start and you can just build more from there.

Seungmin brought his hand to your jaw, pulling you closer and pressing his lips against yours.

You let his soft lips take control, like you always did, following his lead and asking for nothing more. He pressed his lips against yours once and then twice, and then he pulled away.

Before you even thought of opening your eyes you leaned forward—kissing him again, pulling him back towards you.

Seungmin reacted instantly, bringing his hand to your waist to keep you this close to him.

You moved against each other, your mind taken over by how soft his lips were.

You moved your hand to his jaw, feeling the way it flexed as he opened his mouth, experimentingly moving his tongue against yours. You hummed, brushing your thumb against his cheek.

When you pushed against him more, trying to get him to lay down he pulled away.

His pupils were blown as he looked at you up and down before his eyes settled on your lips.

“We should keep going,” he said, breathing heavily, “we should definitely do more of that.”

“Then why did you stop, Minnie?”

“The boys are gonna be back in like twenty minutes,” he groaned.

“So? That’s a very long time,” you smiled up at him, massaging your fingers against his scalp.

“Yeah, yeah, but it’s not enough time.”

“Enough? For what?” You asked, hopefully.

“I don’t want us to get carried away and for the boys to see you in a position you don’t want to be seen in,” he explained. You didn’t quite understand.

Well, you did. You just wanted him to say it clearly.

“What kind of position?” You kissed his cheek. When he said nothing you kept kissing him, down his jaw, down his neck, settling on a spot that made him sigh.

You sucked on his skin, grinning to yourself when he let out a groan and squeezed your hips in response. You took that as a sign to keep going.

“Pretty,” he sighed softly.

“Yeah?” You mumbled, licking over the now red spot you created.

“Don’t start something I can’t finish.” It sounded like a warning.

“And who said you can’t finish it?”

“Seventeen minutes isn’t enough,” he said simply.

“Do you always count the minutes before you kick me out?” You chuckled at him.

“No,” he countered, making the sound longer, “I count the minutes until I inevitably need to stop so they don’t come in when we’re in the middle of something.”

You shook your head at his logic. “We could just go to your room and close the door, you know.”

Seungmin looked at you with wide eyes.

Instead of saying anything else—because you made your thoughts pretty clear, you’d say—you leaned forward, grabbing his chin and tilting it upwards, enough to allow you to pepper kisses around his skin. His collarbone peaked out from his oversized shirt collar, the perfect place to plant endless kisses like you always wanted to.

When you pulled away from his skin, both his hands were cupping your head, one in your hair and one on your cheek—pulling you back towards his lips eagerly.

He kissed you with an urgency you’ve never felt from him before.

Your tongues moved against each other as the pair of you gasped, Seungmin’s hands pulling your waist even closer to him, practically dragging you over the couch.

“We have twelve minutes, Minnie,” you teased him with a smirk, pulling away slightly to catch your breath.

But he didn’t react to that. Instead, he used the opportunity to kiss down your neck.

“I’m not stopping,” was all he said, biting your skin before he started sucking on it.

“No one told you to stop,” you sighed as a tingle ran down your neck and towards your spine.

Seungmin bit the skin one more time before he faced you again, his lips wet and shiny as he kissed you for a moment.

Then he stood up. His sweats did very little to conceal the way all this affected him, and you felt a heat spread between your legs when he caught you staring at him.

He offered his hand to you and you quickly took it, standing up and following him to his room.

You’ve never been in his room before except for one other time. You were cold and he told you to just grab the first hoodie you see. That took you about three seconds and you never stepped foot in his room again.

Now, Seungmin locked the door behind him.

You easily laid onto the bed, settling yourself on the pillows as Seungmin climbed on top of you.

He rubbed his thumb in circles against your cheek as he smiled at you, licking his lips. “Hey, pretty.”

“Hey,” you smiled back.

“Can I kiss you?”

You giggled at him, rolling your eyes. “Can you please do more than that already?”

His eyes gleamed at you. “Desperate, are we?”

“Like you’re not fully hard right now?” You shot back.

Seungmin laughed, and then rolled his eyes, and before he could say whatever smug retort was on his lips you pushed your hips up and rubbed against his crotch.

He gasped.

“Yeah, what was that?” You smirked at him.

“Shut up,” he dismissed.

You decided he definitely didn’t have any right to tease you, and so you grabbed his hips and pushed him down—his body meeting yours.

His eyes fluttered shut.

You were going to say something cheeky, he knew, so instead he kissed you as you rolled his hips against yours.

Seungmin hadn’t made a move to take any of your clothes off, or his, but his hips were moving against yours in the best way.

At one point you heard the front door open, and Seungmin pulled away from you, but you quickly grabbed his face and ran your tongue across his lips.

“I don’t care that they’re here, just keep going,” you said in between gasps.

He listened, and quickly got back to kissing you as he dragged his body against yours. You moved up to meet his thrusts, moaning into the kiss as he bumped against your sensitive bud.

You were gasping, grabbing at his arms, doing anything you could to get him closer to you.

And he did everything he could to get you to make those beautiful noises again.

He ran his hands all over you, not even sure where to touch first now that he was touching you. He moved from squeezing your thighs to your arms to your waist to running up and down your stomach until he was brave enough to crawl his hand under your shirt and all the way up to your breasts.

You were wearing one of your bralettes today, which made it much easier for him to simply run his thumb against your bra until he got a reaction from you.

You moaned softly as he rubbed your nipple with a smirk.

“What are you getting cocky about?” You asked, breatheless.

“Just… that I can drive you crazy with minimal effort.”

“I don’t think I’m gonna cum from this, if that’s what’s getting you excited,” you said, bucking your hips up involentarily.

“Who said I’m trying to make you cum?”

You whined at his words, and Seungmin had to remind you the boys were home now, so he licked into your mouth again to keep you quiet.

It was fifteen minutes before midnight when Seungmin pulled away, placing his face in your neck and kissing it lightly as you both caught your breaths.

You had no idea you were going for that long, but you knew your panties were ruined from having soaked through them and that there was a stain on the front of Seungmin’s sweats from where he was leaking.

He ran his hands up and down your sides as you both just breathed.

“Do you need to go home?” He asked, like he always does. But this time it sounded more like a child asking if he had to go to bed and stop playing with his favourite friend.

“Maybe in a bit?” You offered.

Seungmin rubbed circles into your stomach where your shirt was scrunched up your middle. He kissed your cheek.

“Don’t want you to go yet, pretty.”

You ran your hand up his back and then down again, matching the pace of his fingers on your skin. “I hate when you go.”

“You’re the one who kicks me out every time,” you smiled.

“Yeah, but I told you why. I need to stop myself because now I don’t want you to ever leave. I just wanna do this for hours.”

“And what makes you think I don’t want to do this for hours, too?”

Seungmin picked his head up, looking at you bewildered. As if you just told him the most magnificent secret. “I’m…. not sure.”

“So…. can we keep doing this for hours?”

Seungmin didn’t answer, instead brought your lips together and kissed you for an undetermined amount of minutes. Or maybe hours.

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #all.works #skz x y/n #skz smut #kim seungmin #kim seungmin x reader #kim seungmin x you #seungmin #seungmin x y/n #seungmin x reader #seungmin x you #seungmin smut #kim seungmin smut #skz fics

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hayatofiles · 16 days

Text

PROMISCUOUS BOY

prompt: your next-door neighbour keeps bringing hookups one night after other disturbing your precious sleep. exhausted, you decide to write a letter venting all your frustrations — not expecting that in the middle of all this it would reach it recipient.

pairing: blade, jing yuan x fem! reader

cw: scenario format, modern au, slightly ooc to fit the plot, suggestive themes, mentions of sex, flirt, not beta-read

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

Dear apt 502’ neighbour, I understand that starting a letter with "dear" may sound a bit old-fashioned and ridiculous when I don't even know you, but I hope you take in consideration my romantic spirit as a passionate literature student and will overlook this fact. That said, the reason why we’ve never met is mainly based on the times when I leave and get home. You see, I'm in my last year of a master's degree and the university has been charging all my time and dedication, so I barely have time to take care of myself other than to fall into bed and sleep. But lately, in the late hours of the night, I’ve had my rest interrupted at the only moment when my mind should find peace. And I swear, I've tried to use all possible methods to prevent the noise from affecting me but it has been increasingly difficult. Far be it for me to look for trouble because of someone else sex' life, no. I'd rather say good for you instead. But would it be nice of you to fuck your bitches without breaking my wall in the process? I can deal with their horrible moans, but definitely not with my damaged apartment. Be that as it may, I wish you the best intentions. Your apt 503’ neighbour

Blade

Oh, how you hated your neighbour. You hated him so much.

There were few people who achieved such a feat since you were the most patient and easygoing person to ever exist. Not even your Languages and Cultures II’ partner who was extremely irresponsible or your idiot ex-boyfriend who still didn't seem to understand the meaning of the word break-up were able to get out of you a feeling as negative as hate. But, well, for everything in this life there was a first time, and your not-so-dear-neighbour was getting the upper hand.

When you wrote the letter on one of the dozens of nights in which his nocturnal activities seemed to be more important than other people's rest, you didn't expect a few days later for it to disappear from your desk where it belonged, much less for your friendly doorman to confirm your worst nightmare: all the mail for the week had already been sent.

What was supposed to be a joke turned into more days and nights of stress and you even considered writing him a second letter explaining that it was all just a misunderstanding and that the cracks in your wall weren't that important after all. However, when a week passed and your next-door neighbour's sexual activities began to last until the next morning, you understood that he was deliberately mocking you and, consequently, declaring war.

Now take a good look. You were a person known for your poise and calmness in overcoming challenges despite so much pressure, so it was expected that it’d be no different this time. Except it was. Because not even the calm and composure that the gods gave you could help you ignore the terrible moans in the next room, and the investment you put into that apartment was too high to let it go unnoticed.

And so, at 7:05 am on a Sunday morning, you found yourself in front of apartment 502' door knocking continuously on it as you waited not so patiently the willingness of your neighbour to finish his fuck and attend you. How a person managed to have so much sex drive was beyond your understanding, but perhaps this was due to the fact that your neighbour was an old and lonely man who must have found pleasure in the company of women only at night. Yes, that was a plausible reason.

In the end, you spent at least five minutes abusing the door’s wood without stopping. And just as you prepared to knock once more, it suddenly opened and the man who had tormented you all your nights had finally revealed himself.

Your impressions: Well, old he certainly was. Lonely? Hard to say. Now, unfairly hot and attractive? Unexpectedly yes.

When you came to your senses, you and the half-naked man spent a long time staring at each other in silence, absorbing each other's characteristics. You were clearly affected by his beauty and he was clearly irritated by your presence.

"Are you going to stare at me all the way, or are you going to say what you want?"

You blinked once, twice, three times until his words hit you, making you visibly red with embarrassment. How rude!

"First, good morning to you too," you said venomously, "Second, didn’t you read the letter, no? What part of not breaking the wall didn’t you get?"

The man seemed to take your words into consideration for a few seconds before a sneer appeared on his lips and his eyes narrowed in amusement. He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms over his bare, scarred chest, making him more attractive than he already was.

"I don't see how this is up to you alone. After all, the wall is as much yours as it’s mine," he says and you open your mouth in shock.

"Excuse me? How can I not when it’s my side that is being damaged the most!"

"Then you better start looking for a bricklayer."

Gods, this man was impossible! You already knew that you hated him for a very insignificant reason, but now you were sure that he was more detestable than he let on. And the fact that he counts your arguments with that purposeful blank expression infuriated you even more.

"Unbelievable. Not only can't I keep my apartment intact, but I also have to spend sleepless nights because of the noise too."

"If the noise bothers you so much you can always come and join in," your neighbour offers with a small smirk, but the devilish glow that radiated from his crimson iris didn’t hide the true meaning behind his words.

Too embarrassed and disconcerted to continue the argument with the man, you angrily return to your house, slamming the door aggressively and containing the scream of frustration that bubbled in your chest.

Yingxing in turn couldn't help but think that you had a nice ass, and that annoy you was even better than he thought.

Jing Yuan

Two whole days looking for the letter all over your apartment took you to the most advanced stage of despair. Even though you had already ransacked your living room from floor to ceiling more times you could remember, messing up your kitchen and bedroom in the process, you still hadn't found a single trace of the piece of paper. And even though a part of you already knew that there was a high chance that the letter had been mixed in with the other correspondences and had been forwarded to its intended recipient, you'd rather have a hole in the ground swallow you than consider the only plausible option.

Even so, now here you found yourself: in front of the apartment 502’ door with a courage and pride that wasn't yours, sweat running down your spine and the dread of finally coming face to face with the man who not only ruined your last nights sleep, but who could very well ruin your social life too. God, just thinking that he could be a troublemaker and report you to the police, tarnishing your criminal record and your reputation as a good neighbor made you sick to your stomach.

But there was no other alternative. You had to make sure he hadn't opened the letter, or, in the worst case, consider not bringing this humiliation to the public.

So, minutes after knocking on the door, you were finally greeted by the resident of apartment 502 who, for much your surprise (or much delight) was wearing nothing but a bath towel with the steam's traces still emanating from his pale, wet skin. It suddenly became very clear to you why all those dozens of women made sure to scream “Oh, Jing Yuan!” every time they reached an orgasm.

"May I help you?"

Yeah. Fucking kill me, you wanted to answer.

The words you had practiced so much seemed to have escaped your brain and a familiar heat burned your cheeks. The embarrassment was huge, but you had already come this far and there was no going back. You only wished your neighbour wasn't this attractive, though.

"Hi. Good evening, sir. I’m your nextdoor neighbour and I wanted to know if by any chance you received a letter signed in my name", you stuttered so fast that you feared you’d have to repeat the sentence all over again since Jing Yuan didn’t seem to express any reaction for a few seconds.

As the realization hit him, though, a faint gleam of amusement crossed his golden irises and mortification hit you like a bolt of lightning.

Oh shit. He had read the letter.

"Just a moment, ma'am", Jing Yuan said with a playful smile on his lips and entered his apartment for a few seconds, returning shortly afterwards with the well-known envelope in hand.

He held out the letter and you trembled as you finally picked it.

"I can tell that this was not a letter intended to be sent, right?"

"No, it wasn't. And I'm so sorry for causing you so much trouble! God, what a humiliation! Now would be a great time to die", you pleaded into the void and your handsome neighbour laughed in response.

"It’s alright. You know, it's the first time I've received a letter from such a beautiful lady, although the content was definitely not what I expected", he said contemplatively crossing his huge arms on his huge chest. You looked away feeling more embarrassed, "Nevertheless, I also apologize for my lack of attention. I’ll be more considerate from now on."

If only it could get any worse. Here he was apologizing for having a healthy sex life when you should probably be doing the same. Having sex not apologizing, of course.

Fearing that if you said anything else your words would come out more clumsy than the erratic beating of your heart, you forced a smile to your neighbour who was now looking at you intensely in slight amusement. And realizing that if you stared back at the man for too long your role as a fool would only get worse, you came up with a quick excuse to escape from there and back to your apartment. Maybe your next letter would be a goodbye to the world because you refuse to leave your home from now on.

"Thank you for your attention and again I apologize for the confusion, Mr. Jing Yuan. It was great meeting you, really, but I need to go so have a good night and don’t mind me anymore," you bow quickly and respectfully as your face burned in red, and stumble on wobbly legs back to your door.

However, before you could enter your house due to fumbling with the wrong keys for the lock, Jing Yuan let out a light laugh and replied: “It was my pleasure to meet you, Miss Neighbour. Although, I must say that I would like to keep hearing more from you from now. This time, in person, of course."

Needless to say you entered your apartment at lightning speed vowing never to exit it again, leaving behind a very good-humored Jing Yuan.

How delightful to know that you already knew his name before he even needed to introduce himself, huh.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #blade #blade x reader #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #hsr #hsr x reader

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 10 months

Note

AITA for not wanting to be in my cousin's life? This will be long, I'm sorry

I (f19, but this started at 15) have a rough relationship with my family, I don't have a better word to describe them as besides just not the best towards me. But the real issue now is that I don't want to be involved in my cousin's (f8, but this started at 5) life. This sounds very silly, I know, but let me explain. My cousin is physical in how she expresses herself towards me (she likes to throw things at me and hit me and bite me, and I can't do anything about it because I get in trouble if I do). I have a severe nut allergy and there have been multiple times she's been caught trying to smear peanut butter on me or in my mouth while I slept. She likes to tell me she wishes I'd just eat the peanut butter so she'd never have to see me again. She just hates me, honestly (I'm not sure why, I've never hated the kid, I'm not mean to her, none of us have been able to figure out why and when asked she just says she hates me because she hates me)

The house we lived in contained just me, her, my mother, and my uncle. She is not abused by either adult, before anyone asks, she's actually quite spoiled due to the fact that they can't discipline her in any way without risking her being taken away. And I don't hate her at all, I'm bitter about how she treats me, but I know she's only a little kid. However, I just don't like being treated that way. I recently moved out and I told my mother that I didn't want to be part of my cousin's life until she stopped treating me that way. (Info: My mother thinks she treats me this way because she's a kid so she can't vent her anger out on the adults and I was the only other kid she could vent it out on.) My mother thinks I'm being cruel and punishing my cousin, she says I'll regret this choice and that my cousin will be all I have one day so I shouldn't do this. I've tried to explain that I'm not doing it to punish my cousin, it's just not good for my mental health and I can't be around this behaviour anymore. Other family members and family friends have agreed with my mother, but my friends think my decision is right. Since moving out and not going through that every day, I've started to feel better about myself, my depression isn't as bad and I don't have as much anxiety when I go to sleep. That is kinda swaying my decision to me thinking I'm right for choosing this for myself, but I still worry my mother might be right and I might be ruining my cousin's mental health by leaving.

I want to add that I know I'm way older than her, and some of you might be wondering why I don't stand up to her, but I could never do anything to stop her. I spent many years in foster care due to issues with my family (my mother, specifically), and I know that even the littlest thing where I live can get your kid taken from you. If I even raised my voice at her to tell her to stop and she told someone, she could be taken away from my family and I can't do that to her, I know the horrors of foster care. I also have spent most of my life being abused and don't know how to protect myself or defend myself in situations like these. Please keep this in mind when/if you call me pathetic or stupid, trust me I know I am.

Please, I know a lot of you may think this is silly or dumb or bait, but I need to know aita for not wanting to be in my cousin's life?

Reasons I think I might be NTA: I think my decision is good for both of us and I believe I should put mental health first in this case as it can be dangerous in the future if I don't. I don't want to stay longer and end up hating her, she's just a kid and doesn't deserve to be hated.

Reasons I think I might be TA: This could be seen as punishing her, and she might hate me more for it. She's already started being meaner to other kids now that she can't vent it out on me and I'm an adult so I can take it better than one of her classmates could. She might think her behaviour drove me away and blame herself.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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wutheringcaterpillar · 2 months

Text

C for Credit

Summary: You’re a student of Dr. Oppenheimer’s and Kitty’s niece. Sometimes you need “better grades” and who was he to deny yourselves of a little after school arrangement unbeknownst to his wife.

warnings: age gap (not specified), oral (m receiving), pet names, reader is kitty’s niece. Altered storyline a bit, face fucking, dom/sub dynamic

-This is written from Robert’s pov

There she was, my darling, intuitive Y/N, standing there in a white sillk corset, socks just reaching past her knees looking as innocent as an angel. She was my angel, and oh how I longed for her forbidden fruit.

Forbidden I say, due to the fact she was my wife’s niece. Maybe the attraction was because she was naive, young, and uniquely beautiful. Always wanting to impress me in class, persuade me for a good grade whether she deserved it or not.

Now here I sat nude in a hotel room, temptation and pleasure coursing through my veins on this humid summer day.

“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?” Oh and her sarcasm, always wanted to have the final word.

Allow me to explain for a moment. She was a student in my class, freshman in university still trying to find her niche in life, but her eyes spoke trouble. She had a different last name than Kitty, or else maybe I wouldn’t have endulged in my desirable needs the first day after class. Then again given my track record, maybe I would have.

“Your last paper was a C- at best. We’re both aware you can do better, but for that to happen you’re going to have to work for it.” A playful grin smeared across her face, she approached me slowly, each step laced with determination, and confidence. My heart beats for her every day, and even after all of these encounters, it still doesn’t seem like enough. We both needed more, craved more.

She bent down on her knees before me, batting her eyelashes up at me with such seduction, and intent. I raised my hand brushing her cheek gently and watched as she took my length in between her plush, glossed lips.

The tip of my cock hitting the back of her slippery throat, nearly taking the breath out of my chest. She was insatiable, every part of her. This may sound rather odd but even when she was busy sucking my cock, she did it with elegancy, without any remorse.

Her cheeks hollowed around me, lips curving with every up and down movement on my shaft, her hand eventually coming up to cradle my balls, massaging my sensitive skin with such care.

She began to pick up speed, I could see the tears brimming at her eyes, her mascara slowly falling apart, running down her cheeks.

“Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” She hummed on my cock, always looking up at me for my approval, putting my satisfaction before her own at times.

Her free hand rested on my thigh, squeezing my skin delicately. I could feel her cheeks hollow, her movements fasten and I couldn’t control myself any longer.

I began to thrust my length at a ferocious speed, needing a release, pounding relentlessly into her mouth, and oh when she gagged, she sounded like music to my ears.

From a glimpse I could see her cleavage bounce up and down through her silk material, and her seductive eyes never leaving mine. She was enjoying being used like this, always needing to be controller and who was I to deny her of her need to submit?

As not only her professor, but also her aunt’s husband, it was with my due diligence to guide her, reprimand her.

My cock began to pulsate from her tongue still twirling around the head of my cock, sucking with such precision. She certainly needed that A, and worked hard for it.

I drained my seed down her throat, my thighs twitching while I reveled in my orgasm. She swallowed like my good little girl, her eyes speaking a devilish, yet accomplished gaze.

“How was that sir?” She looked at me innocently again, as if she wasn’t just devouring my penis, wiping a stray piece of cum from her bottom lip.

I could feel beads if sweat forming on my temple and the back of my neck.

“Well I- I certainly think you’ve earned an A+.” She giggled in my arms, wrapping her arms behind my neck and leaving small, luxurious kisses down my neck. A young girl like Y/N whose hormones were immensely high was in demand for more than one round.

She sat on my lap, petting the side of my face before removing her underwear, freeing her hardened nipples and tremendously attractive, unflawed body. I was always happy to oblige, especially for some extra credit if you will.

#j robert oppenheimer #oppenheimer #j robert oppenheimer x reader #Oppenheimer x reader #Oppenheimer imagine #J robert oppenheimer imagine #ranaewrites

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billthedrake · 6 months

Text

HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS

"Russ?" the voice called out as I walked through the big-box store parking lot. "Russ McAdams?"

Maybe it was the dark winter dusk or maybe I just didn't expect to see Coach Stanley, out of the classroom in his casual hoodie and jeans, but it took me a second me a second to connect the voice with the face.

Given how much I'd jerked off to fantasies about my AP History teacher back, I probably should have recognized him immediately. The guy wasn't the only dude I lusted after in high school, my body swimming in teen hormones and my head trying to make sense of it all, but I always thought he was the hottest teacher at Aurora High. 5'11" thick ex-baseball player muscle, thinning brown hair and a clean-shaven face that always seemed on the verge of a five o'clock shadow. Even the way he walked was a little bow-legged and a lot masculine.

He wasn't clean-shaven any more, instead sporting a closely trimmed beard. And he wasn't in his khakis and button down shirt now, but instead had on a puffy winter jacket and jeans, with a scarf that mostly covered a casual sweatshirt underneath.

"Coach Stanley?" I said as I realized who was walking up to me. Ed Stanley wasn't my coach, just my teacher, but all the school called him Coach Stanley or Coach S for short.

"Almost didn't recognize you," he said as he held out a gloved hand. I shook it. "Seems you've done some growing in college."

"Yeah, I guess I have," I chuckled and took his words to be a big ego pump. After I moved off to school and came out, I decided that I'd hit the gym. Hard. I was an athletic kid in high school, on the soccer and tennis teams, but I was slender, and my height made me look even leaner. But it was winter break of my junior year and I'd put on a lot of muscle since Coach Stanley last saw me.

"Well, you're looking good, Russ," Coach S said. I mean it was probably an innocent compliment, but standing a few feet apart from the guy, I got caught up in his blue eyes and bright smile for a second. All those silly adolescent puppy crushes I thought I'd outgrown came flooding back to me.

I know I blushed, but my red cheeks could probably be explained by the cold evening weather. I'd underdressed given I had only planned to pop in for a last-minute gift for my sister. "You running some errands, Coach?" I asked.

The man nodded and gave one of those trademark Coach Stanley smiles. Fuck I was gonna be jerking off thinking of him later, for sure. "I've kind of procrastinated but I'm here to pick up a tree." He gave an embarrassed shrug. "It's a lot of trouble to go through with just me, but you know, I guess it doesn't feel like Christmas without one."

I didn't know Coach Stanley's story. I mean, a few of the girls in my high school gossiped about his hot fiancee, so I think I expected him to be married by now.

"You busy shopping, Russ?" he asked. I half thought Coach would just say hello then go on his way. But I figured a teacher enjoys running into a former student. And I was a good student, I knew - academically successful and all-around "good kid."

"A last minute gift," I replied, holding up my bag. "Guess I'm a procrastinator, too, Coach," I laughed.

Stanley flashed me that bright grin, and it seemed like his eyes couldn't break contact. Fuck. "Well, I guess I better let you get on with your errands," he said. "Good running into you, Russ. Take care."

"I will," I said. "Good seeing you, too, Coach."

He paused and then added. "And if you ever want to stop by the school, say hi... I'm always around."

"Will do," I said.

We both kind of stood in the parking lot, looking at each other. I think we laughed at the same time from the awkwardness.

"All right," he finally said with a nod and turned to walk over to where the Christmas trees were set up.

He got about four paces, but I spoke up. I couldn't believe I was about to say this, but I figured if I made a fool of myself, it didn't matter. I didn't live in my hometown any more. And something about Coach's vibe made me think something was up.

"Hey Coach," I said. The man stopped, surprised, but turned around. I took a couple steps forward. "This may sounds weird," I said with a deep blush. "But if you want some help setting up your tree, I'd be glad to help out."

I could feel my heart pound, and I wanted the parking lot to swallow me, the embarrassment was coming on so strong. Thankfully, Coach Stanley's smile returned. "Yeah?"

I nodded.

He seemed like he was trying to check some emotion. "I'm sure you have better things to do, Russ," he said.

I had no inclination that Coach Stanley even thought about guys, but those words were when I knew he wanted me.

"My parents have some holiday party to go to, and I don't have any plans," I said. "I'm happy to help. Honest."

Coach paused then agreed. "All right. Maybe I can give you my address and you can meet me over there?"

We made a plan.

I went back home to drop off my shopping and to grab a quick bite. I had a quick change of clothes. I felt weirdly nervous, like I didn't know what Coach Stanley went for. It was a weird thought and unexpected I'd even be thinking this on a Saturday night before Christmas. I took off my sweats and slipped on a nice pair of jeans. A long-sleeve gray T and a layered T-shirt with my college logo on it seemed to be a nice jocky-preppy outfit and the snug size showed off my body pretty well.

"Hope you like it, Coach," I laughed in the mirror.

I went down to find some leftovers for dinner.

My dad was in the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of wine he was taking to the party. I told him I was thinking of going over to hang out with one of my friends. And maybe staying over if that was Ok.

Dad was the softer touch of my parents, but Mom probably didn't care. I was responsible, and they had a lot of me time over the holidays. "Just text us when you know your plans for sure," he said.

"Will do, Dad," I replied. "Have fun at the party."

"Be safe," he added, as went to get his coat, just as Mom came down the stairs.

They left pretty soon thereafter, and I cleaned up from my quick dinner.

By the time I got to Coach Stanley's place, I was feeling nervous, real nervous. I parked my car and walked up to the front door of the modest colonial house in a decent but not overly fancy neighborhood. I started second guessing myself. Maybe I'd been misreading the cues, but even if so I'd have some quality time with an incredibly hot man. I figured I'd just enjoy that for what it was worth.

When Coach answered the door, I was so turned on. Gone was the puffy coat and the scarf and the sweatshirt. My high school history teacher stood before me in a pair of jeans, sock-clad feet and a loose, thin cotton T-shirt of some fundraising road race. This shirt was a little loose but somehow draped perfectly over the rounded shoulder muscle and strong pecs. Even if it wasn't snug, I could tell Stanley kept his midsection flat and trim for a dude in his late 30s. I don't know why this was a major turn on, but Stanley wore a thin gold chain necklace around his corded neck.

"Glad you could make it, Russ," he greeted, his mellow tenor voice gaining a friendly edge. "Come in. I've just put the tree in the stand and was about to start on the lights."

I did feel kind of dumb. In my imagination, I'd come over and right away would be having sex with my former teachers. But here I was to help him with his tree. I took off my coat and followed him to the living room.

There were a few wrapped presents set to the side and a few family photos in frames. And there was a big bookshelf with hardbound books. But other than that it was very much a bachelor home. Sparse and clean, but not homey at all. I kind of liked it as a glimpse into Coach's personality, but it kind of felt lonely, too.

I set my coat down and followed his directions, holding the string of lights as he wrapped it around.

It was all business, but having two men at the task made it go more quickly. Next was the garland. Then there were a bunch of ornaments to put up - a couple of boxes.

"We don't need to do all of these," Coach said, handing me one.

It was a little frustrating being so close to this hunk in his own home. But it was a good kind of frustration. Sneaking looks at him. His handsome face, his serious demeanor, his hunky body. It was like every sexual thought I'd had sitting in his third period class all junior year came back to me, only it felt more powerful. Closer, more real.

At that point I wasn't expecting anything to happen. Maybe Coach was lonely at the holidays and just wanted some company. If so, I was happy to give it.

Then I felt his hand on my shoulder. "Let me just get by you a sec," he said. He reached up over my shoulder and hung an ornament in a bare spot. And just as quickly his hand left.

I wouldn't think anything of it, only two minutes later, he repeated the action. I paused and savored the grip of his hand on my shoulder as he placed the ornament.

My heart was pounding now. I waited a few more minutes, feeling this strange energy in the room. I really didn't want to misread things, but something was up. As Coach reached over and put a ball on a branch, I stepped beside him, almost behind him and put my hand on the middle of his back. Coach Stanley had one hell of a strong back, I could tell, and up close I could smell his aftershave.

"Mind if I get in here, Coach?" I asked, reaching up to the top. I had a good four inches of height on him.

As soon as I placed the ball, my eyes dropped level again and I saw those mesmerizing blue eyes. Quietly expectant.

I gently massaged that spot in his back, through the T-shirt and leaned in.

Coach's lips were soft, almost chapped, but they parted and I felt the tip of his tongue graze my own lips. As I parted them, our mouths connected fully in a kiss.

In my imagination of how this evening would go down, nothing compared to the thrill of that kiss. I was a young guy still, just 21, and I was realizing then that none of the guys I'd been with really knew how to kiss. Not like this.

Stanley's look was all serious when we finally broke for air. My heart was racing and I just sensed his was, too.

"You OK with this, Russ?" he asked softly. "I usually don't do anything like this."

I ran my fingers along the small of his back. I may not have had Coach's kissing skills, but I enjoyed being physical and handsy-flirty when I hooked up with a guy. It was something I learned from a frat boy I sorta-kinda dated and now something I consciously worked on.

Coach seemed to like it, and I could see his nostrils flare as my fingertips slid under the hem of his shirt to touch his bare flesh.

"More than OK with it, Coach," I grinned. Just being close to him I could tell how solid his body was, and that was turning me the fuck on. But I noticed Coach S wasn't making much move to touch me or feel my body. "More to the point... are you OK with it?"

He cocked me a little grin. "Yeah, Russ... it's just... part of me thinks I shouldn't be doing this."

"I'm not gonna blab to anyone, Coach," I said. "Promise." I ran my fingers up higher along his lats. Rock hard solid muscle that was more dense than bulky. I could tell the man was gonna give me new workout goals, already. "Come on... I want this so bad."

That made him smile. "I want you, too, Russ," he whispered, getting that serious look on his face again. And I was now getting my second Ed Stanley kiss, almost better than the first. And the man's hands were now on my waist, openly feeling me up as he pulled me into his body.

We made out, right in his living room, right in front of the Christmas tree, and our hands moved from gentle exploration gradually into groping. It was like we were copying each other's moves, and one-upping them.

The look on Coach S's face when he pulled back was adorable. I could see a crazy amount of lust but also the desire to fight it.

"I like to take things slow, Russ," he said as his blue eyes swept up my taller form.

"Works for me, Coach," I muttered, my voice cracking with lust. I mean, my normal MO would have been to go hard and heavy with a dude like this. But I didn't want to see the impatient young guy I really was.

He cracked a smile. "How bout some make out time in the bedroom?"

I nodded and followed him. The master bedroom was somehow even barer than the living room of Coach Stanley's house. But it smelled like Coach's aftershave and the scent hit me like pheromones as I watched the man pull the covers down and get up on the bed, still in his stocking feet and clothes.

Normally, I'd be stripping down, ready to get it on, but I followed Coach's lead and kicked off my shoes before joining him.

"Thanks for coming over, Russ," Coach said softly after a kiss.

My hands were on his chest. I was doing my very best to be a good boy and not grope the man too much but fuck he felt nice. I'd hooked up with some hot guys before, but Stanley was probably the hottest I'd scored. And the fact that I had some lingering high school fantasies added to the thrill. I was rock hard in my jeans as we lay on our sides, face to face.

"Not how I was expecting my evening to play out, Coach," I said. "This is a fantasy come true, to be honest."

He chuckled softly and ran his fingers along my flank. "It's Ed, Russ," he said. "You can call me Ed."

"All right, Ed," I said. "But I'm probably still gonna think of you as Coach."

He shook his head gently. Maybe mildly bothered by the fucking with his former student thing, but owning up to the dynamic. "Probably to be expected." Then he added, "You really better not fucking tell anyone, Russ." It was the first time I'd heard my former teacher swear, but the gruff tone was in gest, even if I knew Stanley had real anxiety about what we were doing.

"For real, Ed.... whatever happens stays between us." I took a deep breath and felt my heart pound. I was not good at doing the patient approach. "I know you wanna take it slow, Coach, but you make me so fucking horny."

That made the man laugh. "All right, buddy," he grinned. He pulled back and kind of sat up. I watched him pull his T-shirt off over his head.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" I gasped, my thought going straight from my head to my lips. Coach's body was just incredible. Meaty and thick, but also in shape, even with knotted abs. He had a lot of brown fur on his chest, swirling over his round pecs capped with thick brown-pink nipples. And to top it off that gold chain clung around his neck.

"What?" he reacted with a laugh.

"You, that's what," I said. "That body is insane." I normally didn't verbalize my reactions to men when I hooked up. Then again, normally with my hook ups both men would have gotten off by now and be getting dressed to go our own ways.

Stanley seemed pleased with my compliment. "You're looking in fine form, too, Russ... come on, show me what you got."

I felt inadequate but I wanted to get the party going, so I stripped my shirt off, and raised the ante by undoing my jeans and pulling them down over my legs.

Already, Ed's hands were on my semi-naked body, feeling me up. Seems that Mr. Take it Slow was getting horny himself.

"Damn, Russ, you're not one of those Corbin Fisher guys, are you?" he teased.

I was eating his praise and his touch, too. After I kicked off my jeans I spread my legs to show off the hardon in my boxer briefs. I wasn't porn hung, but I measured up pretty well against most guys I'd been with, and I was certainly rock hard right then.

"You watch that stuff, Coach?" I laughed.

"I won't lie, Russ. That stuff's gotten me through some pretty lonely nights." His blue eyes met mine directly, communicating not only his desire but his vulnerability. For some reason, that made my cock twitch.

"No need for porn tonight, Ed," I replied. Then with an impish smile, I added, "Unless you wanna have it on."

He shook his head with a laugh. "No. No porn." He took his hands off my biceps and reached down to undo his jeans.

I swear my breath stopped as I watched him peel them down. I swear I don't know how and why I didn't realize that Ed Stanley had gone commando. As the jeans slipped down, I saw the thick brown hair of his lower belly, then a solid erection eager to poke out.

Coach was of average length. Totally average, yet thicker than normal. His cock was girthy and beautiful and seemed to fit him.

But his attention was on me, and as he scooted up back close to me he ran his fingers along the waistband of my underwear. "May I?" he asked.

"Oh yeah," I replied. Like a kid unwrapping a present he peeled them off over my boner and then jerked them down my legs. My prick stood up and jerked in excitement.

"That's a nice tool, ya got, Russ," he growled. He stared at my cock then looked up to my face again. "You definitely could be in one of those Corbin Fisher videos." His fist wrapped around my hard meat and almost instantly his palm was smearing my pre cum down the shaft with its regular strokes.

I touched his dick, now, too, feeling like I had permission. He hissed, and I watched his face react as I did my best to adjust my touch and approach. "You into college dudes, Ed?" I asked. Maybe it was nosy or forward to ask. Coach wasn't old or anything, I'd guess mid 30s, but he seemed very much into my collegiate body.

He nodded. "If I'm honest with myself... yeah. I guess I think and wonder what if I'd done stuff back then."

I felt back for Coach S and also weirdly protective of the man. I let go of his dick and held up my arm. "Come here, Coach," I muttered.

He took the invitation and scooted into my embrace, nestling his warm furry body against mine. For a man in his early 30s, Ed Stanley was as hairy as a man in his late 40s. I wrapped my arm around his back and he held me in a similar grip. We humped our hard dicks together, slowly, but didn't really escalate the sex. Not yet. Ed just rested his head in the crook of my neck and held on to me.

"Feels nice, buddy," he said. Then, nervously, "you must think I'm a mess."

I patted his back. It was incredible how solid his lats were. "Not all, Coach... Ed..." I heard him laugh. "It bother you that I'm still calling you 'Coach'?" I asked. "Old habits and all."

Stanley pulled back. Up close his face seemed less youthful but he was even more handsome. I tried to memorize the soft lines in his rough-skinned face and the close trim of his beard. "It's probably not making me feel less like an old pervert, but it's all good, Russ."

He'd asked me to take things slow and we were just in this quiet emotional moment. Which is why I was surprised by the sudden move Coach made to roll me onto my back, with him on top of me. He was 5'11" and shorter than me but he easily weighed as much. I loved feeling every bound of his hard body on top of mine.

We kissed, and Ed was no longer doing the soft, gentle kiss. It was more the hard sexual kissing I was used to. Coming from this man, it drove me wild. Roughly he thrust into my crotch with his. I never was into frottage, and this wasn't gonna get me off. But as foreplay I fricking loved it. Feeling Coach S's athletic ex-jock body on top of mine, working up his own sexual heat to match mine as we sucked each other's tongues and then took turns plunging in and out of our mouths with them.

This whole evening had been unexpected and had played out with surprising ease. Only I realized I didn't know Coach Stanley's deal. On the apps, you know from the get go what the guy is looking for. I didn't know if Coach was a top or even if he was into fucking. For my part I was pretty vers and while anal was my favorite thing, giving or receiving, practicality mean that an oral hookup was more common.

The way Ed was putting his whole body into our intensely sexual make out made me half expect the man to kick my legs apart and ravage me. Instead he slowed his hips and paused, pulling back with a big fucking grin.

"Please tell me you suck dick, Russ," he hissed.

I chuckled. "Yeah, Coach."

That was all he needed to hear. Gone was the patient man. Instead he quickly scooted up and lined up his dripping cock to my lips. I mentally prepared myself, hoping Stanley wasn't the type to go into rough facefucking mode. I opened my lips and felt his prick press past them.

Thankfully after Coach pushed in three solid inches, he let me do the work. I didn't have a great angle or a lot of room for move my head back and forth, but that was OK. Stanley didn't need a pro blowjob, it turns out. After a minute of my awkward bobs, I felt his quads tense and his voice get real strained.

"That's it, Russ..." he hissed. His sexy masculine voice now needy. "Right fucking there, buddy.... so close... Yeah, keep sucking! Oh god, oh fuck... UNGH!"

His cum was hot and the load thick. The angle made it shoot against the roof of my mouth so it was a half second before I tasted him. He was salty and sweet and I was instantly hooked. I swallowed that ejaculation and moved my mouth back and forth, adding suction to coax out a few more jets. Other than the my sorta frat-guy boyfriend and a 20-something dude I went out with for a few months, I didn't have much relationship experience. And in my one-off hookups, my dick size meant I was more often then not being serviced orally. But damn, I loved this feeling of a man cumming in my mouth and down my throat. Particularly because it was Coach S.

He finally pulled back, a huge smile on his face. "Thank you," he muttered and patted my cheek. Then, he said, "your turn."

I watched as he quickly scooted down to get on all fours between my legs. I had been so focused on blowing him, I almost forgot how eager I was to get off myself. Coach was reminding me now, the way he licked up my boner, one side then the other.

Maybe Coach was closeted, I don't know. But the man knew how to suck cock. He had a good technique as he took me into my mouth and started working me up and and down. But the most amazing thing was his enthusiasm. Even though he'd already gotten his rocks off, the man was so clearly into this. Into sucking dick. My dick.

I watched him and enjoyed him, not overly urgent in my need to cum.

But, fuck, I felt Ed's fingers nudge my ball, and the urgency hit me. I thought of trying to hold back but I worried I'd mess up a perfectly great orgasm.

"Coach!" I hissed. "I'm gonna cum.... oh SHiT!"

I could hear Ed gulp as I pulsed my seed into his mouth. Then on my second spurt, he let out a deep, excited moan.

I leaned my head back and just enjoyed every wave of pleasure that coursed through me. I could get used to Ed Stanley's skills, for sure.

Finally, the man relinquished my prick and gently kissed up my belly and chest. I felt a little ticklish after the intense cum, which made him laugh softly.

"Thank you, Russ," he said, now raising his weight above mine, our soft dicks pressed together but our torsos not touching.

"Man... you're the one that's letting me live out my high school fantasies."

I could see him wince a little at that but he just nodded. "Well, I'm glad." He gingerly scooted off to the side, resting on the bed beside me. "I'll be honest, Russ... I don't know the etiquette in these situations."

"What do you mean, Coach?" I asked, turning toward him and running my fingers through the hair on his chest. I wanted to memorize the look and feel of this man.

He seemed shy now. "Sometimes guys seem to want to split once they get their nut. And sometimes they seem mad if I don't ask them to stay."

"I've done both, Ed," I assured him.

That seemed to relax him. "Well, you wanna stay for a bit? Maybe we can light the tree, enjoy some egg nog?"

I nodded, a smile on my face. "Yeah," I said.

That made him happy, I could tell. It seemed strange a man as hot as this could be so lonely, but I was happy to be his stand-in boyfriend or whatever for the evening.

We kissed some and then got up to get dressed again. As we padded back into his living room, I had to ask, "So... there been a lot of guys for you?" Maybe it was a sore point, but I figured if Ed wanted to some quality time, we could talk man-to-man.

He shrugged. "About ten. About half of those in the last year," he explained. "I guess I'm still figuring some stuff out."

I nodded, sympathetic. I had a different journey than Coach, but I understood some of what he was going through. "Well, I'm real glad I ran into you, Ed."

He smiled. "I'm glad too, Russ."

#drakestories

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penncilkid · 8 months

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Alright, I'll bite. (Sparked by this post) I'm gonna preface this with some context:

First off: I'm Black in case you're unaware

Huxley is my favorite speaker. Full stop. You ask me to choose, it’ll always be him.

Likewise, you ask for my favorite listeners, I will say Starlight and Darlin'. (I'll save my Starlight rant for another day)

My designs for both Huxley and Darlin are Black.

With this in mind, I want to be clear from the jump: I don’t have an inherent problem with these headcanons. If I did, I wouldn’t have chosen then myself. That said, I have noticed that Hux and Darlin are, more often than not, the characters that get headcanoned as POC (specifically Black) in design rosters. In some cases, they are the only POC designs present. Why is that?

Furthermore, the more often I notice this pattern so to speak, the more I sit and think about why those headcanons are so popular. I find my answer when I think about the characters I see headcanoned as white most often. Tell me why it’s "practically canon" for Lasko to be pale with light/white hair. Tell me why white Sam "just makes sense". Why? Because Lasko's a nerdy ball of nerves that stumbles over his words? Because Sam’s a sweet Southern man at heart? Those are not inherently white attributes.

Except they're treated as such. They go virtually unchallenged because they're so widely accepted by fandom. People see these personalities and character details and come up with their vision. So, let's apply that to Huxley and Darlin, shall we?

Huxley: Athlete. Canonically implied to be big, as indicated by statements made by him and other members of the DAMN crew. Classified as a himbo with parallels in Imperium highlighting how some will view him as stupid. Overall chill vibe.

Darlin: Reckless with their safety. Known to lash out/lose control of their emotions when they’re not actively hiding them. Gets injured often because they’re too stubborn to run from trouble. An overall intense demeanor that makes them difficult to approach (at least at first).

Explain to me why this screams Black to so many people. Is it because Huxley's a dumb jock who you imagine gets stoned all the time? Oh, is it perhaps because Darlin is just so aggressive compared to your Golden Retriever-coded Asher, needing to be calmed down by everyone around them? And here's the thing: I can already imagine people saying, "That's not why I made them Black". Then explain why it "just makes sense" for them to Black. Why them out of a sea of characters? Make it make sense.

Now let me make this clear as well: I'm not expecting every headcanon to have elaborate thought behind it. For one, I get that some people take a more casual approach with designs and such. Not every choice has to have a reason or justification behind it. But when literally 95% of the Huxley designs I see are Black and half of y'all don't even know what a fucking durag is? Saying it leaves a bad taste in my mouth is putting it lightly.

You know what I wish I saw more of? Black Huxleys and Darlins with attached nuance.

Give me a Black Darlin who struggles to articulate how they feel with the people in their lives because they haven't been readily given the language to do so. You want to pair a Black Darlin with a White Sam? Why not talk about how POC have an insanely difficult time getting support from the medical system so not only does it explain why Darlin is so resistant to go to healers, but also gives an extra weight to the fact that Sam was their absolute last resort when injured? Give me a Black Darlin who has been taught their entire life that no one will have their back, that they need to learn how to depend on themself alone, and that's the reason why they struggle to feel like the pack would've cared when the Quinn shit went on.

You wanna talk Black Huxleys? Let's touch on how he's learned to control his emotions/anger because he knows how people will take it if it comes from someone who looks like him. Talk about how his moms teaching him not to use violence speaks to a deeper desire for him not to be viewed as a threat because they fear for his life otherwise. In one of his BAs, he mentions how a lot of people used to sleep with him/flirt with him solely because of his body and he could tell. Do you know how often black men are sexualized and fetishized? Why not talk about it through him? I see people explore that concept through Gavin constantly, where's the energy for Huxley? You wanna make him Black so bad, why not actually put some thought behind it? Because right now, it seems like he gets the "luxury" of being the token Black guy in the DAMN friend group at best.

I know a lot of people are probably going to dismiss this post. I am already anticipating that as I write this. But I'm so tired of pretending like this shit doesn't get to me. Because it does. I've got no intentions of leaving this fandom because I have met so many amazing people and adore Erik's content immensely. But what I am going to do is talk about the widespread normalization of attributing certain personality traits to certain racial groups. Because the non-white people in this fandom deserve better than that.

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #This doesn't stop with Hux and Darlin btw /neg #'Cause I could talk about the way y'all handle Gavin Damien and David too #And do not get me started on the vampires #I know to a lot of people this isn't that deep #But as someone who has watched POC creators and designs be overlooked time and time again?#I can't force anyone to do anything #But I can call it like I see it

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thesublemon · 4 days

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best picture

For the first time in a long time, I watched all of the movies nominated for Best Picture at the Oscars this year. Partly on a whim, partly for a piece I’ve been working on for a while about what is going wrong in contemporary artmarking. I cannot say that the experience made me feel any better or worse about contemporary movies than I already felt, which was pretty bad. But sometimes to write about a hot stove, you gotta put your hand on one. So. The nominees for coldest stove are:

Poor Things. Did not like enough to finish. I always want to like something that is making an effort at originality, strangeness, or style. Unfortunately, the execution of those things in this movie felt somehow dull and thin. Hard to explain how. Maybe the movie’s motif of things mashed together (baby-woman, duck-dog, etc) is representative. People have been mashing things together since griffins, medleys, Avatar the Last Airbender’s animals, Nickelodeon’s Catdog, etc. Thing + thing is elementary-level weird. And while there’s nothing wrong with a simple, or well-worn premise, there is a greater burden on an artist to do something interesting with it, if they go that route. And Poor Things does not. Its themes are obvious and belabored (the difficulty of self-actualization in a world that violently infantilizes you) and do not elevate the premise. There’s a fine line between the archetypal and the hackish, and this movie falls on the wrong side of it. It made me miss Crimes of the Future (2022), a recent Cronenberg that was authentically original and strange, with the execution to match.

Anatomy of a Fall. Solid, but not stunning. The baseline level of what a ‘good’ movie should be. It was written coherently and economically, despite its length. It told a story that drew you along. I wanted to know what happened, which is the least you can ask from storytelling. It had some compelling scenes that required a command of character and drama to write—particularly the big argument scene. The cinematography was not interesting, but it was not annoying either. It did its job. This was not, however, a transcendent movie.

Oppenheimer. Did not like enough to finish. But later forced myself to, just so no one could accuse me of not knowing what I was talking about when I said I disliked it. I felt like I was being pranked. The Marvel idea of what a prestige biopic should be. Like Poor Things, it telegraphed its artsiness and themes and has raked in accolades for its trouble. But obviousness is not the same as goodness and this movie is not good. The imagery is painfully literal. A character mentions something? Cut to a shot of it! No irony or nuance added by such images—just the artistry of a book report. The dialogue pathologically tells instead of shows. It constantly, cutely references things you might have heard of, the kind of desperate audience fellation you see in soulless franchise movies. Which is a particularly jarring choice given the movie’s subject matter. ‘Why didn’t you get Einstein for the Manhattan project’ Strauss asks, as if he’s saying ‘Why didn’t you get Superman for the Avengers?’ If any of this referentiality was an attempt to say something about mythologization, it failed—badly. The movie is stuffed with famous and talented actors, but it might as well not have been, given how fake every word out of their mouths sounded. Every scene felt like it had been written to sound good in a trailer, rather than to tell a damn story. All climax and no cattle.

Barbie. Did not like enough to finish. It had slightly more solidity in its execution than I was afraid it would have, so I will give it that. If people want this to be their entertainment I will let them have it. But if they want this to be their high cinema I will have to kill myself. Barbie being on this list reminds me of the midcentury decades of annual movie musical nominations for Best Picture. Sometimes deservingly. Other times, less so. The Music Man is great, but it’s not better than 8 1/2 or The Great Escape, neither of which were nominated in 1963. Musicals tend to appeal to more popular emotions, which ticket-buyers and award-givers tend to like, and critics tend to dislike. I remember how much Pauline Kael and Joan Didion hated The Sound of Music (which won in 1966), and have to ask myself if in twenty years I’ll think of my reaction to Barbie the same way that I think of those reviews: justified, but perhaps beside the point of other merits. Thing is. Say what you want about musicals, but that genre was alive back then. It was vital. Bursting with creativity. For all Kael’s bile, even she acknowledged that The Sound of Music was “well done for what it is.” [1] Contemporary cinema lacks such vitality, and Barbie is laden with symptoms of the malaise. It repeatedly falls back on references to past aesthetic successes (2001: A Space Odyssey, Singin’ in the Rain, etc) in order to have aesthetic heft. It has a car commercial in the middle. It’s about a toy from 60 years ago and politics from 10 years ago. It tries to wring some energy and meaning from all of that but not enough to cover the stench of death. I’d prefer an old musical any day.

American Fiction. Was okay. It tried to be clever about politics, but ended up being clomping about politics. At the end of the day, it just wasn’t any more interesting than any other ‘intellectual has a mid-life crisis’ story, even with the ‘twist’ of it being from a black American perspective. Even with it being somewhat self-aware of this. But it could have been a worse mid-life crisis story. The cinematography was terrible. It was shot like a sitcom. Much of the dialogue was sitcom-y too. I liked the soundtrack, what I could hear of it. The attempts at style and meta (the characters coming to life, the multiple endings) felt underdeveloped. Mostly because they were only used a couple times. In all, it felt like a first draft of a potentially more interesting movie.

The Zone of Interest.Wanted to like it more than I did. Unfortunately, you get the point within about five minutes. If you’ve seen the promotional image of the people in the garden, backgrounded by the walls of Auschwitz, then you’ve already seen the movie. Which means that all the rest of the movie ends up feeling like pretentious excess instead of moving elaboration. It seemed very aware of itself as an Important Movie and rested on those laurels, cinematically speaking, in a frustrating way. It reminded me of video art. I felt like I had stepped through a black velvet drape into the side room of a gallery, wondering at what point the video started over. And video art has its place, but it is a different medium. Moreover video art at its best, like a movie at its best, takes only the time it needs to say what it needs to say.

Past Lives. I’m a human being, and I respond to romance. I appreciate the pathos of sweet yearning and missed chances. And I understand how the romance in this movie is a synecdoche for ambivalent feelings about many kinds of life choices, particularly the choice to be an immigrant and choose one culture over another. The immigrant experience framing literalizes the way any choice can make one foreign to a past version of oneself, or the people one used to know, even if in another sense one is still the same person. So, I appreciate the emotional core of what (I believe) this movie was going for, and do think it succeeded in some respects. And yet…I was very irritated by most of its artistic choices. I found the three principal characters bland and therefore difficult to care about, sketched with only basic traits besides things like Striving and Being In Love. Why care who they’d be in another life if they have no personalities in this one? It’s fine to make characters symbols instead of humans if the symbolic tapestry of a movie is interesting and rich, but the symbolic tapestry of this movie was quite simple and straightforward. Not that that last sentence even matters much, since the movie clearly wanted you to feel for the characters as human beings, not just symbols. Visually, the cinematography was dull and diffuse, with composition that was either boring or as subtle as a hammer to the head.

Maestro. Did not like enough to finish. Something strange and wrong about this movie. It attempts to perform aesthetic mimicry with impressive precision—age makeup, accents, period cinematography—but this does not make the movie a better movie. At most it creates spectacle, at worst it creates uncanny valleys. It puts one on the lookout for irregularities, instead of allowing one to disappear into whatever the movie is doing. Something amateurishly pretentious in the execution. And not in the fun, respectable way, like a good student film. (My go-to example for a movie that has an art-school vibe in a pleasant way is The Reflecting Skin). There’s something desperate about it instead. It has the same disease as Oppenheimer, of attempting to do a biopic in a ‘stylish’ way without working on the basics first. Fat Man and Little Boy is a less overtly stylish rendition of the same subject as Oppenheimer, but far more cinematically successful to me, because it understands those basics. I would prefer to see the Fat Man and Little Boy of Leonard Bernstein’s life unless a filmmaker proves that they can do something with style beyond mimicry and flash.

The Holdovers. Did not like enough to finish. It tries to be vintage, but outside of a few moments, it does not succeed either at capturing what was good about the aesthetic it references, or at using the aesthetic in some other interesting way. The cinematography apes the tropes of movies and TV from the story’s time period, but doesn't have interesting composition in its own right. It lacks the solidity that comes from original seeing. (Contrast with something like Planet Terror, in which joyous pastiche complements the original elements.) The acting is badly directed. Too much actorliness is permitted. Much fakeness in general between the acting, writing, and visual language. If a movie with this same premise was made in the UK in the 60’s or 70's it would probably be good. As-is the movie just serves to make me sad that the ability to make such movies is apparently lost and can only be hollowly gestured at. That said, the woman who won best supporting actress did a good job. She was the only one who seemed to be actually acting.

Killers of the Flower Moon. The only possible winner. It is not my favorite of Scorsese’s movies, but compared to the rest of the lineup it wins simply by virtue of being a movie at all. How to define ‘being a movie’? Lots of things I could say that Killers of the Flower Moon has and does would also be superficially true of other movies in this cohort. Things like: it tells a story, with developed characters who drive that story. Or: it uses its medium (visuals, sound) to support its story and its themes. The difference comes down to richness, specificity, control, and a je ne sais quois that is beyond me to describe at the moment. Compare the way Killers of the Flower Moon uses a bygone cinematic style (the silent movie) to the way that Maestro and The Holdovers do. Killers of the Flower Moon uses a newsreel in its opening briefly and specifically. The sequence sets the scene historically, and gives you the necessary background with the added panache of confident cuts and music. It’s useful to the story and it’s satisfying to watch. Basics. But the movie doesn’t limit itself to that, because it’s a good movie. The sequence also sets up ideas that will be continuously developed over the course of the movie.* And here’s the kicker—the movie doesn’t linger on this sequence. You get the idea, and it moves on to even more ideas. Also compare this kind of ideating to American Fiction’s. When I said that American Fiction’s moments of style felt underdeveloped, I was thinking of movies like Killers of the Flower Moon, which weave and evolve their stylistic ideas throughout the entire runtime.

*(Visually, it places the Osage within a historical medium that the audience probably does not associate with Native Americans, or the Osage in particular. Which has a couple of different effects. First, it acts as a continuation of the gushing oil from the previous scene. It’s an interruption. A false promise. Seeming belonging and power, but framed all the while by a foreign culture. Meanwhile potentially from the perspective of that culture, it’s an intrusion on ‘their’ medium. And of course, this promise quickly decays into tragedy and death. The energy of the sequence isn’t just for its own sake—it sets up a contrast. But on a second, meta level it establishes the movie’s complicated relationship to media and storytelling. Newsreels, photos, myths, histories, police interviews, and a radio play all occur over the course of the movie. And there’s the movie Killers of the Flower Moon itself. Other people’s frames are contrasted with Mollie’s narration. There’s a repeated tension between communication as a method of knowing others and a method of controlling them—or the narrative of them—which plays out in both history and personal relationships.)

Or here’s another example: When Mollie and Ernest meet and he drives her home for the first time, we see their conversation via the car’s rearview mirrors. This is a bit of cinematic language that has its origins in mystery and paranoia. You see it in things like Hitchcock or The X-Files or film noir. By framing the scene with this convention, the movie turns what is superficially a romantic meet-cute (to quote a friend) into something bubbling with uneasiness and dread. This is not nostalgia—this is just using visuals to create effects. It doesn’t matter if you’ve seen anything that uses the convention before, although knowing the pedigree might add to your enjoyment. The watchfulness suggested by the mirrors and Ernest’s cut-off face will still add an ominous effect. It works for the same reason it works in those other things. Like the newsreel, it is a specific and concise stylistic choice, and it results in a scene that is doing more than just one thing.

In general, the common thread I noticed as I watched these nominees, was the tendency to have the ‘idea’ of theme or style, and then stop there. It’s not that the movies had nothing in them. There were ideas, there was use of the medium, there was meaning to extract. There were lots of individually good moments. But they tended to feel singular, or repetitive, or tacked on. Meanwhile contemporary viewers are apparently so impressed by the mere existence of theme or style, that being able to identify it in a movie is enough to convince many that the movie is also good at those things. The problem with this tendency—in both artists and audiences—is that theme and style are not actually some extra, remarkable, inherently rarifying property of art. Theme emerges naturally from a story with any kind of coherence or perspective. And style emerges naturally from any kind of artistic attitude. They are as native as script, or narrative, or character. A movie’s theme and style might not be interesting, just like its story or dialogue might not be interesting, but if the movie is at all decent, they should exist. What makes a movie good or bad, then, is how it executes its component parts—including theme and style—in service of the whole. When theme is well-executed it is well-developed. Contemporary movies, unfortunately, seem to have confused ‘well-developed’ with ‘screamingly obvious.’ A theme does not become well-developed by repetition. It becomes well-developed by iterationand integration. Theme is like a melody. Simply repeating a single melody over and over does not result in the song becoming more interesting or entertaining. It becomes tedious. However, if you modify the melody each time you play it, or diverge from the melody and then return to it, that can get exciting. It results in different angles on the same idea, such that the idea becomes more complex over time, instead of simply louder.

Oppenheimer wasprobably the worst offender in this regard. Just repeat your water drops, crescendoing noise, or a line about ‘destroying the world’, and that’s the same as nuance, right? Split scenes into color and black and white and that’s the same as structure, right? That’s the same as actually conveying a difference between objectivity and interiority (or another dichotomy) via the drama or visual composition contained in the scenes, right? When I watched many of these movies, I kept thinking of a behind-the-scenes story from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The story goes that Joss Whedon was directing Sarah Michelle Gellar in some scene, and when the take was over he told her how great she was, and that he could see right where the music would come in. And Gellar replied that if he was thinking about the music, he clearly wasn’t getting enough from her acting alone. This conversation then supposedly informed Whedon’s approach to “The Body,” a depiction of the immediate aftermath of death that is considered one of the best episodes of television ever made, and which has no non-diegetic music whatsoever. Not to imply that music is necessarily a crutch, or to pretend that “The Body” is lacking in other forms of stylization (it is a very style-ish episode). But more to illustrate the way that it is easy to forget to make the most of all aspects of a medium, particularly the most fundamental ones, once one has gotten used to what a final product is supposed to feel like.

And that’s why most of these movies don’t feel like movies. They create the gestalt of a movie or a ‘cinematic’ moment—often literally through direct vintage imitation—without a sense of the first principles. Or demonstrating a sense of them, anyway. Who needs AI when the supposedly highest level of human filmmakers are already cannibalistically cargo-culting the medium just fine.

[1] “The Sound of Money (The Sound of Music and The Singing Nun).” The Pauline Kael Reader. (This book contains the full text of the original review, rather than the abbreviated review that I linked earlier.)

#posts: art #movies #am rusty at blogging and don't have all the virtuous nuance i would like in this but we will go with it

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eeveebitches · 7 months

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bathroom. || Kendall Roy || smut

Pairing: Dom!Kendall Roy x F!Sub!Reader

Summary: You're Roman's assistant, at a launch party Kendall invited you to. Stuff happens along the way that you're sure would get you fired.

Word count: 3.794

18+ only! More under the cut,

Warning(s): SMUT, aka 18+ only! Dom Kendall, implied one-sided attraction from roman, bathroom sex, fingering, p in v, sexual tension, stewy makes a cameo

A/n: this is based on a request i got! :DD

_______________________

It’s a cold night, and Kendall is standing in front of you.

You don't know Kendall that long, but there's a clear twinkle in his eyes that shines with deviancy as he greets you. Even in the darkness of the New York street, you can see a glimmer that simply can't be usual. His smile is something you'd consider overly excited, and his short hair is slightly ruffled. You look him up and down, taking note of his casual appearance. "Hey hey heyy, there's my girl," he says with a wide grin.

He goes in for a side-hug, which you lean into with a smile. You don't expect him to speak as close to your ear as he does as he tells you, "I'm really fucking happy you could make it," so you can't help but shiver as his breath fans against your ear. Kendall pulls away from the hug, immediately searching for eye contact as he keeps grinning at you. "You know I'm never one to say no to a good party," you chuckle, letting him lead you from the street into the building.

It's some random start-up party, and Kendall had asked Roman to invite you, so now here you are. You aren't completely sure why he'd invite you, though.

You guessed it was because of Kendall's strange need for validation, and somehow him having a lot of 'friends' validated him. Not like you're complaining-- the white mini dress you're wearing has been collecting dust in your closet, so you're happy to put it into action.

"I like your, uhh, get-up. Real church girl gone slutty vibes. Fits you," he notes, eyes shamelessly raking over your body. You roll your eyes at him. He's high at most, and strangely giddy at the very least. Whatever he says tonight will not be worth worrying over. "And you look like you're gonna be a guest at Comic-Con," you shoot back as you let him open the door for you.

He ushers you inside with a hearty laugh, casually resting a hand on the small of your back which, surprisingly, you don't hate. "Listen, I know you hate those yuppy-wuppy parties, so I thought this kinda shit would be right up your alley. Good food, free drinks and a DJ that doesn't fucking suck." You hum as you scan the hallway you're standing in. Kendall quickly turns to talk to security, while you quickly grab your phone out of your purse to check your messages.

[ sad victorian puppy ]: Where the fuck are you

[ sad victorian puppy ]: ????????

[ sad victorian puppy ]: Hurry up before I hang myself with the fairy lights

[ sad victorian puppy ]: I'm not joking

[ sad victorian puppy]: I'm doing it right now

"You ready to dazzle loser-y tech bro's?" Your head shoots up from Roman's messages to give Kendall a nod. He yet again casually places his hand on the small of your back, handing you a wristband as he starts explaining random finance shit to you. It's all 'bla bla shareholders, bla bla stakes' to your ears, but you nod along as he bridges into the people he knows at the party.

The main event hall is spacious, fairy lights and plastic vines struggling to make this whole thing feel low-key. With a bar in the corner and a lively dance floor at the very front, you let Kendall lead you through the crowd as he points people out. "That's Shane, nasty fucking guy. His dad got in trouble for insider trading, so he made a jailbreak video game based on him and made bank," he practically giggles into your ear, hand slithering to rest on your side.

The side of his body is flush against yours, and his hot breath fans against your ear with each smart-mouthed remark. There's something promiscuous about it all, and you can't help but lean into his casual touches. "Is that one friend of yours here, too? With the beard and gray streak?"

He raises his brow at you in amusement. "You mean Stewy? Why, d'you wanna fuck him or something?" he asks through a wicked grin. "I barely know him, Ken, and you know I prefer being wined and dined." His eyes crease as his smile grows, curiously watching you. "Uh-huh, sure you do. Miss self-respect over here." You grin as well, walking out of Kendall's hold to disappear into the crowd, making your way to the bar.

Almost immediately you spot Roman, whose deep frown you can see from far as he stares at his phone. "Hiya, Romes."

You didn't mean to startle him, but that doesn't stop you from laughing at him when he jumps up, hissing out a sharp 'Jesus fuck' as he turns to glare at you. "Is this what you've been doing? Haunting this place and scaring people like a fuckin' poltergeist?"

"I mean, I am wearing white," you remark, before quickly ordering a mocktail as you hop onto one of the bar stools. Roman scoffs at you, choosing to simply stand next to your seat and lean against the bar. He seems strangely nervous, something you tell yourself to ask about later.

He slips his phone into his pocket with a huff. "Yeah yeah, whatever, Casper the shitty fuckin' assistant." Your drink slides in front of you, so instead of mustering a quip in reply, you opt to quietly taking a sip. It's surprisingly bitter, but you don't hate it.

From the corner of his eye, Roman carefully watches you. "Y'know, I can see you glaring at me," you mumble against the glass of your drink, smiling at Roman as he straightens his back and clears his throat. "Fuck off, I'm just weirded out by you in a party dress. It's uncanny valley type shit," he says, awkwardly tugging at his own fingers like he's trying to dislocate them.

"I think you're using uncanny valley wrong." With a scoff he turns his entire body to properly glare at you. "I know what uncanny valley is, and you in a dress like this gives off major android vibes. Like the real you has been replaced by a freaky, lookalike sex doll." He pokes your arm as he says it. His face is crinkled in childlike disgust as he watches you take another sip of your drink.

You can tell he doesn't mean it. He knows he doesn't mean it, too, hands fiddling as he fights the urge to touch the fabric of your ivory dress. "Still weird that Kendall wanted you here. Are you fucking him? I'm gonna fire you if you are, because that's, like, reaaally fucking gross," he groans out, continuing his glaring as you nonchalantly finish your drink.

"How about you first ask HR if asking about my love life is appropriate behavior, then I'll tell you all the juicy details." And with that you place your empty glass down and stand up from your seat. You pat Roman's shoulder with a grin. "I'm gonna go socialize, so stay put," you tell him, and while you didn't mean for it to come off as flirtatious, you don't correct yourself when you realize it does.

You maneuver through the hipster ocean, avoiding the guys wearing Rick & Morty shirts with ugly tweed blazers on top who are desperate for a conversation with you. The dance floor is in full swing, something you're sure you wouldn't have seen if you arrived earlier. Kendall had told Roman, who then told you that the later you arrived, the better it'd be.

Speaking of that devil, there Kendall stands, wearing kicks you're sure are worth more than your soul, a casual blazer and a shirt with a minimalist design. He lights up when he sees you, smile reaching to his eyes as he calls you over with a wave. Next to him stands that friend of his, dressed far too formal for the occasion.

He opens his arm, signaling for you to slot against him, which you do with far less hesitance than you'd like to have had. "Had enough of Rome?" he teases, carrying a blissful grin. You ignore the comment, instead focusing on Ken's friend.

"Roman's assistant, right? Haven't seen you since that thing in Florence." You hum in agreement, trying to dredge up his name from your memory. Kendall removes you from his arm to stop a wandering waiter and ask for... something, who knows. "Yeah, you were just as overdressed then as you are now," you reply with a cheeky grin.

What his name was, though, is still on the tip of your tongue. Something with an S, for sure, but the rest of the letters just don't place themselves.

Kendall returns to your side, and quickly whispers in your ear,

"Stewy."

He turns his head to look at you, and as your eyes meet he shoots you a coy grin before turning to, well, Stewy. "Y'know Rome has her write his e-mails? She probably knows more confidential shit than I do at this point." Stewy lets out a small chuckle, clearly looking you up and down. Kendall laughs at that, although there's a sharp tinge to it.

After some small talk between the two men that you simply could not follow for the life of you, Stewy leaves to go to the bathroom, winks and nudges palpable as Ken tells him to have fun.

"So, how're you liking it?" he suddenly asks you as the two of you walk to the couches in the corners of the room. "It's very... trendy." You smile as Kendall huffs out a laugh, the two of you sitting much closer to each other than you really have to be.

His thigh, which is surprisingly firm, is flush against yours. You can feel yourself holding your breath, but you just can't seem to breathe out as Kendall doesn't stop making eye contact. "Yeah, this is some hipster bullshit, I know. Still, the drinks are good, and the catering isn't pathetic."

"I haven't even had the food here yet, is it really not that bad? Those mini sandwiches seemed a bit..." He chuckles at that, nodding his head as his eyes quickly dart around, searching for something.

"Like absolute dog shit, yeah. But I swear it tastes pretty good. Let me go get some for you." You were expecting him to stand up, but instead he waves over a guy most definitely getting paid below minimum wage. "Hey dude, can you get me and the lady some of those mini sandwiches? And some drinks, too."

The waiter scurries off with a nod, so you turn your focus back to Kendall who's simply staring at you. "Seriously, thanks for coming. Not to sound like a sappy loser, but I do appreciate it. You're reliable, that's important shit to me, y'know?"

You smile at Kendall, patting his thigh. "It's no problem, Ken. You're a cool dude," you tell him, which somehow makes his eyes glimmer more than they have been so far. With a bewildered, yet smug look he keeps staring at you. "Good to know you find me cool. You're, uhh, cool too."

His hand goes to lay on top of yours, and suddenly whatever cologne he's been wearing floods your sense of smell. The air becomes heavy, too heavy for you to bear, as he continues looking into your eyes.

But then he squeezes your hand, quickly looks away and lets out a light chuckle. As if on queue, the waiter appears, drinks and ugly sandwiches on a platter. He places them on the table in front of you, then quickly departs.

"Fucking finally," Kendall mumbles, grabbing one of the sandwiches. "Alright, now open up."

"Open up?" He hums, smile growing more and more devious as he taps his mouth. "C'mon, say 'ahh', humor me." You have no reason to go along with it, or him, but something inside of you wants to, so you obediently open your mouth as Kendall plops the sandwich in your mouth.

The tension is palpable, partially because of how intense his eye contact suddenly becomes when you accidentally wrap your lips around his finger for a second as he pulls away. Flustered, you start chewing, letting out a muffled sound of enjoyment as the harmonious flavors spread over your palate.

"Shit, Ken, this is good," you giggle out, hand covering your mouth in a weak attempt at hiding your flustered expression. "Told you, didn't I? You can trust me, y'know."

He takes his own bite of food, as well as a dark blue drink, and he--

"Shit."

You look down at your dress, and all you see is blue.

Kendall spilled his fucking drink.

"Fuck, completely my bad," he hisses out, immediately grabbing you by the arm and leading you to the bathroom. For a split second you think you see Roman watching the two of you, but you don't have much time to dwell on it as you rush to one of the spacious bathrooms and lock the door behind you.

Kendall seems a bit frantic, like cold water was thrown over him, hands shaky as he grabs some paper towels and awkwardly tries to dry you off. "I fucked up, I'm sorry. Did you have a jacket with you, or?"

You simply shake your head no, to which Kendall grimaces. "Send me the cleaning bill for this shit, alright? This is completely my fault," he murmurs. "Ken, it's fine, it's just a drink. It'll wash out by itself."

It definitely won't, but the verbal comfort seems to ease his mind, as he stops wiping. "Yeah, you're, uh, you're right. I can get Jess to go find a jacket for you, it'd be here in like, ten minutes."

Before you can even decline, he walks to the other side of the bathroom, phone held against his ear as he mercilessly calls Jess during a Friday evening. You stare at yourself in the mirror, frowning at the splotch of blue. As you try to tug the dress a bit away from your skin, Ken appears behind you. "You okay?"

"Yeah, it's just really sticky," you groan as you grab another paper towel and struggle to push it in between your dress and your bare skin. "Fuck, this is uncomfortable but, uh... would it be cool for you to zip my dress down a little? So I can actually reach inside my dress."

Your cheeks are hot as you ask him, eyes cast down to the marble floor. He lets out a tense chuckle, stepping close enough to reach your back. "Yeah, of course." You look into the bathroom mirror and watch Kendall as he slowly reaches for the back of your zipper.

His knuckles brush up against your skin as he takes the delicate zipper in between his fingers. Little by little, he pulls it down, watching your face through the mirror. Breathlessly he waits for you to nod, to tell him that it's enough.

But for a reason you could never say out loud, you don't. Instead you watch him zip the dress down, lower and lower until the zipper ends at your waist.

His hands sneak into your now unzipped dress, holding onto your bare hips as he places a careful kiss to the back of your neck. "God, you smell fucking divine," he groans out, covering your neck and back with pecks as he roams your body. The pads of his fingers are rough against your skin, like sandpaper against velvet.

He gropes one of your breasts, breathing in your scent while his other hand traverses lower and lower. The whine you let out as he gently tugs at your nipple is desperate, something he replies to with a simple kiss to your temple. "You gotta be quiet, can you do that for me, sweetheart?"

Before you can even nod, he lunges at you, lips smashing against yours. He doesn't take his time, tugging at your bottom lip as he groans into your mouth. It's like he's trying to ravage you, hands growing rougher in their touch as he drowns in your scent.

You can barely hold back your moans as he consumes your entire being. His hand finds the rim of your panties in no time, and with zero hesitation he pushes two of his fingers against your clit. The small circles he makes send small sparks of delicious electricity through your body. "So wet for me," Kendall whispers against your lips, still watching you through the mirror.

His gaze is hot, burning through your skin and heating you to your bones as he pleasures you. "Ken, please."

He can't stop himself from chuckling at how needy you are. "I kinda always knew your whole put together thing was bullshit. I mean, look at you now," he says, letting out a sharp laugh as you shiver at his words.

"Roman doesn't even know you could be like this, huh? A needy slut fucking her boss's brother in some random bathroom." He doesn't give you any time to respond, his two fingers move from your clit to slip inside of you. Your walls squeeze against his digits as he uses his thumb to keep the pressure on your clit constant.

It's all too much. His filthy words against the shell of your ear as he abuses your cunt, his other hand still busying himself with your nipple. It's hot, and harsh, yet the most satisfying feeling you've had in years.

Not only that, but you can tell how riled up he is, too. Panting, lightly grinding against you, hungrily staring at your reflection. "Fuck-- sit on the sink for me," he groans, removing his fingers. You do as he tells you, whimpering at the sudden emptiness.

He pushes his fingers into your mouth without much warning, but you gladly let him. There's a small part of you, in a very dark corner of your brain, that's cursing you out for being here. For letting him feed you, for letting his hands even graze against you. It's like every moment with him tonight led up to this moment, with you sucking your own juices from Kendall's fingers as he undoes his pants with his other hand.

Kendall pulls his fingers away, wiping your saliva on your exposed thigh. You giggle as he pulls a condom from his pocket, giving him a teasing look. "Prepared, are we?"

He shrugs, expression almost bashful as he carefully rips the foil. "Not gonna lie to you, I got them from Stewy right after you walked away," he chuckles, cheeks raised high as if he's genuinely embarrassed. "I was really hoping for this," he motions between the two of you with a strangely sincere smile, "to happen."

"Stop being a sap and fuck me, Kenny." His head hangs low as he laughs at that, pulling out his cock as casually as one can when getting ready to fuck their brother's assistant in a bathroom. You bite the inside of your cheek raw as you watch him slowly roll the condom down. He lets out a small hiss as he does so, eyebrows furrowing as he gives himself a few loose-handed strokes.

With a gentleness he hadn't shown before, he pushes your thighs apart and your panties down. He looks into your eyes and smiles warily as he lines himself up against your entrance. "Are you okay?"

You roll your eyes at him, and with a burst of sudden confidence you grab him by his hips and push him against you. It takes a small bit of adjusting from Kendall, whose amused grin is, at this point, infectious.

As his cock slowly delves into you, you let out a tandem moan. "So fucking tight," Kendall huffs out, thumb yet again finding your clit as he watches you weakly writhe. "Can you please just move, Ken?"

The laugh he lets out is breathy, but he quickly complies, almost fully removing himself from you before slamming back into you. The pace he sets is brutal, his large hand clutching at your side and his eyes only focused on you. Your dress is clumsily pushed down, letting your tits bounce freely as his every thrust shakes you to your core.

Kendall doesn't relent with his other hand, either. He roughly spits on your sopping wet cunt, thumb gliding over your slick clit with ease. His every move leaves you gasping for air, and if it wasn't for the hand you're using to cover your mouth, you're sure everyone outside would hear you.

"I knew I had to fuck you when I saw you in this dress," he groans out as you shove your head into the crook of his neck, biting on his shoulder to keep your noises unheard. "I don't know how Rome handles having you around, always wearing those tight fucking pencil skirts. I'd bend you down over my desk," he picks up his pace, harshly slamming his cock into you, "and eat your pussy with everyone's watching."

With a particularly hard thrust and his words ricocheting in your head, you fall apart. Your entire body convulses, and everything turns a pure white as you can feel Kendall smash his lips against yours in an attempt to swallow your noise.

His own thrusts grow sloppy, and with a gruff moan he slowly stills his movements. You stay like that for a moment as you come to, his forehead resting against yours. You're both panting, and horribly sweaty, and as you slowly open your eyes the first thing you notice is the blue on your dress. Ken follows your line of sight, letting out a weak chuckle.

"We, uh, still haven't fixed that."

The two of you share a laugh, before he slowly pulls himself. You pull your panties up as he busies himself with discarding the condom and tucking himself back into his pants, hissing at the cold sensation of your cooled down slick. "Hey, didn't you call Jess or something?" you mutter, more to yourself than to him as he helps you zip your dress back up. "Yeah, she's probably been waiting."

"Poor Jess." Kendall heartily laughs at your sympathy. "I just gave you a mind-blowing fuck, and you're worrying about her?"

You shrug, shooting Kendall a small smile as you fix yourself up a bit in the mirror. Ken wraps an arm around your waist as he stands besides you. "So what happened to being wined and dined? Or is that still on the table," he asks through a brash grin.

"Stop being a smart ass and ask me on a date like a normal rich guy."

"Rich guys don't do dates," he jokes as he unlocks the bathroom, arm still around your waist since your legs are wobbling,

"they fuck assistants in bathrooms."

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thesherrinfordfacility · 10 months

Text

so i had the bright idea of rewatching s1 today whilst im working from home, now knowing what i know about s2, and so i can ruminate a little more on s1 with the additional context. ive barely made it past five minutes

im pretty sure ive gotten most of the frames accurate from this bit, and im sure it might just be a bit of demonstrative cinematography (which ya know, *chefs kiss*) but at the same time i love going into full year 9 english teacher mode about this shit, and i think there is something to comment on (which someone already might have done but w/e). in any case, this bit of dialogue is very noticeably layered with shots of crowley and aziraphale, but intercut with the shots of adam facing down the lion:

like, i can't help but feel that there is some symmetry in this and either other people have spotted it and im very behind, OR we havent spotted it and s2 spoilers have helped unlock it✨

so who is meant to be who here? for my money it would be that adam is mirroring aziraphale, and eve is mirroring crowley - in so much that at a really shallow level, aziraphale is a platoon leader, a guardian, fought in the war etc. crowley, regardless of his rank, is a starmaker, and let's face it the boy has the structural integrity of a strand of dried linguine. so we could look at it on that level (ignore the lion for the moment ill sort of explain that if it isn't already obvious)

but also we now know that this scene is not their first meeting, and that aziraphale and crowley do in fact remember each other and know that they have met, and in aziraphale's case is probably the teeniest bit shy bc damn heart eyes as an angel, heart eyes as a demon 🥵 but my point is that this is after the fall. after (as far as crowley tells it) crowley fell for 'just ask[ing] questions", and "just hung around the wrong people".

now i have my thoughts on why crowley fell: tldr because it would require another post - both reasons he gave above are bullshit and obvs conflict with each other, so i think that he doesn't actually know why he fell and has just guessed his transgressions so he can rationalise it, that god actually never had an issue with him asking questions, and instead it was actually god's plan to make him fall so he could represent the 'evil' side of free will on earth, as aziraphale's counterpart, and essentially ensure that humankind stays eternally 'in balance'

ANYWAY so the fact that in the lion sequence, 'crowley' is being shielded by 'aziraphale' against an unknown entity; but does this mirror a flashback, or is it foreshadowing? again, id put my bets on the former visually, but the latter... lyrically? idk the word but regardless take the dialogue:

"What if I did the right thing;

with the whole 'eat the apple business'?

A demon can get into a lot of trouble;

for doing the right thing."

so let's rephrase this:

"Was it the right decision to fall;

was I right to choose this for myself?

to choose the right to choose?

Because i feel like i could live to regret it."

so is crowley in essence already asking if aziraphale is on his side? is he asking if falling was the right thing, the good thing, to do (regardless of whether god gave him any choice in the matter)? But was he given the choice, first true free will? did aziraphale try to protect him during the fall, so crowley could get out in time (but ultimately fail? or at least bought Crowley enough time to find a back staircase and fall gently and peacefully, 'saunter vaguely downwards'?), and then get assigned to earth to be the 'good' side of the coin for humanity?

and is crowley asking if aziraphale will continue to be with him? in whatever romantic, platonic, acquaintance context you want - is he asking aziraphale if aziraphale will fight for him again, for them both? aziraphale made his decision, enacted his free will, in giving the humans a sword, and thus brought the concept of war and horror to earth, even if that was never his intention - so now swordless, and now only condemned to watch humanity as it strides out on its own (or was this the plan all along?👀), is aziraphale willing to do it? does he have the power, the strength, the will? would he stretch his finger over the line to fight on their side?

maybe im asking the wrong kind of questions, but all ill say is that in the above sequence? at the end of the dialogue? adam kills the lion.

i think 'their side' began in the job minisode, yes maybe, but also maybe the idea of it, the understanding of it, was planted here.

#good omens #anyway time to continue with the rest of ep1 lmao #s1 meta #crowley meta #the fall/the great war spec

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emotionallyattachednerd · 9 months

Text

Disobedience ❙ TP Optimus Prime x f!human reader ❙ NSFW 18+

Word count: 2000+

Warnings: Smut ( toucing and grinding ) mentions of nudity, Optimus giving reader some punishment but hardly, little angst with happy ending and robot on human. NSFW 18+.

Notes: Thanks for sending in your request @musicalmedli. I haven't really done much with Optimus before so this was a great experiance. Sorry for the wait been a busy week. I don't know why I get carried away with these and end up being 2k+ I just can't help myself. Hope you enjoy. 🥰

Tips☕

"Y/N!"

You jump hearing Optimus yell your name. He is not happy with you at all. Over again you would cause mischief, getting yourself into trouble before being rescued by Optimus himself, for months this went on.

However, it's different today. You could've got really hurt, yet you still ran through that ground bridge and right into a battle between him and Megatron.

On some stroke of luck you were saved, again, but Optimus is now having some alone time with you, words, putting his foot down finally.

None of the others dared to say anything and instead gave Optimus and you time alone he requested. He really wasn't happy, a side you or anyone never saw.

"Would you care to explain yourself? Why would you disobey me yet again? Are you truly trying to put yourself in danger? Do you realise just how bad things might've gone today?" Optimus asks question after question, explaining answers for all of them.

"I...I'm sorry, I just wanted to see you in battle." You gave an innocent shrug. "I'm fine though. No harm done, thanks to you." You send him a weak smile, but he is in no smiling mood.

"No more." He firmly orders. "If you disobey again you won't be welcomed into the base." Hearing this makes your heart sink.

"You'll kick me out? But...No, that's not fair! I'm an adult not a child! Miko is always disobeying and she never gets punished. Why me? What makes me so different?!" You raise your voice feeling upset now.

For months you have been trying to get his attention, to pick up the signals, but nothing was working. Not following his orders is your way to get his attention and you think it was working, until now that is.

"Because you're different! If anything were to happen to you..." He goes quiet much to your surprise.

"What?" You question, seeking what he's thinking.

"I wouldn't forgive myself if you got hurt." He admits to you, making both your stomach and heart flip.

"But I didn't-"

"You can't control what happens." He cuts in. "You put yourself in situations and I'm forced to put my focus on you, putting both you and myself in danger. Megatron now knows you're my weakness and he'll use that. It's not safe for you anymore."

Honestly, you hadn't really thought about that.

"I'm-"

"Agent Fowler will need to move your family somewhere else and under protection now, because of your actions, you put you, your family, and myself in danger."

Your eyes swell with tears, threatening to leak out as your emotions boil. You truly didn't think that far ahead.

"I'm sorry. I just..." Your breath hitches as you struggle to find the words.

"Just what? Talk to me. What's going on with you?" Optimus' tone changes, and he sounds concerned for you.

"I just wanted you to notice me." Finally, you mutter through a whisper, but Optimus hears it.

"Notice you? I always notice you, Y/N." He responds, but you simply shake your head.

"No, you don't!" You snap, not truly meaning it, but there is no taking it back. "Not the way I want you to notice me."

"I don't understand..." Optimus says slowly before you cut in.

"Of course you don't. It doesn't matter..." You turn away then.

"No, it does matter. I don't understand why you didn't tell me this sooner." Hearing this makes you perk your head up towards him.

"I wasn't sure how to tell you." You continue to struggle with your words, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"Please, speak to me. Tell me what?" Optimus is closer now, kneeling to your level. He really is going to force it out of you.

"Tell you how I feel about you." You manage to barely squeak out.

Optimus stares at you, optics softening with care before letting out a long sigh.

"Y/N, are you saying you have intimate feelings towards me?" He wants to clarify.

This is it probably, you'll leave and never return, never see the autobots again, or Optimus. That's the life you think is going to happen now for you.

"Yeah, duh." You answer back with another shrug. "Didn't I make that obvious?"

"You have an odd way of showing it." Sure, you understand that. Throwing yourself in danger just to be rescued by him is your way to tell him that you have the biggest crush on him.

You can't help but laugh lightly through your tears. "Yeah, maybe, guess I was just desperate." Sniffling you try wiping your face clean, hating this feeling and the emotions that shake through your body.

Suddenly, there's a large but tender touch against your cheek. Looking up, you notice it's Optimus, using his digit to not wipe your face but to caress you, trying to offer any form of comfort.

"Perhaps next time instead of running into a battle between me and Megatron for me to rescue you, just talk to me." It sounds very simple.

"You make it sound so easy." You say, unable to help yourself as you lean into his touch fondly.

"Y/N, I'll admit, I've grown an attachment towards you, and it's deeper than I realised until today. My spark reaches out to you silently, screaming for you, but you give nothing back. It's not your fault though. We're a different species but that doesn't have to mean we can't work something out for this to grow more, if that is what you desire?"

His words send your mind into a spin. Is he confessing his feelings?

"Optimus." His name barely whispers from you. "Are you returning the same feelings?"

"Yes, I am." His answer gets you beaming through more tears, tears of happiness this time.

"I-I don't know what to say now." Perhaps you were dreaming, however after pinching your arm a little you realised you weren't dreaming at all.

"Would you like to spend time with me this evening?" His offer gets you all giddy, almost lightheaded as well.

"Yes...please, I would love that."

He picks you up under his servo and heads towards his quarters. You can't help but hold onto his digit for support, feeling so small, yet safe at the same time.

You have no idea what to expect to happen once in his quarters, but you are ready for anything. You've waited for this for months and now you finally have an opportunity.

Once in his quarters, he sits on his berth with her still sitting in his servo. He watches you, curiously, illuminating optics lingering across your small body.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable, I want you to feel safe with me. Do you trust me?" He asks, digits gently pressing against your side and rubbing.

"I do." You answer through a shaky breath, loving the feel of his digit against your side and making you hum softly.

Optimus watches you before his smile flattens a little.

"There's still the talk about a punishment for your disobedience." Hearing him say this does make you nervous, swallowing the lump in your throat as you stare up at him with wide doe eyes.

"You're going to punish me?"

"I won't hurt you, but more like I need you to listen to me. Understood?" You can only nod at him and wait patiently for what he has in mind for you.

He seems hesitant at first but soon enough he finds his voice. "Remove your clothes, please."

Your heart is hammering so hard against your chest but you follow his order. Removing your clothes you soon follow with your undergarments, removing them as well, slowly.

You hear Optimus let out a soft vent at the sight of your naked figure before him. His optics lingered over, silently hoving, and that makes you feel even hotter.

He suddenly moves you closer towards him right up to his face. "Kiss me, please."

Wetting your lips you lean up closer towards him, hand running along his cheek plating as your naked skin and breasts press against his armour.

You hear him letting out a low groan at the feel of her soft hand against his face, optics shuttering a little from the tender contact.

Closing the distance between you two, your lips met his. There is a huge size difference of course, but you manage to get into a good spot and a tender sync where you move your lips across his.

Sucking at his bottom lip you gave a teasing nibble, surprising yourself when you feel his metal lips are soft, unlike the rest of him.

The action causes him to let out another groan that drags out longer. You run your tongue along the area you had bit before looking back up at him, waiting for his next command.

He looks almost shy, and you find that rather adorable.

You let out a gasp when you feel his digit move under you and press the thick side against your throbbing mound.

"Go ahead, pleasure yourself against me, and don't stop."

You are willing to do everything he says.

Gently gripping onto his servo you start to rock your hips against him, grinding yourself as you let out heated gasps, eyes never leaving his optics. Your clit is in perfect position, running along a small bump on his digit that tickles you just right in the most beautiful way.

Optimus watches you through a soft yet aroused stare, mouth hanging open slightly as his vents hitch again, optics moving over your rocking body, carefully reading every detail about you and your actions. You were listening to him, and that's what he wants.

Your head leans to the side against another digit, eyes closing as your hips pick up in speed. You're huffing and whimpering softly as your core throbs more against Optimus, licking your lips as you seek for orgasim.

"Don't be so quick to finish. You can only do that when I say." Optimus says as you look up at him with whimpering eyes. "Please, y/n. You can only overload when I say you can."

He wants to control you, in a kind way, and this is supposed to be your punishment. You don't want to disobey him again.

"Yes sir." You manage to answer before slowing your hips, another whimpering pout leaves you, but you keep a slow pace against him.

Your fingers grip into the padding of his digit, the side of her cheek rubbing against it while you feel your juices start to leak and create a small pool within his servo.

"Good girl." Optimus praises you, which only makes your mound twitch with desire at his beautiful words.

Your free hand moves up to one of your bouncing breasts and you start to massage into it, pinching your nipple lightly pushing another satisfied moan from you.

"Optimus..." His name whispers as you keep a slow movement at your hips against him, merwing softly as you feel your core already about to snap.

"Not yet." He notices your close and you listen to him, holding back for as long as you can for him before he continues talking. "Primus...I've watched you for so long, but I was always afraid to admit the truth to you. Knowing you feel the same about me brings warmth to my spark. Will you be mine, y/n?"

"Yes...yes, a thousand times yes." You chant through your building pleasure boiling through you, making him smile softly at your response.

"You may overload."

At the given command you let yourself go, rocking harder, humping, louder moans echoing from your voice before your core snapped and your orgasim erupts through your trembling body.

You don't care if anyone hears you as you want the others to know you belong to Optimus Prime.

Sagging against his servo your heated pants fog against his digit before slowly pushing yourself upwards to look at him.

He brings you closer, not realising he had grabbed a blanket from somewhere and placed it on his shoulder, leaning against his beth so you had a comfortable spot to lay with him.

You snuggle like purring cat into the blanket and nuzzle as close as possible into Optimus, craving to be close to him.

After a moment of heavy breathing you manage to find your voice. "Are things really that bad for my family?" You can't help but ask.

"Things will be sorted for you and your family. Don't worry, you're always safe with me. I'll protect you. But you cannot leave the base, you'll need to remain here until further notice," He answers and you understand.

"I promise not to disobey anymore." You say through a tired voice.

"I'm glad to hear." Optimus lets out a soft hum that vibrates through you gently, making you hum back in return.

"I never want to lose you." You are half asleep as you say this, before drifting off into a heavy sleep.

"You won't. As I never want to lose you. I love you."

Optimus silently swore on his spark to keep you safe, no matter what.

#transformers #prime #optimus prime #optimus prime x reader #reader insert #robot x human #misbehaving #smut #fanfiction #writing #sugarrusheag

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angelofthenight · 2 months

Text

Kenchanted Pt.4

(Ken x Fem!Reader)

Warnings: Mostly dialogue, Y/N is hinted at being depressed but it’s nothing triggering or significant

Word Count: 3.5k

Table of Contents

You rushed into the police station with a jog to your steps, your motivation being the man that hasn’t evacuated your mind even for a second ever since you sent him away. You were only home for about an hour before the police station had called you and Ken’s voice spoke over the line.

He excitedly explained to you where he was and how they told him he could get a phone call. The only phone number he knew was yours due to seeing it written on Julius’ desk. So that’s how you found yourself in the police department as they released Ken, who was now all decked out in stylish cowboy clothes, from the holding cell.

“Ken, what happened? You were gone for only an hour-” You spoke with big eyes as Ken ran towards you with a big, dopey grin strung up on his face. “(Y/n)! Great news! They’ve seen Barbie!” He cut you off with giddiness.

You put your hands up to slow him down, much more important questions existing that needed to be answered. “Ken, why are you in jail?” Said man shrugged. “Beats me.” Your eyes traveled up and down his form, taking in his new appearance from the cowboy boots all the way up to the matching hat. “Why did you change clothes? And why would you dress up as a cowboy?”

“Hey, I love fringe!” Ken defended, fastly shaking his shoulders to make the white fringe whip around. “I didn’t really feel like myself in the clothes you gave me so when I saw this in a store window I changed. But then the clerk started yelling at me and chasing me and then they arrested me.”

You blinked rapidly at the information. “You stole this?!” You cried out, gesturing towards his Western clothes. “I gave you money though!” “Oh that’s what it was for?” “Do you even still have it?”

Ken rocked on his heels, twiddling with his plastic fingers behind his back as he scrunched his lips. “…No.” You glared right at him with hands on your hips. “What did you spend it on?!” “I stepped on some picture on the ground by accident and some guy ran up yelling at me and telling me to pay him money for stepping on his picture so I gave it to him.” He explained with an innocent, naive shrug.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Oh my god, Ken.” You released yourself to take a deep breath. “Well, you fell for your first LA scam. Congratulations.” You said through a galled monotone. Ken couldn’t see through your sarcasm. “Thank you!” He chirped with a proud smile and composure, tipping his white cowboy hat to you.

Once you bailed Ken out, rather than taking him straight to your car, you took him for a little stroll around town to properly talk with him. “I’m sorry about everything I said earlier today. I’m just not used to falling off my everyday schedule. And my boss and I both have a lot of expectations from myself, so I’m not the most flexible person.” You told him, still not feeling that well with letting him go.

“I forgive you.” Ken quickly replied with an upbeat bounce, not sounding the least bit of upset with you. “But it would be nice if you did loosen up a bit. Just go with the flow.” He recommended, waving his arms out to express the last bit. You scoffed lightheartedly, “Yeah. Maybe I should just do what you would do. Throw myself into every opportunity to get in trouble.”

“Sometimes trouble can be fun!”

“Not if it gets you thrown in a holding cell and goes into your record.”

“But at least there I got to find out that Barbie is in the area! The policeman told me she got in for the same reason as me!”

“If they were telling the truth that is.”

You didn’t mean to be so negative, but you just didn’t want to get the poor guys hopes up. It’s a very realistic possibility that the cops were just humoring him and going along with his antics. This was just your way of desperately attempting to give Ken a needed reality check; knock the sanity back into him. As a natural pessimist, Ken’s optimist disposition felt like nails on a chalkboard to you. He was just so out of touch with reality while you had the tightest grip on it. He needed to understand that life was harsh and unforgiving, no place for such a person like him.

When you opened your mouth with the intent to give Ken a hurtful life lesson Ken halted his tracks when you were about to pass a cotton candy stand, the pink cloudy substance that swirled around the stick capturing his attention. You nearly tripped over your own ceasing feet when you almost walked ahead of him, rejoining to his side.

“Do you want some?” You asked him after noticing how enamored he was with the creation of it. Ken snapped his sparkling eyes over to you, nodding enthusiastically. You pulled out the needed bills and exchanged them for one big, pink fluffy cotton candy. The young worker held out the treat for Ken to happily take before you two continued to walk the westside beach town that led to the boardwalk.

Ken held it a few inches away from his mouth as he did his pretend bites with a cheery grin. You rolled your eyes at this, ‘Not this again’. “Ken, you’re supposed to pinch off a piece and put it in your mouth.” You said as you demonstrated it, nearly humming from the taste since it had been a while too long since you’ve had it.

Ken observed your example and looked back at the pink cotton ball with a sense of hesitant uncertainty. Though he did as you instructed and took a pinch out of the weightless spun sugar. He took a second to study it and hesitantly placed it on his tongue. He closed his lips and was about to chew like he did with the breakfast until he felt nothing but the tasty sand-like sugar on his newly grown taste buds.

His huge eyes whipped to you with shock. “It disappeared!” You let yourself softly laugh, an amused genuine smile spreading your lips. “That’s what cotton candy does.” Ken looked back to the fluffy sugar bush and took several pinch size bites, his eyes lighting up everytime the piece vanished in his mouth. “I didn't know that food could taste like this!” He said when he looked over to you with the happiest of looks.

The two of you continued your walk until you decided to spark up a more casual conversation to get to know Ken a little better. “So, what's the deal with this girlfriend of yours? How long have you two been together?” Ken sucked a sprinkle of the sugar off his thumb before he answered, “Well, we’re supposed to have been boyfrien-girlfrien for 62 years now but she doesn’t really treat us like that.”

Your eyebrows slowly scrunched together as questions began to swarm your mind. “Wait, why do you call yourselves a couple when she doesn’t see it that way?” “Because it’s supposed to be Barbie and Ken. It’s never just Ken.” He explained with that mindless grin of his. You gave him a look. “But most of the time it’s just Barbie though.”

Ken’s smile faltered when you said that, his bright blue orbs floating without direct attention while his mind drifted with distraction; lingering on your words. He shook himself out of his space-out to put back up a bright smile. “What about you? How long have you known your Rob?” He asked you before you told him it had been five years.

“Has he moved in with you yet? That’s my dream with Barbie.” You felt your muscles slightly tense upwards at the uncomfortable question that people always had to ask. “Um, no, he hasn’t.” You replied as you gnawed at the inside of your cheek. “I mean it’s in the plan but he wants to move in sooner rather than later when I think it should be later than sooner. There’s just a lot that needs to be done when moving in together, and don’t even get me started on billings and picking out a place.”

Ken raised his brows at your explanation. Never has he met someone so worked up about beyond tomorrow while Ken himself has never felt burdened by the knowledge of upcoming decisions and plans. “Wow, you think a lot about the future.” He breathed out.

“Well, I have to. Being planned, prepped and prepared is the key to stability, and I apply that to me and my boyfriend and our relationship.”

“You have such strange ideas about love and life.” Ken chuckled to himself which made you mockingly snicker back. “Forget ‘love’, it doesn't exist.”

Ken nearly tripped.

“How could you say that?!” He practically screamed in your ear, his expression deeply shocked and offended. “Of course it does!” You glared at his raised volume, glancing around to make sure no one in the public was looking in your direction. You stepped closer to Ken to talk in a hushed tone, trying to signal him to keep his voice down. “And how do you know?” You questioned with a condescending shadow over your voice.

“In Barbieland, I’m surrounded by lots of Barbie’s and Ken’s who are head over heels in love.” Ken proclaimed with an expressive nod as you resumed walking. “Are you in love with…” you steered off for a second as you realized he used the two names in plural, “your Barbie?”

“Well yeah…” Ken answered all too quickly yet his expression deflated as he glanced off momentarily, “but it’s not the real thing. At least not yet. True love is a two-way street, y’know.”

You gestured toward him. “Exactly my point.” You said. “True love is either always one sided or fake. Love is finite and never lasts.” Ken was visibly frowning at what you were saying as your point of view. “What about you and Rob? Don’t you love each other?” He asks like he was a child of divorce. You stopped in your tracks, Ken copying you to watch you struggle for words.

“It’s…” You bit your lip as you trailed off. You never liked trying to verbalize your feelings, you preferred keeping it all inside you in a place where you didn’t have to acknowledge or explain them. “Well I am attracted to him and I do like him in that way. But being ‘in love’ is kind of far of a stretch.” You sighed, rubbing your tired eye before reconnecting eye contact. “That's what I'm trying to tell you. It's complicated.”

Ken looked back and forth between your eyes, as if searching for some kind of explanation for your bleak way of thinking. He just didn’t understand you. “But it doesn't have to be though.” He argued, desperation clawing at his throat and frustrated tears threatening to border his orbs.

You shrugged with a melancholy frown. “That’s just how the world is, Ken. It’s messy and unclear, and it’s just plain cruel. That’s why we have to toughen ourselves up for it and nothing can ever seriously hurt us.” You spoke with a thick shroud of disapointment heavy in your voice; speaking purely out of the experience he seemed to lack.

You nearly snapped your own neck when you heard Ken mumble beneath his breath, “That’s not how the world in Barbieland works.”

“Well maybe it’s just a naive, ignorant world.” You growled back under your breath. You loathed how often he talked about this “Barbieland” and how flawless it sounded to be. It made you furious. You were beginning to theorize he was just in a cult on a remote, isolated landmass or island. It would explain all your questions about him and his homeland.

The world was black and white, wicked and dark. It was relentless with problems and it was a ‘survival of the mentally fittest’ built place. You had to raise and fend for yourself and once you blinked and found yourself all grown up, your view of the world had been molded by your own disappointment and anger. But now you refused to see the world any other way. Because then you would have to admit that you were wrong and that it was just your specific life that was like that. You were not wrong though. The world was- “Can I ask you something?” Ken’s sudden lively voice pulled you out of your dark cloud of stormy thoughts. “What.” You grumbled.

He gulped, staring at your grumpy expression as he began to feel a nervousness swell up within him to ask you, “Why don’t you smile?”

You blinked several times, bafflement softening up the scowl on your face you didn’t even realize was present. You glanced around timidly, awkwardly trying to decide on an answer. “I do. Just not every minute of the day, but I do smile.”

“But aren’t you happy?” Ken pressed on, making you more uncomfortable as you preferred to not talk about your emotions or the feelings that weren’t disappointment or anger or disgust. “I mean, I’m content.” You tried to explain but that seemed to further Ken’s confusion. “But not happy?”

Ken felt so… he didn’t even know a word that describes what he felt about it. He had never met someone who wasn’t quick to admit that they were happy, both with themselves or with their life. Every hour of the day in Barbieland, every Barbie and every Ken had the time of their plastic lives. Everything was perfect, aside from his relationship with Stereotypical Barbie. From the weather, to the food, to the activities, to the parties, to the clothes, to the community.

And you were just the… opposite of everyone he’s familiar with. Yet he didn’t exactly dislike that. Of course you were such a wet blanket though, but something as unfamiliar as you kind of gave him this sort of thrill. The kind of thrill he felt at the pit of his stomach when he was about to face the biggest plastic wave he’s ever seen, not really scared but not really excited.

“It’s another complicated thing, Ken. I like my life and I like my relationships. I wouldn’t say that I’m not happy, I do feel happiness a lot but it’s… it’s complicated.” You sighed out while tightly crossing your arms as if that would ease your discomfort. Ken made himself slowly nod despite not really understanding, mentally digesting your foreign predicament. He looked off into nothing particular as he tried to maintain a steady breath, your overall mentality nearly overwhelming him. “Everything sounds complicated with you.”

You shrugged at his observation, wondering if you really did overuse that specific word even if it was the perfect description for most things in your life. “Happiness just isn’t my top priority. And if it's just something you need to work for well then I have more important things in my life that I can put my energy into.”

“Like what?”

“Like my work.”

“And?”

“And housework and bills and…” you mentally screamed at yourself as your mind went blank, “and quite literally anything else.” You grumbled which left Ken the open opportunity to dig.

“Like dancing?” He pepped up, taking your ‘anything else’ very literally. You briefly nibbled on your lip. “Well no but-”

“Beaches?”

“No-”

“Concerts?”

“I don’t-”

He went on to list all the things he and other dolls personally enjoyed doing. “Baking? Theme parks? Camping?” His list was cut off with the exclamation at the notice of a certain A frame sign that caught his eye. “Disco parties!” He squeaked as he pointed at it, immediately jogging to it with you chasing after him.

“There’s going to be a Disco Party at the pier next week!” Ken read with a burst of joy overflowing him as he practically bounced on his heels with a gleeful giddiness spreading his lips into a wide smile while pointing at the sign like a kid pointing out a toy they want at the store to their mom.

You stood at his side to study the sign on your own, resisting the itching feeling to roll your eyes at the colorful public invitation with a big disco ball at the corner of it and 70s song references scattered across the words. “We should go!” Ken insisted with excitement bubbling through his composure.

Your lips held a small sour cringe. “I don’t dance.” You instantly shot down which made his energy deflate as he gave you a look of mortification. “What do you mean you don’t dance?!” “I just think it’s stupid.” You shrugged simply.

Ken squared his shoulders at you with his hands on his hips, his eyes blown open. “Have you even tried it?” He sharply questioned. A condescending smirk twitched the corner of your mouth as your eyes rolled. “I don’t have to swing and flail my body around myself to know that it looks ridiculous and embarrassing.” You said easily while you tightly crossed your arms in an uptight manner.

Ken blinked. “Em… bear… a-sing?” You raised a brow. “Yeah, embarrassing. You know that shameful, self-conscious feeling you get when you do something you’re uncomfortable with in front of others?”

He slightly spaced out as he thought over your explained definition, realizing that he has felt that negative feeling before. But he couldn’t apply that to something as refreshing as dancing. “…Oh! So you’re just too shy to dance?” He concluded with an accomplished smile and a pointer finger at you. You groaned under your breath and turned away from him to walk back the way you came with your tightly crossed arms. “I’m not shy, I just would prefer to keep my dignity.”

Ken watched you walk ahead of him for a moment. A strange warmness tickled the pit of his stomach as a mindless grin, birthed from that foreign sensation, settled into his lips. A little chuckle rang out through his throat and past his misty smile as his eyes remained on you before he jogged to catch up to you, rejoining you by your side.

That chuckle erupted again but lighter. “You know, I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re really weird.” You vaguely flinched at his comment before giving him a quick up and down glance. “You’re not so normal yourself.”

“But I actually kinda really like that you’re weird.” He added with a soft smile planted delicately on his lips. “It’s so different from what I’m used to.” Although the compliment was unflattering, you felt a sudden warm temperature expand throughout your chest. Identical to that toasty, cozy bodily reaction you get when you’re in a freezing cabin in the middle of winter and you just lit a flaming fireplace.

You told yourself it was just the California heat getting to you.

The corners of your mouth perked up gently without your consent as you admitted, “And even though your immature naivety can be so annoying it gives me a headache, it can be cute.” Ken’s smile broadened enough for his teeth to show, snapping his beaming eyes down at you. “You think I’m cute?”

You shot a glare up at him, trying to force your grin down into a frown but your upturned lips were too heavy to weigh down. “I never said that.” He shook his head up and down enthusiastically in an overly joyful manner. “You did though!” You let out a repressed laugh, it coming out too suddenly for you to try to hold it in. “Don’t think too much into it though. I still think a fish is cuter than you.”

“But still cute.”

“Just shut up, okay?”

You two walked in silence for a moment, a lighthearted and playful atmosphere circling around you until you felt Ken’s bright blue eyes lasering into you. You glanced up at him to catch his cheeky gaze and grin. “What?” You asked, your brows pinching together.

“I made you smile.” Ken pointed out, sounding very proud of himself while remembering how much you didn’t smile.

You abruptly felt the pulse of your heart pound one beat harder than the rest, not even realizing that you were in fact still smiling. You finally got the strength to drop your smile into your signature frown, practically a scowl. “Whatever. Let’s go home now.” You brushed off as you motioned the blond to follow you.

Ken slightly tilted his head, puzzlement teasing his expression. “You mean your home?” He asked, making sure you didn’t mean Barbieland which was his home. He couldn’t go home without Barbie.

You paused, internally stabbing yourself from the embarrassing mistake. “Yeah… my home.”

#reader insert #ken carson x reader #ken x reader #ken carson #kenergy #greta gerwig barbie #barbie 2023 #the barbie movie #barbie movie #barbie #greta gerwig #ryan gosling x reader #ryan gosling #enchanted movie #enchanted #I’m just Ken #fluff #disney enchanted

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