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always-andromeda · 10 months

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·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ Edward Nashton x Fem!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ✯ 2447

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ✯ daydreaming about being with you is better than actually being with you because i missed all the red flags and now it's too late + "You're a monster." + "That's never stopped you before."

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ✯ this isn't an official return to writing Dano content! this is merely me getting in touch with my roots a little! because you can't give me unhinged prompts and then tell me not to get even a little bit inspired to write something for Edward lmao. p.s. yes I ever so slightly changed the dialogue prompt!! it just made more sense in the end!!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ✯ smut (minors, do not interact), descriptions of sex, Edward being his normal homicidal self <3, reader is kind of an asshole lmao, vague allusions to violence, and that's all I can think of! please let me know if I need to add more!

(mdni banner template credit goes to @cafekitsune!!)

Sometimes it astounded you just how far a set of sad eyes could fuel your romantic mind. You hesitated to admit that you were delusional, but the thought certainly lived in the back of your head. Anytime it traveled to the front you’d simply brush it back with the justification that everyone did this.

Everyone made up those little romances to lose themselves in. It gave you something to think about in the gaps between really living. In that narrow room of your head lived Edward Nashton. And god, was he really starting to take up even more real estate than you’d ever meant for him to.

He wasn’t even your nicest coworker. Far from it actually, considering how stand-offish he was. At first you looked right over him, preferring the company of coworkers that didn’t make you feel like you were being looked down upon. Because whether he intended it or not, he radiated some sort of superiority. Though he rarely spoke, you simply caught the idea that he didn’t want to be part of anything going on.

Edward never attended company lunches, never went out for drinks after work, and mostly kept to himself during his lunch breaks. He seemed almost intent on isolating himself as much as possible. It didn’t occur to you that maybe it was wrong to quickly assign such malice to his disinterest until he chimed in on a break room conversation you were having with a coworker.

She’d been expressing excitement over the prospect of Bella Reál running for mayor against Mayor Mitchell. She’d scoffed, “It’s about time that bastard gets pushed out of office. We finally have a chance for some real change here.”

For as quiet as he was, you were surprised that Edward’s voice sounded so firm when he raised his head and spoke, “Realchange? What are the odds of that? She’s just another politician. And politicians...they’re nothing more than cardboard cutouts for whatever demographic they want to pander to. They can’t save everyone.“

Your coworker rolled her eyes, saying something about how cynicism won’t do anyone any good before decidedly pushing him out of the conversation entirely. And that gave you the clearest picture you’d had of him yet. Maybe it was less that he didn’t want to be a part of things and more that he didn’t know how to be a part of things.

The more you viewed him through that lens, the more he made sense. And the more it made your heart break for him. It wasn't pity. God no. Out of everyone you knew, Edward was surely the smartest and most capable. But that didn't make it any easier watching him look at the rest of the world with that twitchy, distrustful eye.

Maybe if you were a different person you would've said something. You would at least sit with him. But truth told, he intimidated you.

So, not wanting to risk shouldering any of his disdain, you watched him. And you built up an idea. An idea you were quite fond of.

You noticed that he drank his coffee black. Figured that he took everything else that way too. That he cut straight through the sugar and cream and gulped down the bitterness, grounds and all. All reason, no nonsense. You decided it would probably be hard to be with him. But that wouldn't make it any less gratifying.

Already you could imagine Edward and his walls and how you'd attempt to break through them. Maybe there was some sort of tragic past behind his disassociation. Maybe there was something in him that reflected a little bit of yourself. Maybe you could help him; make him happier. Or maybe he was just a plain old asshole and you'd only make each other worse. Either way, it made him compelling to deconstruct.

Especially when comparing him to the other men in your office. Many of them were loud, boastful, and – perhaps due to some deep seated insecurity – always trying to prove something. Edward, on the other hand, seemed to wear that insecurity on his sleeve with his stuttering replies and lingering glances towards his superiors. You bet he was secretly possessive. Not exactly swift to a fight, but definitely quick to prove that his power was effortless; he didn't need showmanship the way those other men did.

Something about that made him inherently cool to you. As much as he may have been a nobody, a loser, and a nerd...he was also everything. Everything and nothing all at once and you couldn't get enough of it.

If there was anyone in your office you guessed would ask you out, it certainly wasn't Edward. Edward, in your mind, didn't take those risks. And he certainly didn't care enough about you to see you as any different from the rest of his coworkers.

But somehow he managed to break your script the morning he confidently waltzed straight to your cubicle across the office and asked if you liked Italian food.

"Eh, I'm impartial," you replied sheepishly, not sure where the question was leading.

To your surprise, Edward gave a small nod, issuing his silent approval. "Good. Because there's a diner in town that I'd like to take you out to."

You had to blink quickly, wondering for a moment if you'd honest-to-god lost your mind and fallen too far into one of your daydreams.

"Huh?"

That's when Edward's own voice faltered slightly, "I-is that a yes? Or a no?" and finally it struck you that this was reality.

"Yes!" you blurted your reply. "I'd love to go out with you."

Once you'd worked out the particulars of this assumed date, you could hardly hide your anticipation. You'd been nervous for dates before. But this was a new beast. You barely knew a thing about him and you hadn't so much as had a real conversation with him.

Why he'd asked you out in the first place, you had no idea. None of it made any sense but before you could question his intentions, you second guessed that gut feeling. Those rose tinted glasses fell over your gaze with ease at that point.

Maybe he was just as nervous as you were. Maybe this was his attempt at doing something bold. Maybe you were the asshole for assuming dubious intent. Maybe you just had to give him a chance. After all, he was giving you a chance. And suddenly you interest was piqued all over again.

On its own, the date was average. You hadn't expected a Michelin star meal, but as far as greasy diner food went, this one sat heavy in your stomach and Edward's untrained social skills didn't help.

He made conversation like he'd read a Wikihow article on it before picking you up. And while it was a lackluster feeling that spurred inside you when he was reciting those lines to you, it only made you want to deliberately break his script again. You knew he had it in him; you'd seen it before.

Ignoring every ounce of advice on social etiquette you'd ever learned, you asked him what he thought about the upcoming election. And that seemed to be just the ticket as he set his mug of black coffee down, a goofy grin scrawling out on his doughy face. Before you knew it, he launched into an uninterrupted tangent about the grim state of Gotham politics for the next few minutes.

It was simple enough nodding along and giving the occasional sympathetic hum. Even if you did feel the same about the broken system you lived in, it was a little disappointing realizing that he was like many of the men you'd dated. One that liked the sound of his own voice too much that you could barely get a word in edgewise.

But you think you liked the sound of his voice more when he said, "My apartment is nearby. Would you like to...come over?"

And you knew he liked yours when you agreed.

Edward was a virgin, just like you expected. You tried not to show too much pride over your skillful deduction at the vulnerable admission. But you couldn't help the small rise in your tone when you replied, "Oh, you haven't...?"

Edward shook his head before hiding his face in your neck and groaning. And if you hadn't felt how unmistakably hard he was against your thigh, you might've felt bad for him. As wrong as it felt, you were ecstatic.

You couldn't believe your luck, getting to be this man's first. As meaningless as the concept of virginity was to you in theory...in this scenario...it inspired some very sentimental feelings. Feelings that even if he wasn't exactly everything you'd built him up to be, you'd still always have this imprint on him.

Repeatedly you reassured that you didn't find that fact embarrassing while suppressing the fact that more than anything, you wanted him. You'd dreamed about him for long enough that this felt like teasing. And it wasn't fun.

He fucked almost exactly the way you thought he would. Desperate. Disconnected. Animalistic. Like he was searching for something. Whether that be pleasure or perhaps a good old fashioned connection with someone, you didn't know. All you knew was that it made you giggle to think of your coworkers' looks of surprise when they found out that the Edward Nashton had managed to bring a girl home on the first date.

Even though he didn't make you come with penetration, it was fairly easy showing him how to use his fingers. Initially his touch was rough. As soon as you squealed and squirmed, he'd stopped dead in his tracks and looked at you with that sad, sorry stare. And despite the fact that he'd been the one to hurt you, he still managed to make you feel sorry for him.

But that didn't matter. Once you got him going, his focus on maintaining that light, even pressure as he circled your clit was unbreakable. You could tell that he was deriving pleasure from this too. That he liked staring deep into your eyes as they clouded over with mounting pleasure before blowing wide once you tipped over the edge. He chased the keening sounds of your arousal with an intensity that made the whole thing seem far more urgent than it actually was.

You were in so deep that you hadn't noticed the tears streaming down your cheeks until you'd finished and Edward had set off for his bathroom to wet a towel for cleanup. Once his bedroom door closed, you felt comfortable enough to really lay back and let out the breath you'd been holding. Being around him made your nerves short circuit and as much as you hated to admit it, it shrouded your judgment.

Knowing close to nothing about him, you found yourself picking through the flashes you'd gotten when stumbling into his apartment. Between kisses, you remember hearing squeaks. Maybe it was mice? Rats? Judging by the crumbling state of his room, you were uncertain over whether he owned them or they'd simply...made their home among his. You hoped it was the former. Your imagination forced you to believe that.

Finally you sat up, looking around his room. Edward's discarded button up work shirt laid forgotten on the floor. You picked it up and pulled it on to regain some of your modesty as you began dissecting once more.

Once you started to get a good look at your surroundings, you felt that pit in your stomach. Or maybe it was the greasy diner food sitting uncomfortably in your stomach. But that justification seemed less likely when you noticed the mirror on his dresser was smashed out, the broken glass still sitting on the wood surface. Any idea of it being accidental disappeared when you spotted the cork board beside the dresser. Pinned to it were photos and articles marked dramatically with red ink.

The words FILTHY PIGS written in big letters over a picture accompanying an article that detailed a GCPD drug den bust. The world LIAR scrawled over an old image of Thomas Wayne, most likely from his campaign days. Then there were the most worrying ones. Photos of people you vaguely recognized that weren't defaced with words. You saw Mayor Mitchell, Bella Reál, Gotham's attorney general, and a few others all with one thing in common. Right in the middle of their foreheads were targets, painted in red that dripped down their faces like blood.

This wasn't just some sort of bizarre art project. The closer you looked at the smaller annotations scribbled into the margins, the more you realized that this was some sort of morbid obsession of his. And for the first time, he scared you.

His stares and his silence meant nothing compared to the pure terror this inspired in you.

The bedroom door creaked as Edward pushed it open. His grip on the wet washcloth in his hand tightened as he caught what you were looking at.

"You see the truth now, don't you?" he asked meekly with a distant look.

"What?"

His voice dripped with emotion, "The brokenness. The-the-the corruption. The suffering. You understand that they need to pay, don't you?" He now stared expectantly, gesturing to his board of horrors.

You spoke carefully and slowly, "I'm...not sure I understand why Bella Reál is up there. All she wants to do is help–"

A different kind of darkness shadowed his expression now. It was one that you couldn't find any sort of romance in. But there was intent. All you knew was that none of the pieces you'd found could ever put together a pretty image. There was no reframing, no romanticizing, and no disregarding this. This intent was one of violence. One that seemed to spread as much pain and poison that was trapped inside of him.

Suddenly his eagerness to take you out felt less like a once in a lifetime chance and more like a death sentence. No amount of deduction would've led you to daydream something this depraved. If you'd poured the milk and sugar into your perception of him, these were bitter coffee grounds at the bottom of the mug. And you were doomed to swallow it up until the last drop.

Edward inched closer, his tone turning almost manic, “No one can save us. Not even the Batman. He can’t save us the way we need to be saved. But I can. I can do the thing that no one is bold enough to do."

“You’re a monster,” your voice quivered.

Edward chuckled. “As if that stopped you before.”

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ily-fictional-women · 1 year

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Date Me?

Summary: Not so close coworkers to friends. But with a caring bond like that, it's kind of hard to love someone just as a friend.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Warnings: None that I know of, but if I should add anything let me know!

Word count: 1104

a/n: Reader and Wanda are the same age post Age of Ultron I just couldn’t find a good source for her age around that time. (Reblogs are welcome and critiques/advice are heavily encouraged, but please no translating.)

There was a gunshot for comedic sake on the show Wanda was watching, and suddenly she was back there. The day that about seven gunshots took him away from her, her brother. The first week without him was a blur, and all it took was the sound of a gunshot to bring her back into that blur. Her breath quickened with tears starting to stream as she slowly moved her knees to her chest in a sitting fetal position.

The room continued to feel smaller by the second, but then she felt a hand rest on her shoulder. She was worried it was Steve entering to give her another one of his generic pep talks– but a relief washed over her when she realized it wasn’t him. The words didn’t come clearly to Wanda

till she brushed a hand against Wanda’s jaw motioning for her to look at her.

“Hey, hey, you’re having a panic attack. I’m gonna ask you a few questions alright?” Wanda nodded her throat still feeling tight. “Good, okay, what’s your name?” She stuttered, her breath shaky, “Wanda. Wanda Maximoff.” Y/n rubbed her back gently, “Good, good. You’re doing great. Okay, now, what are two favorite colors?”

“Red and orange.” As she answered Wanda noticed that her tears were still falling but they became slower, and so had her breathing. “That’s cool, you’re doing amazing. One more question that’s all okay? What’s a show you like?”

“Bewitched.” Her breathing had finally regulated, and when it came to the crying all that was left was a few tears she quickly wiped away with her long sleeve. “Better?” Y/n asks with a soft smile. Wanda nods, “Yeah actually thanks.” Y/n lets her eyes wander around Wanda’s room but puts her focus back on her, “Do you want to be left alone now.”

Wanda twists around the hem of her sleeve in her hand, “No, not really.” Y/n sets her hand that was on Wanda’s back down onto the bed they had both been sitting on watching the TV that was still playing, "Okay, that's fine."

"Can you remind me what your name is again?" She looks back at Wanda that soft smile coming back faintly, "Y/n. We didn't get much time to talk the last few times we were around each other." Wanda stammers at the reply, "I- uh. I didn't do anything to you those first few times did I?"

Y/n quickly shakes her head, "No, and I wouldn't be mad right now if you did."

"Why not?"

"Because you were doing what you thought was right. It wasn't your fault you were misled." Wanda looks down at her hands, biting the inside of her cheek a little. She hadn't had these powers for long and she already caused so much pain and chaos with them.

Y/n could tell she was starting to spiral, or at least get lost in her own world, "Hey. The rest of the team was planning on ordering takeout and watching a movie soon. Did you want to come with me? It might feel good to get out of your room for a little."

To most people, Wanda would have said no. But with Y/n, it felt a little easier, better, and less forced. "Sure."

“Look at Maximoff out of her room and everything.” Clint grinned, followed by a quick glare from Y/n when Wanda’s back was turned. “Where is everyone?” Wanda scans the large living room, besides Clint the only people left were Sam and Bucky. Clint shrugs, “Last minute mission or something,” he smiles cynically. “And I was planning on going back to Laura and the kids because you all annoy me.”

Y/n takes Wanda’s hand in hers dragging her to the couch, “Love you too old man.” After a few murmurs from Sam and Bucky with confirmation they weren’t going to stay for the movie and Clint finally leaving that left Wanda and Y/n alone. “So, do you have any movie suggestions?” Wanda curls up into a nearby blanket shrugging, “No. You have any ideas?”

Y/n pauses tapping the remote against her chin trying to think. “Oh! Have you ever seen Enchanted?”

“No, what’s it about?” Immediately Wanda could see Y/n’s eyes light up, “Basically this animated princess winds up in the real world, in Manhattan, and its about all the craziness that happens because of it!” Wanda tries to hold back a big smile at Y/n’s excitement, “Sounds perfect.”

Midway through the movie Wanda turned over to Y/n, “Can we do this again? It’s just nice.”

“Yeah, yeah that’d be great.”

For a few months, Wanda had gotten closer to Y/n. Although to her realization it wasn’t as close as she wanted. The first time she realized this was when she was during another movie watch. It was the way she slowly grazed her hand against hers before holding it. Or the way she could be so reassuring after missions.

“How do I tell her I like her?” Clint groaned at the question, “What does this have to do with the mission report?” Wanda pleaded, “Please.” Clint hopelessly closed her laptop. “Do you know if she likes you back?”

Wanda shrugged, “I don’t know maybe.” Clint raised an eyebrow, “Can’t you read minds?”

“Yeah, technically, it’s complicated around her.”

“Well, then the best you can do is be honest with her. Hope for the best.” Wanda sunk into her chair, “Amazing.”

“You ready for movie night?” Y/n stood outside Wanda’s door, a blanket already draped over her shoulders. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be down a minute.”

“Well don’t take too long I picked a good one.”

Watching the movie was nice, but the closeness was nicer. Gathering up the confidence to ask Y/n she gently squeezed her hand for her to look at her instead of the movie Y/n put on earlier. "What's up Wands?" Typically the hand squeeze was a sign she was nervous, which wasn’t totally false. "What if we went on like a date? Maybe to like a bookstore?" Y/n looked at Wanda cluelessly, "What are you saying, Wanda?"

Her tone went quieter, "What if we dated? Like more than friends." A small smile crept onto Y/n’s lips "I'd like that." The moment would have been nicer if it weren’t for Sam, "HOLD UP!" Sam said dramatically from a distance getting closer. "So the two of you weren't dating this whole time?!" Y/n looked at him confused, "No why?" Sam facepalmed groaning, "I just lost $20 to Bucky."

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff oneshot #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #marvel fancic #clint barton #marvel imagine

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drdemonprince · 10 months

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I feel like you've answered a question on this before, so sorry if my search skillz failed me. how do you keep a playful attitude when trying new things? I started a book on wu-wei/'trying not to try' that has made me feel a bit hopeless so far, as I know that approaching things more casually/playfully will help it feel less painful (social situations, job search, dating, etc), but apparently you can't consciously try to be playful?!

Hmmmm this is a tricky question to answer, because it is far easier to describe what the end state feels like than to explain how I got there. But I will try!

I think if you're someone who tends to be quite skeptical and cynical about things, your first instinct during difficult situations might be to turn that skepticism toward yourself. You watch yourself trying to complete the new activity, or talk to the unfamiliar person, and all you can see is the flaws, and you tell yourself, "yeah, nice try bozo, you're never going to be good enough at this / it's never going to be worth it" and what do you know, you are crestfallen and unmotivated. And now that you're judging yourself and feeling shitty, it's even more difficult to complete the task.

but, in my experience in graduate school, developing as a creative writer, and just fumbling my way through social mores, there comes a time when you stop turning that skepticism on yourself all the time, and instead direct it outward, and begin to notice just how fucking confused and fucked up everybody else's attempts are. and if you're lucky, you might even notice other people's foibles and missteps with a sense of affection, rather than cruelty.

the more you step outside of yourself and observe others, the more you notice all the awkward things people say, the strange moments of crossed wires and missed signals, the jokes that fall flat, and just how much people really do not care about all of that so long as you keep engaged and keep your energy open and keep trying.

i have never seen a neurotypical socialize flawlessly. they say rude weird ass things and bump into other people all the fucking time! but they just keep going. often they don't even realize they've done anything wrong. and maybe they haven't even done anything wrong really. perfection isn't really what is expected. the energy is what matters more than the execution, and so if they move around with an open, receptive quality to themselves, and keep learning, they can get by being a little awkward or confused just fine.

and once you recognize how much people are fucking up all the time and that it doesnt really matter, and nobody really cares, for me it gets a lot easier to saunter around being my own level of messy and loose too. i used to judge how inept and oblivious everybody was -- at work, in school, during the hangout, on the train. and at some point i realized it was actually beautiful and something i could feel affectionate about.

it turns out you do not need to worry about everyone behind you in line at the grocery store hating you for taking too long putting your change away. AND you dont have to be mad at the guy in front of you who takes five minutes to put his change away either. because YOU are HIM and HE is YOU and we all suck and that's great.

it's fucking funny how silly and sloppy and dazed a lot of people really are. everybody fucks up constantly and is fucking weird. so who cares! i dont need to evacuate the space because i forgot myself and started picking my nose in public for a second. i can just rub my hand on my pant leg and move on. i dont need to give up going to the comic book club because me and one other guy there got into a small argument. i can come back the next month and make a joke about it with him. that's just normal messy human stuff.

the writer david cain talks about coping with social anxiety by imagining other human beings as kittens that have been dumped out from a basket into the room. they roam around, falling over themselves, exploring and sniffing and doing kitteny things, and none of them are a threat to you ever, and their actions dont mean all that much and certainly aren't all that menacing, they're just silly little animals fumbling around.

and i like to think of humans that way. we goof off, we devote an entire supposedly very serious work meeting to discussing something only tangentially relevant but far more emotionally compelling, we make up all kinds of games to play and weird rules for those games, and then we break the rules of those games and forget them. none of this shit is like, real. and the people who recognize what a goofy joke it is are often the most powerful.

not taking anything too seriously makes me feel powerful. im cynical and skeptical about everything that i get told is an airtight social or procedural rule, and i experiment around the boundaries of it, to see where it bends. but whereas i used to do that in a very bitter and entitled way, trying to find my way "out" of a system I had disdain for, now i can sometimes play with these boundaries and laugh at myself for tripping over them at times and just keep on moving, because that's what everybody does.

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lullabyes22-blog · 1 year

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Viktor and Silco saying I love you to their s/o for the first time. What initiates the three magic words and where in the relationship are they at?

Viktor: You've known each other for a while. Perhaps it's even been close to a decade, and you've worked side by side on the Hex-tech together, plenty of late-nighters and lots of coffee and skipped sleep to crack the code of the crystals. At first, he saw you merely as a colleague, but as time passed and your dedication proved equal to his own, his matter-of-factness shaded into respect.

Then one day you saw him collapse in the laboratory, from overwork and general exhaustion. The gentle but unfussy way you set about helping him and calling for Jayce to get a medick was... unexpected. He's so accustomed to living in his head, blinkers on and mind on the goal, that it didn't occur to him that his well-being mattered so much to you.

Thus your relationship begins deepening. You still work long hours in the lab, but he finds himself noticing little details about you, from a different way you've done your hair in the morning, to the childhood books you mentioned enjoying, to a particular way you fix your coffee. Soon, he starts to look forward to seeing you first thing in the morning, and talking to you last thing at night. You have little inside jokes; you can catch his eye and know from a glance whether he thinks Jayce has been droning on too long during a speech, or whether that Councilor is a small-minded pig.

One day, during a late-nighter, you refill his coffee, and hand him a report that you've found particularly intriguing. He nods along, eyes skimming the report, coffee midway to his lips.

"I love you," he says, with the same soft certainty as Thank you.

Because he is thankful for you, every single day, in the lab and out of it.

You've made his life, otherwise difficult and full of pain, so much sweeter to bear.

Silco: He's not a sentimental man. He's not a kind man. He's not even a particularly good man. Love is leverage, and its exploitation is a cold generality. He's only got room for Jinx in his heart. That's already more weakness than is tolerable, but it can't be helped, because she is his, and he'll never forsake what he's laid claim to.

So his feelings for you come as a shock.

You're an ally at most, as asset at best. Your work for Zaun is invaluable, and your dedication is admirable. But he keeps his mind on the big picture, and your are just a thread in that tapestry. Yet he finds your presence at once invigorating and calming. You don't suck up his valuable time. You add to it, with the work you do for him, with the counsel you respectfully impart to him, with the hundred small ways you make sure his role as kingpin and as leader is made one iota easier. Heavy is the head that wears the metaphoric crown - and his crown of thorns pricks more than he cares to admit.

His fondness for you will deepen when you rush to share intel about a compromised mission - one where Jinx might get hurt, or worse. After the fallout is contained, and no casualties are reported, he'll summon you to his office to thank you personally for your quick thinking. He'll assume, with default cynicism, that you'd want something in return.

Your response - "To help you achieve Zaun," - will take him aback.

In private, he may begin calling you Stalwart Little Soldier. But once in a blue moon, he'd also call you Sweetheart. He's a busy man, so he won't always have time for you. But when you're together, you'll notice a smile at the corners of his mouth, a relaxation to the slant of his shoulders. He feels at ease with you. Better still, he feels like you can watch his back.

As he will watch yours.

So it should come as no surprise that when a rival gang attempts to have you killed to send the Eye of Zaun a message, his response is to have his crew blaze a bloody warpath through the streets and cut the threats down. Afterward, you find yourself lying on the couch is his office, bruised and battered but otherwise intact.

His hands are smoothing your hair; his eyes hold a pindot focus.

"Your attackers are dead," he means to say. What comes out is, "I love you."

He's as taken aback as you are. This is how your story starts - not how it ends.

#asks #arcane league of legends #arcane #arcane viktor #arcane silco #silco #viktor #viktor x reader #silco x reader

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wrenhavenriver · 6 months

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top 5 outsider lines (just in the first game to make it easier)

god yes thank you for putting limits or else i'd be staring at this empty ask box and crying for the next 5-7 hours trying to decide. i'm limiting it even further to the base game because the DLCs are a whole other ball game, please help me, it's so dark in here

"Your life has taken a turn, has it not?" - it's such a simple sentence but there's somehow a gravitas to it, an acknowledgment of how wildly corvo's life has careened out of control, of everything he's lost. i made a gifset at some point putting it together with the happy mask salesman's "you've met with a terrible fate, haven't you?" from majora's mask because that's it, that's exactly the vibe and it makes me want to chew through concrete.

"You spared High Overseer Campbell, the leader of a great cult dedicated to loathing me. I'm older than the rocks this place is built on, and even I didn't see that coming." - the way he very casually throws out the fact that he's existed on a time scale beyond human memory - and yet, despite all those millennia of watching humans do the same dumb shit over and over again, you've somehow managed to surprise him. it's so tasty.

the entirety of the Flooded District speech after the poisoning but especially the opening and final lines: "Here you are at last, in a ruined and drowning world. [...] Perhaps that's just the nature of man." - it's such a bleak sentiment, perfectly matched to corvo being at his lowest point, abandoned and half-dead and powerless to help his daughter yet again. it feels like, yeah, there really is a hole in the world. but depending on how you play, you can prove him wrong in a sense, can't you? or at the very least show him another side of humanity - a less cynical, more merciful nature you can choose to follow. and we know the outsider loves when there's a choice to be made.

"Strange how there's always a little more innocence left to lose." - needs no explanation i think, this one soundly won the "best dh1 outsider quote" poll and for good fucking reason.

"Farewell, Corvo." - another deceptively simple sentence that somehow cracks my ribcage open and makes me feel things? it's said so gently, almost softly, by an entity whose warmest emotional expression throughout the game has been cold amusement or occasional surprise/intrigue. again, this guy is older than the rocks the empire is built on - and yet you still get the sense that this tiny little blip of time has meant something. been noticed, appreciated. it mattered.

#askbox games #assassinregrets #the outsider

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asherlockstudy · 7 months

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I might be going crazyy but I can't help but see a pattern in ALL of their skits and the fact that it's proving one of your theories right is WILD!! (this is also referencing their latest r&l video btw)

Hey. Sorry for the late reply, it's been crazy lately.

👀 But it does, doesn’t it? Glad you see it too.

For context: the theory Anon refers to is “It Has Always Been One Story”.

Like every other time so far, the latest video was symbolic. I was very busy these days so I didn’t have the clarity and time to get all the symbolisms as well as in previous videos, however I adamantly agree with you that it was again an allegory and of course once again it was part of the same one story. This video had many similarities with a lot of their scripted work, most notably Hazel, We Dug A Medium Sized Hole, The Quest for the Brown Diamond and The Puzzle, which are IMO among their symbolically most significant works.

Before continuing with the analysis, I would like to comment on the technical aspect: I loved this video. I see growth in their cinematography, in their direction and the stylisation of the video. Nice work in the spooky moments. It became an instant favourite for me, although it still doesn’t top my all time fave Hazel, which was very inventive both as a concept and an execution, let alone the wonderful haunting song it had.

Anyway, let’s go:

Rhett and Link decide to spend a night in an unhaunted house. There is resolutely no mention of the intent behind it other than the requirement for it to be unhaunted, although their own houses are also - hopefully! - unhaunted. Of course, the cynical part of the explanation is that this is relevant to Halloween approaching. However, it still doesn’t explain why there isn’t a plot mention of the need behind going together to a house and why it is supposedly so hard to find an unhaunted one. The key question is: apart from the marketing connection to the upcoming Halloween, what does an “unhaunted house” mean in Rhett and Link!verse? Let’s remember that technically according to Hazel, the Creative House is haunted too after all.

As usual, and in complete agreement with both their recent scripted and their real life behaviours, Rhett is semi-anxiously leading the search for a 100% ghost-free house. Link is relaxed, not taking this as seriously, searching instead for luxe houses with special amenities such as spas and fire pits. So we see that not only the true intent is not explained but in fact there are discrepancies between the intents of the two of them, which is something we also see in We Dug A Medium-sized Hole. So, Rhett is focused on finding a ghostless, unhaunted house to go with Link and little else matters to him, whereas Link apparently wants to spend the night with Rhett having spa and sitting by a fire pit and well 👀

Link rejects Rhett’s first house suggestion with the reasoning that a house with very large windows can very likely be haunted as ghosts can push you out the window. This hint made it easier to get what "unhaunted" means in their context. A house without “ghosts” watching you. In short, a house with very good privacy, far from eyes and unwanted witnesses, nosy neighbours, even cameras and monitors nearby in the street 👀That’s what Rhett was anxious to find. Privacy. Link, far less stressed about it, opts for very specific amenities that can heighten his experience while spending there the night with Rhett 👀

If you watch the House Tour vlog of the Creative House, you'll notice that it is a private residence. It seems to have another building (garage? store room? something else?) in front of the fascade of the house and all windows at the front and at the sides are small and frosted, apart from the kitchen's. The only large windows are the ones which look to the back of the house, the yard with the pool, where it seems there is no visibility from the surrounding houses. Yet again, I am not sure it is 100% an allegory of the Creative House, although that's where I lean. It could also be their prerequisites when renting Airbnbs.

There is the title of an article in the house pinboard, reading "Death Valley's Crying House shows no signs of leaks or water presence". I didn't manage to find a meaning behind it however I googled it and I did not find anything about a crying house in Death Valley so it seems oddly specific if they made it up. If anybody knows that this is a real thing please tell me about it. Just as a sidenote.

When I heard that one of Link's suggestions had spa and a fire pit, I knew this one would end up being the one they would go to. Not only because obviously Link would get his way with his wants as usual but because in real life the Creative House has similar amenities: a pool and a fireplace, both luxe amenities, especially the fireplace in LA and especially either one when a house is supposedly needed only as a space for isolation to “work”.

"Two options for us to hang. We're going to get in a hot tub, we're going to get by the fire and then we're going to get in a bed. "

Do I really have to comment anything here? I will only remind everyone that this is scripted, so Link is scripted to misphrase like this and then Rhett of course is scripted to correct him. Is this a scripted gay joke then? Rhett saying they don't queerbait flashing before my eyes Not really. It is what it's been in all those videos so far - conditioning. Not coming out and taking the world by storm but planting progressively the idea and the image to the viewers again and again until they get used and more open to it.

..... By the way, Jane Phillips is real. So is her business Geyser Energy Clearing Services. I kinda hoped it was an actress but... Of course she was told to suggest the ranch house. I love that on facebook (yeah I searched it, not proud) she says her services are cheap and then she charged them 997$ to do nothing XD Of course, I assume this price includes having her on camera, the implication that her presence would be used in a comedic manner and that she was told to suggest the ranch house no matter what. But still. And why is this price so particular, like, why 997 lol It's interesting though that this psychic claims to summon Jesus, Mary and the Angels (!!!! is she for real, honestly, wtf) so technically Rhett and Link go there supposedly with the conviction that Christianity protects them. But as we will see soon, Christianity did not protect them after all.

Rhett being super equipped for ghost detection reminds me of Horst in the Brown Diamond being super equipped with healthy snacks for the quest. Not a very particular symbolism, but just the pattern of Rhett being the anxious one and the one who prepares for everything that may go sideways during what they do.

So Rhett buys equipment for the detection of paranormal activity. He checks the EMF on the fridge, dead. He checks it on Link's torch, dead. He checks it on his phone and whooosh

EMF detects the radiation from the phone, which is normal, except the phone wakes, we see the well known wallpaper of Jessie and we are hit with a spooky note of the score. Why? If EMF is just checked for detecting radiation in a clearly radiating device, then why is this treated as a scary moment? And why doesn't EMF respond on the fridge? So it can not be just that. Perhaps I am stretching this but it's interesting that the hour is 3:36. We just saw when they entered that it was a bright day so I am assuming he uses a 12 hour format, but the point is he makes it look like it's 3:36 AM, I mean, this is the instictual thought before you realise that "oh it's afternoon so it's 15:36 in a 12 hour format". If we combine an hour that looks like 3:36 AM with the scary score note and the fear of detecting ghosts, we get this implication:

Is Jessie or the mobile phone the type of ghost Rhett's fearing?

Anyway, a little later, after they are finally convinced the house is unhaunted, they go to the spa and apparently Link went in with his underpants because he forgot his swim trunks. I kinda think this might be real Link forgetting about it as he was going to the set!

About this scene, it didn't have something to analyze except that Link seemed to be all about Rhett's business, first with the placement of the legs and then when he get unnecessarily close to leave the voice message. Another thing I would like to comment on is that there seems to be steadily a female presence in their scripted works, whose role is ambiguous, and sometimes even treacherous, i.e Jane, Hazel, Brandy.

Anyway then they go to the firepit when they have this somewhat charged moment as they try to find how exactly to spend the rest of the night.

They decide to play a board game, which definitely gives The Puzzle vibes, and let's remember the Puzzle is a 2015 video... Anyway, they find a game in the drawer which is actually not a board game but rather a roleplay game. The game alludes to the well known phrase "When the cat's away the mice will play".

They decide Link to be the cat and Rhett to be the mouse (once again it can allude to the fact that Link was the initiator of this relationship or this arrangement, as hinted in most of their relevant skits) but it soon becomes evident that they are just the mice and someone else is the cat.

While we initially see Link trying to protect Rhett from the extermeowinator, which is a deviation from their usual script patterns, it actually isn't. Yes, Link rushes to defend Rhett, however in his effort, the extermeowinator actually injures HIM with the knife. So then we have a return to their typical pattern, which is that Link is in need and Rhett tries to get him out and save him. That's what always happens - Rhett tries to get Link out of Hazel's forest in the middle room, Rhett tries to get Link out of his head while losing control during the digging, Rex is [SPOILERS] saving Leif who's trapped deep in the monster's lake in TLCOBC. We still have the pattern of Rhett trying to get Link out of something and save him.

Link is hurt close to the heart. Rhett manages to get him out of the house and yet, ridiculously enough, Link reminds Rhett the owner charges a fine for not putting the dishes in the dishwasher and the sheets in the washing machine (did they use the sheets though...?). Outrageously, Rhett agrees to go back inside and do that stuff before leaving, which leads to their ultimate demise.

Two last notes here: One, of course we have the recurring theme of Rhett saving Link only for them to then fall even harder in the shitty situation, Rhett takes the final decision for them to go back in the house, Link was just reminding him about it but it was Rhett who made the decision. Rhett after stopping Link from digging, then is of the opinion to make a larger hole than the one Link suggests. Rhett is the one to be taken and then draw Link with him the second time Hazel attacks. Horst first persuades Sandy to let go of the Brown Diamond, only to immediately beg him to get his hand back there in order to retreive his phobias bracelet, which leads to their ultimate demise there too. We have the same pattern again.

Two, "death" seems to mean something very particular and significant between Rhett and Link. I started having thoughts about it in the "Valentine Compliments" GMMore a couple of years ago, the notorious episode where Rhett lost it at some point and blamed shippers for having too many expectations. And yet in that very episode, Link made the compliment "I love to remember when we died. This is heaven" to Rhett. Rhett does not treat this as gibberish but they keep discussing it in a coded language, according to which they both killed each other at some point simultaneously (with prods of some sort). They also tied it to their spiritual deconstruction, arguing humorously that it all happened at the same time so hopefully God lost track of whether or who was supposed to go to heaven or hell. Anyway, after this, I have indications (too many and too small to name and number) that they sometimes use death to symbolise a spiritual / religious death caused by a mutual act between them rather than their alleged mature decision to leave church. So, "stay in the house where Rhett and Link died", has three meanings; a) actual death in the context of the video, b) allegory of a spiritual death and c) symbolism of the act that caused the spiritual death. I have talked about this in my analysis of the aforementioned GMMore, it is IMO 99% a reference to both Le Petit Mort and spiritual death caused by sin.

What I can not figure out is what exactly extermeowinator is supposed to signify. Is he a plain killer looming in the house and there meaning behind him profiting from their death (as suggested by @mpay22 )? Is he a ghost from the ones they were trying to avoid? Does he symbolise an actual person or group of people they hide from or who have trapped them? Does he symbolise the unrelenting nature of love? Is he the personification of guilt? Is he God's judgement? Or as a demon (unbeaten by Jesus and Mary as we saw) he is the sin itself? It seems like extermeowinator has the most similarities with Hazel, but then again Hazel is portrayed somewhat more sympathetically than him.

In any case, the end is the same. Rhett and Link are killed by extermeowinator and never leave the house. Hazel drags them in her forest and they never leave the middle room. Horst and Sandy die trapped in the Bahau Moon.

#rhink #rhett and link #randl #r&l #we spent the night in an unhaunted house #r&l videos #mythical #anon #mail #tw long #long text

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ao719 · 2 years

Text

The Pact (Part 4)

This is a submission for @choicesflashfics, using prompt #2, “You just don’t seem like yourself tonight.” and prompt #3, “That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

Song inspo: Daydreams - We Three

A/N: This is an au mini series to my Hopeless Hearts story. Thank you to @burnsoslow for prereading! Please excuse any errors.

Pairing: Liam x OC (Aria)

Rating: E • Warnings: 🍋 (ns*fw, 18+ only), language

Word count: 2453

Catch up here

In a secluded area down the beach from the private villa, Drake and Lea walked along the shore at sunset; she was unaware of their group of friends that were huddled together, hidden from view. The girls had wanted to witness the moment, and Drake obliged them, knowing Lea would want her closest friends there to celebrate should things go according to plan.

When they neared the grove of palm trees, Drake placed a hand on Lea’s elbow, drawing her to a stop.

Behind the trees, the group watched and, close enough to hear, listened.

Liam marveled at how one woman could have his best friend — a cynical man of few words, one who often masked his thoughts and feelings behind a gruff and impassive exterior — pouring his whole heart out to her with a smile. She changed him, for the better, of course.

It was the first time Liam felt envious of Drake, finding himself wanting what he had.

Liam’s eyes shifted to his left. He slightly tilted his head in thought as he looked at Aria; she was watching the exchange between their friends with a wistful expression.

A chuckle escaped Aria when she saw the moment Lea realized what was about to happen. Six months ago when Drake asked her to help him choose a ring, she had no doubt about the answer he would receive; she knew Lea was head over heels for him.

And as she helped choose the pear-shaped diamond he would give her best friend, as happy as she was for them, Aria couldn’t help but feel a little envious of what they shared.

When Drake dropped to one knee, Aria glanced over, meeting Liam’s gaze. “You drive me crazy in the best way, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you …” Drake’s words slowly faded as the two stared at one another. While neither was willing to admit it … they shared similar sentiments toward each other.

Something about their secret rendezvous that happened at least once a month — sometimes more — was starting to lose its appeal. Not because they were bored with it, but because they wanted more from it. However, both stubborn and convinced the other saw them as nothing more than a revisited notch on their bedposts, they stayed quiet about how they felt. They stuck to their usual: banter, sabotage, and falling into bed.

In their eyes, it was easier than the rejection they expected to come with any confessions.

Then there were moments like this, however, when they would catch each other’s gazes and could swear there was something else there, like something was longing to be said between them. And something about that particular moment, seeing two of their friends get engaged, seemed to heighten everything they weren’t saying.

A squeal from Lea pulled their attention back to the beach; they looked over just in time to see Drake slip the ring on her finger before standing and lifting her into his arms. Maia waited impatiently for them to have a brief moment before pulling Aria and Korinna from their hiding spot. The guys followed as they all approached the newly engaged couple; Liam saw Lea turn towards the girls with tears in her eyes as they rushed toward her first.

Liam grinned as he extended his hand toward Drake. “Congrats,” he said as he shook it.

“Thanks, man,” Drake smiled before Rashad and Maxwell offered their own congratulations.

As the guys talked while the girls fawned over the ring and Drake’s touching proposal, Aria’s eyes kept shifting toward Liam; she noticed him doing the same to her. She needed a moment, one to collect herself if nothing else.

“Let me run back to the villa and see if I can find some champagne so we can make a toast,” Aria offered. Not waiting for a response from anyone, she turned and hurried down the beach in the direction of the villa.

Liam’s eyes slid from the others to her retreating form. “She doesn’t even know where the hell it is,” he huffed in feigned annoyance before stalking after her.

No one else thought much of it as they turned their attention back to Drake and Lea.

As Aria trudged through the sand toward the villa, her mind was jumbled. Why was he looking at me like that? And why the hell was I looking at him that way? She shook her head, forcing the thoughts away from Liam and back to finding something to drink as she walked up the stairs and slid the back door open.

Aria didn’t make it but a few steps inside when she heard shuffling behind her; she turned just as Liam stepped through the terrace door. His eyes remained trained on her as he slid the door shut, neither one saying a word.

And then, he was moving toward her.

Liam’s hand reached up and curled around the back of her neck, pulling her to him; Aria went all too willingly, meeting his lips in a fierce kiss as he walked her backward until she was pinned between him and the wall. She moaned into the kiss when he pressed his knee between her legs and she unwittingly rolled her hips, quelling her ache for friction against his thigh.

“Mmmm, someone’s eager,” Liam rasped against her lips.

“Shut up.”

Liam dipped his head. “Well, go on then,” he urged before his teeth nipped the shell of her ear. “Ride it, Aria.” When she let out a soft whimper at his words, he couldn’t suppress his smirk.

Aria, stubborn as usual, refused to do what he asked. “We’re supposed to be looking for champagne,” she breathed, closing her eyes when she felt his tongue press against her pulse point.

“It’s in here.”

Liam quickly pulled her into a darkened wine cellar built off the kitchen. He spun her, closing the door with her back as he pushed her against it before capturing her lips again. He reached down and hooked a hand under her knee, raising it to his waist. His other hand slid up her supple thigh and under the ruffled hem of her cami dress to the lace hidden beneath; he pulled the thin strip of fabric to the side, hearing her moan as his fingers stroked her.

“Poor thing. How long have you been this wet for me?” Liam teased with both his words and his fingers.

Aria let out a frustrated breath at his teasing. “Liam, if you don’t—” The threat died on her lips when he pushed two fingers inside her; her mouth fell open with a moan as she arched into his hand.

“There’s my girl,” Liam whispered with a smirk. “Fuck my fingers, Aria.”

And she did.

Rolling her hips against his hand, Liam’s thumb rubbed against her clit as his fingers curled inside her. He brought her right to the edge, but when he knew she was about to tip over it, evident by her ragged breaths and moans, he abruptly pulled his hand away.

Aria’s eyes snapped open. “Liam!”

“You didn’t think I was gonna let you get off that easily, did ya, Princess?” he whispered wolfishly. A whimper escaped Aria as she reached down and her hands fumbled hastily against his belt and zipper, working to undo his pants; he chuckled mischievously. “I think you like when I call you that.”

The smirk Liam wore fell with a groan when her hand wrapped around him. He surged forward, capturing her lips in his again as she stroked him; he became impossibly harder under her touch until he was aching to be inside her. He effortlessly lifted her in his arms, spinning and taking a few long, impatient strides before laying her back across a small tasting table.

And taste he would.

“You ready for me?” Liam asked as he flicked his wrists, flipping the hem of her dress up and exposing her from the waist down. Aria nodded eagerly, biting her bottom lip as she stared up at him. “Let’s make sure,” he winked. Pulling the lace to the side, he leaned down, his tongue licking a long, tantalizing stripe up to her clit.

“Oh, fuck,” Aria gasped as he wrapped his lips around her, and her hands fell into his hair. He devoured her, alternating between slow swirls and flicks of his tongue. It didn’t take long for him to bring her right back to that edge, but just when she thought he was finally going to let her tip over it, he pulled his mouth away from her. “Goddammit, Liam!” she lamented.

Liam smiled impishly as he pulled her to the edge of the table. “I want you to come with me, and I want to see your face when you do.” Keeping his eyes trained on her, he gave himself a couple quick strokes before lining himself up to her entrance as he gripped her waist; he drove into her with a powerful thrust, watching her lips part with a moan as he filled her. “Fuck, I love watching you take me,” he groaned.

Aria shuddered at his words, staring up at him with a lascivious look in her eyes as he set a rough and steady pace. She rolled her hips, meeting him thrust for thrust as she moaned. Liam had a bruising grip on her hips as he drove into her; he shifted one hand, pressing it down against her lower belly before thrusting harder and deeper.

“Fuck, Liam!” Aria moaned, writhing beneath him as he hit that perfect spot. “Don’t stop,” she mewled. “Please don’t stop.”

“Let go, Aria,” Liam grunted. His eyes were transfixed on her face, and he let out a deep, drawn-out moan when a moment later, her back arched off the table as she came undone. “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are when you come, Princess?”

Drawing another whimper out of her from his words, Liam bit his lip through a grin as he slipped his hands beneath her, raising her hips just slightly. His thrust became more frantic, watching her ride out the rest of her release as he chased his own. He tipped over the edge just after she did, holding her firmly against him as his muscles went taut and a gravelly groan rumbled from deep in his chest.

Their shuddered pants mingled as she rested her back on the table again, and he placed a hand on either side of her, leaning against it as they tried to catch their breath.

“We gotta stop doing this,” Aria breathed.

“What?” Liam snapped his head up, knitting his sweat-beaded brows. “Why?”

Aria shook her head. “This … it’s not healthy.”

“That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?” Liam quipped, and she gave him a look. “Ok, I don’t know about you, but I certainly worked up a sweat. How’s that for healthy?”

Aria let out a breathy chuckle, earning one from Liam in return. He pulled her to sit up in front of him, searching her eyes for a moment before he captured her lips; his tongue curled languidly against hers as he weaved his fingers through her hair. “They’re going to start wondering where we are,” Aria whispered against his lips.

Liam kissed her again before drawing back to look at her with a subtle smirk. “So … until next time?”

*******

Sitting inside his quarters, Liam nursed a scotch, staring off in thought as Drake, Maxwell, and Rashad conversed amongst themselves. The three men were discussing Lea’s arrival tomorrow morning; in the two months since the proposal, after she and Drake weighed the options on where they wanted to start the next chapter of their story, she was making the move to Cordonia.

The other girls were planning visits already but had no intentions of making their own moves. Despite their relationships with Maxwell and Rashad, Korinna and Maia didn’t feel there yet, and Aria … well, she had no reason to come.

No reason that anyone knew of anyway, especially not one that she or Liam would acknowledge.

In the two months since witnessing the engagement of their friends, not only had Liam’s mindset on wanting a serious relationship started to change, but things seem to slightly shift between the two foes as well. No confessions had been made, but Liam and Aria’s secret moments together felt different. They were more passionate in ways that he couldn’t quite explain. They still bantered and sabotaged, but when it ended with their usual fall into the sheets, the looks, the touches, even kisses, they almost felt more … intimate in a sense.

Pulled from his thoughts by the men rising from their places on the sofa, Liam looked up at them. “Heading out?”

“Yeah,” Rashad nodded.

As Liam stood to say goodbye and walk them out, Drake watched him curiously, lingering behind. He’d noticed Liam had been acting oddly the last week or so, seemingly quieter than usual. Once the other two had left, Liam turned to see Drake. “You heading out too?”

“Yeah, but … are you ok?” Drake asked.

Liam nodded. “Fine, why?”

“I don’t know,” Drake shrugged. “You just don’t seem like yourself tonight. Not just tonight, actually; all week you’ve seemed … off.”

Liam chuckled wryly as he looked down at the glass in his hand before tossing back the rest of it. Drake knew him well. In the two months since the engagement of his friends, things had started to shift in Liam’s life as well. Almost 24, more expectations were being placed on his shoulders … from all sides. “I, uh … I’m going to be going away for a little bit.”

“Away?” Drake questioned, furrowing his brows.

“My father informed me that it’s my time to head to Leventis …”

Drake’s brows raised in surprise. “The military academy?”

“Yeah,” Liam nodded.

“For how long?”

“It’s only four months. Which I know isn’t terrible …”

“I mean, no … it doesn’t sound too bad.”

“It is what it is,” Liam shrugged. “I’m just not really looking forward to it. 16 weeks of military training isn’t exactly my idea of fun.”

“Well, you’ll still be able to check in and talk, and we’ll fill ya in on stuff, but I doubt you’ll miss much other than bickering with Aria and your chances at arguing the fuck out of anything and everything with her,” he laughed.

“Yeah,” Liam chuckled ruefully with a nod.

That would definitely be something he would miss. And despite their push and pull and constant bickering, things with Aria were what he was worried most about changing — or altogether disappearing — while he was away.

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northwestofinsanity · 4 months

Text

A little thought, since I mentioned the DeviantArt thing on my Tumblr anniversary post a couple of days back (but not the point I want to eventually make a larger post on -I'm still figuring out how to articulate that).

So, on this day in 2017 (seven years ago), I was on my first day, post-throwing my first DeviantArt account into official hiatus on the night of February 6th as a last-ditch effort to break free from a character-based roleplay friendship/partnership that became toxic, controlling, and emotionally abusive. I woke up on this day in 2017 from the weirdest, symbolic dream. It was the most vivid scene of walking around my old high school building, in which the whole thing was empty, save for a few broken fixtures left behind. Symbolic of this empty space in my life after throwing this thing out. At some point, I ran out of the building, and there was something that happened to me, which, for the sake of those who might be triggered by it, I won't describe -but it was suggestive of getting rid of something unhealthy in my life. And then, despite the disturbing images in the dream, it ended with me looking to the sky, and between the grey clouds, the sun was still shining. Despite how screwed up everything was.

There are a lot of nuances to my particular experience that left a lot of grey area, and obviously, feelings don't disappear overnight, so there were a few weeks of grieving -the worst of which hit a few days on later. I don't remember much about this day in 2017, aside from that it was a bright, sunny day that just felt so weird in my state of shock.

With this past fall, finally reaching the point of peace where I can look back on this time and not blame myself in some way for it, and not feel any regrets about it... I've realized life has come full circle in a lot of ways to what I was dealing with then. In 2017, I was in my first year of college, watching my grandfather go down with heart failure from miles away from home (he lost his battle one week after I got home from the end of Spring semester). Here in 2024, I'm finally in my first year of veterinary school, back in the same town, I've got three family members in hospice, and I don't know if my grandmother's dementia battle is going to hit its end before or after I get home from this semester. I’m watching another online community I was once a big part of slowly melt down -perhaps one I became far closer to than the one I’d been in on DeviantArt. Maybe that hasn’t been with as much nasty, divisive drama -albeit there has been some nasty gossip at school the last couple of weeks that hasn’t been the easiest to hear. Not much in life has changed at all, really, for that many year's difference. It's not easy, still, but it is easier to deal with. Not because anything has changed, as I once thought based on how some people have described. It's just easier to accept and put into perspective, and maybe not necessarily stop caring entirely, as the cynical viewpoint would say, but better knowing how to limit how much I do care when it's not worth the stress -or just something that’s out of my control.

And as I was walking outside in the waiting period between lecture and lab earlier this afternoon, I noticed it was one of those bright, clear days -just like that really odd day in 2017. And it reminded me of the one coherent thought I could tell myself back then.

“I'm still here, and the sun is still shining.”

And I still am here, and the sun is still shining, and while it seemed like the bare minimum first step at the time, I don’t think there was ever anything as beautiful as the sun in the sky today, finally reaching the other end of the journey.

#pardon my insanity #long post #a little bit behind why I joined Tumblr…#and why I abandoned DeviantArt just days afterward #toxic roleplayers #<kind of (if you count some thoughts on the recovery process)#it took from February 2017 to September of 2023 to fully come to terms with #it really does get better #not in the way it might seem like in promises #but it does get better y’all #and I hope everyone who’s gone through anything like I did knows that even though it can take a LONG time -it will #and it is the most freeing feeling there is #NW speaks

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augustusaugustus · 5 months

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Fic: Witness

The second time they meet, it’s in a dark alley beside the pub Jim’s just staggered out of. Boulton has a man up against a wall, the stranger’s cheek pushed against dirty bricks, and for a moment Jim thinks he’s stumbled upon something sexual. But then John turns and sees Jim and gives him one of those far-too-charming smiles.

‘Perfect timing, Jim,’ he says, gripping the stranger’s arms tightly. ‘You can be the witness to my arrest.’

The first time they meet, it’s in a vast ballroom filled with tables covered in white starched cloths. A met charity do that Jim drew the short straw for, despite the invitation clearly stating Burnside’s name. He’s at a table with three other nobodies: two PCs from Stafford Row in their fathers’ suits and a DC from Barton Street with a sullen look and ginger hair.

‘John Boulton,’ he says to Jim. ‘Here on penance.’

Jim smiles properly for the first time that evening. ‘You must’ve done something terrible, then.’

John shrugs. ‘Matter of perspective,’ he says. ‘You know how it is.’

Jim nods as if he knows what Boulton means.

Jim’s heard people call him a cynic, but the truth is he cares far too much. About justice, about his colleagues, about doing what’s right to do in the face of so much wrong. He’d take a bullet for the men he works with. Lying for them should be so much simpler, but it hurts Jim every time.

‘I need a drink,’ John announces halfway through one of the speeches. ‘Not this two-pound wine they’re serving. Think they’d miss us if we left?’

Their table is in a back corner, but even if they’d been front and centre, Jim doubts anyone would notice them leave. ‘Let them,’ he says boldly. ‘Surely we’ve served our time.’

John laughs. ‘And too bad if we haven’t, right?’

There’s a pub right across the road from them. Jim goes home with John instead.

Jim pulls Boulton aside as Pringle’s being loaded into a Panda. ‘I didn’t actually see it,’ he mutters. ‘The arrest, I mean.’

‘Near enough,’ John says easily.

‘But what he said about you hitting him…’

‘They all say that, don’t they?’ John checks his watch. ‘I clock off in twenty minutes. Want to grab a drink once I’ve booked him in?’

Jim’s not an idiot; he knows just what Boulton’s doing, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Jim stands up in court and lies for John.

He’s not an idiot, but he may well be a fool.

The sixth time they meet, it’s in another alley, and Jim witnesses more than he would’ve liked. What Boulton does to his prisoner, yes, but also the look in his eyes when Jim says he won’t lie for him again. Hurt, not angry like Jim’s expecting, as if John’s the one who has the right to feel betrayed. As if Jim had been more than a tool to make use of; as if he’d truly considered them (more than?) friends.

Jim doesn’t know if he hates himself more for lying the last time or for the part of him that wants to do it again.

Taking a bullet, Jim thinks, would be so much easier, as Meadows introduces Sun Hill’s new DS.

#the bill #the bill slash #the bill fanfic #fanfic #slash #jim carver/john boulton #the bill: episode: faith in the system

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zeon-twilight · 9 days

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Grit

Today I went to visit with my parents and do some projects around the house. The day started a little stressful with some mild friction with one of my partners, but it improved after we talked it out. They even decided to come along and help out a bit while visiting with my folks, and it really helped me feel supported. The work and visit went well, and I don't really have complaints about it. Unfortunately, on the way home another member of the house revealed they'd had a very difficult day at work, and it struck me how difficult it is to maintain a positive vibe when it feels like the whole world is falling apart around us. Saw at least 6 homeless folks on the side of the road on the way through the city back home. Could only afford to give one of a couple bucks of aid. Yet we live in a world where billionaire assholes go to visit the Titanic's wreckage in submarines. One can only hope each and every one becomes a one way ticket. I've noticed in myself a fairly high threshold for adversity, for disappointment and pain. I'm trying to keep that ability, trying to hold the faith that things will work out somehow, that kindness, care, and understanding are worth the effort. I try not to dwell on the ways in which friends grow apart and become more isolated, the way scarcity drives everyone to be their worst selves. But damn, some days it's harder than others. Wish I could be excited about a certain former president being found guilty of a small subset of his many many many many crimes, that's some real history, but I'm so drained and cynical that my first thought is "How will this fascist prick weasel out of this one?" I'm tired of busting ass to make money and try to survive, and feeling like there's little that I can do to support my family but sacrifice time, energy and sanity while fat cats wage their little wars and send the poor to die in them. I'm tired of watching the people with power point to various groups of poor and disenfranchised people to pin the blame for the mess the world is in on them. Tired of bootlicking morons slurping up the lies and asking for more to feed their misplaced hatred. Suppose it's the same as it's ever been, but damn if it doesn't feel harder as we go on. I've stopped hoping for an easier life when the only real option seems to be to grow more resilient. I'm tired of having to grit my teeth to get through each day, and even my good days being tinged with sadness and pain. How do we change this miserable situation? Tell me if you know, Who/What/when/Where-ever you are, ZT

#so this is blogging huh

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gaycelebtea · 3 months

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I was wondering if you still had the same options as your “juantin opinions” post? Imo Juanjo is just harder to read because he doesn’t know how to react in most situations. He’s very overwhelmed and honestly pretty insecure. He KNEW he wasn’t going to win. He was very worried about what people would say and think about him on the outside. He is usually very nervous in social situations or in front of the teachers because he’s always swaying and biting his nails. Like Martin said in one of the interviews he was more prepared for their relationship to be out there because of his past. I fully believe Juanjo loves Martin whole heartedly! Juanjo honestly seems like a big teddy bear to me! I’d you haven’t I’d suggest looking up TikTok account where they translate their clips

I agree with basically everything you said here. I find Juanjo difficult to read. Maybe he's just better at hiding his emotions? Idk. Like... he was closeted when they started dating. Maybe he's still slightly uncomfortable? In the first few days on the outside Martin posted Juanjo a lot on his stories. I didn't see the same from Juanjo with Martin. But these last few days he has featured Martin a lot, and he has talked about him a lot, thanked him and supported him. He's been very happy and I noticed he's been looking at Martin with heart eyes. It looks like love to me. Maybe I have been too hard on him. Everyone shows their love in different ways. And we don't see everything. Maybe he's very different in private. Martin just seems a lot more comfortable and confident in this relationship. He's more open about his feelings and doesn't hide anything. He's easier to read. I feel like Juanjo hides it more? Maybe it just took some time for Juanjo to feel comfortable, as this is all very new to him. He only recently came out after all. Either Martin is more into Juanjo than the other way around, or Juanjo is just slightly awkward and not as comfortable being open and sharing. I choose to believe it's the latter. And like I said, I think Juanjo has gotten better at being more open and honest about his feelings, and sharing more. Hopefully we'll see more of that going forward. I'm old and cynical. There's so many reasons for it to not work out, but right now they are clearly happy and in love, which is all that matters. I truly hope it works out. I want them to prove cynical old me wrong, lol. And yes; I have seen most of those translated clips on tiktok. But maybe I need to go back and watch them again, lol.

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rauhauser · 1 year

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Straight Into Nonlinearity

If you read the hardcore climate science news, say the stuff that appears on phys.org, you probably noticed the articles over the last few years that mentioned scientists fretting about things becoming “non-linear”. Last year seemed to me to be an inflection point; I began saying “2100 is here, 78 years early”. That was based on anecdotes piling up, things that had never happened before coming one after the other in quick succession. That graph is science.

We have to call it something. These are the early years of the Anthropocene, which could be conveniently dated to 1945, thanks to unnatural radioisotopes that started with the Trinity test. But these events of 2022/2023 have the same relationship to the Anthropocene that the Chixilub bolide had to the Paleogene. One is an event, the other a period of time.

I’m glad that’s settled. Welcome to the Nonlinearity.

This is a recurring theme for me. First Dead Gods of Atacama in 2009, then Gamma Draconis Rising in 2017. They’re not precisely the dictionary definition of jeremiads, but I’m no Puritan.

The Book of Jeremiah prophesies the coming downfall of the Kingdom of Judah, and asserts that this is because its rulers have broken the covenant with the Lord. There’s a different covenant that forms the basis of my views – Thomas Covenant. His Wikipedia article describes him as “an embittered and cynical writer, afflicted with leprosy and shunned by society, and fated to become the heroic savior of the Land, an alternate world.”

I read the first two trilogies as they came out in junior high and high school. Donaldson took a twenty one year break between 1983’s White Gold Wielder and 2004’s The Runes of the Earth. Back in 2010 I read all 4,250 pages of Stephen King’s The Dark Tower over the summer. Given the condition of my reading queue I don’t see myself adding something the size of the final Covenent tetralogy, let alone revisiting the first two trilogies, and I wouldn’t read the tetralogy without that review.

Maybe it’s easier for you to sit and listen for a little over six minutes to a fifty year old song.

youtube

Some of them were angry At the way the earth was abused By the men who learned how to forge her beauty into power And they struggled to protect her from them Only to be confused By the magnitude of her fury in the final hour And when the sand was gone and the time arrived In the naked dawn only a few survived And in attempts to understand a thing So simple and so huge Believed that they were meant to live after the deluge

=================================

Twenty five years ago I stood on the fantail of a tour boat in Resurrection Bay, holding my infant son, watching a tower of ice a fifth of a mile tall come off the front of a tidewater glacier. More than half of the rest of the passengers were throwing up over the railings, having made the mistake of eating the smoked salmon on the buffet.

Today the salmon runs are fading and without the phosphorus they transported upstream the forests of the Pacific Northwest are nutrient starved. They'll burn, sooner rather than later, and the conditions under which they evolved are gone.

The tidewater glaciers of the Kenai Fjords still put on one of nature's greatest shows, but we stopped at the visitor center at the far end of the Turnigan Arm on our way to that cruise. The place where the visitors center stands was under a thousand feet of ice when my grandparents were born, right at the end of the 19th century.

I don't mention Last Of The Laurentide nearly so often as I do the other two essays I mentioned above, but today seems like a good time for that.

#ShallWePlayAGame #Youtube

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polhph · 2 years

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Crush crush cheat engine multiplier

CRUSH CRUSH CHEAT ENGINE MULTIPLIER UPGRADE

CRUSH CRUSH CHEAT ENGINE MULTIPLIER FULL

So imagine that all the ads I watch in this game, is more than the ads I watch in all my games, this game has pleased me, but it’s DEFINITELY NOT WORTH IT!!!!! And even the first 5 reviews I saw, the highest of stars was 3 out of 5, yet it says it’s the number one game in its category. I have understood that in not even 30 seconds does it go by without a ad popping up, ITS VERY ANNOYING! And I plan on as a act as I have gotten to the part where I can make millions (which is ahead of the game) that I would throw this game in the trash, I mean it is needed to have ads in a game for €£¥$ or whatever, but by the amount I have witnessed, I have watched enough ads that I have watched in all one day of games. If I had to choose one thing that should be focussed on and fixed, it’s the progression, it’s too slow at first. Over the course of a week, I'm only level 20. I’ve been playing this game in my dull moments in class and sometimes just leave it running to see how far I’ll get. There should be some sort of reset system where you can get a sort of buff or something to make it easier to progress. Finally, like a said earlier, it’s extremely hard to progress in the game at some points. It’s also irritating when it cuts off the music you’re playing when you enter the app or watch an ad. I don’t mind the ads that much but they are slightly obnoxious. It should be more stressed why speed and power is important because it isn’t at all explained and is hard to experiment with when it’s difficult to progress and ads play nonstop. I found it by accident when just holding and swiping for fun. Like another comment said, it should be easier to notice the in game help. Gives you testicular cancer and makes your wife leave you. Please do yourself a favor and stay away from this app at all costs. This app actually makes me sadder when I use it. Not only that, but the ads they show are so cynically pointless that it depresses me to see how low these people will stoop for money. You can barely “play” the game 30 seconds before a 30 second ad comes up only to repeat this frustratingly short cycle to repeat again. In addition, the sheer amount of ads in this game is ridiculous. I make more points leaving my phone to charge for the night than I ever have in actively playing the game.

CRUSH CRUSH CHEAT ENGINE MULTIPLIER UPGRADE

I’ll check every so often to see how many points I’ve gotten and upgrade to get more points. The two things you have the option of doing are upgrading your wheels and tapping on them to make them go faster. Additionally, there’s barely any gameplay. You continue to accumulate points even when you’re not using the app. It’s completely inconsequential whether you play or not. I’ve had this game for a couple weeks now and I don’t know why I still have it on my phone. Give the developers a little something lol. Anyway, play it for a little, watch a couple apps, then cheat. You could buy they with real money to have a huge multiplier. Eventually, you’ll have enough diamonds to buy a permanent 2x so it’ll be 5x. Do it for like a week’s time and go back to in time again to keep the multiplier. You really only get 12 hours max bonus because I’ve tried two day, three days, 12 hours, and they all gave the same bonus. It’s easier to double tap the home app to switch between apps, FYI. Go back to date and time, go to the next day then back to the app and so on.

CRUSH CRUSH CHEAT ENGINE MULTIPLIER FULL

You’ll see that you go a full days bonus. Turn off auto time, change your day to weeks in the past (days, months, whatever) switch over to the app (there should be hours of 3x) go back to the date and time and move up one day. As for the “cheat” first watch an add for 3x multiplier, put your phone in airplane mode for no ads then go to your date and time settings. Eventually, it’ll take months to get an upgrade.

#Crush crush cheat engine multiplier

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sableseb · 2 years

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As It Was

Marc Spector x f!reader

word count: 2.8k

warnings: smut, angst, praise, oral f receiving, slight m masturbation, squirting, slight dumbification, slight degradation, pussy worship, dirty talk, rough sex, Marc is kinda dark in this one

a/n: Here’s some more MK smut since everyone loved the last one! Thank you all so much❤️ If anyone would like to be tagged in future Oscar Isaac works, please let me know.x

“Marc, I’m here for you just-”

He shoves you away. Your heart clenches as you stumble backwards. The man that once held you, laughed with you, the man that just lived…you hardly see anymore. Marc’s always been a no nonsense kind of guy. Always punctual and straight to the point. But under all of that gruffness is a man who loves. And who’s passions run wild and almost get him killed more times than not. To you, that suit isn’t a blessing from a god. It’s a curse.

The good days are good, but the bad are worse. His mind is cracked and fragile from the weight he carries. Khonshu. He’s the reason behind Marc’s constant missions that always end in blood. You can’t find the hate or anger in you for the Egyptian deity at the moment. Not when Marc’s pacing and mumbling to himself with his thick curls gripped tightly between his fingers.

You try again, walking towards his sulking form once more. “Marc, please.” When your hand connects with his arm, you find yourself being gripped tightly by the throat. Pain shoots down from your skull to your spine as he slams you against the nearest wall.

Your breathing is shallow and pointed as his large hand encases your neck. Leaning down, his nose brushes yours as deep brown eyes bore into yours. You notice the purple hues that lay below his lashes, the newest gash along his forehead, the sweat that breaks out along his skin. And yet, he’s still as beautiful as the day you met him. Your chest tightens as you look away.

“Look at me,” he whispers darkly. When your head stays glued to the side, he shakes you, forcing his hand under your jaw to look his way. “I said look at me!”

His voice shakes the hotel room. The tears fall and the ache in your jaw causes you to stand on your tiptoes to try and relieve the pain. He’s dangling you like a doll. His ever fragile doll. “I don’t need your help, your pity. I’m a fucking mercenary. Not a charity case,” he seethes.

“I just want to help you.”

The laugh he lets out is cynical. When he drops you, your knees meet the hardwood. You can already feel the bruises forming on your skin as you rub your neck. You feel weak, small, defeated. You always do with him.

“You can help me, pretty.” Marc squats down beside you, gripping your hair and forcing your head up. You close your eyes, knowing well what he wants from you. Bringing his lips to your ear, he tells you, “Now, let me watch that ass sway while you crawl to the bed, yeah?”

Another rough fucking. Every time he needs to forget, he buries himself inside you. That’s how you always help, by letting him use you as he sees fit. He stands, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed as he nudges your ass with his boot.

You crawl, tears hitting the floor as they fall from your eyes. You pull yourself up in the king sized bed. Spreading your thighs as you arch your back, you present yourself to him like he always wants you to. The seam of your jeans creates a friction against your clit. You’re wiggling your hips trying to chase the feeling when two strong hands grab your waist, pulling you flush against an already straining erection.

Up and down he guides your ass and core along the length of him, watching as the arch in your back deepens in submission. You’re the only constant in his shattered mind. No matter what continent he finds himself on or how much blood stains his skin, he knows you’re always there. You’re his home. But, he’ll never tell you that. Never fully admit it to himself. It’ll get you both killed. It’s much easier to get lost in your body and forget why he’s so fucked up in the first place.

“Always so good for me, baby. What would I do without this beautiful body?”

Marc’s gruff praise sends a buzz throughout your nerves. You know you can’t have him emotionally, but physically? You have him fully. Your heart swells every time he ravages you while whispering how pretty you are, how good you listen with a cunt full of cock. Then, when the groans and grunts settle, your heart aches for something more. Something that he no longer gives you.

He begins to open your jeans, pulling them off and dropping them in a heap beside the bed. Your panties stick to your mound. The Egyptian night air that flows through the open window soothes the heat blooming throughout your skin. Your nipples tighten against the tight cotton fabric of your cropped tee with each sway of your breasts.

When you get the courage to look over your shoulder, you see Marc get on his knees. He’s looking directly between your thighs, causing you to shy away as you try to close your legs. He knows how timid you are. He always finds himself getting hard when you get walked over, too scared to speak up for yourself. And especially when you squirm in the bedroom. Forcing you outside your comfort zone is something he craves because you submit so beautifully.

He lands a harsh smack to your ass. You yelp at the sting that radiates through your cheek. “Don’t hide this pretty pussy from me, baby.”

As he spreads your thighs again, he brings a hand up to your mound. His fingers gently dance across the white fabric you adorn. You're already so wet, so sensitive that his tiny ministrations become too much and not enough all at once. He’s playing your body with an expertise that only he’s capable of mastering.

He watches intently as that wet patch on your underwear doubles in size, watches as your hips begin to buck against his palm. Your soft whines that fall upon his ears cures the voices that just never seem to stop.

He can’t take the tightness of his jeans anymore. Not when you’re humping his fingers, trying to persuade him to stick them inside your aching hole. Using his free hand, he pulls his leaking cock free from its confines. He jerks himself off in time with his wrist that’s rubbing your swollen cunt.

The way your hips rotate, the way he can smell you, the way you fucking whimper…he’s barely holding himself together. He doesn’t want to cum just yet, he needs you to cum first. Needs you to cum until you’re crying and begging him to stop.

Your toes start to curl as the pressure on your clit becomes more firm and the circles he’s drawing become tighter. You find your legs opening even further as you grind against those long fingers. Sweat breaks out over your quivering frame. Your shirt sticks to you as your nipples become raw from your constant squirming against the bed.

That coil, that delicious coil Marc so effortless builds up starts to unravel. You grip the sheets, eyes going cross and body tensing as you await the sheer euphoria that’s inevitable in his presence. Suddenly, that high that was coming at you with a scarily rapid pace isn’t reached. He stopped his movements before it could wash over you.

You know better than to complain to him. You know to always take what he gives you. But that doesn’t stop the pitiful sob that leaves your mouth. You feel him pull your panties to the side, the air cooling your heated folds. Wetness spills from your clenching center and you hear him curse under his breath.

“You’re so needy. This cunt’s begging to be fucked, isn’t she?”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “It hurts. Make it go away, Marc.”

“Does my dumb baby want her pretty pussy ate?”

The thought of him groaning against your sensitive flesh, the stubble creating a burn on your thighs, the way his mouth latches to your clit has you shoving yourself in his face. “Yes. Please eat my pretty pussy out.”

God how he loves when you say the most vulgar things back to him. His sweet angel isn’t so sweet when you need to cum. He doesn’t waste another second as his mouth dives in. You jolt forward with a screech at the sudden contact. He holds your hips firmly in place as he licks and sucks at every part of you.

His tongue is everywhere. He’s running it over your swollen bud, down your slit and dipping it inside your entrance. He worships your body as if you were a deity. Your taste never changes. The tangy sweetness drives him mad. He makes sure to bury his tongue as far inside you as he can, massaging your walls until you clench around the muscle.

He removes his hands from your hips to place them across your upper thighs. He removes his face from your drenched heat, putting his thumbs on each of your lips to spread you open. Marc sees the way your tiny hole tenses around nothing, sees how red your flesh has become and how sloppy your pussy looks.

He just sits there, on his knees, admiring the way you glisten in the light of the moon. He’s never seen a prettier pussy. Keeping you spread, his mouth attaches to your clit. He sucks, hard, causing you to cry into the sheets. You try to move away, but he follows, mouth never once leaving your bundle of nerves.

With each suck, you feel that familiar pull in your gut. Your core begins to tighten and tingles run from your head to the tips of your toes. It feels so fucking good. Your ears begin to ring and your moans grow louder, but something’s off. There’s a pressure deep inside you that you’ve never felt.

You try to warn Marc. “I can’t take it. I-” But, you can’t finish the rest of your sentence as your orgasm suddenly rushes over you. Your entire body shakes as tears flow from your eyes. The pressure releases and you can’t stop the liquid that seems to never stop seeping out of your fluttering cunt.

You squirted. He can’t believe he’s just now bringing it out of you. He’s kicking himself mentally for it. He laps at it, making sure to clean every part of you. You drenched his mouth and he’s never seen anything so erotic.

Once your mind begins to clear, you muster up the strength to move away from him. You turn around to see how wet the bed is and how the bottom half of Marc’s face is covered in the liquid you produced. Tears start to roll down your heated cheeks as the embarrassment becomes too much.

“I- I’m so sorry. I tried to stop it.”

He cups your face, halting your rambling as he rubs the tears from your eyes. “There’s nothing to be sorry about, sweetheart. That was so fucking hot,” he whispers to you.

“Really?”

“Of course. I want you to do it again.”

Your heart sinks. “I don’t know if I can.”

He smiles at you as he leans in to kiss your nose. “You can. And you will. Even if I have to fuck you a hundred times over.”

You don’t want to disappoint him. You nod, leaning in to capture his lips with your own. He lets you. You can taste yourself on his tongue as he deepens the kiss. He fumbles with his pants, working them down his narrow hips as he stands up to kick off his boots, not once taking his lips away from yours.

You aid in lifting his shirt up, momentarily breaking the kiss so he can remove it. He’s on you again, mouth moving all over your face and neck as he leans you back against the bed. You free your chest from your shirt and his mouth instantly attaches to your bare breast.

He’s rutting his length against the soft crotch of your panties. You arch into his mouth as he bites and sucks at your tender chest. He tears the fabric separating the two of you, throwing the ruined underwear over his shoulder.

You’ll never grow tired of his muscular body crushing you. The heat from his olive skin warms you. You tangle your fingers in his dark curls to pull his head up from in between the valley of your breasts. “I need you to fuck me,” you plead.

“Yeah? You wanna go dumb for my cock, don’t you? Want me to fuck you hard and deep till you can’t think, can’t speak?”

He runs his cock through your folds as he watches you shake your head as you bite your lip. He’s so hard and his balls hang heavy as he watches you writhe beneath him, begging him to pound into you. You’re so wet that when he thrusts into you, there’s no resistance. He’s instantly wrapped in your tight warmth and he struggles to not come right then.

“Always squeeze me so fucking good. Shit,” he grunts.

The breath gets knocked from your lungs with each pointed thrust. You never get used to his thickness. He stretches you out to the point where it burns, but it’s a sweet burn. One that makes you crave more of his glorious cock.

Marc’s speed never falters. He’s fucking into hard. He sees the way your breasts move with each snap of his hips, the way your face contorts in sheer pleasure. “That’s right,” he grunts. “Give it to me.”

Your legs lock around his hips as you cling to his back. He keeps kissing your cervix with his swollen tip. But, the pain doesn’t register. He moves against your walls so smoothly that all you can focus on is how full you feel, how stretched out he has you.

He leans back, unhooking your legs from their hold on him. He grabs each ankle, bringing your legs in the air as he watches himself slide in and out of your pussy with laughable ease. All you can do is lay there as he fucks you with a delicious friction.

“Such a slutty cunt you have. You’re my hole, baby. My precious tight fucking hole.”

His words slur together in your blissed out mind. Your moans keep growing along with tightness in your core. Your hooded eyes watch as Marc’s Star of David necklace dances across his toned chest. You see the way his abs constrict with each labored breath. You can get off by just looking at him in a state of sex.

He can’t hold himself up anymore. He envelopes your body once more. That necklace dangles dangerously close to your mouth. You take the opportunity to grab it between your teeth, sucking on the gold pendant with a moan.

It’s blasphemy. It’s something he’ll never get enough of. His orgasm is approaching. But, he needs to feel you cum around him. Needs to feel you drench this bed. His fingers find your clit, rubbing you fast as his cock continuously spears you.

“Oh God,” you groan, the pendant falling from your mouth.

That pressure is back. Your walls constrict around his dick as your clit swells against his fingers. You’re so close. Your legs fall open and the sheets stick to your back. He’s rutting into you like an animal, making sure that you feel him every time you walk.

“I can feel you tighten, baby. Just let it go. Lemme watch that pussy squirt.”

That’s all it takes. His nasty words send you hurdling over the edge with a scream. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers against you, not even after you forced his cock from your walls so you could release that torturous pressure.

Marc watches in amazement as the liquid spills from you. He doesn’t give you time to breathe once your high is over. He shoves himself back inside your wet cunt to chase his own, to fill you up so that you leak with him.

You’re motionless beneath him. But your pussy never stops pulsing. It’s sucking him in so good. His balls pull taught as his thrusts grow sloppy. Tingles shoot through his legs and he can feel his cum working its way through his shaft. With a loud moan, he’s spilling into your overworked channel. Pumping himself inside you a few more times before he pulls out and flops down beside you.

You’re tired and worn out. The feeling of his warm cum soothes your aching walls. You look over to see him staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. “I wish I could see inside your mind sometimes.” You whisper the words before you can stop yourself.

Marc looks at you then with a slight smile. “No. You don’t.”

With a kiss to your forehead, he rolls out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom. You hear the steady stream of the water. Other than that? The painful silence of being alone. You shouldn’t cry. You do this to yourself. But how can you possibly let go of a man who gave you the world before he lost his way?

You’ll stick with him. You always will. He needs someone. Even if he only sees you as a warm place to empty himself in.

#moon knight #moon knight x reader #moon knight smut #marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector smut #oscar isaac #oscar isaac x reader #oscar isaac smut

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filthforfriends · 2 years

Text

Call Me Damia

Read parts 1-3 on my Masterlist

DILFiano CW: morally grey age gap and power dynamics

Word count: 4.6k

Unsure what to do with yourself in anticipation for fall quarter, you began shopping for your dorm room. You watched high school graduates with their mothers debate whether a magenta or mint colored silicone ice cube tray was best. Your mom was permanently M.I.A. and dragging your dad along would just be torture for you both. So you go alone.

It was bullshit that all freshman had to live on campus. It also seemed ridiculous that there were so many dorm room necessities. As if the space wasn’t small enough already, now you can organize your socks by length into color-coded bins from Ikea that you had absolutely no room for. Realistically, you only got this cynical when you were hungry. So, you left the store playing an sonically insulting remix of another remix to get some food.

Past a block of fancy cafes was a taco truck usually open this time of day. You were walking so intently that you almost missed him, sitting alone on a patio. It was like some magnetic pull. He looked up even though you hadn’t called his name.

“Y/n!” There was a moment of uncertainty before he broke out in a full smile. “So wonderful to see you.”

“Hey, Damiano!” Your heart flutters embarrassingly.

“Oh, you don’t have to call me that,” he dismisses. He’s gotten some sun, beauty even more striking with a glowing tan. Slacks, black leather boots, a tank top, and his blazer hanging over the chair. He’s refined and so sexy. Damiano waves you over and you’re more than happy to abandon any future plans in exchange for his company. It's not like he didn’t occupy your every other thought anyway.

When you come to the edge of the table you notice three things. First, he’s wearing new cologne. Second, there's a small book under his right hand like he was reading. Third, he’s wearing new jewelry, which doesn’t include his wedding ring. You try your best not to be thrilled.

“What brings you here?” He looks exhausted, but happy.

“I was about to get some dinner, actually,” you answered, fingers crossed behind your back.

“Will you join me then?” Behind his closed lip smile there's a secret that lies just between the two of you. Buying your daughter’s long time friend lunch when you run into her at a cafe. How chivalrous and admirable, how appropriate. Fate had gifted both of you such an excellent ruse.

“I’m not interrupting anything?” you inquire, coy. What you mean is I’ll have you all to myself?

“I’m all yours.” Besides touch, there is nothing more intimate than having your mind read. Its electrifying to know that he can see through you. To be naked in front of Damiano was a thrill. He was looking, unabashedly, his expression revealing that he appreciated what he saw. It was such a filthy thing to do in front of other people.

He gestures to the chair across from him, reminding you to sit down. These were the moments when your youth caught up and embarrassed you. Damiano was looking at the menu, so you tried to make yourself more poised. Put your hair up, adjusted your blouse, and took off your jean jacket even though it was breezy. When you finally sat he was looking at you with his eyebrows raised, taking a sip of white wine.

“I thought you looked fine before.” There's not a hint of teasing in his expression and you don’t know what to do besides blush crimson. “But this will make it easier to sneak you wine.” He gives you a wry grin, wiggling his eyebrows to make the moment lighter. “Too bad there’s no vineyards nearby, I’d take you wine tasting.” We can’t ever talk about this again. You were branded by those words.

“You changed your mind?”

“I’ve decided to trust you transgression. I’d like for you to trust mine, but that's your choice.” Daminao sits back in the chair, folding his hands.

“I do.”

“That was a quick decision.”

“Well you have more to lose.”

“Ah ha! You trust the situation, not me.” He waves an accusatory finger.

“I suppose so,” you muse, drumming your fingers on the table for theatrical effect. “You’ll just have to earn it somehow.”

“And how am I to earn your trust?” he takes the bait and you’re thrilled.

“If I told you that, I’d have to kill you.” You repeat his words from your last discussion with a smirk instead of a laugh.

“That’s not a real answer!” He sits forward, totally engaged in your verbal sparring match.

“Oh really!? Pretty irritating huh?” You tilt your head to the side flirtatiously, resting your chin in your palm. Damiano gets the reference and throws his hands up in the air!

“Fine! I give up!” His body language is just the opposite, leaning towards you as much as the table will allow, smiling wide.

“So easily?” you taunt.

“How am I to make it up to you then?”

“Well there's plenty of things you can do to please me,” you venture. Even though you’re maintaining an enticing, confident exterior, internally you’re begging Damiano to meet you halfway. His chest heaves and he rolls his bottom lip under his teeth before biting it, like he’s trying to keep something at bay.

“You’re making this very difficult for me.”

“You already said that. I’m officially requiring a different excuse each time.” Damiano looks away and lets out a groan in the place of a response. That sound throbs in your cunt beyond what you can endure.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” you coax.

“No.” He spoke through gritted teeth, hands balling into fists before releasing. His leg starts bouncing. Anyone watching could tell that Damiano was trying to hold back, fighting something that was almost stronger than his moral fiber.

“Why did that make you so nervous?” you push. He holds up a hand, signaling you to stop. The realization hits, that he has an entire life at stake: kids, a career, his whole reputation. He can’t be careless, so you can’t be careless. Verbally accosting him in public wasn’t the way to go.

“I’m sorry, let me find a waiter.” As you stand, your wet underwear rubs against your pussy uncomfortably. What took half an hour with other men, only required a conversation with Damiano.You walk towards the indoor portion of the restaurant, trying to salvage this meeting of happenstance. He catches you by the wrist.

“You’re okay,” he says emphatically, meaning you’ve done nothing unforgivable. He’s earnest wide-eyed to convey his point. You take a deep breath, and he mirrors you. One helping the other regulate. When you pull away to seek out a server you catch Dami’s hand in yours, stroke your thumb over the back of his hand for an inappropriate amount of time. Nail in the coffin, you brush your fingers over the tan line his wedding band left. It's totally self indulgent, but the hair stands up on his forearm in reaction. There's too many places you want to feel his touch. Not just between your legs, but cupping your stomach, playing with your nipples, around your throat, gripping your thigh, bruising your hips. The desire is dizzying and you have to take another breath together before letting go. There's nothing more compelling than lusting after someone so hard you can barely function, and feel them do the same for you.

By that point a waiter has noticed you standing and briskly walks over. You’re glad it's a man, with short red hair and porcelain skin marred by acne scars. Watching a woman gawk at Dami would be too painful of a reminder. He is not yours. He will never be.

“My apologies, I didn’t realize your date had arrived,” he stammered, as you sat down. Dami doesn’t correct him.

“We’d like the wine taster and another menu.”

“Oh, yes, sorry!” Foolish of you to assume that gender would keep anyone from fawning over Dami. His tone is patient, and you realize why. Damiano is so acclimated to people falling in love with him that he gives them a moment of grace to collect themselves.

The waiter places a single sheet of embossed paper in front of you, the type of menu only fancy restaurants have. The prices are exorbitant.

“Can I take your order in the meantime?”

“Give us a few minutes,” he answers curtly, ever the gentleman. The server realizes his blunder.

“Of course, my apologies,” he spluttered.

“I’ll just have whatever he’s having,” you interrupt, getting this awkward exchange over with for everyone’s sake. Damiano takes a beat to give you a sly smile, pausing the entire interaction to admire.

“You’re sure?” He says the words like it's something intimate, no insistence or condensation.

“Yeah, I trust your judgment.” Trust. Another bit of language carrying a secret only you two could decode. There was nothing in your life more riveting than having secrets with Damiano. Everything was boring to the point of obsoleteness in comparison.

“So what did you mean earlier, about your name?” You ask as a peace offering, when the waiter walks away.

“I just meant that, um,” he chuckles, and grimaces. Dami hangs his head like he regrets bringing it up because now he has to explain himself. “Damiano is very formal.”

“So what name should I use instead?” He's visibly relieved that you didn’t ask what it meant to be informal. “Dami is what your family,” and by that you mean wife, “calls you.”

“My friends call me Damia.” He answers with quiet confidence, but then his face changes. “Not that we’re necessarily friends and if it makes you uncomf -”

“We’re friends. Especially considering how much we’ve taken care of Icarus together, and all the dinner parties,” you trail off. Damia visibly finds your tact soothing. “Personally, I think the lack of intergenerational friendships is to blame for a significant portion of the world’s stupidity.” Damia chuckles, and the wine tasting tray arrives. Its four small glasses on a wooden board with indentations for the base of the glass so nothing goes sliding off and onto the floor. The restaurant is fancy enough to have a sommelier, and he stands at the head of the table. You try to mirror Damiano exactly, so no one will suspect that you’re actually 18.

“The first two are both cold soaks from the Bien Nacido Vinyard. All our wines are sourced in state. This glass on the far left is a 2008 Cabernet Sauvignon with light notes of oak and a velvety mouthfeel. It has been very successful in our local tastings and even won -” Despite your best efforts, you tune out the jargon in favor of observing Damiano. He’s nodding along, totally engaged with the sommelier’s lecture.

You use the opportunity to admire his profile, searching for little details no one had bothered to notice in years. There's a small scar halfway between his cheek and perfectly sculpted lips. Maybe a couple nearly imperceptible marks at the top of his cheekbone. A few eyebrow hairs were astray. Smile lines. It was entertaining to try to find imperfections on Damiano. Like Where’s Waldo, but way harder because this man in front of you was art of the finest caliber.

“So,” he sighs, trying to hide his relief that the lecture is over and the sommelier has gone inside. “What's the first rule of tasting wine?” He places both elbows on the table and rests his chin on top of his folded hands. Every gesture is elegant. Even better, you’re the sole recipient of his attention which makes you feel feverish the same way a sunburn does.

“Don’t use it like mouthwash,” you quip, in reference to the other night. He snorts, unclasping his hands because you’ve provided an interruption he wasn’t prepared for. Now Damia is flustered by the memory and shaking his head, like he can’t recall his train of thought.

“Thats – thats, sure. Why the fuck not?” He dissolves into laughter placing his face in the crook of his arm. Everything is hidden but his smile, and there’s a weightlessness in it you’re unaccustomed too.

“Rule number one: don’t swig the wine,” he proclaimed, still grinning. “Which makes rule number two: swirl, sniff, sip.” He picks up the first glass, and you follow, picking up the second. You mirror him, swirling the wine languidly in a movement that comes from the wrist, trying to emulate his easy elegance. When Damia lowers his nose into the glass and breathes in deep, you do the same. When he sips, your gaze fixes the way his lips curl over the lip of the glass, caressing it. Even the way he pulls the wine into his mouth is sensual. You forget to drink for a moment.

It just tastes like the wine you’re used to consuming, but not gross. All the bitterness of alcohol is gone. What term goes with oak and velvety? You’ve already used lush.

“What do you think?”

“It’s well-balanced and…round,” you try. This is apparently an acceptable answer because Damia, hums, nodding.

“Switch.” You exchange glasses, and Damia keeps his eyes on you. Using both hands, he rotates the glass so your lipstick mark is facing him. Carefully, he puts his lips exactly where yours were and takes a long drink, all while holding your gaze. It’s sweet torture, and your hand shakes were it rests on the table. Damia is exacting his revenge.

Glancing down at the rim, there are no marks left from his mouth, and you’re at a loss. Damia isn’t even hiding his enjoyment while watching you squirm. He’s smug, biting his lip as he shamelessly looks you up and down. Unfortunately, you’ve got a competitive streak and no reputation to ruin by being obscene. Using just the tip of your tongue, you trace the rim of the wine glass, placing it back on the tray without taking a sip.

“Do you want to know how that one tasted?” you challenge. Sitting back, cocky, would be the easy way out. Instead, wipe your lipstick off on the back of your hand and take the third glass. Damia is perplexed but takes the fourth, and you sip at the same time. Only after you’re done drinking does he understand. With no lipstick, there are no marks for him to follow. Check mate.

You look at Damia expectantly, genuinely unsure of how he’ll react. You extend your glass to exchange, and with only a moment of hesitation, he takes it, swallowing hard. Feigning composure, you take sips of wine as he bargains with himself, probably giving away more than he’d like to in the process. Finally, Damia looks at you, passion aflame in his eyes, and licks the rim of the glass. Watching his tongue is better than actual sex you’ve had. You rub your legs together, trying to relieve some of the pressure in your cunt. When he sits back up you stare, each waiting for the other to make a move.

“What do you think?” There's a lot of ways you could go with this. The sexual tension in the air is so thick that you decide to give the both of you room to breath.

“They taste exactly the same,” you deadpan. Damia laughs with his head thrown back, taken by surprise that you’d interjected humor.

“They do not!”

“Yes they do! You’ve been lied to,” you dramatically insist, cackling. At one point in his life, Damia probably laughed easily, but that part of him was far from the surface. You were determined to coax it forth again. Eventually you both fall into an easy silence gazing at each other, lent forward against the table. In the most intimate of circumstances, words aren’t necessary. Kiss me for fucks sake. Kiss me, I dare you, and see if I don’t deliver my response tenfold. You stare at his lips, unabashed. How far you’ve come from that first spark.

“My eyes are up here.”

“I wasn’t looking at your eyes,” you tantalize, meeting his gaze. “But I wish I could do that more often.” It was a vulnerable omission.

“You’re too honest.”

“You want to lie?”

“Never lie to me,” he snaps, with so much heat behind his words that it's scary. You lean into that fear, excited by it. Damia is startled by your reaction, and you see you’ve finally made some leeway. He’s revealed something about himself that wasn’t polished and perfectly calibrated.

“Having dinner with you was a terrible idea. I won’t even make it to my entree before spontaneously combusting.” You don’t take offense, because of the mutual understanding of what it would take to ease the tension.

“Should I get our food to go?” He sighs, but smiling softly like he's made a compromise within himself.

“Fine, but what you think is going to happen isn’t.”

“Okay,” you shrug your shoulders amicably. Even as you try to remain casual, getting your take out and the check from the waiter, your heart is pounding. The anticipation is so overwhelming that your reaction time is delayed, like you’re listening to everyone from underwater.

Getting out of the cafe and into the street is a relief. It's easy to just move with the crowd, everything feels less momentous. Damia is deep in thought, placing his feet carefully. You don’t want to interrupt, but the silence is both comfortable and totally suffocating.

“Where are we going?”

“Uh, I was gonna walk you to your car,” he murmured. Damia looks up for the first time, trying to place himself in the surroundings.

“Well we passed my car a couple blocks ago, so why don’t I walk you to your car?”

“Alright,” he chuckled, smile reappearing. He looked down at your hand, and you at his. You both thought so hard about what it might be to touch, for this to be allowed, that you could almost feel the warmth of his skin. In this crowded plaza, a dozen people could recognize you.

Damia threw his arm over your shoulders, in a way that could be misconstrued as comradery. He pulled you closer to him, and turned his head.

“I wish I could hold your hand, too,” he whispers. It nearly breaks you. Fending off the tears takes all your will power. It was the moment you knew that his affection went beyond your young figure and lively conversation. He felt tenderness for you.

“I’m in the parking garage,” he tilts his head towards the big cement structure. “So…”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” you confirm. Whatever may have been calmed from a stroll through the plaza was aflame again as you realized the privacy you’d have. The place was practically empty, and the light was soft as the sun set. A stroke of genius hit right as you passed the stairwell.

“Damia, come on!” You were already up one set of stairs when he responded.

“What? I’m not running up the stairs with takeout in my hands.”

“Be spontaneous for fucks sake!”

“Lemme put it in the car!”

“You’re gonna miss it,” you screech, running up another flight. When you hear Damia’s boots on the metal grating you smile so hard your cheeks hurt.

“What the fuck am I running up the stairs for, y/n?” You wrench open the steel door to find the top level of the parking garage empty. Perfect.

“What the – oh my god.” Damia interrupts himself in wonder. The colors of the sunset splay themselves across the sky, so over saturated that the world looks like a dream. You drop your stuff in the corner and run out into the center of the parking lot, arms open. Damia follows behind, huffs disbelief as he marvels at the sky.

“How did you know this was up here?” he shouts in awe. Orange and yellow hues hit his olive skin with a beauty to potent it ached.

“The sky?” you tease, the wind blowing your jacket open.

“‘The sky,’” he mocks, jogging towards you with a mischievous look in his eye. Damia grabs you by the waist, spinning in circles as you screech in delight. When he sets you down you’re left in a fit of giggles, trying to catch your breath.

“Rooftops have the best view,” you pant. “This is the only one that doesn’t get the cops called.”

“Ah, so you’ve found this out by trial and error then?” he retorts, playfully. Straightening up, you don’t let Damia create distance. Getting close enough to kiss was half the battle. You throw your arms around his waist and pull him in, so your abdomens are flush together.

“Kiss me,” you beg. “For fuck’s sake just kiss me.” Even as his hands are placed loosely on your back, he shakes his head.

“I can’t,” he chokes, with absolutely no conviction, not even enough to physically distance himself.

“Why? Because you’ll feel guilty?” His eye brows knit together in surprise.

“Well…yeah,” he puzzled.

“You already feel guilty. When we hadn’t even touched you felt guilty. So if you’re going to feel like shit no matter what, whats the fucking point of holding back?” Damia processes your words, then lets out a harsh breath and looks away. Steeling yourself, you pull back.

“Fine, I –” Something clicks inside him, or maybe something breaks, snaps clean in half after a crappy marriage and millions of people with a negative opinion. Damia wrenches you towards him, so forcefully you instinctively put your hands up to catch yourself. However, a millimeter away, his grip on your waist stops the collision. Your noses are pressed together, and he steps completely into your space. Damia is holding you so close that the only thing not touching is your lips. Forehead, sternum, chest, abdomen, and his arms coiled tightly around you.

He’s waiting for you to initiate the kiss, but there is so much sensory input so suddenly that your brain is effectively short circuiting. You could taste his breath, smell not just his cologne, but his body, feel the bridge of his Italian nose where he rubbed it against yours affectionately. His erection pressed into your thigh, such a contrast to how angelic he looked with his eyes closed.

Damia is holding you closer, tighter than you’d ever fantasized, and you start trembling in his embrace. Your hands flutter from clavicle to shoulder, and end up with one palm on his cheek. He smiles and snuzzles into it enthusiastically, even though the contact was so innocent. Damiano is touch starved.

You kiss him as fiercely as you can without knocking teeth, keeping your mouth soft but demanding. The hand on his face moves to his hair as the wind tangles it around your fingers. You expect some tepidness after all that apprehension, but you get the opposite: the sensation that he’s finally let go. Damia pushes his hand under your coat and grips your waist. His other comes to the back of your neck and the base of your skull, guiding. He’s not kissing you like an inexperienced little girl. He’s kissing you so passionately that a hand has to support your head.

Trying to channel all those days of denial into the embrace results in you letting out a whine without meaning to. Shuddering with pleasure, you kitten lick his lips before each kiss. He responds by opening his mouth, and pushing his tongue against yours. Instead of searching your whole mouth, he slowly massages your tongue, not too forceful, but enough for it to be sensual. This is how experienced men, adult men, kiss, you realize. His grip is tighter than boys you age would dare, yet it's perfectly measured. The hand on the back of your head somehow doesn’t register as aggressive. It’s undoubtedly the best kiss of your life.

Your free hand frantically grabs at his blazer, trying to pull him infinitesimally closer. The words that beg for more come out as a whimper, and Damia rewards you with a moan of approval. Seeing how much you like tongue, he tilts his head to kiss you deeper. His clothes, the movement of his hands, even his smell is mature. This could never be mistaken for a kiss at prom, Damia had raw sexual energy like you’d never encountered before.

It wasn’t just your pussy that ached, pounded with arousal, but your entire groin and lower abdomen. Everywhere your bodies touched was burned by the heat of your chemistry, heartbeat thundering in your ears. You started shaking, aroused to the point of tears. When he felt the trembling worsen, Damia moved his hands as if to pull away. Desperately, you used your grip to hold him close, made a noise of approval and kissed with even more vigor to prove a point.

He made the kisses slower, sexier, less tongue and more passion. You took to stroking his hair with your hand, which he liked very much. Again Damia moved away, and again, you gave chase.

“Mm, air,” he said into the kiss.

“Shit, sorry,” you gasped, lips parting. His chest heaved and his mouth was red around the edges, your presence evidenced.

“Is that enough air?”

“You’re insatiable,” he chuckles, still breathing hard. “Sorry, this isn’t the stamina you’re used to.”

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit,” you huff. Admittedly, it is hard to catch your breath when there's no breathing room. You loosen your embrace, cursing the need for oxygen.

“That’s better,” he pants in relief. Damia takes a couple steps back and turns his body away from you, signaling that the makeout was over.

“Thank you.” This was far more than you’d anticipated, and even if it was over, you were so grateful. He turns back towards you, grinning wholeheartedly. Maybe you’d misread the situation. You try resuming the embrace, and Damia doesn’t outright reject you. But his kisses are conciliatory, oh so gently telling you no. Of course you listen, even though the loss in intimacy is brutal.

“Should we go back down? I can drive you to your car.” As you followed Damia back to the corner where your belongings were deposited, he held your hand. You appreciated the gesture, but wished your fingers were laced together. Meanwhile a wave of anguish overcame you. This couldn’t be over. He may never touch you again.

“Wait!” In a moment of desperation, you fall to your knees in front of him. He didn’t want kisses or sex, so you could give him this. Damia inhaled sharply, a hand hovering over your head, fingertips brushing your hair. He hadn’t decided yet, so you try to convince him. Pushing up Damia’s shirt, you kiss and lick above the waistband of his boxers. The muscles of his stomach react to your lips and his hard cock jumps.

“Sweetheart, please stand up,” he begged.

“Do you want me to stop?” You looked up, had never seen a face so conflicted. The vein in the middle of his forehead was prominent, and his mouth was set in a grimace.

“I need you to get up because if you start I won’t have the strength to stop you,” Damia confesses. I want you, but I don’t want to. You nod, wordlessly, and pull his shirt back down. He extends a hand to help you stand up, and pulls you into a hug. The wind feels so much colder.

“Thank you,” he whispers, voice laden with emotion.

“For what?” You keep your tone low, even though there's not a soul to overhear. Secrets are always told in whispers.

“No one’s kissed me like that in a decade.”

Notes: I think if you just take a deep breath the emotions will subside. Thanks for reading! Please tell me your favorite part! This is some of my favorite writing in weeks so I'm super excited to post it, but the next part won't be this long. Also extra reminder that the reader is a character I'm creating, not me.

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