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ro-is-struggling · 1 year

Text

Touch || Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky was not a fan of physical contact, that was something you knew about him even before you started dating him. What you didn't know was how incredibly touch starved he was. That is until one lazy Sunday afternoon, when you take your relationship to the next level.

Word count: 4300

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, porn with feelings, dry humping, overstimulation, kinda sub!bucky x gentle dom!reader, touch starved bucky, a little angst (it’s bucky duh), fluff

English is not my first language

Notes: This is a continuation of THIS little thing that I posted the other day, but you don't have to read it to understand the story.

Bucky was not someone who enjoyed a lot of physical contact, that was a fact about him that you found out pretty quickly. You just had to see the way he interacted with his friends and the people around him to notice that he didn't really like to be touched, especially by strangers. You'd seen him jump and flinch at the slightest brush of someone's body making their way through the busiest nights at the bar, so you kept that in mind when you had your first date. It didn't really matter to you that he didn't even hold your hand or kiss you at the end of the date, you had such a good time with him that you didn't even think about it.

Besides, that only made things more interesting. Not knowing when he was going to kiss you —or if he was even going to kiss you at all— kept you on your toes, butterflies fluttering in your stomach every time you looked into each other's eyes. The tension only increased with each date and all that build up made your first kiss magical. There were no words to describe how you felt the moment his lips finally met yours. It was a shy, experimental kiss, your lips brushing delicately as you explored this new feeling. Bucky rested his hand on your cheek to draw you closer to him, the touch of his fingers awakening a tingle on your skin. It was almost hard to believe that someone as big and strong as him was capable of such gentleness, but that was what made the moment so special.

There was definitely a spark between you, a connection you had never felt with anyone before. So you didn't care that it had taken Bucky longer than usual to kiss you, you were willing to wait as long as it took to feel that electricity that only he seemed to be able to awaken coursing through your body. Bucky made it all worth it.

You usually let him initiate the physical contact. You didn't want to end up accidentally stepping over his boundaries, so beyond a few kisses and hugs you used to let him decide when he wanted to hold your hand or cuddle up on the couch to watch a movie. You didn't mind the lack of physical contact, it didn't affect your relationship in the slightest. It wasn't like that was the only way to show affection. You didn't have to doubt if Bucky really loved you or if your relationship had a future because he always found other ways to show you how he felt about you.

He may not be very good at expressing his feelings in a physical way, but he had a special talent for expressing in words and beautiful metaphors the love he felt for you, confessions that were immortalized in the love letters he often sent you. The nature of his work required him to spend weeks and sometimes even months away from you, and he would take advantage of those moments alone to reflect on his feelings and pour them out on paper, expressing in neat handwriting the thoughts that were running through his head. You still talked on the phone and texted each other all the time, but there was something so intimate and personal about handwritten love letters that he refused to let them die, forgotten in the past.

Bucky also expressed his love through acts of service, dropping everything he was doing to come to your aid whenever you were in the slightest inconvenience. And he also loved sharing quality time with you, whether it was planning a romantic evening or just staying by your side while the two of you did nothing on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Those were all acts that undoubtedly proved to you that Bucky loved you, so you really didn't mind the lack of physical displays of affection. The love you shared was much purer and more intense than any of your past relationships, so who cared if you weren't holding hands all the time when your chest exploded with love every time you saw him.

You learned very quickly that Bucky Barnes had a different love language than most of the other people you had dated, and you were more than okay with it. You never asked him about it because you honestly didn't think there was a reason behind it. People love in different ways, some are more vocal and physical about it and some are more quiet and reserved, but that doesn't mean they are any more or less valid. All different ways of showing love are valid and you always assumed that Bucky was naturally a person who didn't enjoy excessive physical contact because of the way he sometimes flinched and squirmed when your hands caressed his skin for too long. But your perspective on Bucky's loving ways changed one Sunday afternoon.

You were lying on the couch watching a movie in your apartment. You were comfortably settled on the right end, your arm resting on the armrest and your legs stretched out on the coffee table. You had a pillow in your lap and on it rested Bucky's head, who was lying on his side so he could get a good view of the TV. The sunset light coming through the window illuminated his face in a special way, highlighting every detail you loved about him. The movie faded into the background as you lost yourself in the adorable image of your boyfriend resting on your lap. He looked so peaceful that if it weren't for the soft giggles he let out from time to time you would think he was asleep. It was rare to see him like that, with his features so relaxed, and you loved him.

Bucky's long chestnut hair rested messily on the cushion. A stray strand fell over his face, hiding part of his beautiful features from your eyes. Without realizing what you were doing you reached your hand out to brush it away, tucking the rebellious strand of hair behind his ear so you could admire him better. Bucky closed his eyes for a moment when your fingertips brushed the skin on his temple, but said nothing. So you let your hand wander through his hair a little longer while you lost yourself in his beauty and the love you felt for him. Your fingers stroked his hair gently, your nails lightly scraping his scalp.

Bucky closed his eyes again, only this time he didn't realize he had done so. His body stopped responding to his brain's commands, momentarily losing himself in your gentle touches. He was instantly overwhelmed by the delicate movement of your fingers. It had been so long since he had last been in such an intimate situation that his body did not know how to react. His brain stopped working every time you touched him and this was no exception. When you pulled a strand of his hair with a little more force than usual —accidentally or not, he didn't know—, Bucky let out a pathetic whimper, electricity coursing through his body and awakening a flame inside him that he thought had been extinguished.

But then he came back to his senses. His brain regained control over his body and forced him to jump up and away from you before something went wrong.

"Bucky, I'm sorry I didn't mean to..." you rushed to apologize, fearing you had crossed his boundaries regarding physical contact without realizing it. You should have been more careful, you should have asked him if it didn't bother him before touching him.

It broke Bucky's heart to see the guilt and fear in your eyes, especially knowing that it was all his fault and not yours. You were nothing but loving and patient with him, never pressuring him for anything and creating a safe space where he could relax and let loose without fear. "No, no, it's okay," he tried to reassure you. "It's not you, it's me. I'm the problem, doll."

"No, Bucky, don't say that," you said, moving closer to him. You reached out to touch him, there was nothing you wanted to do more than hold his hand and kiss him until his sad expression changed. But at the last second you realized that wouldn't be a good idea so you dropped it in your lap once more.

"But it's true," he insisted. "You did nothing wrong, it's just that... it's hard for me. I haven't been this close, this intimate, with anyone in a long time and it's kinda overwhelming," he revealed, surprising you. In all this time it never occurred to you that this could be the reason for his problem with physical contact.

"It's okay, Buck. We don't have to do anything if you don't want to. I'm more than fine with the way things are right now between us."

"But that's the thing," he sighed, adjusting his posture so he could look you in the eyes. "I like it when you touch me, when you kiss me and you hold me while we watch a movie. It makes me feel good... it makes me feel loved. But then I get overwhelmed and I- I don't know, I just can't do it," he muttered in frustration, not quite sure how to explain to you that he had spent the last few months of his life trying to train his brain to stop associating physical contact with the horrors he had experienced with Hydra.

"We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with," you spoke in a soft tone. "I'm happy with our relationship the way it is right now. I love you, Bucky, and I would never pressure you into anything."

"I know, doll. You've been nothing but kind and understanding. I just wish I could give you more."

"We can take things slow. There's no need to rush into anything, baby." you said, moving a little closer to him until your leg brushed his. "I can still hold you and kiss you and touch you... you don't have to run from me, Bucky. We can take our time to test your boundaries and get you used to intimacy again, if you want that, of course."

Bucky would be lying if he said your words didn't sound tempting. There was nothing he loved more than feeling your hands on his body, the taste of your lips on his mouth and the warmth of your skin against his. He avoided physical contact not because he didn't like it but because he enjoyed it too much and his brain was not yet ready to process what your touch made him feel. He was easily overwhelmed by your touch, every little brush of your fingers awakened a tingle inside him and a flame deep in his stomach. He would lose the ability to think coherently when you held him and sometimes he could feel tears forming in his eyes when you held his hand as you walked down the street. The idea of someone loving him without fear or regret was something that filled his chest with joy and frightened him in equal proportions. A part of him still had trouble understanding that someone was capable of loving him like that.

"Do you trust me?" you asked as you read the doubt in his eyes. Bucky nodded, shaking his head slightly without a second thought. "I need you to use your words, baby."

"Yes, doll, I trust you" he assured you firmly, putting a warm smile on your lips.

"Can I kiss you?" you murmured, your voice barely a whisper.

"Please," Bucky begged and that was all the confirmation you needed to take his face in your hands and press your lips together.

It was a slow kiss, your lips gently caressing his in an attempt to calm his nerves. You felt him relax under your touch, surrendering to the warm tingle that ran through his body each time you kissed him. He let you guide him, his body responding to your movements without protest. When he felt your tongue caress his lips he parted them, granting you permission to attack his mouth.

Everything became a blur after that. He could feel your lips on his, your hands caressing his skin, the warmth of your body enveloping him completely, but it was too much for his poor brain to process. He was limited to feel, to move and act following his most primitive instincts while the flame inside him only grew.

"Is this okay?" you asked him, pulling away from his lips to speak. Only then did Bucky realize that you were now sitting on his lap, trapping his body between your legs.

"Yes," he managed to say between ragged breaths. But you didn't give him much of a break, attacking his lips once more before trailing your kisses down his jaw to his neck.

Bucky closed his eyes instinctively, losing himself in the tingling that the brush of your lips on his skin awakened inside him. His hands traveled to your hips, his fingers clinging to you as a way to keep himself grounded. It was pathetic, utterly ridiculous, that a man his age would melt at the slightest touch of your lips on his body, but he couldn't help it. It had been so long since he had last experienced such intimacy with someone that it was like it was his first time all over again. And in a way it was. The old innocent and confident Bucky had died that cold day falling off that train and for over 70 years he had been forced to live as something else, an entity with no voice or conscience damned to obey orders. He had been changed by that experience and when he was freed from his chains a completely different man from the one he used to be emerged. A man who had to adapt to a different world than the one he was used to and who had to train his brain to stop responding to old patterns. So in a way it was like being born again, at least that's how he had felt the day the trigger words stopped working on him. And that's how he felt with you sitting on his lap, your lips sucking on his neck while your hands explored his body.

Bucky felt like he was in heaven, flying through the clouds as a euphoric feeling filled his insides. He hadn't really realized how much he missed that kind of intimacy until that moment. He was desperate to feel more of you, reduced to a whimpering, moaning mess every time your lips brushed his soft spots or when your hands disappeared into his hair, delicately tugging at the chestnut strands. He let out the most pathetic whimper as your core made contact with his growing erection, your hips rolling sensually as you gently nibbled the skin of his neck. He tightened his grip on your waist, to stop you or to pull you closer to him, he wasn't sure.

The sounds that escaped his lips were like music to your ears, a sweet melody that coursed through your body and made your core throb. It had not been your intention to rub against him in that way, it was a subconscious act of your body, desperate to find some relief from the pressure that was forming in the pit of your stomach. But now that you had done it and Bucky seemed to respond positively to it, you continued to do it, finding a slow, sensual rhythm that would bring you both to the edge of pleasure.

You two were fully clothed, yet there was something so erotic about what you were doing. To have a man like Bucky, so tall, serious and imposing, turned into a moaning, panting mess beneath you ignited a flame in you, a sensation you had never experienced before. You could feel your wetness staining your underwear as you admired the pleasure in Bucky's expression-his eyes closed, eyebrows slightly furrowed and parted lips letting out an endless stream of whimpers. But there was also something in the way he seemed to be giving himself completely to you that filled your heart with joy. He trusted you for this. He trusted you to take care of him. He trusted the safe environment you had created for him. He knew he could let his guard down when he was with you, allow himself to experience that kind of closeness, that kind of intimacy, without fear of rejection or embarrassment. He loved you and that was the most important thing of all.

"Wait!" Bucky suddenly exclaimed between shaky breaths. He tightened his grip on your hips, but this time it was to stop you before it was too late. "I- I don't think I can..." he trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. He didn't want to disappoint you, but he also didn't want to admit out loud that he's had trouble bringing himself to orgasm. It's not like he didn't want to, he was desperate to feel that sweet relief, but he just couldn't. He tried to pleasure himself several times in the past and generally everything went well until his climax started to approach, then the pleasure became too much. His mind is unable to relax, to let go of the sensations, and it all ended abruptly, leaving him tense and frustrated —even more so than usual.

"It's okay, baby. I'm here for you," you said in a soft, sensual voice, your fingers delicately stroking his hair. "Let me help you." You didn't move until you had confirmation that this was what he wanted, leaving it up to him to decide how to proceed. When he nodded his head slightly you gave him a quick kiss on the lips before continuing your movements.

"That's it, baby. Let go for me," you purred against his ear as Bucky began to move beneath you, thrusting his hips upward to match you.

You quickly found a rhythm that worked for both of you, each little brush of your bodies pushing you ever closer to the edge. Bucky's moans were almost uncontrollable as he held you close to his body, his hands never leaving your hips, pressing you against his bulge. It was too much, the heat coursing through his body, the pressure building in his stomach, the racing of his heart... he felt like he was going to explode. And yet, he didn't want the moment to end. He was desperate for relief, but at the same time he would live forever in that moment if he could. Nothing compared to the feeling of having you so close to him, moaning his name as you held him.

“You like that, baby?” you asked after Bucky let out a particularly loud whine. “You like it when I bite your neck?”

“Yes! Yes, f-fuck… please,” he muttered incoherently. He didn't even know why he was begging, the plea escaping his lips before he could stop himself.

“Does it feel good? Yeah?”

“So good, doll… so fucking good.” Bucky was struggling to respond in coherent sentences, his pleasure-clouded brain too distracted to function properly. “You’re so good to me, doll…so, so g-good. Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t, baby. I won’t." You reassured him between ragged breaths. You increased the pace, seeking your relief as much as his. With one hand you held onto Bucky's shoulder for support while your other hand traveled to his cheek. Your fingers tenderly stroked the soft skin of his face, a delicate action that contrasted with the desperation of the movements of your hips. Bucky accepted the touch gladly, leaning into your hand as he felt the world around him collapse.

"God, you're so pretty like this, all needy and desperate for my touch… my pretty boy." The words left your lips before you realized it. You didn't even know where they had come from, it was the first time you had uttered something like that in such an intimate moment. But it felt natural and Bucky seemed to like it judging by the way his member twitched in his pants. He let out a whimper that sounded almost like a cry and you knew then that he wouldn't last much longer. "Are you close, baby? You gonna cum for me?"

"Yes! Oh god, yes! Please, I'm so close… don't stop… feels so good… please." Bucky was on the verge of tears, the pleasure overwhelming him completely. He felt like he was on fire, his whole body tensing with anticipation. It was too much and yet too little. He wanted to stop, but at the same time he would cry if you took the heat from your center away from him. His brain was fried, pleasure clouding his thoughts completely.

"That's it, baby, cum for me. I wanna feel you coming undone underneath me. I wanna see your pretty face screw up in pleasure when you cum. C'mon baby, let go for me." You encouraged him, lowering your lips to his neck to kiss and nibble on his soft spots. You were close to your orgasm too, your clitoris throbbing desperately and your core clenching around nothing with every thrust of your hips. Your underwear was completely ruined, soaked with the wetness of your arousal. You were pretty sure Bucky could feel it through his thin sweatpants that sported a dark stain where your bodies met, your arousal and Bucky's mingling in the light gray fabric. But even though you were desperate for some relief you were holding back. This was supposed to be about Bucky and you wanted him to cum first.

"Oh f-fuck, I-" he tried to warn you, but his sentence was cut off by the overwhelming force of his orgasm. The knot in his stomach snapped, triggering an electric rush that coursed through his body from head to toe. He pressed your hot center against his erection, holding you in place as rope after rope of cum stained his underwear.

"That's it baby… so good to me, such a good boy," You murmured against his ear as you moved your hips slowly, riding him through his orgasm as you chased yours. He was a mess beneath you, his whole body convulsing from overstimulation. Yet his member was still hard between your legs, throbbing with desperation as if Bucky hadn't just had one of the best orgasms of his life.

"It's… it's too much, f-fuck, I-I can't." Bucky tried to speak, struggling to catch his breath and recover his cognitive abilities. He had never experienced anything similar before. He was still flying high from his first orgasm and could already feel a second forming in the pit of his stomach. He was painfully hard and overstimulated, his cock still dripping cum adding to the sticky mess that was in his boxers. He couldn't stop. He didn't want to stop. He wondered if his current condition had anything to do with the years he had gone without any kind of sexual activity, or if it was simply the effect you had on him. He guessed it was a little of both.

"Are you gonna cum for me again?" you asked him between moans, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten with each brush of your clothed core over his bulge. "Fuck, that's so hot, baby. Cum with me, please. I'm so close, baby. I want to feel you cum with me, please." You begged him, your voice broken with pleasure. You gave him a quick, sloppy kiss, all teeth and tongue as you chased your orgasm. When you broke away you rested your forehead on Bucky's, looking into his eyes as the world around you collapsed, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through your body as your orgasm overwhelmed your senses.

Seeing your face screwed up in pleasure pushed Bucky over the edge again, his second orgasm leaving him completely ruined and unable to move underneath you. His cock throbbed between his legs as he released rope after rope of cum, creating a bigger mess of sticky fluid in his pants. He had never cum so hard or so intensely before, but he'd be lying if he said that wasn't exactly what he needed.

You collapsed onto Bucky's chest, hiding your face in his neck as you both struggled to catch your breath. You stayed in that position for a few minutes, the sound of the movie playing in the background the only thing you could hear in the room besides your accelerated breathing.

"How do you feel?" you mumbled against the skin of his neck, curious to know if the experience had been as wonderful for him as it had been for you.

"Great. I feel great," he replied, struggling to form a coherent sentence. "That was..." he trailed off, unsure of how to describe what he felt.

"I know," you assured him with a chuckle, placing a sweet kiss on the skin of his neck. Bucky smiled, wrapping his arms around your body to draw you closer to him. He used his flesh hand to caress your back, tracing imaginary shapes with his fingers as he enjoyed the way the warmth of your body enveloped him.

"How do you feel?" he wanted to know.

"Awesome," you smiled. " Although I need a shower," you added, moving to get up from your spot. But before you could pull away, Bucky tightened his grip on you, trapping you between his chest and arms.

"Later," he said. "I want to stay like this for a little while longer." You smiled, settling into his arms as you inhaled the scent of his cologne. Bucky really was the man of your dreams and you would forever be grateful to fate for having crossed your path.

“I love you,” you told him as you traced imaginary figures on his chest with your fingers, losing yourself in the warmth of his body.

“I love you too, doll.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #marvel imagines

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megamindsecretlair · 3 months

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Could you do a one shot with mob boss Tyrone?

A/N: My sweet Anon, you asked for one and I present to you seven. Why am I like this?

Blackbird, Part 1: Lust

Pairing: Mob Boss!Fontaine x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Smut, fluff, angst, cursing, PIV, oral (female and male receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, all consensual. Use of n-word and non-inclusive language. Minor OC backstory.

Summary: You are a dancer trying to make it in a world not built for your body type. Fontaine is a gangster trying to rise through the ranks of a prominent gang. Will love truly conquer all?

Word Count: 10,810k

Interested in a Blackbird playlist? I'm not the greatest at curating songs but these remind me of these two. I may add or remove songs at my discretion.

A/N: Listen, I know. I couldn't get this idea out of my head and just kept writing. I'm trying something new here, so any feedback is welcome! Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @planetblaque @dayjlovesromance @sevikasblackgf @melaninpov @amyhennessyhouse @henneseyhoe @justheretostan @black-fairy3 @superhoeva @jarfulloftears @hereformiles @montysstuffs @westside-rot @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @euphoric05 @miyuhpapayuh @nicolexnight @judymfmoody @notapradagurl7 @soft-persephone @justabovewater20 @soapjay @heyauntieeee @theyscreamsannii @eggnox @honeytoffee @thadelightfulone @tranquilfandomer @kindofaintrovert @l-auteuse @browngirldominion @sunkissedebony97 @lovedlover @issahyland @longpause-awkwardsmile @insburner @slippinninque @thecookiebratz @we-outsiiiide @babybratzmaraj @iv0rysoap @misskiki90 @harmshake @sageispunk @ciaqui @ms-angiealsina @satoruya @hopefulromantic1 @itsbackwoodsbby

Moodboard by the sweestes person ever, planetblaque 🥹🥹🥹

You looked at your watch on your delicate wrist. Night chased the afternoon out of the sky, taking over in their delicate push and pull. Night was safer for confessions. For reflection.

The sun’s rays slanted through the blinds and you blinked against the bitter light. “My apologies, would you like me to close them?” Your lawyer, Mr. Gates, asked you.

“Please,” you said. You sighed and adjusted your neat teal dress across your knees. There was nothing to fix, but you supposed you were nervous. After all these years, you thought that you would carry these secrets to the grave. Everything was different now.

Mr. Gates moved to the window and shut the blinds more fully, draping you in the safe comfort of his office. Mr. Gates had been part of the family for years now, a profession he took seriously. It was refreshing to speak to someone who couldn’t be bought. Who would never fold, not even under threat of death.

The office had been cleared especially for you, per your request. People liked to gossip. Busybodies, your grandmother called them. The only sound was the low hum of the AC blowing cool air into the room and Mr. Gates shuffling around.

He finally sat down at his desk, the chair creaking under his weight. He pulled out a small recorder and showed it to you, the exact model you requested. You dipped your chin in acknowledgement. He took out a notebook, new and clean of any writing. You hoped he had enough pens.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked.

You adjusted your dress once more, running your hands along the fine, silken material. You licked your lips and looked back up at him. “I don’t wanna die without marking the occasion first,” you said with a clipped smile.

Each day it drew closer to the date, you got used to the idea of dying. You had a good run. It could have been better. But you weren’t one to be greedy.

Mr. Gates smiled softly, perhaps a little sad. It was nice to know someone would miss you. There would be one person on this earth who’d care if you were gone. That was something.

Mr. Gates wrote down something on his notepad and pressed a button on the recorder. He cleared his throat and introduced himself, the date, and the time. He asked you to state your name for the record.

“...of sound mind and body do declare this to be read as my last will and testament.”

“Goddammit!” You yelled. Your fists thumped against the rough wood of the door as it finished slamming into your face. The asshole on the other side was just as faceless as the long stream of dance companies that tossed you out on your ass. There were plenty more, sure, but this one had been reputable. Fair.

They took one look at your raggedy dance clothes, worn from too many times around the washer. At your hair, styled high above your head in braids they didn’t understand but were obsessed with. You didn’t have the time or the money to go to a salon. Just once, you’d like someone else to bother with your thick hair and its maintenance. You couldn’t be bothered.

You’d shave it all off but you didn’t want to deal with the mean and hurtful comments about you looking like a boy. Your knuckles were just getting over being bruised and tender from the last mu’fucka that tried to talk out the side of their neck.

“Asshole!” You screamed. It was open auditions. Open. Auditions. That meant that anyone could come in and try their hand. You had killed the routine. You only needed to watch something once to get it down. To feel it move through your body like a live wire and your muscles respond. To mimic it to near perfection and add your spin on it. Nothing fancy, just an extra oomph that these companies seemed to lack.

You had waited to the side with the other girls, all wispy, wafer thin girls who took one look at your curves and deemed you less than. A joke. That you couldn’t possibly move your body like they could.

One had the audacity to allude to that, calling it doing you a favor. Next thing you knew, your fist was flying and she was crying foul, blood running down her aristocratic nose. You just gave her a little more character, honest.

You cursed under your breath and moved away from the building. To hell with them. You shifted your dance bag over your shoulder and walked backwards. The marquee above the door announced an upcoming performance. Below it, there was the name of the headliner, Gabriella Greywood.

One day, and one day soon, your name would be up there. In bright lights. And no amount of racist, fatphobic fucks were going to stop you.

You turned and headed down the street, running head first into a person, solidly built by the feel of them.

“My bad, sweetheart,” a deep, rumbling voice greeted you.

Your mouth was already fixing to give him hell for not watching where he was going and that you were nobody’s “sweetheart”. The words dried on your tongue as you looked up into a deep set of brown eyes that crinkled a bit in the corner when he smiled.

He had a low fade and short beard, shaved close to his strong jaw. Pretty, long eyelashes that fanned across his cheeks whenever he blinked. He smirked, checking you out while you ogled him.

“S’okay,” you said, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. He took in your tights and oversized gray sweatshirt.

“You heading inside?” He asked.

“Away from it. Those fucks wouldn’t know talent if it bit them in the ass,” you said.

The man chuckled and nodded, like he liked your honesty. Your words. “Fuck ‘em,” he said, gifting you with another smirk. You wondered what he’d look like when he really smiled. When he let it take up his whole face.

Too bad you didn’t have time for men. You may be behind most of your friends in that department. Their heads were full of getting married and popping out babies while they were still young. Like they were checking off boxes handed down to them through the generations. Grow up, learn just enough, get married, pop out babies, and then your real life starts once they are grown up with babies of their own. Fuuuck that.

“Where you headed then?” He asked. A noise to his left made you look up and see an entire other man standing next to him. He was a bit taller, broader around the shoulders, with a narrow face and a mischievous look in his eye.

“Home, I guess. Until I find the next studio giving out auditions,” you said. Your attention was solely fixated on the man in front of you. His friend grinned and moved away, lighting up a joint. He put a foot on top of a fire hydrant and pretended to ignore you both.

“Let me give you a ride,” he said. You couldn’t stop staring at his face. He was magnetic. Like he commanded attention whether you wanted to give it or not.

You giggled, stomach doing tiny flips. “I don’t know you,” you said, giving him a hint of the attitude you’re famous for. None of this, giggly, braid around your finger nonsense.

“Get to know me. Let me take you to Scarlet Lounge,” he said. His voice was smooth. Too smooth.

You crossed your arms and tilted your head. “That’s a gangster bar,” you said.

“What you got against gangstas?” He asked.

“They’re mean, amoral, kill for no reason, run drugs, and turn out little girls. They’re nothing but bad news,” you said.

“Damn, amoral. That’s a big one,” he said. He chuckled and licked his lips, calling attention to his mouth once more. Your body heated instantly, wanting to know what they taste like. What they feel like on your skin. What his hands would feel like on your skin.

“Not all gangstas are the same. Maybe some just wanna get over in a life hellbent on kicking them in the teeth,” he said. He put his hands in his pockets and you finally noticed what he was wearing. Simple jeans and a black hoodie, faded from too many washes like your clothes. You felt a sudden kinship with him, an understanding passed between you in being in similar situations. Just two mu’fuckas trying to make it.

“Are you saying you’re a gangsta?” You asked.

“If I say yes, you gon’ hold it against me?” Oh, he was dangerous. Absolutely dangerous.

You had gone on entire tirades about the level of crime in LA. It was insidious. The dangerous, hopeless underbelly that all kids from the hood grew up with was like a giant dome that prevented anyone from truly getting out. Truly making something of yourself. You either joined a gang, married into a gang, or rode the struggle bus ‘till God called you home.

You could leave. You could find some area where the people would treat you like a freak or like you didn’t belong but you would be safe. None of them would look like you. Or understand you. Change had to start in the hood. There had to be hope some-fucking-where.

“Probably,” you said.

He smirked and shook his head. “Cold game. What’s your name, sweetheart?” He asked.

You should walk away. There was no way you could entertain someone like him. No way. Your feet felt rooted to the spot, unwilling to walk away from him or this moment. The more you looked at him, the more you felt connected to him. That each minute you spent in his presence, you felt tiny stitches being woven in between you.

“I’ll tell you what gangsta boy. We bump into each other again and I’ll tell you my name,” you said. You turned on the balls of your feet, walking backwards away from him.

“You gon’ do me like that? Forreal?” He asked. The corner of his gorgeous mouth lifted higher. It was almost worth staying to see if you could get a real smile out of him.

“Byeee,” you sang. You giggled, heading towards the train station. You turned around and gave your hips a little extra swish.

“I’m Fontaine!” He called after you. It took all of your strength not to turn back around. You waved your fingers high in the air but kept walking. You didn’t really think you’d bump into him again. You couldn’t afford the distraction even if you did. You’d head back home to your shitty apartment that you shared with your best friend and regroup.

You needed to keep your eyes on the prize. You had a future to secure. And it did not involve pretty corner boys who talked smooth.

You finished doing your makeup in the vanity, touching up the bright red lipstick one more time and checked over your outfit. Muted music and cheers reached you into the backroom, from the set before yours.

Other dancers were touching up their outfits as well, skimpy little things that barely qualified as a costume. The leotards were black with thin stripes, sparkly silver edges that dug into your groin and under your arms. The designer, an evil little bitch with too much hair and a permanent sour expression, thought she was so damn important. Half the time, it was clear that she thought she was too good to design clothes en masse for a dance club.

You wore fishnet stockings like the others, black leather heeled boots, and a tiny black hat in your hair. You had sparkly glitter dusted across your cheeks so that your eyes would pop. Not that anyone would see you. You were relegated to the back in every single fucking number.

Everyone here had the same dream as you. It just came down to who was hungrier. Who was going to stick it out. You had been dancing your whole life and you’d be damned to let some wide-eyed, bushy tail ho from Minnesota steal your dream. You’d put in the work, you’d put in your dues, and soon, you’d be headlining your own show. Working with top directors and choreographers. Maybe even get into dancing on TV.

“One minute!” One of the stagehands called into the room. Kimmy approached you and looked at you in the mirror.

“Another day?” She asked.

“Another dollar,” you said back.

You both grinned and stood up, heading out of the dressing room and into the chaos backstage. Stagehands moved in a dance all their own, carefully moving around each other with headsets squawking with directions you couldn’t hear. Coordinating the lights and music, curtains, and set decorations.

The previous music was coming to a close, ending on a loud roaring beat that you felt down to your toes. Adrenaline thumped through you. Despite whatever else you went through, this made sense. This was the time that your mind finally shut up. That your focus on your dreams drifted to the back and all you had to do was feel the music. The euphoria that came with losing all sense of identity while dancing.

You stood on the stairs on the left side of the stage, too far away to see the current set; you’d seen the performance so many times you had it memorized. The group before you had done a circus themed dance, full of contortionists, flips, and tumbles. The performers worked hard to make it look so seamless, you were in awe every time.

They were due to exit on the right, to not interrupt your group. Their song ended, the curtains closing and claps echoing throughout the club. You were shuffled on stage, getting into position in the far back. Haters. Whatever.

Stagehands used pulleys to change the scenery behind you, to an alleyway facade. There was a fake brick wall beside you getting rolled in. The announcer, the sleazeball Rusty, was on stage and getting everyone pumped up.

You looked at Kimmy and made a face and she giggled, waving you off. The music for your number started to play, a slow and sexy jam. You were supposed to be a lady mafia, punishing men in a cold dark alley.

Once the curtains were open and the spotlight hit you in the face, you were gone. There was only the part you played, filling in the background while the lead dazzled the audience. You told yourself not to care, but deep down you did. It was disheartening to know that in your heart of hearts, you were more talented. You were a better dancer. You just refused to suck Rusty’s dick to get to the top.

So you focused on the music, on the dance, and executed it flawlessly. You were in the back now, but you weren’t going to stay there. You didn’t see the audience, you didn’t see the idiots at the bar, and you didn’t see any of the VIPs in the back, scoping out the dancers to see which ones they wanted to bring to the private backrooms for a “dance”.

You didn’t play that shit. You were too spiteful, too hateful, too outspoken. And you’d continue to do so. You had to take a pay cut to not be involved with that shit. It was illegal and unfair, but it beat spreading your legs for dirty cops and gangstas.

As you danced, your mind was partially split between what you were doing and the man you met the other day. Fontaine. You couldn’t stop saying his name. It rolled so well off of the tongue. Fontaaaine.

You nearly missed a step and mentally slapped yourself. You focused on the dance, lots of gyrating and popping your hips. Lots of slow glides down to the floor and rolling your back. Invisible prop assistants threw you all fake uzis and you ended the dance facing away from the crowd. You jerked your hand to pretend like you were shooting a gun into the alleyway while a group of male dancers pretended to die.

The crowd cheered behind you but your mind was already beating yourself up. Already going over what you could have done better. It’d help if your performances were recorded but for the “privacy of its patrons”, Rusty wouldn’t let anyone record inside. Phones had to be off or silent and there were plenty of bouncers willing to break expensive phones to ensure everyone’s “safety”.

Among the last to leave the stage, you turned to walk back to the dressing room. It didn’t feel like thirty minutes went by. You were sweating buckets though. Fat little droplets soaking your leotard and dripping from your temples.

“Aye!” You turned to the sound. “Over here!”

You knew better than to follow some strange sound around backstage, but the voice sounded familiar. Like warm caramel. You looked towards the front, where a bouncer stood to ensure that no one slipped past the curtain.

“Over here!” You walked towards the darkened back, following the sound. There stood Fontaine, standing behind a storage door. He smirked when he saw you.

“What are you doing back here?” You rushed over to him, pushing him into the storage room. You looked for people behind you. This area was where dancers left so it was hardly used for anything else. There were old decorations here, forgotten sets that needed to be stripped and repainted.

Fontaine’s callused hands pulled you into the storage room. Somehow, he found the lone lamp that worked and the soft light filled the room. It was junky. Full of chairs, tables, tablecloths. The overflow supplies.

“You said if we bumped into each other again, you’d tell me your name,” he said.

“This isn’t bumping into each other,” you pointed out. Your hands were still around his arms and his hands had relocated your hips.

“Sheeit, this is better,” he said.

You shook your head. “What are you doing here, gangsta boy?” You asked.

“Tell me your name first,” he said. He cocked his head to the side, letting you get a glimpse of his dark eyes.

A deal was a deal, you guessed. You told him your name and he rolled it around his tongue like cotton candy. “I like that, suits you,” he said.

“Your turn,” you said.

“Scarlets run this place, you ain’t know?” He asked.

“You work for Porter Sommer?” You asked. Porter Sommer was a ruthless drug kingpin that ran all of South Central. There wasn’t shit that went down in the hood that he didn’t have a fat little finger in. You’d only seen him once and it was enough to turn your stomach. He had dead eyes like a shark.

“He ain’t all that, I swear,” Fontaine said, shaking his head. “He the only nigga that give back ‘round here.”

“Give back? He got kids doing drugs in the parking lot before their parents pick them up. He shake niggas down for every last nickel they got,” you said.

“That ain’t us. That’s that bitch Shayne,” Fontaine said. He shook his head. “I ain’t come here for all that. I saw you on stage and I had to tell you that you were amazing.”

Now that you knew who he worked for, you weren’t sure if you wanted to continue dealing with him. You hadn’t given much thought to which side of the street he fell on. The Crips and the Bloods thought they were the top bosses in LA, aggressively defending square blocks they didn't own.

Porter Sommer and Shayne Blandford were the real OGs. They actually bought up the houses and stores on the blocks, doing their hardest to outbid each other at every opportunity. They both preyed on the weak and didn’t care who got caught in their crossfires.

Fontaine looked at you with such admiration though. Like he saw you. Like you weren’t just another dancer on stage. That he saw you with the same lights shining on you that you pictured in your head.

You stepped away from him to try to get some clarity. Obviously, touching him and getting that close to him was addling your brain. You were seriously thinking about entertaining a bad boy. One of the worst.

“What do you do for Porter then?” You asked. You crossed your arms.

Fontaine sighed and leaned back against an old desk. It wobbled under his weight and he looked down at it but then turned his attention back to you. “Do it matter? You gon’ judge me for it anyway,” he said.

“I’m not judging that you’re a corner boy. I’m judging that you work for Porter. That man is…scary,” you said.

“He a’ight,” Fontaine said with a shrug. “And I ain’t no corner boy no mo. Ya boy moved up and shit,” he said. He smirked and you could see him puffing his chest out. You giggled. He looked so proud of that fact.

You wanted to keep up your defenses against him. You wanted to walk out of the room and tell him to get lost. You could not get your head turned out by a gangsta. You didn’t have the heart for that kind of life. Why did you have to meet someone like him and he was bad news?

“Moved up how?” You asked.

“Protection services,” he said and waggled his eyebrows. You rolled your eyes playfully and couldn’t fight the grin that ran across your face. Whether he was outside or in this dingy ass room, he carried the same level of magnetism. Charisma.

“I cannot with you,” you said.

Fontaine stood up and slowly walked over to you. He had a mean ass lean to it that caused your stomach to flip in response. He was the total package, both in looks and wit. But, but, but.

He stood before you and clasped his hands behind his back. “I feel something. And I know you feel something too. I’d like to get to know you, sweetheart. Let me change your mind about gangstas,” he said.

“I don’t pay attention to words, gangsta boy. Your world is dangerous,” you said.

“You watch too many movies. Real gangstas talk and shit,” he said. He smirked and swayed from side to side. He was hypnotic. You swayed with him like he casted a spell on your body. Each word he spoke wove magic through your veins.

“Oh, really? Bunch of backroom deals and offers people can’t refuse?” You asked. You began to back towards the door. The only way to survive Fontaine was to escape. To remove yourself from the situation. With his voice and the way he spun words, he’d be liable to talk you right off of the City Hall building.

“Let me find out you like gangsta movies and you just giving me a hard time,” he said. He looked at you and slowly began to approach you. You had nowhere left to go. Your back was against the door.

“Maybe I just like giving you a hard time,” you said. You moved your hand behind you until your hand touched the cool metal of the doorknob. Fontaine’s mouth twitched but it wasn’t a smile. Dammit, you wanted to see him smile.

His minty breath fanned across your face as he leaned closer. You bit your lip. “I’on know if you heard me, but I’m in the protection game now. You don’t have to worry about anything ever again, I’m gon’ give you the world,” he said.

You smiled, letting his words fill up your head like fresh, doughy clouds after a storm. Plenty of people talked a good game. There was a long line of disappointing men who talked and talked but never backed it up. Starting with your daddy. Fontaine’s voice had the deep rumble of conviction behind it. He meant every single word. And you had no doubt that he could back it up.

But, but, but.

“I can’t be bought, Fontaine. I never asked for the world,” you said.

“I know. I’m gon’ give it to you anyway. With a matching moon,” he said.

You dropped your eyes from his intense gaze. The light didn’t quite reach this far, so you two practically stood in shadow. He blended into the shadow. Welcomed it. Like he lived and breathed in it.

“I’m a man of action. And I’ll prove it.” He dropped his head and kissed you. Electricity zapped your lips. His kiss was languid. Slow. Tongue already working its way inside your mouth like it owned it. Your hands came around his neck to pull him closer.

The kiss was intense, disconcerting. He knew exactly what to do too, alternating kisses and little nibbles. Your wet lips smacked against his and your pussy throbbed. He pushed you into the door, hands gripping onto your hips like he was holding on for dear life.

If he was magnetic before, it paled in comparison to touching him. Feeling him. You felt him everywhere. Each kiss sucked you further down into the shadows with him and you never wanted to taste the light again.

You paused here and took a deep breath. Mr. Gates cleared his throat and paused the recorder. “Do you want to skip this part?” He asked.

So kind. Mr. Gates was always so kind. He was a rare breed compared to all the men in your life. Especially when compared to Fontaine. However, Fontaine had no equal. There was no one who came close.

That first kiss ought to have been where you drew the line. You knew better than to sit in storage rooms with strange men and let them kiss you. Let them feel on your booty. Just remembering it, brought heat to your cheeks and to your core. You felt the ghost of Fontaine’s hands on your legs, on your hips. That playful smirk tickling your neck.

You shook your head. “I just need a minute. I-I need him to know that it was always real for me. That I went into it with both eyes open,” you said.

Mr. Gates nodded and got up, leaving his office for a moment. Your mind wandered, thinking back to those early days. From bumping into Fontaine to everything that followed after. Like the Hand of God tripped you over Fontaine’s feet so that you would meet. Would know. So that you would know each other and know what it was like to love with your entire body.

Moments later, you collected yourself. Mr. Gates seemed to know exactly when. He came back into the office without any prodding from you. You smiled at his kind, grandfatherly face. He had white hair sticking out the sides of his head. You bet he was a player when he was younger.

“Would you like to continue?” He asked.

You took a deep breath. “Yes, where was I? Um…so, Fontaine did exactly that. He proved with more than his words that we had something songs got written about…”

Fontaine attended every performance every night you worked. You were still in the background and he looked at you as if the spotlight was on you. He didn’t help your ego at all.

After every night, he’d somehow sneak backstage with a single red rose to tell you that you were the best dancer up there. He stole kisses after each one too. At this point, you didn’t know why you were still resisting him. You weren’t some prude waiting for a man to drop to one knee; you didn’t believe in that shit.

There was something a little hot about making him sweat it out. Something a little erotic about heavy petting and making out and living in the moment spent with your lips colliding and tongues exploring. With his hands around your ass and your hand rubbing him over his jeans.

You hadn’t had many occasions to lust after someone. Sometimes guys made you crane your neck, but you had a single minded focus that saw you through your shitty childhood, through your awkward teenage years, through screaming matches, and slammed doors. You got what you needed from guys, the only things they were really good for, and you left them high and dry. You left them while spit flew from their mouths as they called you bitches, hos, and anything else their little brains could think of.

Funny how once you treated boys how they treated you, you were suddenly the devil incarnate.

But you lusted. Every dip of Fontaine’s hips made your body respond in kind. Like he had a direct line to your pussy and constantly tugged on it to drive you crazy. He knew the effect he had on you too.

He always made sure to blow you a kiss while you were on stage. When he smirked, he liked to look at you out of the corner of his eyes. He made sure to grab your ass while making out, squeezing them like trying to get juice from a lemon. Oh and when he got to rubbing his stubble along your neck, your eyes would roll back and he’d tell you to quit being so cute before he dicked you down.

Fontaine made you hot and bothered. In more ways than one. As much as you were interested in him, you still hated what he had to do to survive. You understood the game, but it didn’t mean you had to love it.

When you weren’t on stage and you were taking your break, waiting for the next set, you would sneak out to the front of the house so that you could see the performances, see what worked and what didn’t. Sometimes you’d grab a drink and wait for Fontaine to sneak away to kiss you.

And sometimes you’d see him heading to the private rooms, escorting your fellow dancers and whichever powerful men wanted to use them for the night. Rusty was always there with a grin on his face and dollar signs in his eyes. It was disgusting.

Rusty never touched anyone but your best friend Kimmy. He took one look at her and fell ass over teakettle for your sweet friend who had a kid to look after. On top of paying her a little more, Rusty rented an apartment for Kimmy and her kid. She didn’t think anything of the little bargain. One man was better than a revolving door.

Sometimes anger boiled in your veins at the mere thought. You wanted to burn this place to the ground. It was true that you chose to come here, night after night. However, dancing was the only thing that kept the anger at bay. Well, that wasn’t entirely true anymore.

As Fontaine walked around the tables on his way to you, you found unexpectedly that his presence tamed the wildness of your anger. It wasn’t completely gone. The slightest thing would set you off. Until you bubbled over like a volcanic eruption, burning everything and everyone in your path. You weren’t like that with Fontaine. You didn’t want to be like that with Fontaine. And all it took was a few dozen roses and sweet stolen kisses.

“Hey sweetheart,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting. He was starting to grow his hair out. Since he moved to protection, he started dressing a little fancier. Dickies instead of jeans, plain T-shirts instead of whatever graphic tee caught his fancy.

Fontaine dressed all in black did things to your libido that wasn’t fit for mixed company. The short sleeved black tee seemed like he bought a size down on purpose, to emphasize his muscles.

“Hey you,” you said.

“Isaac was telling me about the Fair. We should go,” he said.

“The Fair? What we gonna do there?” You asked.

“I’on know. Fair shit,” he said, that damn smirk. You were going to get him to smile if it was going to be the last thing you did on this earth.

“You gon’ win me a teddy bear?” The question popped out before you could think about it and snatch it right back. You wished you could swallow the words, unring the bell, and ask him something different. Something that wasn’t a little too close to home. You always wanted someone to win you a teddy bear from one of those Fair games, carry it around for you.

But that shit was for other, softer girls and men who actually gave a damn. For TV movies and shows with people who didn’t look like you.

“I’m gon’ win the biggest one. So Friday night?” He asked.

“Friday night,” you agreed, little butterflies taking flight in your stomach.

“It’s a date sweetheart,” he said. He kissed your cheek and you watched his generous backside as he went back to the backrooms, making sure your friends were safe. As much as they could be.

When he approached the door, Issac came out of it looking self satisfied. The corner of your mouth lifted in a grimace. Isaac was attractive but something was throwing you off about him. Whether it was his vibe or the oily way he looked at everybody, Fontaine included, you made a mental note to get the full story behind them.

It was obvious that they were close and did next to everything together. Issac said something to Fontaine who shook his head but bumped fists with Isaac. It’d have to be none of your business for now.

Friday night rolled around and Fontaine was punctual in his champagne colored 90s Cadillac. You didn’t know much about cars, but you knew enough to appreciate the craftsmanship and that Fontaine lovingly took care of it.

It was shined to gleaming, silver chrome glinting from the streetlamps. Night was fast approaching and you had a long drive to Pomona, to the Fairgrounds. It was the first time in his car and you had to admit, you were a little nervous.

Fontaine got out of the car and you had to whistle at him. He wore black jeans, black boots, and a red flannel buttoned up. The top two buttons were out, giving you a peek of a black tank underneath. He wore his signature jacket, the same one he wore when you met. You had half a mind to say fuck the Fair and invite him inside.

“I know where yo nasty ass mind is at,” he said as he came around to the street to greet you with a kiss on your cheek. He handed you a single red rose.

“What you talkin’ ‘bout?” You asked.

“I know I look good,” he said. He smirked and stepped out, showing you his outfit. He dusted invisible lint from the front of his shirt and you laughed.

“You really do look good,” you said.

“But you look good enough to lick on,” he said. He bit his lip and eyed your outfit, a spaghetti strap dress with a modestly low neckline and blue and red ombre colors. It started out royal blue at the top until it began to lighten around the hips, turning into a jam red at the bottom.

“And you call me nasty,” you said. You tapped his shoulder and his cheeks puffed up. You half thought you were going to get a smile but he stopped himself at the last minute.

“Just telling the truth. Matter of fact, you look too damn good. I’on wanna spend the night catching bodies behind yo cute ass,” he said.

“Shut up!” You giggled. Fontaine said the cutest shit sometimes. Threatening murder behind you was not sexy, but when it dropped from his lips it was. It was a type of possession you didn’t think you craved, but you did. You wanted to belong to him in every sense of the word.

Fontaine escorted you into the street and opened the door for you. You slid inside his car, smoothing your dress over the leather seats. It smelled clean, like some type of mountain scent laced with the particular smell of weed. Fontaine closed the door and walked around the front, climbing in himself.

Low, thumping hip hop music was on in his car and you looked at him. This was different. He was different. And you only wanted to see where the night took you.

As Fontaine got onto the 10 freeway, he got comfortable and leaned back in his seat. The seat was further back still and you got the sense that it stayed a little too far back on purpose. He kept his left hand on the wheel and dropped his other hand to your knee.

You looked at it and it felt right. His hand was warm across your knee and you sunk into the seat, placing your hand over his. The corner of his mouth lifted as you began to speak and get to know each other beyond just his kisses.

“How long you think you gon’ be a gangsta?” You asked.

“Damn girl. Not even gon’ ask me what my favorite color is?” He asked. The red lights from the cars in front of you lit up his face and you found that red suited him well. The starkness of the color played across his features in a way that made him seem timeless.

“I already know what yo favorite color is,” you said.

“What?” He asked. He rubbed this thumb across your knee and you lost the ability to think for a minute.

Everybody Loves the Sunshine played on his stereo and you shook your thoughts loose finally. “It’s purple,” you said.

Fontaine chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, you been paying attention to a nigga, huh?” He asked.

“Whatever, Fontaine,” you said.

“Love it when you say my name. You draw it out and shit,” he said.

“I do not! Just answer my question!”

Fontaine was silent for a moment, weaving in and out of crazy LA traffic. Every year it got worse and worse. To the point that you almost didn’t want to leave the house most days. It was why you started taking the train more. It sucked, but it beat dealing with the mu’fuckas that continued to flock here chasing their paper dreams.

“I’on know how to do anything else. That 9-5 ain’t me,” he finally said, his voice smooth and low. “I need to know if that’s ever going to be a problem. If you can ever accept that this is the life I’m in.”

He slanted his eyes towards you. This was the most serious you’d ever seen him. And Fontaine was a pretty serious person more often than not. He got this look in his eyes, like he saw the world burning before him and didn’t want to bother grabbing a bucket of water to help. Like he liked it.

“I won’t promise to never speak on it. I’m…scared to lose you,” you said. You were surprised it was true. You made him sweat for a month, turning down his date ideas just to see what he would do. Testing him, you supposed. If he was in it for you or for what you had between your legs. Usually you could tell the difference with perfect accuracy.

When it came to Fontaine, nothing was certain. And you didn’t know if that scared you to the point of attraction, or turned you on to the point of fear.

Fontaine squeezed your knee. “You don’t gotta worry about that, sweetheart. It’s me and you,” he said.

Me and you. Those three little words planted themselves inside you, taking root and growing vines around your bones. Sprouting leaves in your lungs and stretched towards your brain, filling it with the oxygen you needed to breathe. Three little words. The wonder of it brought unexpected tears to your eyes.

You grinned at Fontaine. For the rest of the car ride, you got to know more about him. More about his little brother who was killed and why he joined the Scarlets. Why he took up a gun and was never putting it down again.

It made more sense in context. The circumstances were always fucked in the hood. And the tender heart you tried so hard to guard against all evil only broke more for Fontaine. He told you about how his mother retreated into herself. Only got herself together long enough to fake the funk at work and then disappeared into her room.

With mounting bills and not wanting to live off anyone, Fontaine did what any other Black male did in his situation. He grew up.

You told him about your toxic childhood. How your parents alternated between fighting and fucking. That when your dad was lost to the drink, he’d look at you like you were a stranger. And when he sobered up, he looked at you like you were a princess atop a castle. You never knew which side you were going to wake up to.

You told him about your mother and how she always seemed to be jealous of you. Like there was some aspect about how she raised you that she didn’t like. That it was your fault for taking her instruction to heart and not giving a fuck about what anyone said. You wanted something, you went after it.

There was no love in your house so you got out when you were 17 and never looked back. Fuck them. You didn’t want to stay in that house anyway.

Reaching the Fairgrounds, you and Fontaine turned to lighter subjects. How or why you got into dancing. Your favorite dancer was Debbie Allen. You wanted to be her so badly that you studied every move she ever made. That you went for ballet because that was where she started.

She was able to get into TV but that wasn’t really where you wanted to be. Maybe when you got older and your knees started to rebel. For right now, you just wanted to dance. To be free.

You held hands with Fontaine, talking and laughing while you pulled each other around the Fairgrounds. You’d only been once, when you were younger, and hadn’t bothered since then.

There were rides and the sizzling smells of meat that made your mouth water. Desserts, weird food combinations like a Krispy Kreme donut burger, and the sounds of children’s laughter. The ground was littered with wrappers, coupons, and papers.

Fontaine paid for your play cards, dropping a wad of money that made your eyes bug out. He kissed your cheek and told you to go nuts. Anything you wanted to do or try. There was no limit. You told him that he was crazy.

“The world and the moon to match, sweetheart,” he whispered against your lips. You grinned and dragged him everywhere. On the ferris wheel, on the spinning ride, and on the zero gravity one until your stomach hurt so badly that you had to sit down. Your head spun painfully and Fontaine rubbed your hand while you giggled about it.

You went into the funhouse with its crazy mirrors. Fontaine only had one request, that you go on the haunted ride with him. You were determined to stay far away from it. You hated the feeling of being scared. He peppered your cheeks with kisses until you relented and got on with him.

You suspected that was his plan all along. To have you clutch onto him for dear life. He chuckled at your theatrics but didn’t make you feel bad.

“Come on, girl, I got you,” he said. He kissed your cheek and pulled you into the safe embrace of his arms. You giggled. You was gon’ have his babies if he kept doing cute shit like this.

After that ride, you settled on Pink’s for dinner. The smoke from the truck was whipped into the sky by a bitter breeze. You should have brought a jacket. You forgot how fucking cold it got at night out here.

Without saying a word, Fontaine made you wear his jacket. You attempted to tell him that it was okay, if nothing else yo mama ain’t raise no bitch, but he refused to take it back. “I’m hot anyway,” he said.

You grinned, looking up at him. He winked at you and ordered you food. You ate and laughed and talked about nothing in particular. Shit you found on TV. Movies you happened across. Books you’ve read. Music you listened to.

You yawned and leaned your head against him after another round of rides and dessert. A huge funnel cake topped with ice cream and chocolate drizzle. Fontaine had to help you finish it in the end.

“You gon’ have to roll me out of here after all this,” you said, licking your spoon for every wayward swipe of chocolate and smacking your lips with a loud pop. When Fontaine didn’t say anything, you turned towards him. His gaze was fixed on your mouth.

“Fontaine?” You asked.

He gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, bringing you closer. He licked the corner of your mouth and you moaned, feeling his hot tongue on your cold face. He hummed in the back of his throat.

“Delicious,” he said.

He pulled back with a smirk, rubbed your chin, and pulled back. Your whole body heated. Cascading down your body in waves. You rubbed your thighs together, wetness starting to pool in your panties.

“We got a little more to spend before we dip. Let’s get you that teddy bear,” he said.

“I was just joking about that,” you said. You gulped around the tension. So thick, it stuck in your throat.

“I wasn’t,” he said. He stood up from the bench and held out his hand. You took it, hand fitting his like a glove. He threw out the plate you finished up and tucked you into his side while he walked.

In the middle of the grounds, there was a row of carnival games like ring toss and popping balloons. There was also a basketball hoop. Fontaine made a beeline for it, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel. A staff member scanned the play card and loaded up the basketballs for Fontaine.

He tested the balls and soon, started sinking ball after ball. Your mouth dropped open. He could’ve been a basketball player with that lethal game! The staff member told you to pick out a small teddy bear. Fontaine stopped you.

“One game is a small teddy bear, but three mediums is a big one right?” Fontaine asked.

The staff member, some pimply kid, popped his gum and nodded. Fontaine loaded up more games, winning each and every one until you had three medium ones and exchanged it for a giant fuzzy teddy bear. It was so big! You squealed when the staff member handed it to Fontaine. He chuckled at your reaction.

You squeezed one of the arms and couldn’t help jumping up and down. You were happy to take the small teddy bear. But the fact that he kept going made your heart soar. “Worth it just to see your face,” he said. You kissed his cheek a hundred times and he finally smiled.

It felt like your world narrowed to that expression on his face. Watching his whole face light up and eyes crinkle. He had a wide smile that took up his whole face. His smile was infectious but you were too dumbstruck to smile back.

“Come on,” you said. You grabbed his hand and pulled him forward.

“Where we going?” He asked.

“I wanna remember tonight. And you better smile!” He chuckled while you pulled him to the nearest photobooth. You probably should have done this before winning the bear, but fuck it. Tonight had been nothing short of perfect and you wanted to capture this moment the best way you could think of. Like those shows and movies did. With something real. Not just something captured on your phone.

You wanted it in your hands. You wanted to slide it into a binder so that you could look at it over and over while in class. Daydream about him in between lockers and free time. Glance at him from across the way on the courtyard. Dance with him at Homecoming. He made you feel young, like you were back in high school with your first crush. Fontaine was everything. Absolutely everything.

The teddy did fit, and you scooted in first. Fontaine chuckled and sat down next to you. He swiped the card and it began to give you instructions. Fontaine was serious the first go around, mean mugging the camera.

“Forreal this time!” You giggled.

Fontaine sighed and rubbed his head. “A’ight, a’ight,” he said. He loaded it up once more. He kissed you in the first picture. Then you did a few silly ones. He tickled you for one of them. On the last one, you couldn’t think of what to do next. So you just looked at him. He looked at you. The camera flashed and you saw it reflected in his beautiful eyes.

You continued staring at each other until the booth buzzed, wanting to know how many copies you wanted. You printed two and finally scooted out. Fontaine scooped up the two cards and you placed your head on his shoulder to look at them.

“Thank you, Fontaine. For everything,” you said. He just…he had no fucking clue what tonight meant to you.

“The world and the moon to match, sweetheart. You ain’t gotta thank me for this,” he said.

“Yes, I do. And I know just how to thank you,” you said. Your voice turned a little flirty and you lifted your head to look at him. He looked down at you and smirked.

“Is that right?” He asked, licking his lips.

“Yup. We better get back to my place before my roommate gets home,” you said.

Fontaine took your hand and tugged you towards the entrance. You giggled the entire way, feeling giddy and light in a way you hadn’t in a really long time. Fontaine gave you that. Gave you that freeing feeling back. You thought you’d lost it when you accepted that your parents didn’t know how to love you.

His Cadiallac sped down the open freeway, too late for the out of town mu’fuckas to fuck it up for everyone else. The windows were down and the wind rushed through the car with wild abandon. He drove safely, but fast towards your place, hand on your knee the whole way.

The tension was back with a vengeance. Like you were both standing on top of a cliff somewhere ready to dive off. Heat pooled along with your arousal between your thighs and you couldn’t stop clenching them.

Lust. Lust was a powerful thing. Detonating bombs in your core until you were practically drunk on them. Looking forward to them. Until there was only the dirty thoughts running through your mind and the feel of his callused hand on your knee.

Fontaine managed to find a spot on your street. You were on the wrong side of Stocker, where you had to get to the spot faster than your neighbor. Fontaine got out first and then opened the door for you. He even grabbed the teddy for you so he didn’t have to come back outside for it.

You pulled him into your crappy apartment that you shared with Kimmy. Considering Rusty was paying for it, it could have been worse. You still owed rent to him and had to clear out when he wanted to ditch his wife and come mess with Kimmy. She was out with her son and likely wouldn’t be back until sometime Sunday. You didn’t tell Fontaine this. You didn’t want him to think that you were plotting on him.

But you were. You weren’t sure if he was the type to stay after sex, or once he got off, he was already looking for his pants. You wouldn’t really bring him upstairs if it was the latter. You got the feeling that he was a little clingy under that hard facade.

You only turned on enough light to get across the living room and into your room. You turned on the lamp. Both of you were breathing heavily. Bodies preparing to experience an unparalleled pleasure.

Fontaine gripped your hips and you giggled, accepting the kiss he laid on you. The ones before had been tame. He had been holding himself back. These were wilder. Crazier. Lips smashing into yours with a desperate plea to get closer and stay closer.

He pushed his jacket off of your shoulders and you worked on the buttons of his flannel. He helped you pull it off of him and you licked your lips at your first real look at his body. At the tattoos down both sides of his arms. You didn’t have time to catalog them all, but you would eventually. You were going to lick and trace every single one of them.

He was thick in all the right places. A hard stomach and big arms. His stubble tickled your chin while he started to kiss your cheeks and your neck. You were a twisting mess of flailing arms and legs trying to get out of your sandals, his shoes, and his pants while working your way over to the bed.

You pushed him to sit on it and he bounced with a small chuckle. You dropped to your knees, tugging at the zipper of his jeans. “Yo, what you doin’? Ladies first,” he said.

You leaned up and kissed him. “I appreciate that, but I said I wanted to thank you proper,” you said.

“Sheeit, don’t let me stop you then,” he said. He grinned, gifting you with another rare smile from him. It fueled your desire.

You tore desperately at his pants and briefs, freeing his long, thick dick. You moaned at the sight of it. The tip already weeped, precum beading. You swiped your tongue at it and Fontaine moaned, rolling his neck.

You continued to please him, licking him in certain spots trying to learn what turned him on. What made his dick twitch in your hands or his balls jerk. You wrapped your lips around his thick head and sucked him down.

“Fuck! Just like that!” Fontaine groaned. His hands disappeared into your braids, tugging on it. You groaned around his dick and he hissed in return. You batted your eyes at him and sucked him for real this time. No more teasing. No more games. No more tests.

You drooled on his dick, growing wetter at the act. You could practically feel him inside you already, ruining you for any other man. You used both of your hands to please him where your mouth couldn’t reach.

Sputtered words and soft commands filled your ears on top of you gulping him down. “Mm, suck that shit down, sweetheart,” he groaned.

That spurred you on, that you were doing a good job. You gripped his thighs and leaned up to take more of him. “Gah damn,” he said and licked his lips.

You took him in deeper, as far as you were able without using your hands. You breathed where you could. The only thing that mattered was letting him know what this night meant to you. What he meant to you.

You slurped on his dick, letting the spit lube up more of his dick for you to slide on him. His moans grew louder, fingers clutching your braids harder. “I’m finna bust,” he groaned.

You kept going. As if that was supposed to stop you? That was the goal! You wanted him to bust. You wanted to empty his balls into your mouth. You wanted to taste every ounce of his cum in the back of your throat.

He gasped and he was unleashing himself inside you, filling your mouth with him. You swallowed him down and moaned, arousal leaking from you. Pussy throbbing.

Fontaine grabbed his dick and pulled him from your mouth, tapping the head against your lips. You kissed him and he smirked. “You a bad one, ain’t you?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Oh? You a good girl?” He asked.

You nodded. He hummed, the low vibration sending signals down to your pussy. “Good girls get rewards don’t they?”

You nodded, too struck dumb by him to say anything else. What was there to say? If you opened your mouth, all kinds of sticky, gooey, lovey dovey shit would fall out and you’d never been good at that.

Fontaine stood up and helped you to stand, he kissed you, not caring that he just finished in your mouth. You loved a nasty nigga. He unzipped your dress and kissed your shoulders while it fell from your body.

He unhooked your strapless bra, freeing your titties and licking his lips at the look of you. “Like two little chocolate kisses for me,” he said. His lips descended on them, suckling each one and learning the shape and feel of them in his mouth.

His hands worked your panties off, pushing them off your legs. He kissed on your chest as he laid you down and now it was his turn to get on his knees. His turn to push his head between your legs and suckle his way past your pussy lips.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned. His tongue was a gift from the gods. Long and big, he flattened it against your pussy and moved his head in circles. Your breaths shuddered and your body twisted, legs shaking.

He pulled the orgasm from you like it was his divine right and you screamed out, lungs burning with the effort. Fontaine kissed your thighs and your belly, wiping your essence off on you.

“Let me taste,” you begged. Fontaine chuckled and climbed up your body and kissed you, letting you taste just how wild he made you. You scratched up and down his chest and back, pulling him closer.

“Let me feed you this dick,” he said.

“Feed it to me, baby,” you moaned.

He gifted you with another grin. Wide smile and crinkly eyes that you wanted to swim in. He pushed his jeans completely off and next went his black tank. He didn’t have any tattoos across his spacious chest and you ran your hands over him, learning every mole or scratch on him.

He had a faint scar across his shoulder and you traced it with your thumb. You didn’t have time to ask him about it before his dick was pushing at your entrance.

You hissed and pushed on his chest. You were sure you were wet enough, but he was still massive. “Slow! Slow!” You cried.

He tilted his head and moved his hips, pushing deeper into you. Once the tip was in, he shoved all the way in with one hard thrust. You gasped, your mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ as he stretched you out with a bite of pain.

You slapped at his shoulder. “I said slow!”

He chuckled and kissed you, trying to ease the sting. “I can’t help it. You so fuckin’ wet. I need you,” he moaned. He fed you long, deep strokes touching a deep, sweet place inside of you that might’ve been your soul. Like he wanted to write his name in the very fabric of you and never lose you.

You gasped as he delivered these strokes, hissing when he hit that deep spot again and again. Your legs began to shake in earnest. “Mhm, don’t hold it, sweetheart. Let that shit go and lemme feel it.”

“Fon-tai–” you moaned.

“Shhh, I know you wanna call my name. I know you do. But all you gotta do is focus on that nut. Focus on my voice,” he asked.

He stretched you perfectly. And from how much arousal there was, it was staining your sheets. You were sliding up and down on his dick now, titties flapping from the strength of his strokes.

He moaned, watching the expressions play out over your face. He cupped one of your titties, pushing down to hold you in place while he fucked you. “Mhm, doing so good, sweetheart. So good, focusing on you. Focusing on what I’m giving you.”

“Oh god, oh god,” you moaned, eyes rolling back in your head.

“Shit, just like that baby. Grip it just like that,” he moaned.

Your cries turned wild, keening, and loud while you gripped onto him and shook and twitched through your orgasm. He hummed while you did so. Satisfied with himself.

“You-you didn’t…”

“I know, turn over,” he said. His deep voice let you know that he wasn’t playing. Somehow, you found the strength to flip over. He smacked your ass, watching it jiggle.

He entered you once more and you cried out. You would never get used to his size. Never get used to him slamming and stroking inside of you.

“Fuck!” You moaned.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. You could hear the smile in his voice. Hear how he knew exactly what you needed.

He gripped big chunks of your ass and used it like handles to slam you down on his dick, faster, and harder. Your elbows ached from trying to brace yourself against him. You slammed back, giving as much as you were taking.

“Ouue, that’s my good girl. You show me what you got,” he encouraged.

You continued to throw it back, craning your neck in time to see him throw his head back, surrendering to your pussy. It was enough to make you cry out, back bowing to another powerful, earth-shattering, world-altering orgasm.

“Take that shit, baby,” he moaned and then finally climaxed, pumping you full of his delicious cum.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, I need it, baby,” you moaned.

“I know you do,” he grunted as his dick stopped pulsing. His cum leaked out of you as he pulled out. He spread your ass cheeks to watch. He slapped your ass when you were sure no more would come out. You were thoroughly stuffed like a twinkie.

Fontaine left the room and you collapsed forward onto the bed, strength leaving you. A bit of nervousness crept in its place though. You wanted to ask him to stay. You wanted to roll over and be all sexy and enticing. As much game as you talked, sometimes you had moments where you couldn’t make your mouth move.

Fontaine came back into the room with a warm rag to clean you off. You moaned and he rubbed your ass as he cleaned off your thighs as well. You sluggishly rolled over and smiled at him.

“You’re so damn cute,” he said.

“You are,” you said and smiled.

“When yo roommate getting home?” He asked.

You shrugged and looked away from him. “Um, I think she said she doing something this weekend,” you said.

“So you gon’ be home alone?” He asked.

You shrugged again and played with the edge of a pillow. “Yeah, I think so.”

The bed dipped as Fontaine sat down on it. He grabbed your chin and made you look at him. You didn’t want to. You tried to fight him. But he only smirked and held on. You looked at him and he tilted his head.

“Do you want me to stay, sweetheart?” He asked.

“Only if you want to,” you said.

He shook his head and pecked your lips. “Be a good girl for me and tell me you want me to stay,” he said.

He smiled and you rolled your eyes. He got on your damn nerves. But you couldn’t quit him.

“I want you to stay, please.”

He nodded and kissed you. Then he pulled you further onto the bed and tucked you under the covers. He defied any expectation you had of his gender. He really was killing it for anyone else.

Though, as sweet as he was being, you knew that there would never be anyone else.

Me and you.

You stopped here and wiped a runaway tear sliding down your cheek. You sniffled. You were both a couple of fools. Two fools in love. In a love that blinded you to anything else.

You should have told him to go. Should have told him that one night was all you could have. Even thinking that, your chest seized like your heart was being compressed under a massive weight.

There was no you without Fontaine. And there was no Fontaine without you, you hoped.

Check out the Tyrone masterlist if you need more in your life! The Secret Tyrone Files

Graphics by saradika-graphics

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lostuzumaki · 6 months

Note

Wonderful update as always, did NOT expect Luffy to do that AT ALL. Lmao, but then again when can anyone predict Luffy?

I do have a quick question, why is Sanji the only former(future?) Strawhat staying with Luffy? Is it because Zeff and Sanji dont have the funds to Go Anywhere, is Zeff/Sanji really attached to the silly misfit "crew"?

I just think it's really interesting and neat that Sanji is now technically the "first" Strawhat and wonderful if there's a little heroworship/different kind of friend vibes between them. Luffy seems kind of extra gentle with everyone but Especially Sanji.

Sorry for rambling and thank you for making this comic, it's been a wonderful read!

Exactly, Luffy is just a surprise.

The answer to the question about Zeff and Sanji is that when Luffy and the others rescued them, they were too weak to travel alone. Plus, Zeff noticed that almost none of them could cook well, so he and Sanji decided to stay for a while as a thank you for saving them. (But they didn't have money either).

And yes, you could say that Sanji is the "first" strawhat to travel with Luffy. However, I had already thought of letting others like Nami and Usopp sail with them, but it seemed cruel at the same time. The reason he didn't take those two Luffy on the boat was so they could both enjoy their time with their moms.

Thank you for writing, I'm glad you like this au.

#one piece #reincarnated luffy au #ask #monkey d. luffy #sanji vinsmoke

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nightdiary · 1 year

Text

txt as your valentines dates

word count: 4.9k genre: fluff, established relationship, !!!suggestive!!! (in soobin's and beomgyu's but nothing mature!) author's note: happy valentine's day!! here's a little gift to hopefully make your day just a little bit sweeter <3 there's a little twist to each of these, as i felt it would make the read more interesting! feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated as always, and i hope that you enjoy 🤍

✧ yeonjun - romantic getaway

“okay, this time you’ve actually got to be kidding.”

yeonjun’s answering laugh has you turning to face him, jaw slack and eyes glossy. he looks positively smug, fixing you with that cat-like grin of his that always makes you go weak in the knees, and you resist the urge to break down into tears.

the scene in front of you wouldn’t necessarily warrant such a reaction, but hey, it’s been a long day and yeonjun is a hell of a boyfriend.

the scene in question: your hotel room is not in the same state you’d left it three hours prior. the king-sized bed is now adorned with scattered rose petals, which form a neat heart atop the blankets and dip into a loose pathway leading from the door. several candles are placed throughout the room, illuminating it in a cozy, warm glow and beckoning you inward.

as you close the door behind you and begin to walk into the arrangement, you spot another few finishing touches that have your heart soaring into your throat. there’s an arrangement of stuffed animals by the foot of the bed, tucked into a basket and cradling a bottle of champagne and a conspicuous envelope. on both of the bedside tables, there’s a variety of chocolates and sweets, along with familiar bags you immediately recognize as your favorite snacks.

“this is so cheesy i’m going to throw up,” you joke, but your voice comes out warbled. you feel something wet slip down your cheek and realize with a start that you’re crying.

“my baby,” yeonjun coos fondly, gently reaching out to wipe your face. you’re pulled into a hug, and instinctively lean in to rest your forehead on his clavicle.

wrapping your arms around him, you allow yourself a moment to steady your pounding heart. the dull metropolitan noises fill the gaps in the room from outside, muffling your teary sniffles. though you’d initially been put off by tokyo’s busy vibrancy, you were currently very thankful for it.

yeonjun’s valentine’s day present to you came a few days before the 14th. you’d found the plane tickets on his dresser by accident after looking for the necklace you’d left behind, tucked into an envelope with your name written in pink across it. you weren’t one to snoop, especially through your boyfriend’s belongings, but you couldn't help and bring it up to him, out of curiosity. and really, it was his fault for leaving it out in the open like that!

as sweet as the thought had been, your trip to tokyo had been anything but.

the initial flight the day before valentine’s had been delayed several hours, which stretched into upwards of half a day by the time you finally boarded. once on board, you experienced quite possibly the worst turbulence, leaving you staggering off the plane with shaky feet and nauseous stomachs. the cherry on top, though, was what you found when you arrived at the airport: a merciless blizzard and no taxis in sight, rendering you stuck for the next few hours.

by the time you even arrived at the hotel, you were both beyond exhausted to even fathom leaving and exploring the city, which meant you wasted another half day resting and recuperating from the awful flight. now, finally back in your room after a hectic day in the city, you could almost weep with how sweet the gesture is.

“i’ve instantly forgotten about every bad thing leading up to this moment,” you joke, brushing away your tears and laughing as yeonjun tries to kiss away the remaining wet spots on your cheeks.

sitting down on the bed, you run your hands over the sheets, marveling at the way the petals collect under your fingers. yeonjun joins you silently, watching you with a grin on his face that makes heat collect in every part of you. as you turn to look through the basket at the end of the bed, you excitedly squeal as you pull out the gifted teddy bear, fluffing it up and hugging it to your chest.

“are you going to pay more attention to the bear than me?” yeonjun’s pout is a killer, and you try not to look too eager as you drop the stuffed animal and turn to crawl toward him. he’s seated against the bedframe, patting his lap and looking at you expectantly.

“jealous?” you remark, watching the tips of his ears turn a lovely shade of red. situating yourself on his lap, you wrap your arms around his neck, looking down at him with subdued excitement.

“you wish,” he drawls, and then promptly leans in to kiss you like he means it.

✧ soobin - ice skating

cold, bruised, and wet isn’t exactly the way one would describe their ideal valentine’s day evening, but it seems like it’s the fate you’ve been assigned.

soobin’s mittened hand finds yours again, and for a second, you two are able to glide across the ice smoothly, simultaneously breathing out in relief. and then everything comes crashing down, literally, because soobin’s slipping and his grip on you loosens just a moment too late, bringing you down with him. your butt hits the ice with a muted thump, and you groan out as the numbness from your legs flares up again.

“bin, you lied about being good at this!” you whine, shifting on your side to massage your backside.

soobin’s shadow comes to loom over you a few moments later, and you’re taken aback by how quickly he’d managed to get himself up. accepting his offered hand, you shakily push yourself up from the ice, standing on wobbly feet and murmuring strings of curses under your breath.

though your boyfriend had insisted on bundling you up before going to the rink, the biting cold was beginning to settle in. you could feel the tendrils of chill creeping in between the fibers of your scarf, slowly but surely settling in and making you shiver.

“i wanted to impress you,” soobin admits sheepishly. when you look up, you catch him looking at you through his lashes shyly, almost like he wants to mumble an apology.

instead of letting him do so, you’re the one that reaches out this time, threading your fingers through his and dragging him along as you stumble your way across the ice. you don’t make it very far, maybe two meters at most, before you’re losing your balance again, meeting the ground palm-first. it stings no less than the other times you’d fallen, but soobin’s accompanying laughter this time makes it feel a lot better.

thankfully, your boyfriend’s determination to have you both complete at least three laps melts away soon after. he carefully leads you out of the rink (via shuffling and holding onto the railing), nearly crying out in joy once his skates are back on the pavement. you don’t think you’ve ever been happier to be back on land.

soobin instructs you to sit at one of the free tables overlooking the rink, and you waste no time in waddling over and plopping down. watching your boyfriend disappear into the nearby cafe, you ease your feet out of the skates, curling your toes experimentally and hissing at the bout of pain that lingers afterward. rubbing at your calves, you exhale sharply and look around in an attempt to distract yourself from the discomfort.

unsurprisingly, the rink is pretty much empty. there are only a few other couples, along with a group of teenagers who seem to be no better than you at traversing the ice. there’s a mellow love song playing through the speakers above, and you find yourself humming along subconsciously as you wait for soobin to return. the pink lantern decor around the seating area is cutesy, and even if you didn’t think you’d ever find yourself ice skating on valentine’s day in particular, you can’t say it’s disappointing in the least.

soobin returns moments later, two steaming cups in hand. he hands one of them to you, settling himself onto the bench next to you.

“you owe me a foot massage when we get back,” you say in lieu of greeting, accepting the cup with both hands. heat immediately seeps through the paper, making you sigh happily as you lean forward to take a sip.

“anything for you love,” soobin hums. he grins when you moan gratefully at the sweet chocolate that fills your mouth, bringing his own cup up to his lips for a sip. “i hope this can somewhat make up for an awful valentines day. i promise that i’m all yours when we get home.”

shaking your head, you set the hot chocolate down and lean into his side, sighing at the warmth that engulfs you. “hey! it wasn’t awful. even if it feels like i need a special cast for my ass now, it was fun to try something new with you.” reaching between the two of you for his hand, you instinctively begin to play with the rings on his fingers. “plus your other gift earlier was also reaaaally nice. i can’t complain at all.”

soobin turns a delightful shade of red, ducking to the side to ignore your teasing remark. you giggle, because really, how can your boyfriend be so lovely and wonderful, and resist the urge to pinch his flustered cheek.

“hey,” you try again, repeating yourself when he refuses to look at you. when he finally does look over at you, albeit with an exaggerated pout, you feel your heart grow tenfold.

cupping his cheek, you turn him to face you fully. there’s a sliver of chocolate right on the edge of his lips, staring at you head-on, and you think anybody would agree that you can’t let your boyfriend walk around with it unknowingly.

soobin’s eyes grow wide as you lean into his face, fluttering closed only once you brush your lips tentatively against his. but it seems the teasing’s gotten to him, because his hands weave around your shoulders in the next second, tugging you into a proper kiss. you gasp in surprise, and he uses the opportunity to angle your faces and deepen what you’d started.

curling into his chest, your free hand finds itself in his hair, threading through his locks with growing urgency. he responds with an appreciative noise that you swallow hungrily, and you feel his tongue slip past your lips with little delay. the fuzziness that usually fills your head during moments like this is present tenfold, every last corner of your head stuffed with cotton as you move in tandem with soobin’s lips.

overhead, the crackling announcement that the rink will be closing in ten minutes resonates through the shoddy speakers, effectively (and yet rudely) breaking you two apart. the upbeat love-pop-song-atrocity that you’d tuned out prior resumes, nearly making you laugh at how ridiculous the situation is. soobin’s expression is sour, much like yours, and you try to ignore the way his lips glisten under the rink’s lights.

you also resist the urge to giggle at soobin’s fluffed-up hair, which makes your boyfriend look like a poodle. reaching out to run your hands through his strands and to tame what bits you could, you glance back down at his lips, another thought worming its way into your mouth before you can really process it:

"so about that massage…”

✧ beomgyu - making dinner together

three gordon ramsay tutorials in and lots of struggling later, you and beomgyu found yourselves slumped by the kitchen counter, stomachs empty and expressions distraught.

"i’m sorry, i really thought this would be more romantic,” beomgyu whines, running a hand through his hair. you feel him look over at you, and you frown when you notice the insecure waver in his gaze.

“it’s okay,” you say earnestly. reaching out to place your hand atop his, you ignore the way your stomach growls in response. “i’m just happy we’re spending tonight together.”

though every element of that is completely true, you are still starving.

the initial plan was to cook through a simple dinner together– per beomgyu’s suggestion a week earlier– and to eat it together on the couch while watching your favorite movie. when you’d both discussed your preferences regarding celebrating valentine’s day, you’d come to the agreement that neither of you wanted anything extravagant. as cheesy as it was, you didn’t need anything more than each others’ presences.

dates with beomgyu were always simple; in the sense that you never felt overwhelmed or out of place. though it may come off as boring to others, it was what worked for both you and your boyfriend– what’s continued to make you happy all these months. and you weren’t thinking about giving it up.

“one more time,” you say. pushing yourself off the counter, you rewind the youtube video and look up at beomgyu with a set expression. “one more time, then i’ll agree to give up and we can order fried chicken.”

and so, with a resolve that could rival that of a stubborn toddler’s, you and beomgyu queue up music on his speaker and get to work. the recipe you were both attempting to master is only about twenty or so minutes, and you were able to get through the first half relatively well. now you just need to figure out how to get through the rest.

it’s another round of mistakes and another round of backtracking. rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat, and after about an hour, you and beomgyu manage to make something edible and not all that unappetizing-looking, as impossible as it had originally seemed. you’d been forced to cut out a sizeable amount of techniques that kept messing you up before, but you’d successfully gotten through the necessary steps. somewhat.

you’re rolling out another piece of dough when you feel it. a soft tap to your back, right as you’re laying out the food on the oven tray.

ignoring it, you spread more oil onto the paper. another tap.

“gyu, there’s one more set i have to finish and–” but as you turn around, expecting to come across another silly spectacle from your boyfriend, you’re met with his outstretched hand instead.

“could i have this dance?” the cheeky grin on his face makes you sigh loudly, but you dust your hands off nonetheless and bashfully accept the offer.

frank sinatra’s the way you look tonight filters through the speaker as he draws you into his embrace and begins to rock you two uncoordinatedly around the kitchen. you melt into his shoulder and giggle, humming along to the lyrics and trying not to step on your boyfriend’s feet. he even attempts to twirl you, which nearly sends the tray flipping over onto the floor, saved at the last second by your quick reflexes.

“won’t you please arrange it? ‘cause i love you,” beomgyu’s husky voice rumbles from right next to your ear, and you involuntarily tighten your arms around his neck. his hand by your waist begins to slip lower and lower and you gently smack his shoulder when he reaches down to squeeze your bum. “just the way you look tonight.”

“i’m literally wearing pajamas,” you mumble in response, laughing when he pinches your side with his other hand.

“and you’re still the sexiest person i’ve ever seen,” he answers easily.

the oven dings right as the song ends, signaling that it’s done preheating, and you reluctantly draw back from beomgyu’s hold. he pouts at you like a wounded puppy and it takes every last bit of self-restraint in you to rip yourself away from him. placing the tray carefully into the oven, you adjust the temperature and set a timer, letting out a loaded sigh when everything is finally situated.

great, now the only thing left to fuck up on is letting it burn.

“have i ever told you how beautiful you are?” almost like clockwork, beomgyu’s arms wind around your middle without hesitation, pulling you back against his chest. his lips brush against your neck teasingly, and it’s embarrassing how quickly you become pliant under his hands.

“mmm, nope, don’t think i’ve ever heard that one before,” you joke, but your voice comes out breathy.

spinning you around in his hold, you squeak as beomgyu brings you into a measured kiss. he’s warm and smells familiar, and you resist the urge to bury yourself into the juncture right between his neck and shoulder. you feel something cold brush under your shirt and against your bare back, and you arch into his hold with little resistance.

“gyu, the chicken…” you mumble powerlessly, whining when his hands venture further up your back. despite your words, your own hands slide under your boyfriend’s shirt, reveling at the warm skin you find.

“don’t worry, it’s not going anywhere,” he pants into your mouth, grinning when you throw caution to the wind and answer him with an eager kiss.

✧ taehyun - fine dining

taehyun has had the perfect valentine’s day reservation for three months.

he made the call sometime in november, right after he heard you gush about this cool new place opening a block away from where you worked. you’d told him about how pretty it was inside with literal stars in your eyes, and even showed him the dozens of photos your coworker had sent.

and he had to admit, the place was neat. the prices didn’t make his head hurt like the other places he’d looked at and the interior looked like it was straight out of a netflix documentary on fine dining. plus, it certainly helped that you were interested in going. it was perfect, really, because he was beginning to lose his mind thinking that far ahead.

and it was turning out to be perfect, because when the taxi pulled up to the front of the restaurant and you caught onto where you were going, you turned to him with the biggest smile and reached out to squeeze his hand with trembling fingers. once outside in the chilly night air, you practically flung yourself into his arms, mumbling about how you were going to kiss him senseless when you didn’t have a thick layer of lipstick on.

“i’m really sorry sir, but i can’t find your reservation anywhere in our system.” of course. it really did seem just a little bit too perfect.

taehyun’s answering silence makes you frown. the employee’s shifty eyes dart back and forth between you two, and your heart falls at how sorry he looks. you surmise it’s been a long day for everyone, and this isn’t a problem worth complicating.

“i’m unfortunately unable to seat you at this time, but you’re welcome to wait for a table to clear up.”

behind you, you hear the next couple in line sigh loudly. this, combined with the clamor from inside the restaurant makes your head feel all fuzzy, and you decide you need to get out of there.

“let’s go tyun,” you whisper, tugging on his hand. he looks up at you with furrowed brows, and you notice the way his jaw seems taut, almost like he’s biting his tongue.

seoul is alive and buzzing as it would be on any other night, but wandering the streets with no plan makes it feel stuffy and overwhelming. the blares from cars stuck in traffic hound your ears as you turn another corner, desperate to work your way down a smaller street, away from the suffocating city center. your feet begin to burn the further you aimlessly walk, and everything’s beginning to feel like a maze and–

“hey, i’m really sorry that this didn’t work out.” pausing in your step, you throw a glance over your shoulder at your boyfriend. you find him staring back at you with an apprehensive twist to his lips, one that makes your gut feel all weird.

“please don’t beat yourself up over it,” you frown, reaching out to smooth your thumb down his cheek. he’s cold to the touch, but the skin blooms pink where you touch it.

“i’m trying not to,” he jokes humorlessly, pouting when you jokingly threaten to flick him on the forehead. “what do we do now? every nice place has been booked for weeks.”

“who said i have to eat michelin-grade food?” it’s a genuine question, and yet taehyun looks at you like you’re a little bit crazy.

“i’m not taking you to mcdonalds,” he dismisses, crossing his arms. when you stare back at him silently, he begins to sputter, eyes growing incredulously. “what? no. no way. babe, i’m not taking you to mcdonalds on valentine’s day. how awful of a boyfriend do you think i am?”

“you’re my very wonderful and loving boyfriend,” you answer, reaching out to loop your arms around his neck. your fingers toy with the ends of his hair, staring up at him through your lashes and blinking slowly. “my dearest boyfriend who i know would go to the moon and back for me. you’ve treated me countless times before, and the thought that you wanted to bring me to a place i’ve always wanted to go to is enough for me. now let’s save us the trouble and get some mcnuggets. i’m starving.”

when taehyun stares dumbly back at you, you lean forward to kiss him square on the lips, drawing back a whisker’s worth to brush the tips of your noses together. and just like you’d intended, he agrees (but not without a sigh to let you know just how much you’d riled him up).

mcdonalds is also hectic, yet still a reprieve from the outside. as the two of you wait for your order, you bounce on the balls of your feet, both from being eager to finally eat and from the chill. taehyun watchfully offers you his jacket, draping it over your shoulders when you decline and dodging your attempts to give it back.

you take a booth on the second floor, somewhere in the back where you still have a glimpse of the outside world yet are far enough from other people to have a semblance of privacy. taehyun shuffles into the seat next to you, reaching out to unbox and lay out all the food in a presentable manner before you can even reach for a fry. despite how difficult it is, he manages to organize the burgers and nuggets in a way that makes them look like they really are michelin-grade.

“bon appetit,” he says, smiling when he turns to you and finds you already staring back.

despite the fact that you’ve had the same exact food dozens of times, you eat like a starved wolf, licking your fingers and appraising each bite like it’s your last meal. taehyun watches you fondly out of the corner of his eye, occasionally reaching out to wipe any ketchup or mustard from your chin. you should feel embarrassed, really, but you can’t find it in you when taehyun does it with such care.

unsurprisingly, the two of you get through most of the food with ease. once most of the boxes seem to be empty, you sit back in the booth and groan, massaging your tummy. taehyun seems to be finishing his share of fries, so you decide to admire him while you can still get away with it.

but you can’t for long, because as he feels your eyes roaming the side of his face, he turns to you with a sly grin. swallowing the bite he was chewing, he pops another fry into his mouth, but this time, he holds half of it out between his lips, staring at you expectantly. you immediately know what he wants you to do, know from the wagging of his brows that there’s only one thing on your boyfriend’s mind.

and who are you to deny him?

leaning forward, you bite the rest of the fry, inching closer and closer until you can peck taehyun’s lips. yet instead of indulging him, you draw back immediately, chewing and covering your mouth lest he decides to chase after you, giggling when he scrunches his face up at you.

“there’s more where that came from, but only once we get back,” you sing-song, popping a fry into your own mouth. except you’ve purposefully left half of it hanging out, and taehyun catches onto your intentions with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“yeah?” he whispers, nose brushing yours as he bites onto the other end of the fry. “we’ll see about that.”

✧ hueningkai - stargazing

it’s the thought that counts, right?

you think kai’s about to go crazy hearing you repeat that over and over, but you’re insistent on hammering it in.

“i checked on naver. i checked on google. i even watched the weather forecast segment on the news,” kai frantically lists, folding his blanket anew and huffing. his leg is bouncing up and down anxiously, and you resist the urge to reach out and place your hand on his knee.

“it’s okay kai,” you try again, feeling a frown tug at your lips when he puts his head down. “don’t beat yourself up over this. we can always do something else, yeah?”

when you’re met with silence, you reach out to brush the tips of your fingers along his hand, tracing loose patterns mindlessly. you always do this when he gets overwhelmed, choosing to sit and wait it out until he feels like he can breathe again. he’s told you your presence is enough, but you sometimes worry about what’s getting to his head.

the original plan was to go to the outskirts of seoul and watch the stars. kai had suggested the idea to you a week prior, and you’d instantly fallen in love with the idea. your last valentine’s celebration had been quite generic– though no less lovely, given that it was with kai– and you were looking forward to a change of pace.

everything had been set until half an hour before you were supposed to leave. there was an unsettling noise outside of your window, and right as you were slipping your shoes on, it escalated to a steady pitter-patter that told you exactly what was going on outside. kai had confirmed it a minute later, walking back in from your balcony with an expression of a kicked puppy.

“you know that overhang on the roof of your apartment?” your voice is soft against the onslaught of hail, and you nearly think he misses it. but you feel his fingers reach out to squeeze yours in response, and you continue without worry. “we can set up the blanket there. and it’ll be warmer, because we’re right next to the heating unit.”

despite how distraught your boyfriend was with your failed plans, it seems like the idea is enough to get him charged back up with his earlier enthusiasm. without preamble, he gathers all of your belongings into his hold and ventures out into the stairwell, where you catch up to him after three flights, the both of you winded like you’d just run a marathon.

you’re finally able to creak the roof’s door open several minutes later, and you’re instantly hit with a gust of cold air that has you regretting mentioning the idea. but kai’s face is smiley and radiant again as he sets up the blanket and pillows on the wooden platform under the overhang, and you can’t find it in yourself to spoil this.

wrapping your coat tighter around you, you crouch down and set the picnic basket on the middle of the blanket, emptying out its contents neatly. there’s assortments of snacks and even little sandwiches that kai had prepared earlier, as well as a thermos of your favorite tea and hot chocolate, both intended to keep you from getting sick.

“i honestly think this is way better,” you admit as you’re settling down onto the blanket. kai looks over at you with quirked brows, clearly not believing you, and you shrug. “what? i’m serious! so much more romantic than some random hill.”

“you’re just saying that to make me feel better,” he mumbles back, but you hear him whisper a sincere thank you right after.

popping a cookie into your mouth, you shuffle closer to your boyfriend, eyeing his chest with one goal in mind. when he looks up at you, you promptly scoot in between his legs, laying back against his front and reaching to grab his arms to wrap them around yourself. you feel him breathe out a chuckle against your neck, and you let out a happy little noise in response.

“i can see andromeda from here.”

“you literally cannot see any stars,” kai giggles softly, pressing his nose into your shoulder. you squirm, feeling ticklish, and his arms wrap around you tighter to hold you in place.

“what about this one then?” you ask, and promptly turn back to poke his cheek.

you feel rather than hear him whine against you, followed by a string of incoherent babbles which are too cute to decipher.

in the distance, the blare of a car’s horn rings out. but even if you’re reminded that it’s not just you and kai, suspended in the vast nothingness of the universe, you can’t help but feel like it is. it’s like the both of you exist in a plane separate from everything else, where you can tell him how much you love him and forget about everything else.

“happy valentine’s day,” kai whispers. his lips trail up the side of your neck, landing sweetly right below your ear.

you turn your face slightly, just enough to be able to catch his eye. then, you lean in to peck him, right on the tiny star (mole) above his lips. he smiles, and you can’t help but smile back. maybe in this plane of the universe, you can love him without worry, too. “happy valentine’s day, hyuka.”

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lexluvswriting · 2 months

Text

☆ Too Sweet.

"I think I'll take my whiskey neat, my coffee black and my bed at three, you're too sweet for me..."

- Too Sweet; Hozier.

-> Pairing: Loki x fem! chubby!reader.

-> CW: 18+ CONTENT! NSFW! SMUT AHEAD! MINORS, DNI. fem! reader! she/her prns used, fem genitalia used. chubby reader!

-> TW: Shibari! Consent discussed beforehand, (light) dubcon bc like reader is tied up, no use of y/n, porn with slight plot, p in v, gagging, bondage, praising and light body worship? Loki likes thick girls. argue w the wall. Mentions of sex in front of a mirror at the end !! <3

W/C: 1.8k

╰┈➤ Lex's note: okay... is this totally self indulgent? yes. have i gone down a massive Loki spree? yes. Hozier, the man you are. YES, fans, I HAVE been listening to 'Too Sweet' by Hozier on repeat for the last 10 minutes. How did you know aha ha. Erm, I hope i ate w this. i think i did? but if nobody reassures me as soon as they read this then ill probably die (joke). lmk how we feel about this!!

Your eyes were captivating.

The colour seemed to look correct only in your irises, Loki believed. He loved you. He loved every breath you stole, and every breath you gave. He loved looking at your lips and zoning out on them when you'd babble inanely on a topic you thoroughly enjoyed. Loved the way you'd bite at your lip when you tried to hide a cheeky smile. Loki loved the way you fidgeted with the jewellery you wore- the many necklaces layered, the many bracelets with charms that jingled and clinked together softly every time you waved your arms around. He especially loved the way you styled yourself- he was always thoroughly amused and interested in the way you expressed yourself through your choices of fashion. The colours you used seemed to look good on you only. As well as on the bedroom floor after he'd tear them off you.

There was once a time where Loki Laufeyson, God of Mischief, thought you were too sweet for him. You were sweet cocktails, and milky brown coffees with a pump of sugary syrup. You were fresh fruits and cream, an innocent treat on a lovely summer's day.

While he was the absolute epitome of bitterness. Whiskey, neat. Coffee, black. Black as the hole in his heart every time he'd be distant from you. So he made you his muse- he became your shadow.

And he didn't regret it one bit- not with the way you currently looked beneath him.

Your glossy lips were smudged and puffy from being kissed before a ball gag split them apart, nestled comfortably in between to make your sentences a mumbled whine. The rope that wound around your body made your plush skin bulge slightly against the tightness of the confines, holding every bit of fabric from your clothing in place tight as possible, as if it was there for one purpose only. He was a firm believer in having a bit of meat in his meals, always. So when he saw the way the soft fat of your thighs, and the way the smooth curves of your breasts bulged against the snug of the shibari rope, his cock twitched, and he couldn't help but laugh softly. Look at him, cock jumping in his pants like a virgin. How laughable.

It was your fault, of course. Your hazy, lust-filled eyes as you happily squirmed while he pulled the rope around you carefully, the process slow and calculated, pressing his lips over every curve, every surface of skin like worship at a temple. The temple he was about to destroy.

"My pretty girl... my goddess." He couldn't help but gush sweetness when it came to you, cupping your face as he stood in front of you, his legs hitting the side of the bed. You were on your knees, calves tucked under you as you sat on your haunches, bound prettily with dark green rope that contrasted your skin with a soft glow- his choice, of course. When you suggested the concept of 'shibari' to him, he was sceptical at first. But when he saw why it was revered as an 'art', he practically frothed at the mouth, cock rising in his pants at the ideas that formed.

You, currently bound, gagged and absolutely loving life, hummed in response to his cooing praise, leaning into his touch as you wiggled happily on the shared bed, looking up at him with hazy, lustful eyes that were glazed over with adoration- and an insatiable need for him. Your cunt clenched eagerly around nothing, but his fingers running over the line of your jaw, down your throat, and over the rope that cut into your skin gently was promise enough that he'd give you the attention you craved so desperately.

"You drive me mad, darling. Do you like that? Do you like knowing this," He ran a hand down his chest, over his bulge, which was not discreet in the slightest with the way it tented in his pants, "Absolutely aches for you? This is what you do to me." He hissed as he pulled himself free from the confines of his trousers, and he inwardly grinned at the way your eyes widened in delight as you whined, watching him stroke himself.

He wore a dark green button down shirt, sleeves rolled up at the elbow with the two top buttons undone. His hair was mussed in that attractive messy way that you always talked about. He didn't know what you meant, but he figured it was something good if you were always 'jumping his bones' about it. He had set the scene perfectly for you both tonight, but the look in your eyes was enough for him to give in already. He felt warmth tingle through him as he stroked himself, glancing down at the way he leaked for you. Always for you. Such a spoilt girl. His girl.

Loki grit his teeth, before pulling you close by the rope harness around your torso, his cock nudging against your stomach, pre cum smearing against your skin, making you whine through the ball gag. Drool began to run down the sides of your lips, and the God let out a mirthful chuckle, stroking the side of your face before pulling your chin up, making you look at him. "Such a needy little thing. So spoiled. Shall I spoil you more, hm?"

He forced you around gently, your naked back against his clothed chest, your body squirming against his eagerly, your pretty eyes blinking up at him as you whined garbled pleas, rocking your hips back impatiently. Your restricted movement made Loki smile, and he chuckled as he pressed his lips to the back of your neck, before kissing straight down, over your spine.

"My sweet girl. My pretty goddess. A delicacy, all for me." He cooed, and you shuddered, eyelids fluttering shut as you keened softly for him, for the way his hands groped you, running over the soft pudge that shaped your body. Loki lost himself, almost completely forgetting his weeping erection as he kissed down your back, over your shoulders, around your neck. Then, with a wave of his left hand while his right hand pushed you down, the ropes shifted, freeing your thighs to be spread before you were tied again, ass arced up in the air on display for him.

His hands roamed over the globes, and he pressed his kisses- as well as a few loving nips that made you squeak, before he leaned down to what he was looking for. His eyes honed in on your glistening cunt, your folds wet and twitching prettily as he blew cold air before chuckling to himself, like you were an amusing little toy. He had to stop himself from being too cruel, and licked at the nectar that seeped from your slit, enjoying the way you whined for him. "Very vocal tonight, my love." He sighed mockingly, as if you were troubling him. Of course you were, when you tasted as sweet as you did. Almost too sweet.

He knelt in front of the bed and lapped at you hungrily, hands gripping at your bound flesh enough to leave red lines from where his large fingers marked you. He let out a soft growl that dissolved into a groan- how could something as sweet and gentle as you get him so riled up? The depravity that tore through him would scare away any normal partner.

He supposed he should've sent a little 'thank you' to whatever higher power decided you'd be absolutely perfect in creation then. His tongue was hot against your sex, and his soft pants made your toes curl and sent your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he pulled you apart with his mouth. He absolutely loved eating you out- loved the way he could feel you fall apart on his tongue. That was his power. Putting you on the throne of the world with his love. Your body flinched and twitched as he ate you out so desperately, and you whined in response to the image that procured in your head- chin glistening, lips smudged from how intensely he focused on his craft; the craft of making you cum. He licked and sucked, and from the way you got wetter, he could tell you were thinking about him. He toyed with you a bit more before finally letting you cum, directing his tongue to work and stroke

"Getting restless, my love?" He hummed, licking his lips and wearing a fox-like grin as he lifted his left hand, slipping two careful fingers into you to scissor and stretch your weeping cunt in preparation for what you had been craving for the past hour and a bit. His other hand was spent working himself, though he was stiff as a pole from the moment you had shyly offered him the rope and the salacious proposition. You both had been craving this for the longest time- of course, you had spent all day together anyway, but the magic in the intimacy that happened once night shrouded your part of the world as indescribable.

Usually, he could lovingly torment you for hours, watching you helplessly drip your arousal onto the sheets below, but tonight was all about you. You wanted him to be rough, and mean, the facade he usually liked to put on- but he couldn’t help but worship the curves that made up your body, his gentleness a refreshing buffer from the depravity you two usually indulged in. So when your garbled moans sounded, Loki immediately removed his fingers and aligned himself at your sopping wet entrance, substituting his digits for his godly cock, pushing himself in and releasing a guttural groan- one that came from the depths as he felt your cunt greedily suck him in, enveloping him in your warmth, as if you were seducing him to never leave as he sank deeper within you. He’s completely drunk on you, losing his cool as his eyes hone in on where you two meet, enjoying the feeling of your clenching as he repeatedly sinks into you with slow, deliberate thrusts.

He glances up to see your face, only to notice your head facing forward, your darling eyes transfixed on- Ah. He understands and leans forward to wrap a careful hand around your throat, holding it gently as he pulled you up, both of you watching the mirror that was ‘coincidentally’ placed in front of your bed- you had no regrets, and he certainly put it to use for you the first night you two shared the room. Your eyes met in the reflection, and his head tilted coyly, nudging the side of your face gently as he humped into you, while you were still tied up all pretty for him. Your gagged moans and whines were music, and he swore that with every thrust, he could hear the sound of wedding bells somewhere off in the distance.

Sometimes Loki wonders if you’re too sweet for him. But when he sees your perfect eyes rolling into the back of your head as his calculated thrusts send his cock stretching you out for him, he’s content. When he sees your sweet little cheeks flushed pink as you eagerly watch with glossy, lust-glazed eyes, the image of yourself being impaled on his cock over and over, Loki realises that you’re perfect.

╰┈➤ Lex's note 2: AH i didn't go too crazy w this pls forgive me, i was in the mood for somethin soft 🙂‍↕️ BUT ! i will HAPPILY take requests for more 😗

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olderthannetfic · 29 days

Note

TL;DR: multiple people can arrive at the same fanfic idea/premise in different ways, but also, getting inspired by a different fanfic is not stealing, please don't gatekeep!

I joined a new fandom (it's Resident Evil (RE), which I'm mostly mentioning for that one 'nosy' anon because hell yeah I am super nosy as well, so here you go, dropping some names!), and I quickly stumbled upon one fandom-specific plot trope that I thought was both pretty neat but also super obvious (Infected!Character fic, which, in a world with zombies and viruses that cause zombies is a very logical trope).

Anyway, there was not quite as much body horror as I thought there would be, although I'm still looking, but that's not why I'm writing to you, that's just the (un)necessary background.

There was this one fic that I opened, which in its Author's Note clearly stated that the author set this fanfiction in another author's AU, because they loved the world created by this first author. The first fanfiction author basically came up with their own Infected!Character design and backstory (including fanart), and the second fanfiction author liked it so much they were now writing this fic based on/in that AU. Obviously not quoting the AN directly, but this second author was very complimentary and explicitly mentioned where they got the idea from, gushing about the first author.

In the AN for chapter two, the second author stated that they weren't aware that that first fanfiction author didn't allow others to write about the Infected!Character AU they'd made, that that first author in fact only allowed a very limited number of people they publicly approved of to write about their AU, and nobody else was allowed to touch the Infected!Character AU. This second author was now apologising in the AN for not knowing this, plus mentioning that they changed chapter one to switch up the backstory & design to not be too close to that of the first fanficton author's AU.

That made me sad, honestly. I've seen this attitude a couple of times, where fanfiction authors are super protective of their ideas that they won't allow any other fanfiction author to write about them, and it's always struck me as a little bit hypocritical, given the whole deal of fanfiction. Especially when the original/first fanfiction author is credited and the inspired work is clearly done because the second author loved the first fanfiction so much. If it's a highly developed/specific and original AU (so not just any common trope), and you don't even mention the fanfic you were inspired by, then I find that rude, but just flat out not allowing people to even touch 'your' thing? C'mon!

This partially ties into my other gripe about a specific type of comments I occasionally get, which are along the lines of 'huh interesting idea where did you get it? bc/btw there is this other fic with the same idea (posted before you)'; idk if I got the tone right, but they never seem to be actually genuinely asking how I got the idea (and I always delight in telling them, not sarcastically, I genuinely love talking about this stuff, bc I get inspired by the most random things and I love love writing 'original'/new things!! I love tropes as much as anybody, I read a shitton of them, but i when I write I love coming up with new shit/plot! it's so fun!!). They just vanish after my explanation, even when I try to invite further conversation. It always feels to me like they're 'checking' that I didn't steal the idea, and it feels a bit lousy.

I mean in (larger) fandoms, it is not surprising at all that two or three or even more people arrive at the same idea, maybe even inspired by the same thing, same reading of canon, or not, varied experiences--and just because the works are similar doesn't mean that they were inspired by one another, but if they are, that's not a sin! I just want people to not take everything in bad faith, and also, to not 'disallow' others from getting inspired, especially when they do it in a very polite manner!

It's because of comments like these that I sometimes, very privately, worry that before I'll manage to post the long fic I spent months writing--because I'm one of those who wants the thing finished before I start posting--somebody else will have a similar idea, post their thing first, and then I'll look like I'm lying about not reading/stealing their idea, or just jumping on the bandwagon, which again, it's not a bad thing, actually.

And it shouldn't be like that! I shouldn't worry, and people should also be more willing to accept that authors can arrive at the same idea at (roughly) the same time & accept that explanation without side-eyeing the author, and that if an author is inspired by a different fanfic, that's not a sin either (in fact, for me it would be an honour).

None of this is new either, but that RE stuff reminded me of it again.

Oh man, this is way longer than I thought it would be. Apologies. I'm going to add a TLDR at the start.

Anyway, I'm going to finish writing an Infected!Catboy!Leon fic now and be very unsurprised if I find out that somebody else has had the same idea long before me (aside from one or two reader fic inserts with that topic that I stumbled upon on tumblr, bc that's just not my thing at all (reader insert, I mean)).

In college, friends of mine had a falling out over one of them "stealing" the other's fic idea.

Space pirates.

Not specific space pirates. Not a way of integrating the concept that was fandom-specific. No, just the general idea of space pirates in the same fandom.

Never have I facepalmed so hard.

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fallingdownhell · 8 months

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(first time requestingg om)

I just thought about tighnari with a s/o like Shinobu

Basically with her personality traits um maybe even height-

OMG, Hi! Hope you like it here<3 And I hope I did your first request justice <3

Pairing: Tighnari x reader

Content: gender neutral reader; reader looks and behaves like Shinobu Kocho from Demon Slayer

Word count: 500 words

Have fun!

first of all, he absolutey goes crazy about you guys difference in height

he adores that you have to look up to him whenever you talk to him

he constantly teases you about it. In a loving way of course, but it does get on your nerves from time to time

Tighnari absolutely loves to just let his chin rest on top of your head when you're working on something. He can easily look at what you're doing and either give you some advice or just observe you and let you do your thing

also wholeheartedly adores it when he can bend down and just push his nose in the juncture of your neck and shoulder, staying right there to regain some much needed energy to get him through the day. Especially likes doing this when he has to deal with annoying Academiya students again

absolutely enamoured by your knowledge of medicine and poisons. He can tell how passionate you are about those subjects. He sees himself and his fascination for the forest in you, so he tries to support you in whatever study or experiment your are conducting right now

though he does still keep a watchful eye out for you, since working with poisons can get real dangerous real fast. But he has trust in you, and you and him both know that you know your limits

still, you're his partner. Can't blame him for looking out for you

the two of you actually have a lot of inside jokes with each other

loves your sarcastic and lowkey insulting way of talking to others, especially when neither of you likes the person

you were talking to him like this in the beginning as well. But rather than be insulted by it, he found it intriguing and pretty endearing, to be honest

it's what made him interested in you in the first place

nowadays, you don't talk to him like that at all anymore, except for the occaisonal, harmless banter between you guys

he adores that you always say what you think and feel without letting it boil inside you for too long. Honesty and communication is something he values highly, and he's glad that it comes so easily and naturally for the both of you

a personal headcanon of mine is that he would be in love with your handwriting

it's so elegant and neat, so pleasant to look at and the words are so easy to read

if possible, he would want for you to write a book or something, so he can always look at your perfect handwriting whenever he wants to

it took a while for you to figure this out, since Tighnari was hiding it well, thinking that you would think of him as some sort of creep or something along those lines

overall really adores everything about you. Tighnari would be smitten with his partner, no matter what they look or act like. He just loves YOU and everything that comes with you

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin headcanons #tighnari #genshin impact tighnari #tighnari x reader #tighnari x you #tighnari x reader headcanons #tighnari headcanons #tighnari fluff

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mstormcloud · 4 months

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More fankids!! Both because they are genuinely fun to make and give lore to but also because I made Mirai and then wanted to make sure she had friends!

Aster is designed by my friend Duetland!! (The last art is by them!!) They aren’t on tumblr but you can find him on Instagram @duetland :)

Lore for each of them under the cut! (LONG POST WARNING!!!!)

Gold and Aster:

Shadow and Sonics kids. They’re twins (with Aster being older). Both were babysat by Tails a lot and ended up picking up a lot of stuff from him as well as their parents. Gold became more responsible and significantly more polite (far more than either of his parents lmao) meanwhile Aster became interested in robotics. Specifically those related to space like rockets or planet rovers.

When the two were born there was immediate concern about their power imbalance. Aster was born with no powers at all, meanwhile Gold’s chaos energy was so high Shadow feared he would burn himself up unless something was done. Due to them being twins, it essentially ended up where instead of two moderately powerful hedgehogs - Gold got enough power for two while Aster has none. This leads Aster to resent Gold, less because she actually wants superpowers but more because Sonic and Shadow are always fussing over Gold (to make sure his powers aren’t harming him) and she feels like her parents don’t care for her. Causing her to push them out even more. She listens to Shadow more than Sonic, but they don’t end up talking through all this properly until Espio gets involved since unlike Sonic and Shadow who had powers all their lives - Espio had to teach himself his abilities and is able to empathize with Aster more.

3. Rhine

Rouge and Knuckles’ child. I’ve thought about her way less WHOOPS but!! Despite not being an echidna he looks up to his father a lot and promises to be the best guardian of the master emerald he can possibly be. Has a habit of just picking up shiny things like a magpie and will turn them into jewelry. Is blunt and gullible like her father but likes thinking things through before she moves. Uses the shovel claws more as weapons than actual shovels - he’s a bit of a neat freak.

Mirai and Gummy:

Mirais story is on my previous post! Not much has been added since then other than that I’ve decided she’s a bit of a troublemaker and very energetic, sarcastic, silly and kinda stupid. As for Gummy he’s about 7 years younger than Mirai, and I haven’t quite figured out what he’d be interested in yet haha

Eli and Anchor:

These two are half siblings! Eli’s parents are Amy and Metal. While investigating the ruins of a disaster, Amy and Metal find a child who who had been incredibly injured. They happen to be closer to Eggmans new hideout (where he has retired and is just kinda pouting by himself forever) than anywhere else - the two break in and force Eggman to help them save the child. Since the current Metal is Amy’s size, there were several smaller models for when he was “younger” - Eggman uses one of these scrapped smaller Metals to give the child cybernetic parts and saves their life. Amy and Metal then take the child back to their house and raise it as their own, with Eggman forcing them to bring Eli over frequently so he can see his grandchild.

Anchor is the child of Blaze and Amy! I’m just letting Amy be poly I think she has a lot of love in her heart and now she has two wifes. Anchor lives the Sol kingdom, and takes after her aunt Marine quite a bit with her love for adventure and especially sailing! When she was young, much like Blaze, she was brought before the Sol emeralds and blessed with a power. I feel like she’d be able to control / harness winds rather than fire though - to help with her sailing.

If you read all of this - thanks!! You didn’t have to but it was very nice of you!

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wordbunch · 9 months

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SFW Alphabet: Frodo

a/n: anon requested, this is for all the frodo girlies out there - y'all are one of the pillars of this fandom, truly! i feel like (and hope) this is very cute <3 enjoy and be kindly reminded that all feedback/reblogs are so appreciated xxx and my drafts are almost cleared out - stay tuned for new things!

A = AFFECTION (how affectionate are they and how do they show affection?) He needs a little bit of time to get completely comfortable with being openly affectionate to you, but once he does, there is affection galore! In many little ways - running to hug you after being apart, making you tea, reading to you, questioning you about your interests. And he likes to feel you close at all times, whether it’s just pinky fingers interlocked in a public setting, or an evening cuddle session.

B = BEST FRIEND (what would they be like as a best friend and how would the friendship start?) He would be a really nice best friend, you would be able to confide in him about anything, you’d lean onto each other during tough times, but it would also be balanced out with a good amount of jokes, little adventures, and of course trading books!

C = CUDDLES (do they like to cuddle & how?) He is a cuddly person through and through, he will initiate it relatively often, but if you want to make him extra happy, you be the one who suggests a cuddle session. He likes to read with you while you cuddle, so a common position would be your head leaning on his shoulder and one of his arms around you, while he holds a book in the other.

D = DOMESTIC (do they want to settle down; how are they at cooking/cleaning?) Probably yes, he loves his home and he is comfortable there, but what would make it even better is if you stayed forever! Frodo is pretty neat and clean, maybe not the best cook, but at least he is tidy. If you like to cook, he will enthusiastically learn from you, or just hang around while you do it.

E = ENCHANTED (what was their first opinion/feeling about you when you just met?) He was eavesdropping on you a little bit as you talked to a friend of yours about something you were passionate about, and he found it so charming that he immediately decided he needed to build up the courage to go and talk to you, because you sounded so interesting. And he loves an interesting conversation!

F = FIANCE(E) (how do they feel about commitment; how quickly would they want to get married?) Commitment - yes, for sure! However he takes a bit of time to make up his mind about taking such an important step, and he wants to know as certainly as possible how you feel about it. He’d never want you to feel forced into anything or to regret such a big decision, maybe he even overthinks it a little bit.

G = GENTLE (how gentle are they, physically and emotionally?) Come on he is The Baby!!! He is so soft and loving towards you in all the possible love languages and he is absolutely the kindest little soul!!!

H = HUGS (do they like hugs, how often, what are they like?) Big fan of hugging, he will hug you at any given opportunity, he’ll literally run to you and hug you when he sees you after a few hours of being apart! His heart flutters when you do the same, especially if it’s in public, since his reputation isn’t exactly the most amazing - it means a lot to him when you show him off a bit.

I = I LOVE YOU (how fast they say the L-word) I think he falls in love pretty quickly but he would push the feeling aside, or try to, because at first he thought he doesn’t have much of a chance with you… wrong! Even after you begin to return some of his affections, he would put the “L-word” on hold, but eventually when he confessed it was super romantic - maybe a poem or a letter with rose petals inside of it while he waited anxiously somewhere behind a corner to see your reaction.

J = JEALOUSY (how jealous do they get and how they act then) Frodo is not jealous at all, he is literally too pure for that and he trusts you endlessly. In case someone is bothering you a bit too much, you can just give him a “save me” look and he will be there in an instant, more worried for you than jealous. Sometimes he will deem someone more suitable for you than himself, so he might grow a little quiet while pondering his insecurities, but if you kiss him on the lips in front of everyone, the negative feelings will dissipate rather quickly.

K = KISSES (what are their kisses like, where do they like to kiss you/be kissed?) He’s a little bit shy when it comes to kissing you and a little hesitant, so he appreciates it if you take charge when it comes to that, at first. Later on he will kiss you without a second thought, and he relishes in kissing you on the cheeks, you’re just so cute and precious (oops)!!! Maybe he won’t go for it in public, but if you kiss him on the lips in front of others he will blush FURIOUSLY but he will be unable to wipe the smile off of his face. Also he’s very respectful and will kiss you on the back of your hand a lot.

L = LOVE LANGUAGE (what is their love language and how they show you love) Acts of service and words of affirmation! I don’t think I need to explain the ‘acts of service’, but as for words of affirmation, he’s a nerd who reads a lot and has a wide vocabulary in more than one language - you’ll often find him lavishing you with compliments and sweet declarations of love. Maybe quality time as well.

M = MORNINGS (how are mornings spent with them) I think he could be a morning person! As much as he wants to cuddle with you a bit longer while you’re still asleep, he will most likely get up, open the windows, put some tea to brew so that you wake up to fresh tea. If he wakes up early enough, he will even go outside to pick you a few flowers to give you as soon as you open your eyes so that your day starts in the best possible ways.

N = NICKNAMES (do they like to use cute nicknames for you/you for them?) Actually not so much, he likes to stick to the classics like ‘dear’ or ‘love’, and he likes it when you call him that as well.

O = OPEN (when would they start revealing things about themselves; everything at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?) Somewhere in between. You two build a solid friendship, and then a relationship, through a lot of talking about all things, and a lot of pretty good communication, and some things just pop up with time. He grows to trust you more than anyone and knows he can confide in you with basically anything, however big or small.

P = PATIENCE (how easily angered are they?) Literally never ever, especially not at you! He gets more annoyed than angry with things, and he will absolutely vent to you about anything. At some point he will stop himself and be like “sorry, did I burden you too much” but you think it’s kinda cute when he’s ranting about something.

Q = QUIZZES (how much would they remember about you – every little detail you mention in passing or do they kind of forget most things?) He remembers quite a lot and he likes to learn things about you, about things you like, things from your past, things you love. He will ask you to elaborate on anything and everything and then listen to you with a smile on his face.

R = REMEMBER (favorite moment in your relationship) When he first introduced you to his besties!!! He was and is SO proud to be with you, and he had a feeling they would love you but he was still a little bit anxious because that’s just how he is. But of course you hit it off immediately, and before you knew it you could turn to Sam for advice, or have inside jokes with Merry and Pippin, and all that makes Frodo so happy - he is close to them, and you’re his special person, so his heart triples in size when he sees you getting along.

S = SECURITY (how protective are they; how they'd like to be protected and how they protect you) A moderate amount - he has a lot of respect for you and your independence, but at the same time he can be a little anxious. If needed be, he will stand up for you, or get you out of a situation as soon as you give him The Look, but he won’t necessarily step in if you seem to have everything under control. Sometimes you can be a bit too defensive of him, which is especially understandable after the quest, so if you shut down any rude comments he will be relieved, but sometimes reassure you that you don’t need to expose yourself for his sake that much.

T = TRY (how much effort do they put into dates, gifts, anniversaries, everyday stuff) Frodo is a very romantic soul, and he will try to create special moments with you as often as possible, but still manage to keep you on your toes. On some extra special days, like birthdays and anniversaries, you can expect really well-thought out gifts (gifts, plural), which show that he really knows you and really listens to what you say and what you want. On other regular days, he will get you flowers in the morning, get you your favorite book for no special reason, or ask Sam to help him prepare food for a romantic picnic on a hill at sunset.

U = UGLY (some bad habits of theirs) He can be in his head a lot and he can zone out relatively easily, especially when he’s bored (he hates being bored so he often turns to his imagination). It’s not necessarily that bad of a habit

V = VANITY (how concerned are they with their looks?) As long as he’s clean and has clean clothes on, he is good to go. He will most definitely ask you for your opinions, and if he notices that you particularly like when he wears this or that shirt, he will make sure to wear it more often. Maybe he even likes to match with you in subtle ways!

W = WISH (something that they really want to do/experience with you?) He would love love love to visit Rivendell with you once more, but this time without any burdens or threats. It’s such a magical and comforting place, and he would love nothing more but to enjoy it with you in peace, listen to elvish music, take long walks and appreciate all the stunning nature.

X = XTRA (a random headcanon for them) Not the best of singers, but he’s very talented with words and writes quite decent poetry. At first he doesn’t want you to see it, maybe only for your birthday or anniversary he might write you a little something. Obviously, you love it, and that boosts his confidence and encourages him to show you more of his works.

Y = YUCK (what are some things they dislike generally or in a partner?) He despises violence, obviously even more after the quest!!! Boy just wants to live in peace!!!

Z = ZZZ (a sleep habit of theirs) He quietly mumbles nonsense in his sleep on the nights when he’s extremely tired, and sometimes it can be super funny! Also it’s a habit that he pulls you closer in his sleep if he doesn’t feel you nearby anymore… adorable!

taglist my beloved @starlady66 @queenmeriadoc @entishramblings @thesolarangel @silversword7000 @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @averys-place @valkyriepirate @emmaarenstarr @noldorin-painter @asianbutnotjapanese @adamgetawaydriver @fenharel-enaste @ironmandeficiency @starryeyedrogue @dinofromspac3 @wisheduponastar @lady-of-imladris @frodo-cinnamonroll @unethicallypleistocene @deadlymistletoe @suncran @high-sea-husbands @asianbutnoteastasian @aidansloth @moth-makay

@bubbleyukismile @kitexvi @herstudios

i hope i tagged everyone right cause my taglist is a mess oops-

#lotr x reader #lord of the rings x reader #lotr fanfiction #lotr imagine #lord of the rings imagine #from my pocketses #frodo baggins #frodo baggins x reader #frodo x reader #lord of the rings #lotr

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genericpuff · 6 months

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What are your thoughts on LO Krokos and LO Ampelus (Psyche) ?

These two male mythological figures, who had a gay relationship with gods, turned into female characters ! If they weren't included (especially since Dionysus is still a baby here), I wouldn't mind. But just using those names like that TWICE is strange, right ?

It's also weird how LO turns two virgin goddesses into lesbians, but don't even implement the canon gay relationships.

Can you find an explanation?

I mean I can't really offer an explanation because obviously I have no way of really seeing into Rachel's head, but it's definitely a choice that she's taken so many gods and characters from Greek myth and turned them into something else entirely, it feels very random and, in the case of the gods who were canonically gay/queer/etc. ... it's hard to ignore and give benefit of the doubt.

Another example is Persephone's therapist, Chiron, who's not just gender bent, but also put into the role of being a therapist ?? Which is like, okay, fine, but like... what is this accomplishing besides vaguely referencing Chiron's affiliation with medicine LOL

(this wound up turning into a bit of an essay so I'm including a jump to make it easier for scrollers lol)

To me, it just feels like it really cements Rachel as not being as well-read in Greek myth as she claims to be, because so much of the actual Greek myth in this comic is either taken directly from first results on Google (see: Zeus' definition of xenia which is taken straight from a Princeton study guide from 2004) and slapped haphazardly into the comic where it's convenient, OR it's just vaguely referenced at even if it's not being properly utilized (like she saw 'Chiron, wise centaur' and went "yeah cool she can be the therapist character!"). I have zero explanation or even assumption as to why she'd turn Crocus, a male lover of Hermes, into Krokos the flower nymph, or why she'd choose to use Ampelus as the name Psyche adopts after being turned into a nymph (which also didn't happen in the original myth). These are "creative choices" that come across as less creative and more just random attempts to make her seem smart.

Like, to a surface level reader or someone who's new to the series, it might seem neat and subversive (it definitely did to me back when I started reading and fell in love with it), but then you actually get further in and peel back the layers and go, "wait, she's just grabbing Greek names that are affiliated with real Greek heroes and gods and characters at random-" and it gets especially ick when it commits queer erasure in the process.

Don't get me wrong, I think having fun with character designs and swapping them or changing them up is perfectly fine, that's the fun of re-interpreting old stories, it's not that on its own that's the issue. It's just that these re-interpreted characters have literally NOTHING to do with the characters that she's basing them on. At least in Punderworld where Charon is a woman, she's still a psychopomp who ferries souls to the Underworld, her being gender-bent doesn't change much because her character and role in the story is still largely the same. Or like in Hadestown how the Underworld is more of a coalmine with Hades running it as a business, instead of the River Styx being a literal river it's a brick wall that protects the Underworld from outsiders ("and they call it freedom"). In both of these examples, they're taking the source material and making it fun and new, while still respecting the source material they're taking it from and keeping it on theme with that source material.

By comparison, Rachel just creates these character references and that's where it ends, they're just references and they don't do anything new or interesting with them, they're not even adjacent to what they're referencing. So we wind up with Chiron being a therapist, Ampelus being the nymph version of Psyche, the Fates looking and acting the exact same as each other even though they had different roles to play between Past, Present, and Future, and Aphrodite's children who... are literally made up from scratch, instead of pulling from the actual real children that Aphrodite had loads of in the original myths.

So many of Rachel's writing choices feel like attempts to be "subversive" when they're not, they're just random. Nothing about the things she changes from the original source material does anything to further explore that source material, it's just yoinking things at random to try and seem more Greek while also further separating her work from legitimate Greek culture. Even when you THINK something is about to be retold in an interesting way, it's very promptly either swept under the rug or veered off in a whole other direction that makes zero sense for what it set up (ex. Echo, what the fuck happened to Echo-)

It's very "ideas first, structure never" writing, she comes up with standalone ideas that sound good in isolation, until she actually tries to execute them and connect them and you realize they have no through line or reason to exist the way they do. It's giving real hard "first draft" vibes, so much of what Rachel chose to do should have been left on the cutting room floor (meanwhile the things that supposedly did get left on the cutting room floor SHOULD HAVE BEEN KEPT IN THE COMIC, ex. Hera's coat prophecy, Hades and Persephone having a date in the Underworld where she decides she might want to go into law, etc.)

Ugh. This got longer than I intended it to. It's just frustrating. I have inspiration to write that essay about queer erasure in LO now, at least. So yeah, hold on tight for that one LMAO

#ama #ask me anything #anon ama #anon ask me anything #lore olympus critical #lo critical #anti lore olympus

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bunji-enthusiast · 3 months

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So. Uhm..

Have this small idea that came to me.

Sonic.exe world, with Knuckles(like maybe his soul version or before he gets killed) x reader (who can somewhat be like Sonic.exe? But more ,,, normal? Like. A kind & nice exe who saved him from being killed by Sonic.exe)

But with that, they kinda take his form? But their form looks more cartoony & classic-style. Kinda like a simpler and small form, easy to pick up Knuckles (maybe other survivors?) and run just as fast to a safe place. (kinda inspired by my own sonic.exe OC tbh,, but yeah). (You don't have to, tho! Just thought that this was interesting—!)

Mimicking Friend — Knuckles The Echidna

Note || this is a really neat idea! I hope I read this right. And if this is okay ^^

WC || 568

Sypnosis || If anyone told him beforehand he’d get saved by the one lesser of two evils, he would’ve laughed. Now he’s believing it himself.

He was confused as hell when it all began, the ebony grays and the scarlet red skies. It was all so menacing, but not truly to someone like Knuckles, he wasn’t very put off by any bit of the blood either. Only then he got concerned when he started to learn about Sonic, someone who he recently met. The echidna certainly didn’t expect the blue blur to actually kill his two-tailed fox friend, he thought they were as close as brothers can be.

Knuckles felt fortunate when he managed to fight off the demon, the bloody hedgehog was a killer but he sure as hell was no fighter. Even then, he knows the killer can and will adapt overtime, especially with all the strange manipulation of reality he can do. When he was sure the damn demon was down for good, he ran as fast as he could. Knuckles certainly wasn’t about to stick around for that possessed hedgehog to actually succeed in killing the echidna, he couldn’t leave the Master Emerald without the guardian.

When you finally made the decision to make an appearance before Knuckles, he was rather confused. You looked so similar to him, only tinier in size. Yet it was even more surprising when you possessed more strength he realized, carried as if he was a bride just married you ran even further then he possibly could (More so floated, but who cares?). You felt as if you had to keep Knuckles safe and hidden away from the demon, accursed and trickster with a knack for obsessing over things unnecessarily.

“Who the hell are you?” He finally asked after you had whisked away the two of you to somewhere far and safe away from the bloody hedgehog, Knuckles felt as if he was close to snapping within his emotions. He was confused, mixed up about every recent event which had occurred in mere minutes away from each other.

Why’d you save him?

Why do you look just like him?

Many thoughts and questions had run through the echidna’s head, but the one he had uttered was something he found most important.

You looked down, shifting closer to the ground so you could lay yourself for rest. “Someone who just wanted you to stay alive,” You began, feeling the words finicky to find. “Cause they know what it’s like to fail to do so.” Those words felt wrong, yet so right. You wince internally as you search his face for any hint of a reaction to your words. Knuckles sighed, complacency wasn’t his greatest idea of a deal begotten between him and a stranger who just saved his life.

“I owe you.” He spoke, finally decided to break the awkward silence. Knuckles took a moment of pause, closing his eyes as he crossed his arms. “Thank you, I suppose.”

You interject, “You owe me nothing, but I do owe you something.”

At this, he raises a brow. Eyes opening to reveal magnificent purple hues expressing interest in your next set of words, “You need answers yes? I can provide them.” Knuckles was albeit, relieved he could get them from someone friendlier than most entities right now. He wasn’t in a very grateful mood if he were to search for them himself.

“Alright then..” The echidna begins, taking a walk towards the distance.

He then gestures vaguely as he asks, “Who the hell was possessing Sonic?”

#sonic.exe #knuckles the echidna #knuckles x reader

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theflatpackangel · 1 month

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[brief note: this is an utter shambles and has not AT ALL been proof read(though I did delete a whole plot point cuz it was annoying me), feel free to IGNORE COMPLETELY plot holes, mistakes and cringe fail moments, Thanks!!]

The two of them sat silently in the office, the night nurse (aka Charlie) and Crystal were both otherwise occupied, he couldn’t remember specifically what they were up to; he was too busy thinking. Edwin sat peacefully in his chair, some humongous hardback about the science of superstition cracked open in his lap, too heavy to hold up for a long time. Charles was absentmindedly staring at the screen of the laptop Crystal had left playing. He wasn’t particularly interested in ‘Brooklyn 99’ at the moment though, his thoughts were occupied entirely with ways to convince his partner to relax. Edwin had been a little more stiff recently, especially after the confession, his relief about being free from hell had been extremely short lived. Maybe it was Charles who had made him this way, he didn’t think he’d changed at all since the confession. But perhaps he was quieter, after all, it was a lot to think about.

He glanced away from the laptop, his eyes trailing around the room until they laid themselves on his fellow detective, who had moved significantly since he last looked around. He had removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and flopped uncharacteristically haphazardly next to him.The book he had apparently given up on reading (in favour of watching the season three Halloween heist) was already neatly in its usual place. Charles blinked, bewildered. Edwin actually looked relaxed, at a small stretch, chilled out even. Somehow his hair had fallen out of its pristine gel chrysalis and into loose, albeit still neat curls.

What the fuck was going on?

“Charles, are you alright?”

“Yeah..yeah mate just didn’t think you’d watch this sort of thing is all”

Charles shook his head, reminding himself that he should be glad his co-detective was relaxing.

“I like to see how other detectives operate”

He hummed in response, watching Edwin from the corner of his eye. He observed him watch excitedly, whilst he didn’t seem to understand the jokes he appeared to be thoroughly enjoying himself. Charles didn’t think he’d ever see the day that Edwin Payne was at ease, but here he was, his appearance flickering occasionally as he relaxed more. You see, ghosts have to make a conscious effort to keep an appearance, but Edwin seemed to have forgotten it as he relaxed. His black hair curled gently without its wax pomade prison, his clothes were the same, but seemed much less stiff as his body untensed. Charles decided he liked this look quite a bit.

He sat quietly, thinking about their conversation on the stairs out of hell.. whilst they had forever to figure themselves out, forever wasn’t as long as he’d originally thought it would be, he thought it’d take him a couple of years, maybe even decades to make up his mind. But something had pried his eyes open. It had been six months, and he had decided.

But he wasn’t going to say anything.

Not yet.

After a while he found himself closing his eyes, whilst ghosts couldn’t sleep, they didn’t need to, so why would they, they had something very similar. This form of ghost sleep wasn’t for physical tiredness, it was more for mental tiredness than anything. As his eyes began to close Charles slumped over, his head resting on Edwin’s shoulder. His mind fluttered in and out of his sleeping state, occasionally his eyes would flick open momentarily. Sometimes Edwin would be peering down at him, presumably checking on him, other times he’d feel the cold brush of the other ghosts fingers on the back of his neck. The final time his eyes opened he had been laid properly on the sofa in the corner of their office, his head resting on one of the slightly moth-eaten cushions instead of Edwin’s shoulder.

His partner chuckled from the other side of the office, he could see the setting sun through the big window behind the desk. How long had he been asleep?

Edwin looked up from his files, a light smile playing on his lips.

“Good Evening Charles”

He blinked slowly.

“You drool when you sleep” he said matter of factly “did you know that? A client came in whilst you slept, if you’d like to come and take a look?”

Charles hauled himself off of the sofa and gave a small nod, approaching to lean over the desk to get a better look at the files.

“What’re we looking at?” He tilted his head, unable to figure out what the image in front of him was, it was dark and grainy, and quite frankly the worst photo he’d ever seen.

“Apparently it’s some sort of spirit projecting music box”

“Right. And who’s house phone took this?”

Edwin tutted and rolled his eyes, shutting the file with a hefty thump. “You know full well haunted objects don’t appear well on camera”

Charles hummed, pulling on his jacket and shouldering his bag. Truthfully he couldn’t really be bothered to go and exorcise a music box, but he was getting paid so he sort of had to.

“You’re awfully quiet today”

Charles scoffed playfully, feigning annoyance.

“Don’t be a knob”

Edwin smiled, a rare sight.

The apartment they arrived in was neat, it didn’t look all that lived in. In fact Charles probably would’ve thought it was one of those weirdly posh show homes had it not been for the dishes in the sink and the photos on the wall. Edwin had explained the case before they left, the average everyday, ‘I’m stuck and don’t know why’ sort of case. Whoever lived here wasn’t home often. It didn’t take them long to find the music box. It was producing a purplish mist, which was peppered with little images, all moving sort of mechanically.

“Fascinating” Edwin whispered, extremely close to his ear as he peered at the images, his eyes widened, fraught with childish excitement.

Charles didn’t say anything.

He just watched.

The mist was full of well loved memories, intricately detailed. One that caught his eye seemed to be from a wedding, the joy in the eyes of the couple before him would have made his stomach churn had it been possible.

“Right!” Edwin broke the silence, chirpier than usual “lets sort this out shall we?”

Charles shook himself from his daze and walked towards the music box.

“Could have something important in? Like jewellery”

“Mhm..maybe”

Edwin followed him over, flipping up the lid.

The inside of the box was just as ornate as the outside, carefully detailed with a green velvet, which was patterned with little white swans. At the bottom of it lay a vial, it was tiny, and filled with grey sand.

Ashes.

Charles thought carefully, ashes were supposed to be scattered, maybe they weren’t supposed to be in the box?

“Maybe that’s why she’s stuck here? Ashes aren’t meant to be just chucked in a box are they?”

Edwin nodded, picking up the vial “worth a try, we can’t let too much out though, they’re probably here for sentimental reasons, especially since they’ve not been scattered”

As soon as they’d tipped the ashes onto the street below the music box stopped abruptly, time to leave.

Edwin shrugged “anticlimactic, yet successful, come along Charles”

He paused “are you alright? You’re quiet”

“Yeah, fine”

His partner looked at him quizzically.

“I’ll talk about it when I’m ready, alright?”

“Alright” Edwin placed a hand on his back. “Whatever it is, it’s alright.”

“Yeah” he mumbled dismissively, strolling through the mirror on the wall by the door.

Weeks passed, Edwin’s concern grew massively. Charles was quiet around him most of the time nowadays, he spoke to the others as he usually did. In cases he seemed to talk more, but when silence fell he was preoccupied. This particular evening, Edwin had cornered him near the bookshelves.

“Something is on your mind”

“No, I’m just…tired”

Edwin raised an eyebrow, Charles withered slightly beneath his gaze, doing his best to run from his partner's chasing eye.

“You can tell me anything you know” he sighed, leaving Charles be in the corner, and dropping onto the sofa, his hands folded neatly in his lap, his expression expectant.

“I know- I just-“ Charles sat next to him, his fists gripping at the material of his trousers.

“If this is about what I said-“

“It is.”

“You’re not obliged to actually figure it out, I just needed you to know” he placed a hand on Charles’ arm, doing his best to reassure him that he was safe, and that everything was fine.

“I already figured it out.”

Edwin paused, his fists meeting in front of him and pressing together, his lips pressed into a thin line.

He cleared his throat.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Charles nodded, he took a sharp intake of breath, turning to face his partner, Edwin’s eyes were glassy, his own were pouring silently with tears “I think..”

Three loud thumps on the door.

Edwin cleared his throat and hastily wiped his eyes with the wisteria patterned handkerchief tucked into his inside pocket. Giving Charles his own time to pull himself together.

“Come in”

A woman’s head poked round the door, her blonde hair following in thick golden waves.

“Dead boy detectives?” Her eyes danced between the two.

Charles nodded “that’s us, what can we do for you?”

The woman hesitated.

“I need you to steal a painting”

The two of them blinked and turned to look at eachother.

“Pardon?”

Edwins bewildered tone made Charles chuckle to himself. The woman repeated what she had said.

“From where?”

The rest of the woman’s body entered the room, she was dressed extravagantly, she looked like a 70s hippie who had access to an IOS ecosystem.

“There’s an art gallery, just down the road, and this one painting, well it’s mine, and it’s the last thing I painted before I died. And that bitch nicked it”

The boys looked at eachother.

Art heist first, feelings later.

Three of them stood around the table, Crystal, Edwin and Charles. All crowded around the plans they had managed to acquire from the internet. Edwin was explaining in detail how they would get in, and whilst he was listening, Charles briefly took a moment to admire the way he moved so naturally when he was in the zone.

11PM

The three of them approached the steps to the gallery, there wasn’t any physical security, but there was definitely CCTV, the signs said so.

“You’re 100% about this plan, Edwin?”

Crystal looked at the boy quizzically, slightly worried something would go severely wrong.

“95%, it’s good to leave a margin for error, and besides, it’s the only plan we’ve got”

Crystal shrugged, still apparently sceptical but she still managed to use her psychic things to overtake the cameras. Which was a little bit odd, because cameras don’t have minds. But they didn’t have time to question it.

Charles and Edwin slipped easily through the wall, whilst they couldn’t be seen on camera, a floating stolen painting definitely could be.

He looked around, peering at the paintings in low light.

“Oi Edwin, what did she say it looks like again?”

“Alls i remember is that it is blue, and yellow and swirly and has cars”

Charles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Like this fuck off massive one in the corner”

Edwin turned

“Oh yes, that one” he said, half heartedly cheerful

It took them half an hour to smuggle the painting through the fire exit, it was taller than both of them, and just slightly more narrow than the door, once they were far away enough Crystal dropped the cameras back down, gasping for air. It had clearly taken a lot out of her. The two of them walked her home, hoping she didn’t faint from exhaustion on the way before they returned the painting to the grave of the ghost they had stolen it for.

Once they were back in the office the two of them celebrated, another successful case, recently they had both learnt the art of fist bumps.

After a little while of sorting paperwork, (and Charles recounting the case to be much more epic than it actually was) the two of them settled in front of the laptop, excited to continue with their most recent show. Edwin wasn’t really watching, he was sort of preoccupied with what he and Charles had almost discussed yesterday evening. Was Charles okay? Like at all? In love with him or not Charles was important.

He leant forward, pausing the episode.

Charles looked at him.

“About last night-“

His partner's eyes averted, looking anywhere he could.

“Yeah..”

“You never finished what you were going to say.”

Charles nodded, breathing deeply. “I figured it out..I- well I think I did anyway.”

“Your verdict?” Edwin prompted, gentle as always.

“I want to try. I just wish it was easy, I wish we could be easy”

“We never have been, have we?”

He laughed and shook his head. Edwin was right, the two of them were never easy, every turn was a challenge or an obstacle. And he was okay with that, so long as it meant he could be with his best mate.

“If you are ready, we can try, if not, I will be here, mainly because I don’t want to leave and also because I can’t”

Charles nodded “we can try, slow yeah?”

“So, what would we call this, trying thing?”

“Whatever we call it, us is us”

Edwin smiled, holding his hand out.

Charles took it.

“That was well cheesy by the way” he added, squeezing Edwin’s hand.

He chuckled, nudging him. “Get lost”

Weeks followed, the agency had been relatively quiet lately, Crystal was at school, and the night nurse was on some errand or another. The two of them lay on the small area of grass not too far from the office, Edwin had propped himself up on Charles’ legs, reading one of the books he’d received for his birthday. Charles had decided most recently that instead of doing his own thing he’d watch Edwin read. He liked the way his eyes travelled the paper with such intrigue, and the way his brows furrowed when he’d come across something particularly interesting.

Recently, Edwin had taken up some informalities, particularly the contraction of Charles’ name. He’d never really liked the name Charlie, thought it was too childish, too soft and careful for him. But he’d grown to appreciate it, it didn’t change him after all.

Edwin had also taken up things like ‘love’ and sometimes flitted between calling him his partner or his ‘other half’ when referring to him with clients. Each time he did these things Charles found his heart thudding, faster than if he’d have been sprinting. They hadn’t kissed yet. Each time they got close they were interrupted, either by their own nerves or someone coming through the door.

He poked at his partner, knowing full well that he was somehow ticklish even in his ghostly state. Edwin squirmed, looking over at him.

“Any good?” Charles nodded towards the book

“Mhm” Edwin nodded, settling back down to continue.

“Which one is this again?”

“Wuthering heights”

He nodded, deeming it stuffy and boring, it sounded like some sort of snobby gated community. Edwin settled back down, entirely absorbed in the story. Charles himself continued to look around, the World Cup was on later, and he could already hear the chants in the pub a street over.

A short while later he found himself rather bored, everyone seemed to have gone inside to watch the football or disappeared in some way from around them.

“Don’t suppose there’s any chance of a walk? My legs have gone dead”

“Your legs cannot go dead Charles, because you are dead”

“Yeah well, I’m bored, please can we go and do something?”

Edwin closed his book and sat up, looking at him.

“Like what?”

“Go for a walk, go and watch the match, snog in the board game cupboard, I’m not fussed”

Edwin swatted at him, missing and quickly being parried with a playful shove.

“You come up with something then Mr Prim and Proper”

“I’d say we could go and watch the match, but I guarantee everyone in there is completely blotto”

Charles laughed through his nose “blotto?”

“You know what I mean.”

He hummed in response, spreading out on the grass to look at the gradually darkening sky. He thought for a moment about the past few weeks, and how he’d been happier since he’d been able to be truthful about his feelings. Charles turned his head, observing as his partner watched the people chanting in the street, it must be half time he thought, tracing Edwin’s face with his eyes.

He liked the way that his partner didn’t seem to mind at all.

Then he heard something.

A little respect by erasure, absolutely blasting from someone’s upstairs window.

He grinned and pulled Edwin to stand with him, whilst it wasn’t his usual genre, it was still a tune.

“What on earth are you doing?” Edwin scuttled to his feet, laughing as Charles danced carelessly and admittedly with no skill whatsoever.

“Dancing, try it!”

“Respectfully love, that is not dancing”

He grinned.

“Well if you’re so good, teach me”

Edwin arches his eyebrow, a playful smirk twitching at his lips. Before he could think Charles was swept into a very well choreographed dance, and whilst it was old fashioned, it was fast paced and it was fun.

He laughed, allowing himself to be swung around. One of his partners hands was resting on his waist, the other had taken his own hand. The two of them messed around on the small area of green for a while before they collapsed into fits of giggles, somehow out of breath with their lack of lungs.

“That..” he gasped “was mint”

Edwin laughed, slinging his arm around Charles’ shoulder. He wasn’t stiff anymore, he was still proper and neat, but he was casual now.

The two of them walked the short distance home, playfully bickering despite being hand in hand. He liked that ghosts could feel other ghosts, he liked that he got to be real and alive with Edwin, even if it was short lived.

#paynland #charles rowland #edwin payne #dead boy detective agency #payneland #paineland #chedwin #dead boy detectives #my writing

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