#I feel so bad for the young wolf | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mooishbeam · 7 months

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『♡』 In the Ring

♡ featuring: boxer!wriothesley x manager!reader

♡ summary: its hard managing a boxer full time. maybe it's time you relieve that stress. wc: 6.8k+ (???>":>?)

♡ cw/tw: mentions of trauma, mentions of violence, rough sex, overstim, face-sitting, size kink, unintentional edging, hair pulling, mentions of choking, argument, confessed feelings, slow burn, kinda toxic?

notes: can u tell how down bad i am for wriothesley. also do yall like the smaller text cause I do. jing yuan fluff next :)) art by sxnalien on twitter! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

For a second, the crowd stills. Bright intense lamps illuminate the sweltering squared circle, buoyant under the nimble movement of the boxers. They trade blows, bobbing and throwing each devastating hook with an even deadlier counter. No one took a hit for the past minutes, and the audience scoots to the edge of their seats at the sheer stamina of the two. Both dripping sweat, barely holding on between the merciless clock and their steadfast opponent. You can almost hear the breeze of swift jabs cutting wind against their jaws. The one with blue gloves can barely manage to guard himself, with a swollen face and wobbly legs, while the crimson gloves deal relentless punches. The crowd shouts. Unintelligible echoes, some that pray for the win, others grieving the money they’re about to lose. He’s caught on the ropes, and attempts a wild swing to save himself, to save his career. Red gloves weaves effortlessly and delivers a brutal crush to his bloodied nose and possibly busted mouthpiece. The crack is resounding, it makes the commentators cringe. His skull flies back, and he comes crashing down from his dizzying tower. The head-first fall vibrates beneath the feet of investors in proximity.

DING DING DING

Mass uproar ensues. They jump out of their seats, flailing their arms, joy and pain in equilibrium.

“And he is out! It’s all over!” the commentator yells. Confetti floats golden dust from the ceiling. The victor stalks the ropes before hopping on them, his gloves raised in the air. Glistening, high off elation, but somehow composed in his attitude, akin to a wolf.

“A savage knockout from the untouchable world champion, the king of the ring, Wriooothesley!”

“Wrio, Wrio, Wrio!” they chant. You’re standing near the ropes, already identifying which joints you’ll need to observe after his victory lap. It’s hectic, and you’re jotting down the state of his figure. Past experiences sew through each deep scar carving his rugged biceps and abs, the bruises display early signs of discoloration. He’s tall on the unseen throne, it feels like you’re there with him. A million eyes in that vast stadium, and yet, those midwinter eyes ebbed in silver only look at you.

Your beginnings as a manager were tumultuous. You could barely comprehend how out of your league you were working for a renowned agency fresh out of college. Though you found quick success in your ability to grab the attention of investors through public relations, you weren’t equipped just yet with the hindsight in preparing for scandals. The other athletes you worked with served no problem, and so you never had to worry about their appeal. Higher ups praised your extensive portfolio, and at such a young age, it was even more commendable. You earned it, fame and respect, interviews and gossip—a delicate dance. You were always busy, assisting your clients throughout the day and maintaining their presence while they slept. It was hard work, but you loved doing it.

That was until you worked with amateur boxer, Childe.

A snappy, overconfident lightweight fighter with no regard for anything or anyone. He had an unmistakable void in his eyes, but you fought for him ceaselessly, to prove that he wasn’t the cold person he portrayed himself as. You bore with his flirtatious compliments and innuendos, the need to focus him whenever you documented his afflictions, and he’d not-so-subtly flex his biceps. Childe was unnecessarily violent with underhanded tactics. The media knew this and did everything to amplify that bellicose story. You’d combat it, negate it, but he only fed the flames with threats of retaliation. Taking his phone wasn’t enough, and you couldn’t get through to him. It was only a matter of time before he went off the deep end.

The day you slept, you discovered a restlessness you’d endure indefinitely. The flickering glow of your device woke you at midnight as hundreds of notifications congested your screen. 128 missed calls from your agency, 50 from news sources, and none from Childe. When you processed the damage from his deplorable stunt, you nearly hurled your phone out the window. He posted revenge porn, and evidently turned off his phone. Surely, there’d be a way to fix this. The chances seemed to dissolve with each text turning green. You started pacing, battling with morality and loyalty and anger. What he did was disgusting, but it’s your job to save him, right? Is he worth saving? You spoke with 4 managers at once, switching through motives and bickering until morning. As you flipped through the television, another emotion struck you.

There he was, on a tasteless gossip channel. An interview you didn’t arrange, with a man you’ve never seen before. And he was...crying? The sob story emitting from his deceitful lips was almost impressive. Childe went on about how “demanding and horrible” you were backstage. The crocodile tears dried up through dodgy anecdotes, but it was enough to have people hooked. You were allegedly physically and emotionally abusive. He was too scared to speak up due to your position and he just couldn’t bear it any longer. Then he dropped the bomb; he blamed you for his post. You forced him to do it, jealous of his previous partners, emphasizing how enamored you were of him. The questionable tears began to fall again, but this time he covered his mouth, withholding the duping smile crawling on his face.

You were filled with blinding rage, unable to control the fury at which your remote connected with the screen. It was everywhere now, social media websites booming with live opinions. He had no reason to slander you, and you couldn’t pinpoint why he chose to hurt you like this. You cried for him, shared stories of childhood and family. The knife you used to protect him was firm in your back, twisting and digging with each disgusting message in your inbox. You had no game plan to conduct, and no tears left to cry.

Within a week, you finally understood how cruel this industry could be. Within a week, you were no longer on top. You lost clients fast. It spread like wildfire and not a single outlet spared an ear for your side. People you called friends, coworkers, hadn’t replied to your messages. When you got back to work, the rooms were silent as you passed. You could feel their judgement, whispers rattled with rumors and accusations. They waited for the tiniest slip-up and pounced like hyenas—you were eaten alive by their pitiful stares. You attempted to tell your truth multiple times throughout the week, but it was consistently rejected. The headlines were eye-catching:

“Manager From Hell: Childe Tells All!”

“He Cries: A Story of Love and Jealousy”

Your stomach churned to the magazines being shown. Despite the great amount of loss you suffered, you were thankful for the one person that believed you, your boss.

“Childe is a lying little snake. The media knows that, too.”

“Then why is this happening?”

“Money. That story is making bank right now. But I know for a fact you wouldn’t do this” he reassured.

“Thank you, sir. But...I lost everything; I just don’t know what to do.” The weariness was heavy in your voice.

“I have someone you can manage. It won’t be easy, but if anyone can do it, it’s you.” You were unsure of yourself now, and he continued.

“You’re one of my best. If you want to climb out of this, now’s your chance.” Yes, you were unsure, drowning in doubt. But if the only way to get above water was to keep swimming, you wouldn’t give up so easily.

Wriothesley wasn’t exactly known for his kindness. Crude, cocky, maybe even spoiled were descriptions that circulated in the tabloids. He had a knack for pissing reporters off by not answering questions or humming over their voice with a shit-eating grin on his face. Women loved him, however, throwing bras and phone numbers written on scrap as the condemned “bad boy” departed post-game. They screamed his name at once, and he’d done nothing to deserve it. He relished infamy—that way, it was much harder to pry into his private life.

It had to be a coincidence that it was someone you fangirled over. In college, your eyes were glued to the screen every Sunday, waiting for Wriothesely’s post-conference and behind the scenes interviews. He didn’t speak often, but just the sight of those inky strands streaked with ash made your heart flutter featherlight in your chest.

When you first approached him, he was just as arrogant as you’d expect.

“Good evening!” you beamed. You caught him outside the gym, and he still had his headphones in. Full volume and blankly staring as you went on about the opportunity, silent under the blaring music. He took one earbud out when you finished.

“Hm? Who’re you?”

You were slightly annoyed. “Let me reintroduce myself, I’m (Y/N). Your new manager.”

“No. Bye.” He began to walk past you without an ounce of care. You couldn’t lose it like this.

“Ah, wait!” He turned half-heartedly.

“Listen, I get it. You don’t want to be bossed around. But honestly, your reputation is shit. That can’t be good for business.” you persuaded. He towered over you, the figure of a Greek giant peeked through the compression top as he lazily watched you.

“So? Why do you care?” he remarked.

“I’ll help you. Sponsors, advertisements, whatever you want. You’re good, but you can be so much better. Let’s make money together.” You held your hand out, awaiting a handshake of approval. He merely glanced at your limp wrist.

“Help? You’re obviously not doing this for free.”

“Of course not. Give a little, take a little. I don’t do charity cases” you shrugged.

He groaned, raking his fingers through his thick mane. At the very least, he hadn’t walked away yet. “I'd prefer for my life to be private.”

“Then I’ll guarantee your privacy.”

“Really?” he scoffed. “What can you give me besides empty promises?”

“Anything you desire. Work with me, and I’ll make it happen.” That offer enticed him. No one had been this persistent with him yet, he scared off any manager that dared succor him. It was slightly entertaining, the way you burned ambition in your eyes, you were so easy to read. Most people wouldn’t look directly at him, and here you were, ready to follow him home if that’s what it took. He chuckled, and his massive hand reached for yours.

You shook hands, and your fates were sealed.

That was a year ago, and ever since then he’s been a thorn in your side. Nonstop drama and rectifying consumed your life. You didn’t think a man who spoke so little in public could talk so much around you. Whenever you argue—which is a frequent occurrence—his smirk grew wider at your frustration. You weren’t sure why you ever liked him in the first place. He only puts in effort when it comes to sparring, but you’re determined to ameliorate his standing, and in turn, yours.

The minute you open the doors to the hall, the sound of pummeled sandbags, clanking metal, and sneakers skidding across the floor roars in your ears. Some men are dialed in on abusing the inanimate objects, the rest tense through repetitions of dumbbell curls with a hiss. You're in quick strides, the phone arm's length away from you as the sponsor on the other end screams. Another petty drama surrounding Wriothesley grabs the attention of the internet. Luckily, you have thorough experience remedying this.

“What are you going to do? You’re fucking with my money!” you hear the faint voice. You bring the phone back to your ear.

“Don’t I always deal with it? He fights, I make up for the other half. Give me a few hours.”

“I’m not going to wa-” You hang up at the response.

You propel the double doors free into a large room with a boxing ring in the center. A group of trainers swarm the perimeter, you can barely see through.

“Don’t be scared!” one of them taunt towards the sparring partner, who has an unthinkable panic creeping in goosebumps dotting his skin. Each sloppy dodge tilts him more and more off balance against the strikes. Wriothesley has a powerful stature, with his back curving in a way that accentuates the rough muscle shaping his spine. You drone an annoyed sigh at the commotion and push yourself through them.

“Move it, move!” you yell, before jostling your way to the front of the ring.

“Wriothesley! Times up.” He turns his head to the side, unintentionally sparing his partner and glares at you.

“Two minutes.”

“No. Now.” you command. He looks up at nothing, as if considering his options if he cusses you out. Then he begrudgingly drops the gloves and pulls himself under the ropes. The group disperses from the lack of action and he’s mere inches from you now. Sometimes you forget how to breathe in his half-naked presence.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He mumbles while drying his head with a towel. His colossal forearms are raised over his head, highlighting the happy trail thick down his abdomen and tufts of hair on his armpits.

“You. How many times do I have to tell you not to train during recovery?” you seethe.

“Damn. Must’ve slipped my mind.” He doesn’t sound convincing in the slightest.

“Well then, I’ll be sure to remind you hourly.”

“Nah, I’m good. Hearing you once a day is enough.” He tosses the towel to you like his dutiful servant and grabs his water bottle. The liquid drips down his chin and on his shorts, hanging below his v-line.

Your eyebrow twitches from withheld vexation. “If you don’t want to hear me twice, I suggest you do what I tell you. We need to talk.” A heavy sigh leaves him as he stretches, and he passes you the water bottle. If you had the strength to collapse the bottle with one hand, you would. “Lead the way” he goads.

Wriothesley follows you through the backdoor of the gym to a secluded alleyway. When you get there, he immediately pulls out a cigarette you didn’t know he had. You were aware he smokes occasionally, but seeing it physically coaxed a strange worry in your gut. You twist your phone to him, to display evidence of him instigating an argument with Childe on social media. He reads in silence, briefly laughing at the recollection of his own comebacks, then lights the cigarette.

“What’s this? Didn’t I say keep a low profile?” you reprimand.

He drags in a deep breath of nicotine, and you eye the foul scent with distaste. He blows it above your unhappy face. “Calm down. Once a month thing. That fucker's testing me.”

“This can’t happen again, Wriothesley.” He ignores you to continue his mumbling. “I should break his neck like a twig. He’s lucky he didn’t say that shit to my face, fucking punk.” he grouses. You're struggling to gather your thoughts, the cigarette compacted between his thick fingers irritates you.

“We all appreciate your restraint, however-” you get closer, and yank the stick out his hand.

“No-!” Before he can finish, you promptly smudge it underneath your shoe. You aren’t sure how he’d react, but you didn’t expect him to sulk like a puppy.

“You aren’t doing this shit while I’m here.”

“Oh my god” he pouts, throwing his hands into his face and pulling them down.

“You’re lucky I don’t report it to the doctor. None of this, ever again.”

“Fuck, alright just...” he lets out a defeated sigh. “What do you want me to do about it? Apologize publicly?” You need him to do nothing; neither agency wants controversy, and it’d most likely be swept under the rug in just a couple days. You point his water bottle to him.

“Nope, I’ll handle it. Just sit there and be pretty.” you reassure. He leans down to your height with a sweet smile and even sweeter gaze.

“I do that well, don’t I?” he quips.

“You manage.” He latches onto the water bottle, and drinks from it in your hand while looking at you. A soft heat envelops you beyond words that never reach your lips.

“Listen to what I’m saying. Low. Profile.” Wriothesley comes up from thirst, dragging his tongue along the straw to the top, and licks his blushed lips. He delights in your flustered reaction.

“Low. Profile.” he repeats in a sarcastic drawl.

Later in the week, you receive a call in your office. It was fairly busy today, with coworkers constantly “checking in”, more so to see Wriothesley sitting across from you. He had no reason to be here, and you were surprised at his arrival. Be it boredom or a certain longing, a dull swell pulsed in his chest once he saw your overworked smile.

“Hello, this is (Y/N) of Boxe Association. May I know who I’m speaking with?” Wriothesley’s ears perk up at your sudden professionalism, and he mimics your cadence.

“Good afternoon, it’s Isadora.” Isadora was an event coordinator you previously worked with before your controversy. You understood that she stopped communicating to protect her business, but the pain lingered. You twirl the phone cord around your fingers, and meet eyes with Wriothesley, who’s laid back in the chair, his arms behind his head.

“Oh. Hey, it’s been a while.” you say. You turn your swivel chair away from him to continue the conversation. His eyebrow twitches slightly with an unconscious scowl, and he walks towards your chair.

“It has. I’m calling because I have a proposition that might interest you. I believe a meet and greet would be appropriate for your client. A large chunk of his fanbase are young adult women, however, he’s also popular with children.” He spins the chair around with a firm hand and presses his cheek against the phone.

“That’s true.” You side eye him, and without skipping a beat, mush his nosey face away. His hot breath on your digits makes your skin tingle.

“Who is that” he mumbles. You'd never seen Wriothesley interact with children, and you have every reason to be hesitant.

“Hmm...any positive activity with children is good publicity. I’ll consider it. I’ll let you know by tonight.” The second you hang up, you release his face.

“Why are you being annoying-”

“Who were you talking to” he chides.

“Isadora. She’s an event coordinator.” His clenched jaw unwinds. “She wants to do a meet and greet with you and a few kids. If we go through with this, I’ll have a camera crew and some reporters there. It’ll be good for your image.”

“Okay.” he agrees. That was quick.

“...Are you sure? Kids are loud and obnoxious a lot of the time.”

“So? Fine by me. I can teach them how to fight.” Your skin crawls at the thought of Wriothesley launching a child through a wall. “That won’t be necessary.”

“It’ll be fun.” The more he assures you, the more uneasy you feel.

“Wriothesley, I’m serious. Don’t screw this up” you plead. He holds his pinky out. “I won't.” His loose interpretation of promises was dubious at best, but you had no other options, and this might be your only opening. You curl to his word.

After parleying the finer details, you broadcast a raffle for young fans to meet Wriothesley. The traffic to the website was overwhelming, and you quickly began sorting out tickets for the favored winners.

Fortunately, the next couple of weeks were par for the course.

It’s the night before the event, and you’re getting ready for bed. You sit at your desk in a big T-shirt and do your daily review of personal data. As you're scrolling through and identifying what needs improvement, you get a notification on your phone.

“Breaking News: Boxer Bar Fight!” Curious, you open the tab to a video. It makes your breath stall, sweating frantically. You can’t think clearly, and your shaky hands can barely increase the volume. Unidentifiable noises and wobbly camerawork made it impossible to catch anything besides those familiar inky black strands, throwing punches in a drunken stupor at a defenseless man. Your previous conundrum flashes through your memory in a horrific stop-motion; the duping smile on his face.

No. It’s happening all over again. Why is he at a bar? You messaged him before he went to bed. He never goes to bars. Why now, the night before the event? It’s late, he doesn’t go anywhere without telling you.

He promised.

None of it made sense as you threw on any sweatpants in your drawer and ran out the door. You can’t wait until morning. Disaster punctures and tears any rational decision you contemplate. Shouting silently within your mind, a crashing rage—or sadness—boils in your nervous stomach. You’re tunnel vision in a taxi on the way to his address.

When you get there, you bang on the door with a fury that vibrates throughout the archway. His home is extravagant, with two cars and an expansive driveway. You bang again.

“Wriothesley!” He finally opens the door. He’s still half asleep, pajama pants low on his waist, groggily leaning against the arch.

“(Y/N)? Uh, what’s up?” He slurs in a deep slumbering voice through heavy eyelids. You barge in without saying anything. “Make yourself at home, I guess.”

The interior is just as opulent as the exterior, it almost looks untouched. Every corner has a case or shelf stacked with ornate trophies and medals of excellence. It was the home of someone who achieved peak perfection and reveled in it. He follows you to his living room, bewildered at your furious expression. You play the video in front of him, and he watches with that same puzzled attitude that makes you angrier. You try taking deep breaths to compose yourself, but they halt shallowly.

“What the fuck is this?” you accuse.

“What? I don’t know.” “Like hell you don’t know, this shit is on every homepage. Are you serious?”

The cranky boxer pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. You show up at his house, and it’s to badger him about a rumor. Your temperament only heats the smoldering ember fueled by incessant claims. He covers his mouth, physically stopping the involuntary response.

“Okay” he says, and blurts a facetious chuckle. Your heart thumps in your chest and ears.

“Oh, It’s a fucking joke? I bust my ass to save your career and you’re laughing?” you snap, voice increasing in volume until it reaches a broken peak. He returns with the same energy.

“When did I ask you to fix anything? Did you ever think that maybe I don’t fucking need you-”

“You can barely control your smoking habits you pompous ass-”

“I would if you didn’t nag me all the time. Whining and complaining, it’s fucking annoying!” he yells. Neither of you meant the words spilling out the bubbling surface, but your tongues were solely seasoned with the next spiteful jab.

“Yes, whining! Because all you need to do is be on the straight and narrow, but you take nothing seriously, Wriothesley, and that’s exactly why-”

“Exactly why what? Why your career went to shit so you’re piggybacking off mine?”

Your battle stops. You can’t find the words to rebuttal. All the opinions of your colleagues, the media, Wriothesley, and yourself coagulate into a lump that fills the tightening throat. Pride comforts tears brimming your eyes.

He pauses, as though he came to reality. An apology attempts to form on his lips, but it never manifests. “(Y/N), I didn’t-”

“See you in the morning” you choked. You walk to the door, and he reaches out to the infinite space thick between you two.

You didn’t sleep the entire night. It’s morning, and you’re exhausted. You consistently replayed the quarrel in your head through the taxi ride home, and when you strived for rest, it plagued your mind. Your coffee is untouched during your morning routine, a movement comparable to zombies. You don’t bother to confirm if Wriothesely is at the building—either way you owe it to the event holders to be there.

You arrive just before the children file into the training room. Thankfully, Wriothesley is there in the center. Live cameras from reporters and parents border the walls; if something were to occur, it would be irreversible. Your head suddenly hurts.

Perhaps playing it up for his reputation, the smile stretched across his face is a sunny warmth you’ve never seen from him. He waves to them, and they erupt with screams. To your astonishment, he gets on his knees to be eye level with them. They all jump into his arms at once, and he topples over onto the mat.

And he’s laughing. This grumpy asshole fighter is laughing. A hearty, genuine laugh as he wraps his sturdy arms around all of them and picks them up at once. He whirls them around and they orchestrate high-pitched giggles. “Ready to have some fun?” he chortles. They say yes to varying degrees of excitement, and the meet and greet proceeds.

You can’t help but smile when he frolics with the kids. They chase him with boxing gloves, he pretends to fall dramatically. Dogpiling him, he lets out a shrill scream of defeat. He manages to work in proper defense techniques while they jump him like a test dummy. He tosses each kid in the air whenever they ask, and never tells them no. You receive another call from Isadora amid your admiration, and you step outside.

“Hey! Good news, these views are off the charts and the internet is really in his favor right now” she congratulates.

“That’s great...what about the video from last night? Did you see it?” you ask.

“Video...oh, that! Don’t worry, it’s confirmed fake.” What? Oh no. Immediate regret stirs in your blood, and you force the phone away to catch your breath. You feel utterly stupid.

“Hello?” You quickly bring the phone back to your ear. “Yea, sorry. I have to go; I’ll call you later.” you insist. You can’t facepalm any harder. You make your way back to the training room, where the kids decorate his gloves with iridescent stickers. Wriothesley occasionally looks at you, but you can’t bear to show your guilty face.

When the event is over, you both make sure to hug every child on the way out and thank the parent for coming. You’re sorting through mountains of requests people made to see Wriothesley again, and you mute your phone over the influx of emails. Peeking at the broadcast, under the footage in bold letters:

“(Y/N) Back from the Dead?”

It wasn’t the most flattering title, but it proved that public perception was salvageable. You emit a sigh of relief, for you and Wriothesley. As you’re packing your things to exit, he blocks the door with his body.

“Can we talk?” You were dreading this discussion, but agreed, nonetheless. The ride to his home is silent, you grapple with a proper apology.

You lean against the kitchen bar, while he’s laxing on the couch. Sleep deprivation torments you, causes you to wander as you fill in papers from sponsors. You can’t see the way Wriothesley steals glances at your slack figure curving to the marble. He eventually spoke.

“So, um.”

“I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. You did a good job today Wriothesley, you should be proud.” You flash a meek smile. He fumbles with his thumbs uncomfortably.

“I am. Aren’t I the best?” he boasts.

“You are” you say. The lack of sleep beckons you to a spur of honesty as you scribble. “You have stunning form, perfect accuracy, and immeasurable talent. Not just anyone can do that.” you return. He gazes at you, that dull swell pumping in his veins again. The cozy radiance of lights brightens your tired eyes.

“You’re a big fan, huh?” he chuckles.

“Of course, I used to watch you in college. I had a major crush on you” you snort. “Everything you are is amazing, but you know this. So cut it out.” He sits on the armrest, swallowing your confessions. The room is entirely too hot, he needs alleviation—he needs you.

“Sorry. For what I said.”

“Forget it. It's my fault, I was careless. I apologize.” you admit.

“You know I didn’t do it, right?”

“I know.”

“I didn’t.”

“I know.” you reassure.

“What if some other bullshit controversy comes out. Then what?” You stop writing to give him your full attention.

“Then, I’ll trust you. We’ve gotten this far. Even if no one else does, even if for some reason I lose my job and I’m not your manager anymore, I’ll trust you, Wriothesley.” you reveal. He doesn’t move. Wriothesley knew he wasn’t deserving of trust, and he’d made a plethora of mistakes throughout your arrangement. You had every right to leave him long ago. Nobody gave him the time of day or cared for his wellbeing like you did, but he couldn’t reciprocate. Even so, here he kneels, at the feet of an angel that shows him undying mercy.

Wriothesley stalks at you, but you remain. He looms over you, pinning you to the counter with both arms, inches from your face. It isn’t a threatening force, but one that begs for confirmation. That slated storm searches for a specific craving, you feel his chest rising and falling laden with yours.

“You’re too close” you quiver. The bitter musk and vanilla enveloping your senses makes you foggy, it lingers through the whole house.

“Tell me to leave.” His mouth slants to you, and he waits expectingly. You ogle his features, the scratches of a warrior celebrated across his hardy torso. His hair brushes against your forehead, imperfect and uniquely beautiful. Why were you mad, again?

“Tell me to back off, (Y/N)” he pleads. The pads of your fingers lightly caress his ear, then his jaw.

“Please” he whispers. Your thumb grazes his bottom lip, and he succumbs to the urge.

You collide fervently, lips coated in definitive desire. Dancing with rough, bruising kisses that don’t make space for air. It smears on your face, dips down your neck and swiftly returns to your lonely mouth. The pressure of the counter bar burns across your lower back from his weight, but those mind-numbing kisses soften any injury. You bite his lip when he pulls away, and he groans. Suddenly, he lifts you effortlessly with his hands on your ass, and you clash teeth and tongue in a passionate challenge. He demands entry, and you moan into the wet mass intertwining through sloppy kisses. It explores your mouth, sending throbs to your nerves and subdues any control you have left. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, but you yearn for deeper contact. He licks up the organ, and spots moist, hungry kisses on your jaw. You both take a fleeting breath before converging again. You find passage in his hair and suck staining rose-colored marks on his neck while he carries you to the bedroom.

“You’ve been waiting for this, hm? Slutty groupie” Wriothesley moans. You drag kisses along the shell of his ear. He tosses you onto the fluffy bedding and haphazardly strips to his underwear. The wide mirror opposite his bed gives you a glimpse of his thighs and shapely bottom hugging the briefs. You’re supposed to be undressing, but that thronging bulge made for a titan makes you nervous for what’s to come. He palms the erection to soothe the ache and climbs over you. He’s somewhat gentle, careful with the bulk of his body as he cradles your face for more kisses. The way he looks at you, a covet softness or misted lust tantalizing the wetness pooling in your panties. He moves to your neck, French kissing down your throat and on your collarbone. You feel like a virgin again, heart racing from every graze of his fingers and lips. His calloused digits grope the plush fat of your thighs, and gradually reach the hem of your skirt. You snake your hands over his pecs and abs and read the muscles. Moaning into each other's mouths, indulging every part of your bodies as you’ve wanted to do for months. He pulls your skirt off and you hold your button-down over your exposed panties. Heat spreads in your body, and he amuses at your sudden bashfulness.

“Oh…you’re shy?” he teases, before popping the buttons off with a brutal rip. “Wrio!” you yelp. That’s the first time you called Wriothesley a nickname; he must’ve died and went to heaven. The lace gift wrapped around your breasts taunts him, and he buries his face immediately. He nips the sensitive skin and snaps the clasp off. “Cute. Need to feel you” he husks. He twirls the bud in his mouth, while manipulating the other between his girthy fingers. Alternating among loving hickies and harsh tugs of his teeth on your nipple. You whine, and his laugh tickles your raw skin. He flips over on his back and steadies you on top of him. Discards the rest of your top, and let’s out a shaky groan.

“You’ve never been this speechless” he says. You smile and kiss his puffy lips, your hands kneading his chest. “You’re so pretty” you coo. He huffs while rubbing circles on your waist, eyeing your inner thighs covered in juices.

“Then come fuck my pretty face.” He slips under the waistband and tweaks the fabric, but you grip his wrists. “Wait! Let me shower first- “

“You said you'd give me anything I desire, remember that? Keep your promise." He yanks the thin material down your legs in your weak clutches, trailing a string of drool that sticks to your labia. “C’mere” he grunts and lifts you towards his face. Your thighs are soft on either side of him, and you still in his grasp. He lolls his tongue out, but you’re reluctant to fully sit. “I’m heavy” you murmur.

“Shut up.” He embraces your body, and you have no choice but to settle in his warmth. He keeps you flush with his flat tongue, swiping up and down the squishy flesh molding to his mouth. You writhe in his grasp, but he continues to lap at your clit with a starving lust. Wriothesely soaks in your velvet skin and perfumed essence dribbling down his chin. He doesn’t come up for air, and your brain is mush over him, his lips slurping your quivering cunt. A buzzing intensity courses through your twitching stomach. You rut your hips against his mouth, and he maintains his position while you use him. You’re grinding on his tongue, absent-mindedly biting your lips and mewling endlessly as you bring yourself closer to climax. He hums while sucking the nub and the vibrations make you cry out.

“Wrio, ‘m coming” you whine. You hump his mouth until you come undone in a pulsating finish. His hands restrain you, greedily devouring the newly found honey as it pours out. You ride it through while he curls the tip of his tongue at your opening. Without warning, you feel the pink muscle push in your recovering vulva. “S-Shit, Wrio” you whimper, trembling on him as he drives inside. He seizes the back of your thighs and begins to bounce you up and down the mushy appendage slowly stretching you. The sensation is overwhelming, his nose skims your oversensitive clit each time you drop, and you sob. Wriothesley moves faster, your hands entangle in his hair. You babble please’s repeatedly, gazing sensually at each other as the coil winds in your gut. More, more. Then it snaps, an abrupt shock, clenching on his tongue as you cream. He raises your lower half; the wetness collecting in your convulsing heat makes his cock strain more than it already suffered.

“Such a cute slut” Wriothesley husks. Your numb legs can’t navigate on their own, so he places you on your stomach. “We’re not done.” He springs his throbbing length free. The veins are consistent, prominent up his shaft to the angry red crown—9 inches begging to be inside you. Fresh precome trickles down his tip and he sighs at the bloated pain in his hefty balls. You arch your back, presenting yourself to his awaiting size. When he doesn’t enter you turn to him impatiently and he smirks.

“Put it in” you whine. Wriothesley spreads your backside, and watches you clench around the ghost of him. He glazes himself with your slick, and moans from the feeling of your puffy lips cuddling his cock. “It’s not every day a fan gets to sleep with me. Be grateful.” he teases. He pumps through your squashed thighs, the head prodding your nub while he forces your chest flush with the bed. After he thoroughly coats himself, he nudges the bulbous tip to your entrance.

Wriothesley sinks into your sex. You’re gripping him like a vice despite the searing soreness of your body accommodating the scale. The fevered sleeve nearly makes him crash to the hilt, but he stutters gradually to relieve your discomfort. He hits the base and shudders. You feel unbelievably stuffed, as if it’s squirming in your cervix. Then he starts at a savage pace. He’s using you like a flesh-light, balls smacking your overwhelmed tender nub with a carnal impulse. His moans spill uncontrollably as he watches your rippling ass and viscous webs blend together, clinging to his cock and forming a cloudy froth at the base. Your knuckles turn white on the sheets; you can’t think or feel anything that isn’t him, core surging with intense want.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, gonna snap my dick off. Ah- gonna make sure you can’t walk t-tomorrow. Then- hah- then you won’t be able to find anyone who fucks you like this, who makes you come like this.” He’s rambling and stuttering, completely incoherent the closer he gets. He glances at the mirror, then at you. You feel your hair jerked back by his massive hand, and lock eyes with Wriothesley in his drunken haze. “Stop, it’s embarrassing!” you slur. You’re both sheened with sweat, disheveled bodies satiating the hunger in any way you can.

“Shh, you hear that?” The squelching slam of passion echoes in the room, sopping down your leg through his pummeling thrusts. Your back bends unnaturally as though it were folded in half. “You’re so fucking hot, so needy for me.” His veins adorn your walls, you start to tear up from the mixture of pleasure and pain. He notices your tears and holds you up so that your back is flush with his chest.

“It hurts?” he questions, stalling his movement. You feel him twitch. “No, feels s’good Wrio. More” you mewl. He chuckles, and gently wraps his hand around your throat before pumping again.

“Too good? Am I the best you’ve ever had? Say it.” He moves faster, free hand rubbing your clit. Your knees buckle and eyes roll back to your skull, he takes in the scene of your convulsing figure in the mirror. “S’best I’ve ever had, please ‘m so close!” you rasp, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. He chases his high, panting animalistically in your ear.

“Shit- look how desperate you are. Want me to come inside? Y-yea, I bet you fucking do”

“‘M coming!” you babble.

“Good. Make a mess.” he commands. Fire trails up your limbs, and you tighten before falling apart. Fluttering around him, taking him deeper while you come on his sack. Wriothesley pursues his sputtering hips, spurting thick globs that paint you white. He whimpers as you milk his spasming length dry and presses tired kisses along your shoulder blade. When he comes down from his apex, he turns you over on your back. It’s hard for him to not be proud of your boneless existence sprawled on his bed. You’re both breathing hard in silence, and he leaves for a couple minutes. You’re stunned when he returns with a damp rag to clean you up, and some dark substance in a mug.

You find the strength to sit up while he wipes your lower areas. “Where are my clothes?”

“...For what?” he mumbles.

“To leave?” It seemed like common sense to you—boxers usually don’t go for long-term relationships, and so you assumed it to be a one-night stand. You dip over the edge of the bed and locate your skirt, but Wriothesely hops up and snatches it before you can. “I’ll put it in the wash. Relax.”

“I didn’t know you were so hospitable. Do you do this for every girl?” you tease. He gets visibly upset, and shoves the cup from the dresser in your hands. “Don’t piss me off. Now, drink. I’ll order food.”

Multicolored sunset flaking through the sheer curtains frames his stature while he’s on the phone. You sip the tea, it’s a vile grainy taste. For a moment you imagine what life could be like with him by your side—poor quality tea and an awful temper. In your pleasant aftermath, it doesn’t seem bad at all.

#genshin smut #genshin au #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley headcanons #wriothesley #fontaine #genshin x reader #genshin impact

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frogchiro · 7 months

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HII HII ur writing is perf 4 this idea but you don’t hav 2 do it !! i js thought of u <3 little red riding hood reader & big bad wolf (ko, ghost, price) any cod guy & i think it’s js soo cute !!!

[art by doujinpearl]

ARE YOU KIDDING ME THIS IS SO CUTE??? YOU NEVER MISS LOVE!!! And thank you it really means a lot to me that you like my silly writing <33

tw// horror elements and this has like one mention of a 'off-screen' death but no one major

I think I'm gonna go with König for this one?? Bc something about him just screams big bad wolf to me y'know? Also for the sake of this story, König is described like on the pics above, so his lower half is life a literal werewolf.

okay also i'm putting this under the cut because this somehow grew into a whole fic?? My dear @9irly9irl if you see this know that I love you and this was so. freaking. enjoyable to write??? I love this so much??? Also I'm sorry for the horror themes but I'm getting ready for October and the gloomy weather outside made me do this. I hope you still enjoy and PLEASE send me more for this au!!

Big bad wolf König who is on the prowl for some time now, he's on a hunt for you, the sweet girl who lives alone with her mother on the edge of the dark forest your good old momma always tells you to stay away from and for good reason. The townsfolk from the villages around whisper in fear and dread about a monster lurking in the woods, half man-half wolf with an insatiable taste for blood; they call the beast König, the undisputed King.

And honestly? König likes that rep. It means less annoying pests wandering around his territory safe for a groups of young guys from time to time who think they have the balls to try and 'kill the beast' but they are dealt with...pretty quickly.

But no, König has his glowing eyes set on something more...Exquisite. On something soft and pliable, sweet smelling and so so pretty. Namely on you. The werewolf guesses he has to be thanking his lucky starts or whatever bullshit that while sniffing around your cottage he overheard your mother talking about going out into the forest to bring her sickly mother, your grandma, a basket full of food and some other supplies and being the sweet little thing that you are, you of course cried and volunteered to go yourself, that your mother is already older and that you will make quick work of it.

König swears that day that his blood never rushed downward to his dick so fast. You, soft little you, all alone in his forest? His territory?? It's like you're begging to get taken and mated! The trek from your cottage to your grandma's home would take you about 2-3 days as she lives deep in the woods, the perfect timing for him to reveal himself and take you away for himself into his den in the darkest parts of the forest where you will have the perfect life with him! No more worrying about food or warmth during the cold, dreary winter months, he is more than a capable provider for his future mate, not to mention your future litter of happy yipping pups you will birth for him! It's a perfect plan!

And so he waits. And waits. And waits until the day you finally leave with your cute basket in tow and a tearful goodbye with your mommy dear that you will return as soon as possible. Yea, sure sweetheart.

I think he'd reveal himself by the time it's getting nighttime, when the sun sets, the air is getting cold and a ominous darkness sets over the forest where your trembling body sits in a makeshift nest made of a blanket and a thick animal pelt under a old, big tree. Everything seems so loud, the cries of nocturnal animals sound much more bleak and unnerving, not to mention the weird, chilling feeling of...something following you. Like there were a pair of eyes trained on you since a few weeks ago but you never mentioned this to your poor mother as you didn't want to worry her, but the feeling only amplified ever since you left your home and went on a trip to your grandmother.

You couldn't help the loud yelp you let out when suddenly a pair of glowing golden eyes appeared in the small clearing around the tree; a pair of glowing, unblinking orbs that seemed to be suspended in the air in the surrounding darkness, the weak fireplace you managed to make doing basically nothing to light up the area and your poor little heart started to beat like crazy when you noticed the eyes moving forward, closer and closer to you until the light finally caught what was moving towards you...or more like who.

It was an enormous man, easily over 7ft tall, his broad, bulky shoulders moving as he stood from the position he was in to his full height and those ominous glowing eyes still were unblinking as they stared at you like you were just some lamb and...you probably were.

The one thing that somehow stood out the most, even amidst literally everything else unnatural about this man, were a pair of ear on top of his head, which only now you noticed was covered in some sort of tattered old hood with holes for the eyes and ears, and a huge fluffy tail which was wagging faster anytime you seemed to look the man over, but what really brought it all together was his lower half...it-it was all fur. His legs were that of some bipedal wolf and in that moment a silent scream tried to make its way out of your throat; it was König, the brutal and unforgiving beast that resided in the surrounding forests, the one that people tell horror stories about around campfire and...he was here. He was here before you to tear you apart and leave nothing behind, not even bones.

Tears were streaming down your face, a look of utter defeat on it because after all, what more could you do? You can't possibly fight him, you can't outrun him, hiding is out of the picture too...You were ready to feel the unimaginable pain of those jaws locking themselves on your throat and draining you of your life but the you felt...warmth? A slick, warm feeling on your cheek and when you opened your eyes a bit you saw what it was. It was König, or more like his long tongue licking away at your cheek in an almost comforting matter, his wide unblinking eyes still trained on you though his pupils seemed to grow in size, now taking over most of the glowing yellow and when he deemed you to be clean of your tears, a large crooked nose with a scar running across it nudged into your cheek and took a deep sniff to get your scent. A stray thought ran through your mind when you took a closer look at his uncovered face and noticed another huge scar across his face and a few smaller ones, who or what in their right mind got close enough to inflict such wounds on someone like König?

When you stayed still and just stared at him wide eyed and out of breath König let out a deep growl like purr of content; he could hear your small aborted breaths still coming out quick and your heart fluttering in your chest like a small erratic bird but he could see that you were a tiny bit calmer now and not on the brink of hysterics like a few seconds before. He couldn't help but grin in delight, a nasty, wide thing that revealed rows of sharp teeth. He finally had you. He had you exactly where he wanted and now you were his. Well not completely yet, you two would need to mate first but still, everyone had to start somewhere right? For now he had you calmed down even for a bit, showed you that he wasn't a threat to you and wasn't going to hurt you. It was still only the night of the first day of your travels and he will offer to guide you, he couldn't possibly allow such a cute young lady to just wander around the deep dark forest all alone, right?

Of course he won't mention it that he will be herding you away from the path and instead guide you deeper and deeper into the heart of the woods where his den in. He won't mention it that he will be making very obvious and insistent advances at you, insisting on staying close at all times and wrapping his huge body around you at night for warmth, nosing and nudging at you to cover you in his scent and maybe make you a little bit hot under that deliciously low neckline of the dress that you're wearing, the cape in a lovely shade of red acting like a blanket to shield you away when König is nosing at your neck and bosom, greedy for all the tiny, shy, flustered noises you make, greedy for making you all hot and ready for him.

And of course he certainly won't mention to you about your poor old granny's corpse, rotting for weeks already in her old, decaying house where she died of some illness or old age. No, no, your new life is here, with him. Forever.

#kin speaks #asks #interactions #cod mw x reader #cod x reader #hybrid au #werewolf!könig #red riding hood au #könig x reader #könig #konig x reader

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diejager · 5 months

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Nooo but there is something about the monster au where there is a casual mention from her that she won't live as long as them (I assume monsters/hybrids are longer lived plus she is a lot more likely to die on mission), like she probably just jokes about it offhandedly and it sends all of them feral because... no? Absolutely not? Insulting. Ridiculous. Not happening.

Cue ultimate clinginess, all rushing to be more intimate because the thought of her not being around is abhorrent. Soap maybe losing it a bit going off on a line of thought about how he could mate her right? Would it be awful if there was a way for her to be a wolf shifter?

I AM GOING TO LOSE MY MIND

Change cw: mention of turning, mention of death, joking about death, tell me if I missed any.

All options are on the table at this point, death had always been something that loomed over them like a shadow, the veil and sickle of death following you wherever you went. You’ve had more than one reminder of your short life, your vulnerability as a human, weak and tender skin, short lives and a delicate body. There were so many things in the world that could pose a possible danger to you and they hated that.

You lived shorter lives than most monsters or hybrids, you grew sick and frail whereas hybrids could fight any viral infections or diseases, you didn’t have thicker skin despite all the extra layers of protective gear and you were a target of many for your choice of career. They were reminded of you mortality whenever you get hurt, blood painting your skin with a strong, metallic odour.

And it didn’t help that you’d often joke about it, throwing offhanded comments that made their hackles raise, body tense and mind brewing with what ifs scenario that has them tearing their hair from the root. While some monsters were more solitary than others, all of them were possessive of what they deemed their family —pack.

Ghost and König stuck closer during training, a tall, imposing figure behind you that acted as a guard dog to ward away anyone they deemed a danger. Soap and Horangi hung around you in the rec room, either laying on you or clinging to you, putting a show of ownership over you. Rudy and Alejandro, the ever active couple, were always finding you around the base, striking up a conversation and wrapping their arms around you. Gaz would was the cuddliest of the group, finding time outside of his busy to snuggle up against you and cover you with his wings, pulling you to sleep on his shoulder. Price, the man with the most authority in the TF made sure that you were always with someone on every Op, having someone to back you up in the most dire situation.

Every visit to the medic made them wild, it brought them closer to desperate measures. Would it be so bad to turn you in one? Would it be so bad to let Soap bite you during the full moon, his bite infecting you with his power: thicker skin, sturdier build, longer lifespan and better sense? The only draw backs were the higher wildness, near feral during full moons and a competitive mindset over the possessiveness and brattiness of a young werewolf.

Would it be so bad to make you return as a wraith? While Ghost learned to control his powers alone, the pain and emotions building up in his body without any way of letting it out, you had him, you wouldn’t be alone with the resurrection. He didn’t want you to feel the terror and agony by yourself —he didn’t want you to know how it felt to die and come back.

Would it be so bad to have a vampire turn you into one without becoming a thrall? You couldn’t walk in the sun, something you told them you enjoyed, you’d be restrained to specific activities and you wouldn’t like that, being limited by the sun. Granted, there were solutions to that, but none very comfortable.

They knew you were aware of your mortality, made fun of it and laughed as it this was your last day, but you didn’t fear death, you only feared leaving them. You were open to their thoughts, listening to their ideas and options with a neutral expression, but you didn’t reject the idea of turning you. That was a good thing, a step forward in their mind.

Now all that needed to do was to let you decide which path you wanted to walk.

tag list: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @ki-cant-spel

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gatitties · 8 months

Text

War & crack II

—Task Force 141 x young!reader

—Summary: more headcanons with your team as you being chaotic

—Warnings: none

Part One / Halloween special

yeah, I didn't finish my brainstorm and I bring more things from this sudden idea 🫣

─ Listen, you have a lot of problems.

─ And we are not talking about your jokes about death biting your ass anymore.

─ Price's going to go bald before he retires, how the hell are you still alive today? It is a mystery to them.

─ Everyone noticed during a mission where they had to stay in a safe house for a few weeks that you had the same concentration as a fly, empty thoughts behind your eyes lost in a distant point of reality.

─ You looked like another person when you were a simple civilian, Gaz had to pull you so you wouldn't get run over a couple of times for not looking at the traffic lights.

─ Price needs to put on videos of crunchy slime or Subway Surfers so you could hear what he was saying, (Soap won't admit that it also helps him focus).

─ They discovered that you can sleep in any position, seriously, whether it's standing up, in the bathtub, your body bent in an unusual way, now they understand why you complain so much about back pain.

─ Everyone looks in silence when they give you little impulses to do stupid things, like, last time you were walking to see the area and you found a woman walking her dog, you asked her if you could pet it and when she said yes you pet the woman instead of the dog, Ghost dragged you away murmuring an apology.

─ The following days they decided that you would stay at home, they simply fed your stupidity, every time they arrived you received them with the phrase 'where have you been, loca?' while playing a wolf howl in the background.

─ Luckily it was time to return to the base, during the trip you were listening to music, despite having your headphones you had the volume so high that everyone could hear it, Soap stuck to you because he liked what you were listening, the others decided to drown out the noise with some light talk.

─ Once you returned to the base you relaxed, returning to your working state, you focused again, which relieved all.

─ One day they decided that you needed a nickname since everyone had it except you, so they began to investigate your record as a cadet and even your years in the military school.

─ You kicked and fought because you were something else a while ago, but it was inevitable to find an old report where it said that you were violent with some classmates.

─ And in your anger for probably some nonsense, you ended up biting the ankles of a guy, or a group of guys, or even one of your lieutenants...

─ Soap and Gaz cried with laughter because there was a video of what was evidenced and you looked like a rabid chihuahua attacking its worst enemy.

─ Nibbles, at least it was temporary because you didn't entirely agree with the nickname.

— Since you were now known like that, you went from friendly punches to friendly bites.

─ Once you got kidnapped and you returned to the base the next day because your captors couldn't stand having you sing old Justin Bieber songs or listening to you talk about all your obsessions, they tried to cover your mouth but you just kept making too much noise, the information was not worth it.

─ You arrived in the middle of the meeting they had to prepare the rescue, having the courage to enter the room asking who they were trying to rescuing.

─ Price casually replied that they were looking for you until he did a double take, realizing you were there.

─ You were buried in a mass of muscles after the realization.

─ When you're depressed at random times (because you don't understand how your brain works and you feel bad out of nowhere), everyone will quickly notice, like even though you're not the most talkative person all the time, you usually drop some stupid comment, but on your bad days you are simply a piece of flesh and bones that walks without knowing where it's going.

─ The first time they saw you like this they tried to do something to cheer you up, Price gave you a few days off hoping your mood wasn't due to work overload, he even wrote some of your reports.

─ Soap bought stickers and decorations to your liking to decorate your prosthesis, he also told you that he could draw you a design to have your personalized arm.

─ Gaz tried to talk to you but you just didn't want to open your mouth, he chose to just keep you silent company, maybe you hug him, you need a little physical support.

─ Ghost will leave objects scattered around knowing that you would find them, knowing that they were things that you liked or had been looking for (because the poor guy always has to pick up what you forget around the common room).

— Nothing seemed to work until a stray kitten snuck in and lit up your face, so the easy answer was any baby animal would brighten your day, it was free therapy.

— You once dyed the boys' clothes pink by accident, but at least you told them that now they could go see Barbie with you.

— You promised you'd take them to see Oppenheimer, and that's why they agreed.

— You created a group chat just to send shitpost and teach them the meme path.

— Price just leaves it on seen, Ghost has the group muted, Gaz answers from time to time and Soap is the most active, he learns fast about today's shitpost.

— You really resist the urge to trim Price's beard to make it heart-shaped.

— You use the radio to sing parts of songs when you take too long to jump into action, Price scolds you for it.

— You complain that he seems constantly in a bad mood and you open a profile for him on every dating app you know, even on Grindr.

— You found Ghost's profile browsing Tinder and Soap's profile on Grindr... you decided to use it as a weapon in case you needed any favors.

— Gaz caught you red-handed, but you made a deal and he wouldn't say anything if he can profit from the manipulation.

— You hide it like you're hiding war crimes.

— Why does Price have so many likes from single moms?

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emilybeemartin · 1 month

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A whopping, like, 2.6 people have expressed interest in my recent adventures in watching Bean films, which is all the encouragement I need to present to you:

An Incomplete Guide to Sean Bean Roles (Investigation Ongoing)

Our guy has a vast filmography, and I'm not even close to being halfway through it, but I've watched a lot of his significant ones in the past few weeks thanks to a perfect storm of illness, injury, and lapses in client work. Crucially, I have created superlatives for a variety of them and present them here for your benefit. Disclaimer: many of these films are violent! Or have butts and/or tits! Some have dick! Some have dated bits that didn't age well! So, if you have triggers or are watching with young viewers, do your research first! Also, these are just the opinions of one solitary millennial! Nothing is objective! Nothing is real! I care not!

Okay, CYA done, let's begin. I'll get the two most obvious ones out of the way up front, otherwise they'll dominate half the categories:

ACT I

Greatest Bean: Fellowship of the Ring. I've said it before and I'll say it again, he achieved more pathos with Boromir than a lot of his other roles have allowed for, and every note he hits just sings. No debate.

Best Bean for Your Buck: Sharpe. For the best confluence of quantity, quality, physicality, emotion, humor, and action, you can't beat Richard Sharpe.

Favorite Dramatic Bean: Time; he earned that BAFTA fr

Softest Bean: The first date scene in Stormy Monday, where Brendan shyly gets to know Kate, slow dances with her, lends her a shirt and strokes her back after she asks if they can just go to sleep instead of have sex.

Most Dashing Bean: Vronsky in Anna Karenina, that uniform cuts, damn

Swooniest Bean: I know I'm supposed to say Chatterley, and he is undeniably sexy as Mellors, but there are parts where his character is actually kind of off-putting. I'll lay a good chunk of the blame on the weirdly ominous score, the very of-the-time depiction of dubious consent, and Joely Richardson's tendency to look like she's having the worst time of her life while shagging the hot gamekeeper. No, I'm giving this category to Stormy Monday again. He's just so gentle and genuine in this one, without some of the obligatory "heartthrob" overtones of his nineties stuff. He never raises his voice at Kate or manhandles her. He really does feel like some kid who just wants to be sweet to his girlfriend.

Laddiest Bean: When Saturday Comes, specifically the strip club and bathtub scenes.

Favorite Sad Bean: As a collective, he has some great grief scenes in World on Fire, but! The railroad track scene in When Saturday Comes?! That was RAW.

Favorite Mad Bean: Black Death; there are plenty of movies where he doesn't smile at all, but unlike some others, his grimness and anger felt proportionate to the story, rather than just rage because he's good at rage.

Favorite Bad Bean: There are so many great Bean villains (Goldeneye, obvs), but I think my favorite is Patriot Games. Bonus points for all the different hairstyles he has in this film (long locks-shag-shag ponytail!-buzz-wet spiky buzz). Also HUGH FRASER AAAA

Favorite Dad Bean: Wolfwalkers, where Bill Goodfellowe literally turns his own convictions and beliefs upside-down in order to protect and support his daughter.

INTERMISSION

A note on GoT: I haven't watched it. When season one was first coming out, it was during a time where I really couldn't handle watching any kind of sexual assault onscreen, and while I have a higher tolerance now, I just... don't want to. I like seeing gifs of Ned Stark and appreciate that it's one of his great roles, but I just can't make myself take the plunge.

ilysm you grizzled dead wolf man

ACT II

Favorite Costumed Bean: Odysseus in Troy: curls, leather, thighs.

Favorite Un-Costumed Bean: He strips in quite a lot of his films, so let's give it to Lady Chatterley for sheer screentime, exertion, and the bonus of being naked and wearing a flower crown. Honorable mention to When Saturday Comes for the totally not homoerotic amount of butts and also dick in the locker room bathtub scene.

Hurtin'est Bean: Bravo Two Zero. Oof, don't watch this one if you have an aversion to seeing pain, although---you're a Sean Bean fan, and we all know one of his MOs is being GREAT at pain. This one was directed by Tom Clegg, who directed Sharpe. Also lol at the sickle-shaped wound on his shoulder, which is covering his 100% Blade tattoo (he gets a lot of sickle-shaped wounds on his left shoulder).

Best Inside References: The Frankenstein Chronicles, where he plays a former Peninsular soldier, and every reference to his service is a reference to Sharpe, including shots of his greenjacket, pistol, sword, and flogging scars. Honorable mention to The Martian for the Council of Elrond line.

Most Unsettling Bean: Cleanskin for moral grayness, The Frankenstein Chronicles for body horror

Most Inefficient Use of Bean: Black Beauty. Despite getting high billing he's only onscreen for about two minutes and I'm convinced the long shots are a body double. Criminal.

Biggest Missed Opportunity: We were robbed of a Sean Bean Odyssey. R o b b e d

Funniest Bean: Deploying Bean for comedy is woefully underused, but he made full use of his ~15 seconds in The Vicar of Dibley ("Spring" episode). He's also hilarious in Wasted, though I haven't watched the show, only the clips he's in on YouTube, where he plays a mock version of himself serving as a spirit guide for a stoner. IMO, though, Sharpe gives him the most room for humor.

Favorite Character Quirk: In World on Fire, when Douglas is having WWI flashbacks and really coming apart, he kept putting his hand to his mouth. My modern brain first read this as talking into a phantom radio, but of course that wasn't right, and then I realized--he was reaching for a phantom gas mask. CHILLS. AMAZING. (Honorable mentions to the Mouth Rub and the Tongue Thing [pictured above]).

Most Nostalgic Bean: National Treasure. The concept may be utter silliness, but you have to admit, this is a fun movie to watch.

Best Dismount from a Horse: Henry VIII, he goes pshwing out of the saddle

Best Swordplay: You may think there's no possible answer to this, but there is---two moments, specifically: the preparatory sword-spin he does at Balin's tomb just before the goblin attack in Moria, and the four lunges he does at 1:26:22 of Sharpe's Battle. It's just facts.

Prettiest Bean Film: Wolfwalkers, hands downnnn

Favorite Bean Death: All right, you knew we had to eventually end here. It's Boromir, obviously--- nothing tops that. But if we're looking at other roles, I think Patriot Games is my favorite, followed by Goldeneye.

So! That concludes this installment of Bean films, though I'll be continuing the labor, and I hope you will, too. What are your favorites?

#sean bean #fellowship of the ring #lord of the rings #sharpe #stormy monday #lady chatterley #patriot games #world on fire #goldeneye #bravo two zero #troy #wolfwalkers #black death #national treasure #anna karenina #time #gifs #flashing gifs

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alicerosejensen · 3 months

Note

OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH

I JUST HAD A CUTE LITTLE SCENARIO IDEA. It is about vendetta! leon and young(20’s) reader series! What about reader sitting on the bathrooms counter/vanity while helping Leon shave? His hands are resting on readers tighs or around her waist as he watches her focused eyes. I THINK THAT WOULD BE ADORABLE PLS.

And i don’t think this counts as an ask, but if you’ll want to do something with this im not complainig hahah 👁👁

Warning: Fluff, mention of injuries, age difference (implied but not mentioned), Leon!Vendetta, Leon gets taken care of (this man needs a little love and devotion); talking about nothing.

I'm sorry, I'm too lazy. I write slowly and because of some eternally tired condition

Coming back to you after so many weeks of silence was wrong, or at least unfair. To tell the truth, Leon did not feel that he should have done it at all, the doctor recommended bed rest, but it was all the same. It was not the first time he had been thrown like a rag doll, although this time he felt like he was on the edge, dangerously balancing between life and death, when Aris's claws almost pierced his flesh. At least Leon thought he was going to die thinking about you- the only good thing in his life in recent years.

He wasn't even sure if you would let him in, but when he broke out of the dark tunnel, the whole flight he thought only about how nice it was to return to the person who, for some reason, cared about him. You weren't his wife, you weren't his work partner, you were just a girl. The girl he was afraid to fall in love with because he always thought that this love would hurt you. Although it seems that only one was injured, and it was Leon himself, who came up with stupid rules for himself to protect you.

And here he is, you look at him without any malice, although it would be worth it. Leon really doesn't think he has the right to show up like this without an invitation, but he does, looking into your eyes with a guilty look, hoping that you won't drive him away and let him lick his wounds while he lets you love him tenderly.

"Come in," you nod head, letting him into your tiny apartment, in which Leon felt better than at home.

Although it looked more like a lone wolf's lair. It was much more comfortable and even somehow warmer with you.

Taking a step, Leon feels not like a government dog, but an ordinary person who is taken by the hand and let into a small corner of paradise. Maybe it will last a day, two or a week, but he will be a little happy and loved.

"Should I heat up your dinner?" You ask casually, as if he wasn't ignoring you and running away to drown his problems in alcohol. "Leon?"

"No, I'm not hungry."

"Coffee?" Again you offer him, but he just shakes his head negatively as he sits down on the chair in front of you.

"No"

Maybe you think he came here to end all the little things that were between you, but no. He just needs you as a salvation, otherwise his head will drown in regret.

All Leon wants is for his fight not to be in vain, but every time someone else takes the place of the bad guy, and corporations continue to create viruses that turn people into bioweapons. He runs his hand over his face, feeling the annoying stubble under his palm that should have been shaved off, but having drowned in alcohol, he didn’t want to do anything.

“I just,” he looks at you with a hazy look but completely sober, “Can I stay here? With you?”

Who are you to refuse him? But be honest with yourself, you want him to stay here, especially since his beaten appearance really said that he was better off not being alone. Under the T-shirt, bruises and abrasions on the face and arms and what appears to be a dislocated shoulder are visible. In any case, wanted to believe that Leon didn’t break any bones.

"You know that my answer is yes"

Leon doesn't smile. Just eternally grateful that he won't have to sit in his dark, lonely apartment lying on his bed again after taking a strong painkiller.

He sleeps well with you, he doesn't have nightmares, and he's just comfortable here. You can turn on the TV, watch an old movie with you and lie quietly, knowing that he will not be called anywhere until he recovers. There was work left in New York for B.S.A.A and TerraSave, but not for him, besides, he didn't take a shower before coming to you, fortunately you had some of his things, including a spare toothbrush and a new disposable razor.

And that was the problem. The problem with his shoulder, which you kept looking at without stopping, as if he had grown a third arm.

“Working moments,” Leon muttered, feeling that he really wouldn’t refuse your dinner. “Can I ask you something else?"

“Yeah, sure.” You really never refused him.

Arias threw him against the wall, clearly sparing no effort, but thanks to the adrenaline, Leon didn’t feel much pain and was able to maneuver and attack this crazy bastard. The truth is that falling from a motorcycle does not benefit his body, which is why when everything calmed down, Leon realized that it was simply difficult for him to pick up the very razor that was now in your hands and do such a simple job as shaving.

“Just stay still, or better yet, sit down,” you said loudly, seeing that Leon didn’t like the touch on his neck when you tried to cover him with shaving foam.

It was already like instinct when they touched his neck. Leon immediately jerked to the side when he felt someone else's palm on his skin, as if the touch caused him pain. He never talked about how often he was grabbed by the throat, but from his reaction one could guess that this was a sensitive area that he did not like to trust to anyone but himself.

“I can’t shave you if you twitch like a little kid who doesn’t want to wash his face,” you joked, using your finger to spread the shaving foam you had on your hand onto the tip of his nose.

"Just...a reflex"

You thought about it, biting your lip, but Leon just exhaled, gathering his strength, knowing that you weren't going to kill him. He trusted you, so he calmly sat down on a small chair, putting his hands on your waist, trying to relax.

You saw how tense his muscles were, as if at any moment he was ready to make a jerk, his fingers squeezed the fabric of your tank top while you distributed foam over his face, trying not to overuse the product at the site of his abrasions that have not yet healed. When that was done, the razor in your hands gently touched the skin of his neck and gently shaved off excess hair from his face with smooth movements against the coarse hairs.

Carefully avoiding all the cuts, you managed not to hurt him. Step by step, you constantly rinsed the razor to remove all the hairs from it and walk it over the places where the stubble still remained. The most difficult thing for Leon was his neck - he felt too exposed and vulnerable, but when it was over and you moved to another zone, it seemed to you that he even exhaled.

In the end, getting carried away with the case, you didn't even notice how Leon was gradually able to relax and carefully watched your movements, finding you charming when you are so focused only on him. Maybe it's a little selfish, but for him you look so beautiful that he thinks about asking you to shave him again in a week when the stubble grows back, just to watch you take care of him again.

It took you a few minutes to catch his eye when you were completely done. The blue eyes stared at you with such attention that for a second you might have thought that something interesting was written on your face since he was looking at you like that. It's a little awkward and you look at him in response, stupidly blinking your eyes when you wipe his face with a towel, which makes a smile bloom on your lips and you look away.

"What's funny?"

To be honest, there really wasn't anything funny, it was just embarrassing for you.

"Did you leave me something like a mustache?" He joked and you burst out laughing

"Good idea! I'll do it next time."

Leon chuckled, because as a temporary joke, you could do that. That's just the accumulated fatigue that fell like a heavy boulder on him did not allow him to rejoice as much as you do.

"You're obviously going to amuse Chris," He sighed. You threw the razor into the sink and froze for a moment when you felt his head pressed against your stomach, relaxing in layers as you run your fingers through his hair "Thank you"

"No problem," you kissed the top of his head, helping him stand up, noticing how he hisses from the pain in his back when he straightens up.

"Fuck." Leon hisses in pain, catching his breath, realizing that maybe he should drink more painkillers and let a loved one take care of him. "I think I'm catching up with my age"

"Maybe. But I think you should rest and follow the doctor's recommendations at least until you stop needing painkillers."

"Until the next mission, you mean?"

You didn't say anything because you didn't know much about his work. After laying Leon on the bed, he finally exhaled with relief after looking at you with secret gratitude. Literally the only person who gives him warmth and comfort, and maybe he should come to you instead of washing down his bitterness in a bar. Thinking about it, Leon even thought that if he had stayed with you, he would not be suffering from his injuries now, however… What would have happened to Chris and Rebecca? But it's too late to regret what happened. He's alive and he's with you now. He lies in your bed listening to the usual chatter while the TV is on in the background and you settle down next to him bringing an extra blanket and pillow.

In the end, you just plopped down next to him, thoughtfully looking at the picture on the TV, pulling the blanket over yourself. Leon moved a little closer to you, hugging you around the waist, nuzzling your cheek, covering his eyes from fatigue. Of course you knew that he works for the government, but never what he does specifically. You saw the "DSO" marking on his gun, but you were afraid to ask him about it, although the fact that Leon has the right to carry and store weapons freely already hinted that he does not work in some average position and his injuries… one is worse than the other.

It is difficult to unravel the thoughts of this person, especially when he is completely immersed in himself. You know that he has some problems with alcohol and a couple of times you even quarreled about it, after which Leon always apologized by coming to you with flowers and other gifts. You turn off the light in the room, turning to him, meeting the tired gaze of blue eyes.

"Thank you. I rarely say this, but I'm grateful for everything you do for me."

"I know."

"Maybe you should find a better guy than me, but" he snuggled even closer and there was fear in his words, as if you could make him leave right now, "but I want to be with you. I can't lead a normal life, but being here with you feels like I'm becoming normal. Who he was before September 30, 1998"

"And what happened on September 30th?" you ask, putting your hand on his palm, smiling, and immediately see how noticeably even in the dark his face changes, becoming more gloomy.

"My first day working as a cop. I overslept and was late for my first day at work"

He could have said a lot and revealed his soul to you without fear if he hadn't been bound by the government. Raccoon City is classified information, and even no matter how much he values you, you shouldn't know anything about it. Fortunately, you do not pry into the truth, leaving his personal border untouched, and for this Leon is infinitely grateful. Maybe in a couple of weeks, when his injuries stop being so painful and his condition improves, he'll even laugh at what kind of mustache you made for him while shaving him again. He will really be happy and he will not need alcohol in this.

#leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon resident evil #resident evil #resident evil x reader #reader #resident evil leon #leon kennedy resident evil #leon kennedy vendetta #resident evil vendetta

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janesgms · 5 months

Text

Plutonian Women

(and unraveling their destiny)

This post can be quite messy because I only wanted to share my thoughts on this topic. Do not take all of this as my absolute truth because these are things that I've thought for quite a while seeing it in my life and personally too.

Something I've realized lately is that Plutonian Women go through unique situations that set them apart from other people. And in this case, I'm refering to women only and not men because this is based on my experience, and you all know that energies manifest differently according to the gender so I'm not gonna afirm this also apply to men when I haven't seen it in my world, also, as we are tired of seeing, women are treated differently from men in our society so we cope with things differently.

Firstly, I wanted to talk about placements that make a woman Plutonian in my opinion (when I say "Plutonian", I mean someone who is heavily affected by Pluto in their natal chart), but you can relate to this post whether you have some of these aspects or not, so share your experiences with me, I'd love to know!

🔮 1H/5H/8H/10H Pluto.

🔮 0° Pluto.

🔮 Pluto in water degrees (bonus points if there are aspected placements who are also in water degrees).

🔮 Pluto aspecting big 6 (specially harsh aspects: conjunction, opposition, square, contra-parallel / also specially the luminaries - sun, moon - and mars).

🔮 Pluto in the same personal planets/asc.

🔮 Pluto aspects to outer planets in case it's also aspecting big 6.

🔮 I think Pluto aspect BM Lilith/Chiron can also play a part in this.

🔮 Scorpio Pluto if it's conjuncting or heavily aspecting other placements.

What distincts a Plutonian Woman from the rest is their gravitational energy that pulls you in like a black hole, and as intensely as one. Their eyes hold a shadow of their past traumas and occasions but with a touch of mystery that makes you wonder what they went through in their lives. Their stare is heavy and filled with emotions (let's not forget Pluto still rules a water sign).

I don't like to condemn people for their placements, but I think Plutonian Women came to this life to suffer a lot before gaining what they want and deserve, and this seemingly infinite cycle of pain will only end when they learn how to cope healthily with things of life. One of the reasons why they go through so much is their way of seeing and feeling. Plutonian Women feel things in almost a transcendental way, they feel intensely and with this, they can put themselves through "unnecessary" situations when not careful. They're also prone to self destructive behavior, their heart usually puts a dark veil in their thoughts when their emotions come crashing in like a hurricane. Their pain is the embodiment of "female rage", when they cry hard, it's a mix of anger, sadness, sorrow and everything that they were holding back from a while - because they do hold emotions - but they can't run away from their deepest parts, and one day everything overflows and they can finally reborn from that suffering; the music "Pretty When You Cry" describes them perfectly, because they're indeed pretty when they cry and crying frees them in a way, and a lot of people actually like to seem them suffer? Plutonian Women attract questionable men or women (romantically), because they're almost like a beautiful show to watch, and these men/women like them best when they're falling apart, but manipulation can arise and fool them (they should be careful with 12H synastry specifically, the apparently good ones can actually be the wolf in sheep's clothes).

But back to the way Plutonian Women perceive the world, they are actually fragile at heart, but they try to hide it at all costs, they have a pure heart who could be derranged due to childhood/romantic/any other issues but who has no bad intentions most of the times. I think of them as victims of situations they have no control of since young.

However, to be more positive, I'd like to say that this is not a death sentence at all. Indeed, death is the right word to describe Plutonian Women because they die all the time (figuratively speaking, but literal death can be very present in their life too) and they are reborn as better people. Unfortunately, justice or karma is not much on their side because the world can be a place very unfair most of the times, but I think this is due the fact that they souldn't focus on revenge or negative thoughts, even though they can do it a lot as a way of thinking as a "justice". But the message they should learn is that they should focus on getting better, prettier, wiser, smarter instead of losing energy thinking on lower vibrational people.

The truth is that Plutonian Women are the defintion of a a Phoenix, if you do them wrong, you can be sure that they will gain their dignity back and get back stronger than ever, even with a "fragile" heart as I said, they have a malicious mind that protects this side of them; and also, once they apparently heal their deepest and oldest wounds, it gets harder and harder to break their shell, but if you were capable of doing so, just know that you opened all of them and made the Plutonian suffer all again and go to hell and back.

Overall, the word that describes them best is "raw" because this is what they truly are (in the best way possible lol). Due to this, they can attract a lot of hate - similar to lilith women and specially if they are also lilith "dominant" - from people who don't understand their beauty or actions, because their beauty is truly sharp, hypnotizing, dark and undescribable, furthermore, their actions are particularly unique and most of the times hide their intentions, they never do something significant without thinking first. They ultimstely search for what's beyond the surface, when in love, they wanna know your soul and more, they despise flings, they wanna get to know the depths of their s/o's being, they love hard but also get heartbroken hard when it happens. Academically, they like to be strategic and hardworking when they see it's worth the work, they can be perfectionist because they're hard on themselves most of the times. So, afterall, what's their destiny? Their destiny is to feel accepted and comfortable in their own skin, to get over their traumas and allowing themselves to be better, to let go of toxic people and surroundings, to not engage in toxic relationships anymore, to free themselves from karmic debts and to be finally happy.

Plutonian Women probably feel a deep connection with spirituality, astrology, pstchology, crying, darkness, mystery, the unknown, black/red/purple/dark blue, sad and profound songs, the night, dark places in general, mourning, wakes, death celebrations, soul level bonds and conversations.

Plutonian Women are masterpieces who deserve more from the world and people, they've gone through a lot and they should be 100% respected, sending a lot of love to all of you ❤️‍🔥

Hey guyssss, I missed posting actual posts here but I wasn't feeling inspired lately. But I'm back!!! I hope you guys understand my point of view and I typed this with all my heart because I was based on my personal experiences and people around me's experiences. I was thinking in also making a post about Lilith Women since I also have a lot to say about that either ! Thanks for the support and see you later or sooner 💋 Also in case you noticed I didn't focused in scorpio placements here because I think they work differently (I just don't know how to explain this difference tbh, so I focused on actual Pluto)

#astrology #astro observations #astro notes #astro community #pluto #plutonian #pluto placements

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vixstarria · 5 months

Text

Admit that you love me

Connected with my other headcanon fics, but works as a standalone as well.

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Bard Tav, Astarion is bad at feelings, Gale is bad at everything

Bit of angst, bit of comfort, bit of fluff, love, banter, humour and all the other good things. Non-explicit. Early Act 2.

Approximately 2,000 words.

You traversed the shadow-cursed lands. Earlier this week, Elminster had showed up, eaten all your cheese, essentially told Gale to kill himself and promptly went back to wherever he had come from. And you thought 200 year-old vampires were erratic... You hoped you would never come across a vampire wizard.

It was an average evening in camp. You and your companions were passing time by the fire before calling it a day.

You were sitting on the ground before the campfire, as Astarion sat on a fallen log behind you, trying to massage a crick out of your neck and shoulders. You weren’t even being obnoxious about it, your neck had genuinely been killing you and he was trying to alleviate the pain and discomfort.

You’d closed your eyes and leaned forward a bit, trying to give him better access, when a remark from Gale caught your ear, and the hands stilled.

“It’s truly heartwarming to see how well Astarion takes care of his livestock.”

In the sudden silence that ensued, before you had even registered your own emotions for the insult, your immediate instinct was to seize the hand that was still on your shoulder, and say:

“If you kill him, he’ll take us all with him.”

It turned out to be the right call, as Astarion re-sheathed a dagger you hadn’t even noticed he had drawn (or had on him), and gave your hand a small squeeze.

“I... I’m sorry, that was a poor joke.” Gale looked at the ground shaking his head. “If you can call it that. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” He started to get up. “I better-”

“Disrespect my lover or me again, and I will personally burn everything that you cherish, and rip out the throat of every person you hold dear.” Astarion’s voice was an icicle. “I won’t kill you… But I will fulfill my need to hear you scream.”

Astarion gave your hand another squeeze and got up. He met your eyes as you turned back to look at him, and gave you a barely perceptible shake of the head before stalking off.

Gale, who had stood silently through Astarion’s cold outburst, wordlessly turned and left in the opposite direction.

You still sat on the ground, elbows on your knees, eyes shut, now rubbing your temples. Great. Perfectly normal (in accordance with your definition of ‘normal’, anyway) evening ruined. No Astarion, Gale at a new lowest low, awkward silence, you still with a crick in your neck, and now an unfolding headache. All while feeling like you’ve been spat on.

“Is that what you all think?” you asked quietly, still rubbing your temples. “That I’m a stupid lamb offering myself to a wolf for slaughter?”

To your surprise, it was Lae’zel who answered.

“It is true that the vampire is a predator, and there is hunger and lust in his eyes when he looks at you. But there is also love and yearning. You both carry it. My people are proficient in recognising it, for we are taught from a young age to quash such notions at their conception. Love and attachment make you weak. But you two, you have turned it into a source of resilience and strength. The wizard is as delusional as he is out of line.”

You were completely taken aback by what you just heard.

Firstly, by the fact it came from Lae’zel. But also... You hadn’t actually exchanged words of love with each other. Oh, there were the ‘my love’s, but that was more of a silly casual pet name that had started long ago. You both regularly addressed Karlach as ‘love’ as well. It didn’t mean much.

But to have a githyanki set it out for you so candidly...

“...I couldn’t have said it better myself, Lae’zel,” spoke Shadowheart.

“Aw, none of us doubt you or fangs,” added Karlach. “Hells, sometimes I worry my heart will have a meltdown not from exertion, but from seeing you two.”

You hoped no one could tell your face had coloured scarlet by the light of the fire.

“Gale just hasn’t been himself lately. I’m sorry you and Astarion took the brunt of it. I’m sure he feels awful about this.” Wyll apologised as though he had anything to do with it. “I better go speak to him, make sure he knows we understand.”

You excused yourself and went to your tent soon after as well.

Astarion didn’t return that night. On checking his tent, you noted he did take his weapons with him, though. That’s all you really needed to know. He could take care of himself. After all, he was one of the horrors other people were scared to encounter in the shadows. Still, when you finally fell asleep, it was only due to sheer exhaustion.

It was morning when he finally showed up at the entrance to your tent. Probably. You could barely tell night from day in this blasted place. You were sitting cross-legged on your bedroll, getting ready for the day ahead. You didn’t get up to greet him as you continued to fasten the belts and buckles of your equipment.

“I was worried.”

“I know,” he said simply. When you didn’t say anything, he sighed and added: “And I was angry. Furious, actually. Murderous. I didn’t want you to see it.”

You bit back a swear.

“I can-”

“Before you say you can handle my anger, that’s not the point. I don’t want you, of all people, to be exposed to it to begin with.” You frowned and he continued:

“When everyone keeps telling you you’re a monster, eventually you no longer want to prove them wrong – you want to show them just how much of a monster you can be. And you’re the only person who doesn’t think that about me. Why on earth would I do anything that might make you look at me the same as they do..?”

It broke your heart a little to realise that that’s what he thought.

“They don’t think you’re a monster, Star,” you said imploringly. “Gale said something stupid which he immediately regretted, yes, but the rest of them were on our side.” You made sure he was taking in what you were saying. “On your side.”

“...They were?” Astarion’s eyes softened.

“Yes. Lae’zel gave a whole speech, just about.”

“Ugh,” Astarion curled his lip. “And I thought you were serious for a moment there.”

“I am serious! She was quite poetic about it, actually.”

Astarion suddenly took a step back out of your tent, looking up at the sky in alarm.

“What is it?!” you reached for your bow.

“Oh just checking for flying pigs...” he stepped back into the tent. “...So what did she say? I’m intrigued.” He still looked skeptical, but much less guarded than before.

You paused your preparations, set down your weapons and met his gaze.

“She said she sees the love in your eyes.”

You weren’t about to tell him that she actually said she saw love in your eyes as well.

“Oh...” Astarion seemed momentarily taken aback. “That is quite poetic for a githyanki.”

You continued to study him without saying a word.

“...Oh no. No no no.” He waved a finger at you. “I see EXACTLY what you’re doing, and I am NOT falling for it.”

“What am I doing? I’m not doing anything.”

“Exactly! You’re not saying anything, forcing me to fill the silence until I start stammering like a fool and admit that I love you!” He paused, turned away and huffed, before turning back to look at you, hand on his hip. “And that is NOT on the agenda!”

“You’re not going to admit it?”

Astarion looked away again, wrung his hands, opened his mouth as if to say something, closed it, and looked back at you, cocking his head to one side before finally saying:

“...Not today..?”

You burst into a laugh. How long had your heart been pounding?

“Gaaaaaale! Old buddy, old pal!” you heard from Astarion.

You lifted your head to see Gale approaching.

Fucking Gale, you thought.

You got up to face Gale at the entrance to your tent.

“Morning! I would say ‘good morning’, only that would be a lie for all of us, in light of-”

“Oh for the love of all that is unholy!” Astarion cut him off. “Spare me your words and drawn-out explanations, and I will spare you my daggers. We don’t need that. We can sort this out like two mature, adult men.”

The next thing you knew, Gale was on the ground, looking in disbelief at the blood dripping onto his hand from a possibly broken nose.

“There. Now, for all intents and purposes, this matter can be resolved, if you wish. As previously advised, in the event of any further disparagement of me, Tav, or the nature of our relationship, I WILL be committing arson and turning everyone you love and care for inside out, Tav being exempt, of course. Now that this has been explained to you, if you accept, the damage you just took to your face can serve as compensation, to the full and final satisfaction and discharge of the idiotic shit you said yesterday. Are we in agreement?”

Astarion held out a hand

You stood back observing Astarion, your arms crossed. Theatrics to cattiness to violence to legalese within the span of a minute. How flustered and giddy was this man?

Gale was still on the ground, also looking at Astarion incredulously.

“I sometimes forget that you used to be something far worse than a vampire.”

Gale accepted the offered hand and got up.

“And you, Tav? Would you like to break the spare lute over my head, perchance?”

Astarion perked up at that, but you were quick to protest:

“No, no, let bygones be bygones and all that...”

“Then it is settled,” Astarion interjected. “Well then, off you go, friend.”

“Actually,” you cut in. “I think Shadowheart needs to rest a while. Gale could come with us today instead, seeing as you’ve sorted everything out. Gale, are you up for it?” you asked as Astarion stared at you in disbelief.

After the borderline sleepless night you’d had because of these two idiots, the least they could do was entertain you by suffering each other’s company.

“...Sure, let me just ah... do something about the blood. I’ll only be a minute.”

And just like that, you and Astarion were back on your usual bullshit, causing a loud ruckus as you headed out of camp, him on your heels.

“I object! It’s ME or HIM! And if it’s him, you can give me my ring back!”

Wyll snapped his head in surprise to look at you two, as Karlach gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.

Astarion paused as if to say something to them, then waved a dismissive hand and continued walking after you.

“...Because I am NOT dying in camp like a sitting duck just because HE couldn’t keep you safe!”

“It’s my ring now, and you’re both coming! And so is Lae’zel. Lae, are you ready?”

“Always,” came an unperturbed answer from the githyanki, as she got up to follow you.

“There. She can lecture you on poetry, between the fighting.”

Astarion had finally caught up to you.

“You cheeky pup,” he said only loud enough for you to hear, his red eyes narrowed and a wry grin on his face. “We’ll need to have a long talk about your behaviour.”

“Is that on the agenda? For today?”

Astarion swore under his breath, smiled to himself and fell back again.

Yep, definitely flustered, you thought, fighting a stupid grin that was threatening to take over your face.

Oh you were going to enjoy this day.

~~~~~

Author’s note:

Sorry bloodweave gang, my headcanon is Gale and Astarion are constantly beefing.

I wanted to work in the “disrespect me again” line from Early Access – although I ended up altering it. A lot.

~~~~~

Next in series - Confession

OR, chronologically appropriate smut - Seeing stars

Series master list

AO3

#astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfic #gale dekarios #astarion fanfic #fkn gale

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pumpkinpowder · 5 months

Text

Roxy x chubby y/n overprotective wolf gf that won’t take bad shit people tell you . This is based on things I’ve been told when I was young and made me feel a bit better so I hope it does the same to you💗

#Fnaf #fnaf sb #fnaf security breach #security breach #Roxy #roxanne wolf #five nights at freddy's #roxy x reader #chubby #chubby reader #there not enough chubby reader out there :

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kisakis-boyfriend · 6 months

Note

monster reader with bennett? he's on an adventure, but he gets a bit more "excitement" than he initially anticipated. i hope this works with the horror/halloween requests!

Beware the Big Bad Wolf

Pairings: Bennett x reader

Warnings: Male!reader, dom/top!reader, wolfboy!reader, sub/bottom!Bennett, dubcon, scratching, biting, breeding, reader is called 'sir', more virgin Bennett

Genre/Format: Smut; Oneshot

Author's Note: As usual, Bennett is 20+ here! I went with a wolfboy reader because I had a lovely idea for this, I hope that's ok, anon!!

Please check my blog title to verify whether requests are closed or not! Thank you!

Bennett was on his way to Wolvendom for a commission, and a dangerous one at that. The Adventure's Guild posted a commission to investigate the outskirts of Wolvendom as there have been multiple disappearances lately. Several members of the guild had gone missing after attempting to trek through the forest as a shortcut. Remnants of shredded camping gear and clothing, shattered swords, broken weapons, food scraps, and traces of blood had cropped up in and around the famed area, causing quite a bit of panic to circulate within Monstadt

Ever the brave one, Bennett accepted the commission and pulled together a few other adventures to help him. But, as his luck usually plays out, all of them had something important come up at the last minute and they couldn't make it, leaving Bennett to take this on alone

So off he went, marching swiftly into the dark forest, home to many wolves and other woodland creatures. A single bead of sweat rolled down his cheek as the young man's trembling hands held the map that the guild had given to him, littered with markings and notes locating the pieces of evidence and routes that the adventurers had most likely taken

Staying past sunset was definitely not Bennett's plan, but he had been so focused on following trails that he lost track of the time. It was far too dark to navigate these woods alone and he did manage to pack camping gear...so making a fire and taking shelter was probably the smartest idea right now, despite the supposed danger lurking about. Bennett did the best he could do with the food packed for this journey, feeling content with dinner and quickly growing tired from the day's endeavors

A distant howling startled the poor boy, already a bit on edge due to the nature of his investigation. He wrapped his coat around his arms a little tighter, shivering from the cold night air. Another howl off to his right, still relatively far away, or at least that's what he assumed based on the low volume. Wolvendom was a beautiful forest, but it could become rather spooky at night. Especially to lonely adventurers

Lonely adventurers who had let their guard down, sitting with their back turned towards you...no weapons in sight, seemingly nodding off under the moonlight.... They were the perfect prey

“Aah- Mmph!” Bennett started to scream when a strong arm wrapped around his torso, pinning his arms against his body so that he couldn't fight back. A clawed hand swiftly muffled any sounds threatening to escape, preventing the struggling man from calling for help, not that anyone would come to the rescue though

“You humans are awfully persistent, aren't you?” you began, “How many of your kind have been killed and yet you still send more weaklings out here to their grave?” you scoffed, shaking your head at their sheer stupidity

“I mean, really...every few days I'm forced to tear another one apart because none of you will stay the fuck away from my territory.” A snarl punctuated your last words, your teeth nipping at the human's ear in the process. Bennett whimpered into your palm, on the verge of tears as you growled at him while he weakly struggled to break free. His efforts proved to be futile as your muscular arms kept him in place, pressed back against your chest while you tipped his head back further, exposing his throat and grazing your fangs against the skin

“Are you gonna be a good victim for me and keep your fucking mouth shut while I gut you?” You said, tossing the human onto the ground and hovering over his smaller frame, raising a clawed hand up as you were about to slash at him when he stammered out in fear, “Wait!! Waitwaitwaitplease– Please don't kill me!”

His shaky hands pressed against your chest in an attempt to hold you back, though you both knew it wouldn't work. “Please... C-can't we talk about th-is?” Bennett hiccuped, his body beginning to tremble more and more with every passing second. You contemplated his proposal for a minute, checking out his body in the meantime. He was an exceptionally beautiful human. While he was smaller than you his arms were rather toned, he also had the prettiest green eyes and fluffy white hair that was just begging you to pet it. Plus his scent was nice...like pine trees and campfire smoke with a little sweetness mixed in

A toothy grin made its way onto your face as you said, “Alright, then talk. Give me a good reason not to kill you.” The little purr in your voice sent a shiver crawling up the human's spine, gulping as he stuttered out nonsense in an attempt to come up with something that would convince you to spare him

Slowly, your hand creeped upwards until it encompassed the little human's throat, his weak grip finding its way to your wrist as his stammering grew quieter. “Ya know, it would be a shame to waste a pretty face like yours. Since you're having trouble convincing me of your worth, allow me to offer you a choice instead.”

Your breath fell on Bennett's cheek as you leaned in close and continued, “You will either become my mate and give your body over to me, or you become my dinner. What's it going to be, human?” Bennett's mind raced as your proposal swirled around in his head. M-mate?! What kind of mate?! I don't exactly trust this guy but...I d-don't have much of a choice here...

“O-ok...I'll be your...um, your mate...” The human said with uncertainty, gulping at the fanged smile growing on your face as you licked your lips. Immediately getting flipped onto his stomach and roughly held down by your hand on his spine. A strange pressure was now present on his bottom, it didn't hurt it just felt... weird. New, like nothing he has ever experienced before

“Gooood. Good boy. Mm, I'm going to enjoy breaking you in.” You growled above the man, grinding your hard-on in between his plump cheeks. Precum had already begun to spill inside of your pants from the excitement of finding a new mate after so long, and the way the bare member brushed against the fabric of your pants only caused more to leak out. Your cock ached to fill and knot someone's wet holes again, breeding them full of your pups night after night until they couldn't even walk. Scenting them so that no other would dare to touch them, unless the idiot wanted a painful death, that is

“Hah! Ow ow ow...too much...” Bennett whined. Your wandering thoughts caused you to claw into the poor thing's back tightly, cutting his skin in the process and spilling a bit of blood. Whoops. Attempting to apologize to your new mate, you leaned down and lapped at the new scratches, cleaning the blood off before kissing his back. This seemed to ease him a tiny bit as his fists unclenched slightly, exhaling a shaky breath when your lips touched his skin

“Sorry, I was jus' thinking about how good it's gonna feel when I sink into that tight hole of yours~” You groaned, fumbling with the human's belt until you were able to slip your hand down the front of his pants. Bennett let out a high-pitched gasp as his dick was touched for the first time, his legs involuntarily spreading to allow more room for you to stroke him

As your rough stroking pulled more whines and whimpers from the inexperienced man, your cock grew harder and began throbbing in the tight constraints of your clothing, begging to be let out to ravage the hole that you'd been dry humping this whole time. Not wanting to wait any longer, you released Bennett's smaller dick and undid your own belt, freeing your aching member with a hiss as the breeze hit your sensitive skin

“Keep that ass in the air for me, yeah?” You prompted, pulling his pants down so that his entrance was on full display. Biting your lip hard enough to nearly draw blood, your hands groped at his soft flesh as you spread his cheeks apart, spitting on the human's hole and rubbing it around until your thumb slipped in. A choked moan escaped from him as you breached the orifice, working in two fingers soon enough as he rocked his hips into your touch. You wrapped your hand around your own dick and jerked yourself off, imagining that the tightness of your fist was his ass

While Bennett was whining against the ground and thrusting back against your hand, you lined your cock up and swiftly replaced your fingers with it, pushing halfway inside with a loud, drawn-out groan, “Ooooohhh shiiiit...mhm, FUCK you're tight. ” As your nails dig into his soft hips, Bennett releases another high-pitched whine while his insides adjust to the intrusion, stretching in ways they never have before

You began thrusting shallowly into his hole, letting him get used to your girth at least a little bit before you bottomed out. The human's warm walls clenched around you and it felt like heaven; your cock dragging against his insides while you drooled above him. His hips would definitely be very bruised after tonight, but that thought had no place in your mind when you were fucking into your new precious mate

“Mm you feel so damn good. Taking my cock like this, fuck...” Your thrusts sped up as your climax approached hastily, fucking into Bennett's virgin ass like your life depended on it. Finally spilling your first load deep inside while his voice cracked from his place on the ground, delicious pleasure overtaking both of you as you remained buried within him

It wasn't long before you began to hump into his hole, humming while you carded your clawed fingers through the human's fluffy hair. The softness only lasted so long before your humping turned back into pounding his ass again. Bennett's hole was so wet from your previous round of cum that every thrust into him made squishy sounds, which enticed you to thrust harder just to hear those hot noises, soon emptying another fat load into his womb

“Ffffuuuck—!! You'll be a good breeding bitch, won't you? Hnnngh f-fuck– Gonna take more of my cum, yeah? Just. Like. That. ” You grunted directly into his ear, pressing against his back while you held his hips up so that you were still hitting him at the perfect angle to prevent your cum from spilling out

Bennett panted like a bitch in heat while more warm cum flooded his insides, gradually breaking his mind with each new load pumped into him. “Yeeess, sir... Y-yes...aaahh—!! ” His pretty moans filled the area while you relentlessly drilled into him, staining his guts with your seed so that no one else would even dream of breeding the little bitch. Meanwhile, your sharp teeth pierced his delicate shoulder in a fit of possessiveness, growling as you marked your mate on the outside too

The next couple hours carried on much the same, more cumshots fucked into the human's ass as you rutted into him. More bite marks littered all over his exposed skin. Letting your instincts take over as you relieved yourself after almost a year without a mate. Suffice to say that the unlucky adventurer wouldn't leave that forest for quite some time

Reblogs are extremely appreciated <3

#my writing #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin x male reader #bennett #genshin bennett #bennett x reader #bennett smut #sub bennett #male reader #dom reader #top reader #halloween specials 🎃#requested #oneshot #wolfboy au #monster au

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maxislvt · 10 months

Note

helloo, first off i love your work ! second, this may or may not be a request but- imagine dark!wanda x spidey!reader, post no way home where r is one of the avengers sent to stop wanda on her rampage. r gets captured by wanda though and turns out wanda remembers r’s identity. she had a crush on r since civil war and now that she has r all to herself…😳

“i’m going to ruin you”

warnings: womb tattoos, coercion, manipulation, spiderperson typical quips in really bad situations, no smut

got a little carried away, whoops!

The last few months of your life have been awful.

Life had been pretty stable for the most part. Trying to balance college, being a superhero duo with your adoptive brother, and the newfound freedom of adulthood was a lot to say the least. Then some big alien freak came along and ruined everything. You and Peter left Aunt May behind for five years.

For better or for worse, you and Peter didn't age. Peter still had his senior year ahead of him and you were only 24. So you both tried to make the most of that.

You were supposed to chaperone your little brother's senior trip through Europe. All you wanted to do was help Peter enjoy the last few months of youth he had before being shipped off to college. Of course, fate had other plans and the trip was interrupted by another cataclysmic event. One unpredictable turn after another. Then suddenly everyone knew your secret identity.

Quentin Beck was a hero and you were half of the duo that killed him.

One edited video and suddenly the whole world was against you and your brother. It was a target on your back you had no way of getting off your back. The magical escape you thought you'd found was nothing but a wolf in sheep's clothing. Universes nearly collided. Three versions of your brother. Two other versions of you. Villains the two of you tried and failed to rehabilitate. A moment of complete darkness for your brother A dead aunt. So much fighting. So much pain. All of it for nothing. At the end of it all, everyone was forced to forget about you and Peter. No more full rides to dream colleges and no more "Amazing Spider Kids". It was just the two of you in a shitty Downton apartment at a community college neither of you really wanted to attend, but that didn't stop you two from trying to protect those who couldn't protect themselves.

That need to protect everything and everyone seemed to get you in bigger trouble.

America Chavez. Barely 15 years old, alone in the multiverse, and no one to trust. Her powers and life experience were beyond you — you couldn't even take credit for defeating whatever monster that was chasing her — but you wanted her safe. You foolishly thought that it'd be as simple as finding a hero that could mentor her. Magic wasn't your strong suit. Yet, you still helped America try to escape the claws of the Scarlet Witch along with Doctor Strange.

In the midst of a heated chase, the witch's focus seemed to have shifted. Your mask was ripped by a piece of metal and you could feel the witch's eyes on you. Since you were more focused on protecting America, you decided to send The Scarlet Witch on a goose chase. You and a magical body double of the girl. Unfortunately, you could only run for so long. You didn't bother fighting when you were captured. All you could do was put on a brave face as you were somehow teleported back to your universe. You assumed the witch had gotten a decent portion of America's powers. That worried you, but unfortunately you had to prioritize your personal safety for a moment.

The witch must've known you were too weak to run away because she didn't even bother tying you down. She just stood over you and examined your face. You were nervous and confused to say the least. "So, uh, do you always stand over sacrificial young adults in such a compromising way or am I special?" You quipped. It was a real misfortune your mouth tended to run more when you were nervous. Your heart almost exploded when she reached out for your mask. "Hey, hey! Have some respect for a man's secret identity, will you?" You shouted, trying to push her hands away.

Automatic reflexes were nothing against magic and you were unmasked and it sent your spider senses spiraling.

"You remember me."

"Of course,I remember you. Do you not remember me?"

The airport. Tony had you and Peter flown out for a top secret field mission, that's what he told you at least. You weren't sure what you were fighting for, but you remember the battle clearly. Some guy had grown to a hundred feet tall. You fought some guy with a metal arm. Then someone suddenly started throwing cars. They had all missed you and went straight for Tony, but it was still scary. After the battle, you learned the name of all the people you fought. The weird one, as Tony described her, was named Wanda Maximoff. It's scary how your life had become so eventful that you'd forgotten that whole experience. Well, you couldn't blame yourself for not recognizing her considering the drastic change in her appearance.

"Yeah," You said bitterly, "you threw a car garage at my mentor."

"Your mentor made the bombs that destroyed my home country and had me jailed for powers I didn't ask for."

That was the first time a villain had left you truly speechless. Tony wasn't like that. Was he?It was a lot to process and that wasn't made any easier with the icy cold hand caressing your cheeks. "If you're going to drop an information bomb, can you at least give me a second to —" Your sentence was cut short by her thumb slipping into your mouth. Wanda had managed to slip past your spider senses. It was odd considering you were definitely not calm nor did you trust her.

"I figured he didn't bother telling you the whole truth," Wanda's voice had gotten low and seductive. Her thumb pressed down on your tongue as she continued to monologue. Your squirming didn't phase her at all. "I could hear your thoughts the moment you stepped foot in the airport. So loud and frantic, but nothing but innocence and desire for approval. It's a shame I wasn't able to see you again after that. I was lost in a hex of my own deepest desires and do you know what was there?" A smile spread across her lips as she felt you relax out of curiosity. "The two of us, happily married with two children, and living in New Jersey."

The statement made you jump and start fighting again. Married with kids was definitely not on your list of goals in the next few months, living in New Jersey just sounded dreadful. You managed to get her thumb out of your mouth just long enough to speak. "I'm sorry to hear about your crazy magic thing, I'm not ready to settle down yet. Maybe come back in six years once I've graduated, yeah?"

Wanda binded your wrists with magic. Her hand came down on your cheek with all the strength she had. Despite her frustration, she was happy to see you were still as witty and innocent as the day you two met. "I think I have a plan you'll like." She smirked as she summoned the darkhold. It opened on its own. The book turned towards you and translated itself so you could understand it. "Your innocence," she said before ripping you suit, "and your body in exchange for the girl's safety."

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head. It certainly wasn't a fair deal, even more unfair once you looked over the spell presented to you. A womb tattoo magically etched into your skin that would give Wanda complete control over your libido, orgasms, and a bunch of other depraved things you hadn't even heard of before. Wanda definitely wasn't the woman you imagined would take your virginity, but it wasn't an offer you could refuse. Strange wasn't strong enough to defeat Wanda and letting America die wasn't an option in your mind.

You put on as brave a face as you could before speaking, "If you so much as lay a finger on that girl, the deal is off." Your voice faltered at the feeling of Wanda's lips pressed against your neck. A moan nearly escaped your lips when Wanda's hands began exploring your body. The skin of your lower stomach began to tingle. This was it. This was how you lost your virginity.

Wanda's lips curled into a smile. A real one that showed off her perfectly white bunny teeth. She was no longer concerned with America. You were all she needed now.

"I'm going to ruin you," She whispered, "and you're going to enjoy every moment of it."

You wanted her to be wrong. You wanted so badly to hate the way her hands felt against your bruised skin and the softness of her lips on your neck, but you couldn't. Months without affection left your body desperate for any form of human touch. It is shameful and almost disgusting.

"Shh, I'll treat you right. Just be good for me."

#panther speaks #anon #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda fanfic #dark!wanda maximoff #panthers drabbles

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dungeonpuppykai · 24 days

Text

Dating Joel Miller

Pairing: Bf!Joel Miller | Reader.

Warning(s): Age gap (reader is in their 20's), allusions to mature activities, mild d/s dynamics, fluff, cg!Joel, Daddy kink, begging, making out. I'll be safe and say minors do not interact.

Setting: TLOU 2.

He's definitely an experience.

Single-handedly rocks your world in more ways than one.

So, so laid-back it's fucking sexy.

Definitely tames the brat out of you.

What he says goes because he's older and knows better.

Or?

You live to learn he was right.

So smug when that happens.

Not very vocal about his feelings but cares for you so much.

The littlest of things that can easily be missed, Joel makes a point of remembering.

Won't ever openly admit it though.

Tough love in an endearing way.

From your favorite snacks to your preferred clothing, to the kinds of flowers or things you like to collect to getting you food whenever he does for himself and picking out the condiments you dislike to being mindful of the drink you prefer with it, he's got it all covered.

A total ass when it comes to training and you best believe he doesn't hold back on it. After everything that's happened, he wants you to be prepared for anything and everything.

Only rolls his eyes and shakes his head when you're being the kid that you are with Ellie and Co.

Simply snorts when you all tease him for being a geezer.

Because he knows that all it takes him is one certain look if it goes too far.

And you are whimpering into your place like a puppy yanked by their leash.

Besides, you can act all high and mighty as you want, Joel knows that the one who will have you all whiny, grabby and mushy underneath them will be him.

Whenever he wants.

You're down so bad for him, oh my God.

He knows it, and that's exactly why he doesn't get riled up when foolish little boys try their luck on you.

Well, that is, not usually.

Loves to tease you and make you beg after you've acted out all day.

"Oh, but I thought I was an old man who 'just didn't get' y'all, huh baby?" And you're a quivering, panting mess with your limbs tangled in his.

Great. Fucking. Kisser.

Hot, sloppy, wet, sense melting, passionate kisses while his calloused hands roam all over you, occasionally squeezing the parts that cause you to make such a huge mess in your pants that he tuts when he feels it through your clothes.

"Noooo, Daddy…" You're literally aching.

"Tell me what you want, baby. Say it for Daddy and he will give it to ya" you are a writhing mess as your hips grind against his and you hump yourself on one of his thighs.

"Please, Daddy… Need you so bad, Daddy… Please use me~" it depends on his mood how he treats you in bed though.

Some days he could be the most tender lover with gentle caresses, featherlight touches, cotton-soft pecks and passionate love making.

Other days include him pressing your face down into the mattress as his huge cock hammers in and out of your leaking slit, rough bites littering your skin as you struggle to breathe through the animalistic fucking.

Nothing gets you to cum harder than when he sometimes wraps his hand around your throat, features stern with all that's taking him not to just obliterate you.

Some days though, he likes to combine the two styles.

Eats you out like a starved wolf.

But can take his sweet time with that as well.

Lets out the deepest, most throaty grunts when you suck his dick.

Has a couple ways of reprimanding you if you're too clumsy and neglectful with yourself.

No one else is allowed to give you any shit though.

Isn't overbearingly domineering at all.

He knows you're young and dumb and will need to make some of your own mistakes to learn.

Always there for you with open arms to console you when you do.

Your silly little friend group definitely knows when to make themselves gone when Joel decides that he's had enough of sharing you for the day and wants you all for himself.

It's always subtle; like a gentle caress on your shoulder or a soft nudge in your side. Sometimes it can be a claiming hand on your lap. And then everyone knows that it's time to scurry out.

Doesn't always play voluntarily.

But when he does, it's for you.

Especially if there's a storm, or you're extra sensitive from playtime, or just emotional in general. Sometimes he's just feeling affectionate.

Will usually deny it like his life depends on it but there are certain songs, a specific range of lyrics and a peculiar sort of tunes that he plays only for you.

Every now and then you crawl into his lap after an intimate session and ask him to teach you how to play a song or two.

Then hours pass with you two just huddled into each other, strumming melodies to life as your naked back presses into his strong chest, your ass fitting perfectly in the crook of his abdomen as he rests his chin on your head and revels in your scent.

Sometimes he slowly cockwarms you in that position as well.

Cannot sleep without you.

He wasn't always like this.

But there's no going back now.

Joel is sure to keep tossing and turning until you're locked up close in his arms.

Your safety and well-being is his top priority.

Always.

Playing TLOU again and boy am I needy for this grizzly bear. Also I haven't watched the show but I love Pedro so yeah. Feedback and reblogs are much appreciated <3

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violetsiren90 · 2 months

Text

Nothing But You | Bang Chan/Reader

Pairing: wolf hybrid!Bang Chan x f!human!Reader

Genre: hybrid AU; non-idol AU, strangers to lovers; love in adversity; cozy one-shot; fluff and angst

Word Count: 1434

Summary: The world's not ready for your love, but that doesn't matter. None of it matters - nothing but him.

Part 2: Evergreen (though both can be read as stand-alone works)

Content Warnings: I'd give this a PG-13 for content, but ALL of my work is 18+ (minors, dni); cuddling; co-sleeping; bad weather (but safe indoors); shirtless Chris (Chan is called Christopher); descriptions of hybrid physical features (including some minimal body hair); depictions of prejudice towards, discrimination, and marginalization of hybrids; a character gets lost and is momentarily frightened; allusions to sexual intimacy; implied domestic violence (by an authority figure, not Chris); running away; mention of reproduction (pups); for some reason even though it is explicitly stated I feel the need to mention that Reader and Chris are both adults throughout

Author's Note: I'll tell you what I didn't have planned for this Sunday afternoon and that was a Bang Chan hybrid AU one-shot. But the image of cuddling up with Chan in the middle of a snowstorm took me hostage and now here we are. I've never written a hybrid AU before, so this was very fun! If you read this, I hope this Christopher brings you the comfort you deserve today. 💕

P.S In case no one has told you today, you're so loved and so, so worthy of love. 🧜💜

The icy wind howls, whipping swirling flurries of snow past the windows of the little cabin. You stir, not opening your eyes, heavy with slumber as your other senses remind you of the homey trappings of your shelter. A fire crackles and pops, its warmth licking over your nose and cheeks. A soft, heavy blanket fashioned of rabbit pelts lays over your body, rustling quietly as you nuzzle into the man beneath you.

His chest rises and falls with the even breath of a deep sleep. Your cheek rests against his bare skin and the silky patch of thick, dark hair between his firm pectorals. It isn't really hair - not like yours. It's fur. Soft, dark tufts of it decorate his body everywhere hair would grow on a man; a patch on his chest, under his arms, at the dip of his Adonis belt. It smells like him. Like musk and pine and lavender. Manly and primal, floral and gentle. Christopher.

Hybrids were still treated like dirt in so many ways. They didn't require licenses to live without owners anymore, but still, they were pushed to the margins of the community by the intolerance of common practice. You yourself had been taught to fear them. Monsters, your grandfather had told you, who would turn on their own young in a moment of morbid instinct. Even so, you always found more pity in your heart than terror.

And then, one day, you met him.

You had been loading groceries into the bed of your grandparents' jalopy at the general store and dropped a bag of oats as you struggled to hoist it onto the tailgate. You hadn't even noticed he was beside you when he easily hefted the bag and the remaining two boxes of eggs onto the vehicle without a word. He shot you a little smile, but before you could thank him your eyes were arrested by a pair of sharp brown ears rising from his curly hair. He pulled on a cap and turned to go before you could collect your wits enough to speak.

You had thought of nothing save his warm brown eyes and sweet smiling lips in the weeks that followed, taking any chance you could to steal away to the general store in hopes of seeing him again.

But your paths never crossed. Not until the following summer.

You had packed in to the camping grounds by the lake with a few other girls from your graduating class for a weekend getaway from the menfolk - not that you had any - and you'd joined them rather reluctantly and at the persistence of your grandmother, who insisted a little socialization would do you good.

That first afternoon you quickly grew tired of the chatter. If the weekend was meant to be a reprieve from the men, you grumbled to yourself, then why were they the constant and sole topic of conversation? You gathered up your sketching supplies and walked down the trail a ways, finding that the more distance you put between yourself and the shrieks of laughter and gossip behind you, the better you felt. Soon, you couldn't hear them at all. You settled onto a rock at the edge of a small glen and took your pencil in hand.

Suddenly, some hours later, it dawned on you that your eyes were straining somewhat on the page, and you looked about, startled at the waning light reflecting the late hour. Gathering your things, you hurried back to down the path, only to realize with a sickness in your gut that you were well and truly lost, and that the daylight was nearly spent.

He had found you then, sniffling rather pathetically beside a tree. You'd been alarmed by the sudden sound of his voice, having not heard his furtive approaching steps, but when you raised your frightened eyes to his face the fear had quickly given way to wonder. You'd given up hope of seeing him again, and now here he was, once more in your hour of need.

It was too dark now to find the trail back to the campsite, so you helped divide the load of bracken he had tucked under his arm between you as he led the way back to his cabin, not far into the thick. As you walked you noticed his tail, gray and brown and full behind him. Had he hidden it, that day at the store, you wondered? Did he always when he was around people like you? You remembered how surprised you had been at the site of his pretty ears upon your first meeting and you felt ashamed. You tried to find every possible way to assure him, as you walked and talked, that he didn't frighten you. You hoped he understood.

Before long, you arrived at a little clearing with a log cabin at its heart. Smoke rose invitingly from the chimney, and you found it was as small and homey and warm within as it seemed from the cold darkness of the wood. The stranger gave you bread and stew and hot milk, and you ate with him and told him of yourself and he shared with you in return.

He was a wolf hybrid. The sole survivor of his pack, he had traveled hundreds of miles to settle into the mountains of your home. He made a living hunting, trapping, and gathering the wares of the wild to sell in town, as did a handful of other hybrids living in the mountains - a group of traders known collectively as The Strays. He told you that his name was Christopher, but that most simply called him The Wolf. When you repeated his given name softly and asked if you could call him by it he smiled that smile again, but broader and brighter and with his eyes pressed into little moons and crow's feet in their corners. His canines glinted in the light of the fire and one beautiful dimple pressed into his left cheek.

You were in love.

You asked him, a little shyly before parting the following day, if you could be friends. He smiled sadly and brushed rough fingers over your cheek before telling you that you were already his friend, but that you should keep yourself safe by staying away. People were suspicious of hybrids, and if he were seen with a human woman, it could be dangerous for you both.

At the edge of the campsite, when he turned to go, you grabbed his arm. You told him that every Saturday morning you helped wait tables at Maple's Diner, and that if he came, breakfast would be on the house. You wanted to thank him, you insisted. In truth, you just wanted to give him a chance to find you, should he wish to. Oh, you desperately hoped that he wished to.

And he did. He showed up a few weeks later, ears tucked under a hat and shoulders looking broad in a worn flannel shirt. You gave him coffee and bacon and a pile of pancakes and sat with him when your shift was through. It became a ritual, Saturday mornings at the diner. And then you started meeting for lunch. Then dinner. Then for long walks and trips to the movies. Then he started to take you out for drives in his truck - for picnics in the mountains, to watch the stars from the bed, to never leave the cab or each other's arms as the windows fogged with your labored breaths and mingled heat.

One night your grandparents were waiting up when you returned. Your grandfather was in a rage, your grandmother was all worry and woes. It was a sin, what you were doing, they said. In the eyes of what god, you demanded in return? Your grandmother clung to your arm, begging you to come to your senses - it was dangerous, and worse, you would be ruined for life. You told her that none of that meant anything to you. Only him, he was all that mattered. Only Christopher. To hell with everyone and everything else in that goddamned town that treated him with suspicion and shame - that could never begin to see how perfectly beautiful he was.

Your grandfather forbade you to see him.

You told him you were grown and he couldn't stop you.

He raised his hand, and your grandmother screamed.

When Christopher pulled up in his pickup you were in front of Maple's Diner. He gasped as he crouched to cradle you in his arms and gently brush his fingers over your broken lip and the green bruise on your cheek. He gathered you up, gathered your little bags, and took you home.

Home to the woods.

To the little warm cabin.

To his arms and his heart.

It's the third winter since you left it all behind - everything that tried to keep you from him.

Things are so different now, so simple, slow, steady and intimate in the life you share. You've started talking about pups. Maybe someday. Maybe soon.

You look up at his lovely, peaceful face, washed golden in the firelight, and smile, settling back down against his chest. As the wind howls your eyes slip shut, and you sleep again in the strong, gentle arms of a wolf.

-Fin-

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