#also the real thing I wanted to say but I’m burying it in tags so only my truest fans will see lmao

[lizzieisright]

She looks like fun

dom!reader x sub!Abby

Summary: During the patrol you find a pretty pleated skirt. In Abby's size.

Tags: okay, here we go fingering, oral, strap usage, strap sucking, Abby wears a skirt and a collar for sexy purposes, scene negotiation, safewords (traffic lights), aftercare, Abby and R are switches.

wc: 6.5k (it's a huge bitch, but 1.5k is a sfw part in the beginning)

a/n: listen I love when girls wear short pleated skirts, and Abby is not an exception.

MINORS DON'T INTERACT I'll hunt you for sport 

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

It’s rare to find something worthy when you’re out on the patrol, and you try to contain your disappointment every time - mostly because you hate losing and you and Abby have a rivalry going on who can bring more cool shit for the other. It’s romantic and sappy and also it drives you both crazy since you’re competitive. (people said hate sex was hot - have you tried sex after your super competitive partner loses to you? The best thing ever). So usually you won’t be happy at the end of your patrol.

But today you manage to get into a store that hasn’t been raided yet, so you start taking everything you see - people need clothes all the time, and it’s valuable. You put a mark on your map so others can go there later to take the rest and you go to women’s section, not feeling optimistic: the fabric is worse, the sizes are fucked, and even if you find something nice it tends to not last long.

But then you see it. 

On the rack next to jeans there’s a rack with skirts - and why the fuck you’d stop to look at them? - but the skirts are pleated skirts. Short pleated skirts that cover ass just enough to be socially acceptable. 

You can’t stop looking at them - you’ve seen before how nice they flow and how absolutely delicious girls look in them. 

But it’s so not Abby’s style. 

But she’ll look so good in one of these skirts.

She will probably tell you to go fuck yourself if you show it to her. 

You pack it in your backpack anyway. 

“Found something?” Abby asks as she comes inside the shop. “Oh wow. This is nice.”

“Choose whatever you want, my treat.” You say with a cocky smirk and Abby rolls her eyes.

“It doesn’t count.” 

“You’re being unfair.” You whine as Abby makes her way to you. 

“No, I’m not.” Abby murmurs. “This store is a public service, where is your personal touch?”

“You’ll talk shit just to keep your score, huh?” You smirk and Abby gives you a peck on your lips before diving into the racks to find something for herself.

The skirt gets a buddy in the form of a tight cropped white t-shirt and you don’t tell Abby about it. 

The week passes and you still don’t talk about that damn skirt even though you can’t stop thinking about Abby wearing it: how it would hug her round butt and how her thick thighs would be so shamelessly out for you. You think about how cute she’d look walking around your shared space, the skirt bouncing and almost showing you everything. You think about the possibility of Abby not wearing any underwear under it, and how hot it would be to lift the skirt up and touch her and make her moan. You think about Abby all sprawled out with your head under that skirt, making a mess out of it. 

Abby is not an idiot, so she notices the change in your mood for the last few days. She knows something is on your mind, so she catches you off guard, with her fingers buried deep inside you. 

“Come on baby, tell me what’s been bothering you.” Abby murmurs into your ear while her fingers relentlessly hit the spot that makes you see stars.

“Shit- what?” You ask, totally lost in your pleasure. 

“You’re keeping something from me. So share.” Abby kisses your neck and you try really hard not to cum, but your thighs start to shake.

“Fuck- the fucking skirt-”

And you see Abby in that skirt, all cute and shy, and you spasm around real Abby’s fingers, cumming with a groan. Abby is too distracted with watching you go through your orgasm, still fucking you, and you both forget about the topic. 

Until you’re calmed down and Abby is satisfied with how fucked out you are. Then she remembers.

“Skirt?”

Shit, you think. Now you’ll have to explain it to Abby who definitely will tell you to fuck off. 

“I took a skirt from that store we found. It’s a pleated skirt, a cute one.”

“So? You want to wear it?” 

“I want you to wear it.”

Abby is silent, and you expect it, so you already drop the subject in your head, letting it go. But Abby is not letting it go.

“You want me to wear a skirt?”

“If you want to, obviously. I think you'll be so hot in it. But I know it’s not your style.”

“It’s really not.” Abby chuckles. “So that’s why you’ve been so spacey lately? Thinking about me in a skirt?”

“Yeah. Can’t stop thinking about your pretty butt in it.” You kiss Abby’s neck and flip her on her back. “You’d look so cute.” You kiss Abby’s abs as you make your way down. “I’d run my hands under your pretty little skirt and you’ll just take it like a good girl, yeah?”

This shift is always beautiful: she just fucked your brains out, but a couple of words and your head between her legs makes Abby go pliant and soft, her big blue eyes giving you a Bambi. 

“Holy fuck.” Abby sighs and you smile into her pussy. “I’ll wear it for you.”

The hungry monster inside you roars and claws at your chest. 

Abby walks funny the next day.

You don’t actually expect Abby to wear it - after all, what is said under horny subby fog can’t be held accountable. Abby is really not a girly girl - fuck, it’d be easier to make you wear a skirt (after getting shot and stabbed repeatedly, mind you), and you understand that Abby might not be comfortable with this idea. 

But you leave the skirt and the t-shirt on the bed one day to give her the choice. When you come back, it's gone. 

Next time the skirt topic comes up when you're taking a bath together - a rare luxury, so you enjoy every second of feeling Abby's warm skin against yours.

"Do you still want me to wear a skirt?" If you were relaxed a second ago, now you're suddenly alert. 

"Only if you want it too." You kiss her shoulder. 

"And if I wear it..?" Abby gives you space to finish the phrase for her. 

"I'll fuck you on every surface in this apartment." Abby laughs, but you know what she wants to know. "Yeah, I want it to be a scene." You take a second. "Do you want me to plan it?"

"Yeah."

You freeze for a second, not really believing your luck - Abby doesn't ask for a scene plan unless she wants to do it, and right now it means she will wear a skirt for you. 

"Fuck baby, you're going to wear it for me?" You ask excitedly, squeezing her in your arms. "With a t-shirt too?"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't let it get into your head." 

"We have a few free days next week, right? Is it okay?"

"Yes, you horndog." Abby laughs and you bite her gently. 

So you spend the next days planning what you would do with Abby, writing a short list of kinks so she could veto whatever she doesn't want to happen or add something she wants to happen (the ropes last time? Her idea). She still won't know in which order everything will happen or where exactly, or even when in some cases, to save the magic of the moment, but in order to feel safe with each other, you write your lists every time, unless you both get spontaneously in the mood and have to negotiate on the fly. 

You pass your list to Abby and as she reads it, her face warms up in a pretty red colour, just like apples in the garden. 

"Okay." Abby smiles at you. "This sounds good. But I pulled my shoulder today, so I won't be able to get on my hands and knees."

"Fuck, I'll give a massage later." You say, worried. "Okay, that's fine, no doggy." 

"We can do that one, when you push the pillow under me?"

You swallow in horny, the pictures flying through your head, as you scribble it down on your list. 

"Fuck yes. Are you going to be fine like this? You still put your arms up." 

"It's not that bad." Abby shrugs. "I want to add something." 

You nod eagerly, always ready to give Abby whatever she wants. Abby walks away to go through her backpack and comes back to you, giving you a piece of small leather belt. It's too small for any human, and just as your brain starts to catch up, Abby drops the bomb on you.

"Collar me."

You blink a few times, not believing your ears.

"I'll fucking destroy you, Abs." You say, your voice low and dark. 

You had this talk before, and Abby was honestly weirded out by the ritual of collaring, so you decided not to add it, especially since you weren't in a 24/7 dynamic and not in fixed roles either. And you know Abby doesn't mean putting this collar as the collar, but it is still so hot. The whole thing is not done by the book or by rules, but you really don't care: whatever Abby wants, Abby gets. 

"I will want to tug on it." You tell her, honestly, and Abby thinks for a second.  

"Yeah, okay. Traffic lights, then." 

You nod and add "collaring" in your messy handwriting. 

You know Abby will wear this skirt, it's not a surprise, but you're still not prepared when you walk into the kitchen. 

Abby is standing there, and you trail her bare legs up until you see the edge of the skirt and holy fuck. Holy fuck she looks good in it, her trained perky ass making the folds of the skirt to look especially delicious. You lick your lips as your fingers twitch, because you want to lift it already and get a look at her pretty little pussy. 

And your eyes go up and you see this tight t-shirt that shows all the muscles in Abby's back and shoulders and you want to bite her and mark her. 

"Wow, princess." You sigh and make your way to her, squeezing her waist. Abby jumps, surprised, but relaxes against you. "You look so fucking pretty." 

"Thank you."

"Give me a twirl, will you?" You step away to give her space.

Abby is clearly embarrassed, but she does the cutest twirl in the world and yes, you can see her ass. And she is not wearing underwear, just as you told her. 

"Beautiful." You murmur and run your hand up her thigh, lifting the skirt just a little. "You wanna watch something? I brought this from the library."

You show her the dvd and Abby is still tethered to reality, so she reads the summary carefully. 

"Sounds okay. Not like the last time." 

"Fuck you, baby." You pinch her side in revenge. "Let's go."

It seems so normal. It seems like any other day off, you and Abby sitting on the couch, but even as you pretend to watch the movie, you see how twitchy Abby is getting. 

She plays with the ham of her skirt and it's so fucking cute - but then she smooths the fabric and you feel like you're going to explode: Abby enjoys wearing it. Abby likes it in a way that a girl who was forced to grow up in a horrible fucking world would enjoy doing normal girly things. 

Maybe Abby is not not so girly after all. 

Your heart feels tender right now and you can't help but to put your hand on her thigh, drawing little circles on her sensitive skin. 

"Do you like it?"

"A little predictable, but still better." Abby shrugs and squeaks when you squeeze her thigh. "Yeah." She is shy now. "I feel pretty." 

"You are pretty, princess." You whisper in her ear, making her shudder.

But you don't do anything else. You keep watching the movie, caressing Abby's thigh and pretend not to notice the change in her breathing. Then Abby starts shifting a little and you look down to see her nipples perked up. The fabric is rubbing against her sensitive skin and you just wait, because in a minute you feel how Abby tries to press her thighs together, thinking she is sneaky. 

You chuckle and move your hand under the skirt, slowly parting her folds. Abby tries to keep her whimper to herself, but you feel how wet she is. 

"What's got you so worked up, pretty girl?" You ask innocently while you brush your thumb over Abby's clit. 

"Nothing." Abby breathes out and you chuckle. 

"Really?" You wonder and pick up the speed, flicking Abby's clit until she presses her thighs together.

It's such a pretty sight: your hand under Abby's skirt, squeezed by her warm thighs, her knees pressed together. Abby is biting her lip and you watch her while your fingers tease her relentlessly. She looks desperate and helpless, and you live for it.

"Were you thinking exactly about this? How good I will make you feel under your pretty skirt?" You gently bite Abby's neck and she joists. "But we are watching a movie, princess, and I'm really interested in it. So you will give a narration while I play with your pretty pussy." You can't give less fucks about this movie, but making life harder for Abby is your favourite game.

"Yes, ma'am." Abby is not fully in the subspace yet, so she feels a little shy, but she crumbles completely when your eyes meet. 

You slide down to the floor and make Abby put her feet by her sides for better access. The skirt falls between her legs and covers her cunt, and you lean back to look at her. Abby is blushing and frowning in desperation, her nipples are perking through the t-shirt and her plushy thighs are open so shamelessly for you. 

"You stop talking, I stop touching you." You warn Abby and she nods. "Now lift your shirt up." 

Abby does as she told and now this is a sight, her small tits squeezed by the t-shirt, her abs flexing as she breathes deeply. Abby already looks ruined and you haven't done anything yet.

"What is happening there?" You ask routinely and lift Abby's skirt up, revealing her soaked little cunt. You spread her lips open and circle her clit with your thumb. 

"She is- she is at work again." Abby sighs and you hum, encouraging her. "She is talking to the cigarette selling woman." It sounds like Abby is relieved when she finishes her line and you laugh to yourself: your poor baby is trying to be good for you.

You leave her clit alone and push two fingers in slowly, watching her body react to you as beautiful as always. Abby freezes and instead of watching the movie, watches your fingers disappear in her.

"I'll take them out." You threaten and Abby snaps back into watching. 

"There's this creepy guy," Abby swallows hard when you start slowly pumping your fingers in and out. "And she has an idea- fuck." You just curled your fingers and Abby stops watching again, but quickly opens her eyes.

"What's the idea?" 

"She wants the sell- ah, fuck - selling lady and the- the-" You pick up the speed of your fingers and Abby clutches to your shoulders. You reach with your free hand and pinch her nipple, and Abby twitches in response, her pussy clenches on you. "Fuck, it feels so good, ma'am."

"And I'm yet to hear about her idea." You say with a hint of a threat, but your thrusts only get rougher. 

"She is playing matchmaker, ohmygod!" Abby whimpers and in reward you lick the long strip from your fingers buried in her pussy to her neglected clit. You suck on it and Abby lets out a shriek as her knees are closing up above your head. "Fuck, oh god- I can't-" 

You keep sucking on her clit until she is shaking and moaning, but then you move away and take out your fingers. 

"Is she still playing matchmaker?" You ask sternly.  Abby blinks and checks the screen. 

"No."

"That's what I fucking thought." You knead Abby's thighs a little painfully and keep her legs open for you. "Keep talking, princess."

Abby nods feverishly and swallows. Such a pretty fucking sight, you think as you look up to her: Abby's mouth is open and she really tries so hard to watch this stupid movie, but you push your fingers inside again and all her efforts go to waste as she twitches and blinks very fast in a attempt to not close her eyes.

"She is telling the selling lady that the creepy g- fuck-" Abby sobs when you put your mouth back on her. You play with her clit and suck on it again, making Abby buck her hips into your face. "The- the creepy guy is in- ma'am! - is in love with her!" 

You push Abby's legs together and up, almost folding her in half and push your tongue alongside your fingers, getting drunk on her taste. Abby is a smart girl, so she holds herself under her knees to help you and moans when she feels your tongue and your fingers inside.  Abby always tastes and feels like heaven, and you never want to leave her pussy alone. 

"Ma'am I'm gonna cum." Abby whimpers and you get rough, every push of your fingers is moving Abby's whole body with the sheer force of it, because Abby is not behaving.

"Is her idea working?" You suck on her clit again and Abby whines and sobs while forcing herself to look at the screen.

"Y-yes!" Abby shouts and cums on your fingers, sucking them in on every spasm. You pick up the pace and Abby tries to fight you off, but you slap her hand away and fuck her through her orgasm until her thighs are shaking uncontrollably. Abby is whimpering on every exhale, her abs are twitching, and you smile wolfishly.

"You did so good, princess." You let Abby's legs go gently and fix her skirt, smoothing the fabric. Abby looks at you with pleading eyes and your heart swells, so you straighten up and kiss her slowly and delicately. Abby relaxes and caresses your neck, chasing your mouth, and you can’t help yourself as you pinch her nipples playfully. 

“You want your collar?” You ask softly and Abby nods eagerly. “Show me how good your throat is first.”

Bratty Abby is fun, and you like the back and forth of it, but good girl Abby makes you feral: you just told her what you want and she is already opening her mouth for you, sticking her tongue out.

“Good fucking girl.” You growl and push your fingers down her throat. 

You fuck Abby’s throat until she is gurgling and her eyes roll back into her skull: you know she likes it, likes to relax her throat and let you use her as you wish. Abby is not even gagging now, so used to it, but you can feel how her throat clenches on you sometimes. Abby looks so cute like this, her tits out, her eyes closed and her thighs pressed together under the skirt as it spreads so prettily around her hips. 

“Beautiful.” You murmur and clean up her spit from her chin. Abby smiles at you, clearly pleased from praise, and you kiss her again as a reward. Abby likes kisses, especially if she is needy, as if it keeps her tethered to you. "Show me your neck, princess."

Abby straightens up and proudly shows you her neck - she is so cute you can't help your giggle. You take out the small belt and Abby looks at you with wide eyes as if you’re her god. 

"Mine." You tell her when you tighten the collar around her neck. "You're mine." 

"Yours, ma'am." Abby answers in a small voice and you see how any rational thought leaves Abby’s head as her eyes get cloudy. "Can I touch it, ma'am?"

"Go ahead." You nod and watch her strong fingers that leave bruises on your thighs brush over the leather with such care. "We're not done, princess." 

Abby nods and you tug on her collar until she stands up on her shaking legs and follows you to the bedroom. There's enough space for your fingers to fit in under the collar, but you're still careful with it: it's a new thing and you don't want to hurt Abby in a way she doesn't want to be hurt. 

You lead Abby to the bed, but instead of getting her to lie down, you sit on the bed and tug on her collar to get her down on her knees. Abby slowly sits on her thighs and fixes the skirt again, and you just can't. She is so fucking cute in it, and you can see the curve of her hips in the mirror, her waist looks tiny and the dips along her spine are so fucking hot. 

You caress Abby's cheekbone with your thumb, adoring her, and she blooms. Abby likes subbing because she's loved so fully at her weakest and most vulnerable like she's never been before - she's literally on her knees, with a collar around her neck and in a skirt and you look at her like she is divine.

"Is your throat good enough for my cock too, princess?"  You ask with a teasing smirk, palming your strap through the fabric of your pants. 

"Yes ma'am. I'll be so good for you." Abby pleads and grabs at your thighs before she remembers herself. 

"Too eager for your own good, huh?" You weave your fingers through her hair at the back, right under the braid, holding her head up. "Come on, get to work."

Abby tugs your pants down and you can see in the mirror how she presses her thighs together when she sees your strap, and that won't do. 

"Spread your legs and arch your back, I wanna see how wet you're gonna get." 

Abby does exactly as she is told, even lifting herself up a little so she could reach your lap, and you see her skirt covering everything. It's a downside, but Abby is smart, so she pushes the skirt to the front just enough for it to go up and your grip in her hair tightens from how sexy she looks. The edge of the skirt is now reaching to the middle of her ass and you see her wet pussy glisten; the contrast of her waist to hips ratio makes her ass look even better, and you feel like you're gonna cum just from watching Abby getting wet. 

"Fucking beautiful." You growl and Abby even shakes her ass a little to make it jiggle. "Focus, princess." You tell her sternly, and Abby arches into you even more. 

You tug Abby's head back and she opens her mouth automatically, so you push your cock inside just a little - Abby wraps her lips around the head and you let go of her hair, letting her run the show and have fun. Abby leaves wet open mouthed kisses along the length of your strap and you hum in approval, petting her head. She is blushing and her freckles look so pretty on her pink cheeks, her eyelashes flatter when she closes her eyes and licks the whole length of your strap. The movements cause the harness to move against your clit and your breathing gets heavier - you didn't expect it to happen, you must've put the harness in a different way - and Abby notices how tense are your thighs under her hands. She makes eye contact with you to check in, and you smile at her. 

"You're doing so good princess, you might make me cum if you keep it up."

Abby whimpers when she hears it - it's very rare for you to even allow her to touch you when you dom her, let alone make you cum, but Abby wants to. She always wants to please you in any way she's allowed to. 

"Please let me make you cum, ma'am." Abby begs, looking at you with her big doe eyes. 

"You can try, princess." You chuckle, not very sure that she can, but Abby seems determined. 

Abby lifts up a little again and lowers her head on your cock, taking as much as she can while she still can breathe, and when she comes back up, the harness grinds against your clit, making you hiss. Abby wiggles in excitement and starts to bob her head up and down, getting dizzy from hearing your panting and hissing above her.

"Just like that, babygirl." You pant and put your hand on Abby's head, slightly pushing the strap deeper. "You can take it, right?" You coo and Abby moans in agreement. "Good girl. Relax for me."

You hold Abby's head by her braid and push your strap deeper and deeper while Abby's eyes roll back into her skull. There is something so comforting about having her throat stuffed Abby can't help herself but to go absolutely slack while you fuck her throat, grunting and panting as your own pleasure builds up. 

"Ride your fingers, princess, I know you want to." 

Fucking hell, you think as you watch Abby pump her fingers in and out in the mirror, her thighs and ass look so delicious with the skirt on. Abby moans and whimpers as you fuck her throat and she fucks herself, and you know you're not going to last long. 

Your grip tightens in her hair and Abby whimpers, and you can see in the mirror how rough she is being with herself, desperate to cum. 

"Fuck-" You whimper and buck your hips up to get more friction and the same time as Abby swallows you down, and the pressure ticks you off right away. 

Your thighs shake and your hips buck, chasing the aftershocks of your orgasm while Abby watches you with wide eyes, her own fingers forgotten. She is not even breathing, absolutely mesmerised by your reactions - she made you cum, she made you cum without even touching you. 

You pant, still twitching from your orgasm, but you find the strength to move Abby away from the strap despite her whining. 

"Come here." You tug on her collar again to make her move and Abby straddles you. "Holy fuck." You whisper when you look at her. "My best girl." You kiss Abby's shoulder and she giggles.

"Thank you, ma'am." 

You smile at her and then lie down on the bed, tugging on Abby's hips so she would move. Abby is bright red - for some reason she is still so shy when you make her sit on your face - but she moves up, until her thighs are by the sides of your face. Abby can't even look at you, her eyelashes casting shadows on her cheeks.

“Look at me.” You tell her and Abby steals a glance at you, which is not what you wanted. “I said look at me.”

And Abby looks, tries her hardest to maintain eye contact with you as you push her down on your face, burying yourself in her soaked pussy. 

Abby whines when you suck on her sensitive clit since she's been close after fucking herself earlier. You don't waste any time and eat her out messily, getting her wetness all over your face as you devour her, fucking her with your tongue, rubbing and sucking her clit, while Abby writhes on top of you. 

“Oh god-” She sobs and you grab a handful of her hips, pulling her skirt up so you can see her. “I'm gonna-”

And that is exactly your cue to stop, leaving Abby panting and whimpering on top of you. You watch her pretty clit throb from being so close to orgasm and smirk. 

Abby is confused and there's a tiniest hint of hurt on her face: she did such a good job and you are not letting her cum?

You chuckle and signal her to move. 

“Lie down on your stomach.” You tell her and while Abby does as she is told, you fix your harness and grab a pillow to put it under Abby's hips. 

Seeing Abby's fat thighs pressed together with her wet glistening hole between them makes you want to ruin her. The sight of your strong, dangerous girlfriend all shy and pretty and in this damn skirt makes you froth at your mouth like a fucking dog. Abby makes you feel like the most unhinged obsessed creep and the way she welcomes your dark side - as you think of it - is why you would die for her at any moment. 

You can't help the possessive bite you leave on her neck, practically growling into her ear.

“You're mine.” You tell her and Abby nods, shows her neck with a collar on it. 

“Yours.” She whispers and bucks her hips into you, presenting herself for you. 

You line your strap up and push inside, feeling how tight Abby is from being so close to an orgasm. 

“It's a pity you can't see yourself, princess.” You tell her as you watch the head of your strap slowly disappear in her hole. “You're close, aren't you?”

“Please, ma'am.” Abby whimpers and you part her ass cheeks to give yourself a show. 

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.” Abby says and you smile. 

“You can do better than that.”

You're not usually the “beg me” type, but now you want Abby to be desperate. You keep pushing extremely slowly, teasing Abby and moving away when she bucks her hips. 

“Please, I need you.” Abby starts shyly and oh, what a great idea it is. “Ma'am, I need you, please fuck me, only you can make me feel good, please-”

You push all the way in in one go and Abby moans loudly.

“Good fucking girl.” You growl and pick a hard pace right away, slamming into Abby so hard her ass jiggles. Abby sobs and her back tenses: she feels you so deep and she is so tight in this position, and she is so fucking close. You knead her ass through the skirt and just watch your strap disappear in Abby, fucking her mercilessly. 

“Ma’am-” Abby whimpers and holds the pillow under her head for dear life, trying to hold off her orgasm. “Can I-” Abby doesn't get to finish her sentence as your next thrust knocks the air out of her. 

“Cum, babygirl.” You tell her gently while you thrust into Abby's tight little pussy with force, grabbing her hips for stability. 

Abby coils and lifts her ass as her orgasm rips through her body like an electric shock, and you chuckle, satisfied, your movements slowing down. You're not stopping, still moving inside her, and Abby squeezes her thighs together under you, whimpering. 

“Relax, princess, and let me have you.” You murmur into her ear and continue fucking her slowly, watching your strap come out of her covered in her cum. 

Abby genuinely tries to relax, but she is sensitive right now and your cock drags along her walls so slowly it drives her crazy. She likes feeling so stuffed, so full of you, but now she wants to cum again. 

“Ma'am, please go faster.” Abby asks you and you chuckle. 

“You're so impatient.” You tsk and slap her ass cheek lightly, watching it jiggle. “You're gonna cum like this or not at all, understood?”

“Yes ma'am.” Abby says, humbled, but her voice breaks in a moan when you push inside to the hilt. “Fuck.”

You smile and pull out just to push back and Abby clutches to the pillow, her whole body feels like she is on fire. You don't make it easier as your lips travel over her sensitive back, every touch of your hot tongue makes her tighten around your strap and moan pathetically. 

Abby is so close and so, so fucking far away from her orgasm and you know it, so you continue thrusting into her slowly until Abby starts to squirm and misbehave as she pushes back, chasing your strap. 

“Stop it.” You tell her sternly and push her lower back into the bed to stop her from moving. 

“Ma'am, please!” Abby whines.

You tug on her collar quite roughly and press your lips to her ear. 

“Such a brat.” You growl and slam into Abby roughly, making her squeal. “Turn on your side.” 

And that's how Abby ends up being fucked roughly from behind while you squeeze her throat and play with her clit relentlessly, bringing her to the edge immediately. Your pelvis hits her ass at every thrust and Abby whines and whimpers, her eyes rolled back, her head absolutely empty. Abby feels like she doesn’t exist anymore, only your hands and your voice and your cock do - and she feels so fucking good. 

“Ma’am-” Abby moans frantically. “It feels so good, you feel so good, thankyouthankyouthankyou” Is all you can hear between Abby’s sobs. You smile darkly and fuck her harder until she shrieks and cums again. 

But you don’t stop. You keep fucking Abby through her orgasm, you keep fucking her when she whines from being too sensitive, you keep fucking her even when she tries to move your hand away from her clit.

“Ma’am, it’s too much- I can’t-”

“You can take it.” You pant into her ear. “You wanted to cum so much before, so keep cumming.”  

And Abby does, with another sob. She cums again, and again, until it becomes too much for real, and her face is wet with tears. She feels like overstimulation now hurts more than pleases, and maybe you’re right, she has another one in her, but Abby feels exhausted. 

“Yellow.” Abby sniffles, and you stop moving right away, carefully letting go of her tit, but not removing the strap yet in case it will hurt Abby.

“Too much?” You ask her gently and Abby nods. “Does something hurt?” You ask her with such care in your voice Abby wants to cry, because she feels like she could’ve gone longer and now she’s disappointed you. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Abby sniffles, and you get more alert than ever.

“Abby? Can I hug you?” Abby nods and you carefully wrap your arms around her and bury your face in her neck. “Talk to me, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Did I say something?”

“No- It’s just- It started to hurt and I’m tired- fuck, I’m sorry.” 

“Baby, why are you saying sorry? It’s okay, you did good by using the safeword.”

“I just feel like I could go longer, I should not have stopped you.” Abby admits and sniffles again, ashamed - her emotions skyrocket in subspace.

“I don’t want you to push your limits to please me. How about we stop now, get clean and then cuddle and talk, if you want? How does it sound?”

“We can continue, I just need a moment.” Abby pleads as her guilt grows.

“I don't think we should, sweets.” That pet name makes Abby squeeze her eyes: you only use it when she is not allowed to argue. “It's okay. You're okay. You didn't do anything wrong.” You kiss her shoulder and Abby's head gets a little clearer. “Thank you for telling me, you did so well.”

This makes Abby feel a little better; she nods and squeezes your hand in return. You carefully remove the strap while Abby winces and then you help her get up and go to the bathroom, to shower. 

You take her clothes and collar off, and Abby doesn’t look at you, still beating herself up, but you won’t have it. So when you two get into the shower and water starts to wash the sweat and cum off both of you, you take her face in your hands and kiss her cheeks, her nose, her eyes and forehead, everywhere really. Just small gentle kisses, until Abby smiles and looks at you bashfully.

“You have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.” You tell her honestly and Abby blushes, but her mood seems to go up. 

You wash both of you gently, carefully going over Abby’s crotch, and she relaxes under your arms. You dry both of you after and help Abby change into her pjs. She gets under the blankets and you kiss her forehead before going to the kitchen and getting some food for both of you. 

When you return with two plates and a big cup, Abby looks sleepily at you, seemingly calm. But you know her, you know how guilt can eat her alive, so you keep being alert. 

“Drink this first.” You give Abby warm water with honey and she drinks it, scrunching her nose from the sweetness of it. Then you eat in comfortable silence, both noticing with surprise how hungry you were - which should not be a surprise by now, really. You finish your food and clean up so you can cuddle Abby and sooth her. Abby gets on top of you and you caress her hair and shoulders absentmindedly.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better.” Abby sounds more sober now too. “I just-” She huffs, annoyed at herself. “I dunno how to explain. I could've gone longer.” 

“I don't want to hurt you. Not in a way you don't enjoy.” You remind her. Abby loves you so much she is scared to fuck everything up, and it led to some problems before, when she put your needs above hers. You talked about it, but sometimes, especially if Abby subs, she slips and does it again. This is exactly why you have a “sweets” rule: to stop her before she hurts both of you with her sacrifices. 

“I just feel like I'm..weak.” Abby admits and you chuckle. 

“You're not. You're a grownup who can tell their limits, and I'm so happy you did.” You say kindly. “I trust you. You were so good for me today, including using the safeword.” You kiss the top of Abby's head and she hugs you tighter. “I'm sorry I didn't check in with you.”

Abby nods and looks up to you. 

“We both agreed to this, right? We literally fucked around and found out.” You chuckle and reach out to grab the honey water for Abby. 

“I know you hate it, but your throat needs it.”

Abby groans and drinks it, absolutely despising the honey: this is the only drawback of getting her throat fucked.

“Did you like the skirt?” Abby asks playfully. 

“Yes. You looked so good in it, god. I got a little crazy.” You kiss her honey lips and Abby smiles into your mouth. 

“Well, next time it's your turn.” She says seriously and you laugh. 

“If you promise to not rip it apart.” 

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson smut #sub!abby #abby anderson #abby tlou #this is my coping mechanism

[nanamin-nah-nanamine]

Geto Suguru NSFW Alphabet

Edit: if you enjoy, please let me know! I love little comments and messages left in the tags ^_^

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

When it comes to Aftercare Suguru is very reverent and routine in his practice. If the two of you are doing a particularly rough or draining scene he prefers to have aftercare items laid out in advance. The basics like water,snacks,wipes,etc but also more sensory based things to bring you back like a candle to smell or something to squish, something to bring you back from subspace. If the sex you’re having is more vanilla he will still water you,feed you,then cuddle you to sleep. He always makes sure that you’re asleep first before he does 🥺

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I’m not sure if this counts as a body part but I'm a big believer that Suguru takes a lot of pride in his hair and how healthy he keeps it. Homie is all about those hair masks,regular trims and maybe just MAYBE you got him sleeping with a silk bonnet. His favorite part of you has to be between your tummy,ass and thighs. What can I say? Suguru likes them well fed, thickums. He wants to see the shape of your ass in the matching Kimonos he got you two 💀. He’s also just a little freak and it makes him feral when you squeeze your thighs around his head 😭

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I think he cums a moderate amount? Lmao I don’t know if that’s the correct way to say it but it’s just like an average amount. I think the consistency is on the thinner side and it’s got that translucent milky color. He prefers to cum inside but it also gets him going to spill over your mound and like in between your lips. He also likes when he fucks you so hard you cream around the base because it always looks the prettiest in pictures.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

This little freak. This absolute little freak. Amongst all of his little fantasies, the one that has him groaning and spilling over his fist the fastest is domming both you and Satoru. The thought of having his little lover and the strongest on their knees for him gives him such a headrush that he has to lay down after he cums or he’ll pass out. He would never let this fantasy see the light of day

Unless you bring it up 👀

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s experienced in the way of lots of sex with a few partners rather than multiple partners so he hasn’t tried EVERYTHING but he’s honed the skill set he has.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Face down ass up arch PRECISE!!! He wants your face smushed into a pillow and if he’s feeling generous he’ll let you keep your hands free. He can be merciful sometimes.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

I wouldn’t say he’s completely serious all the time during sex, if something humorous happens he’ll laugh but he’s not going out of his way to be funny or anything. He wants you to be comfortable so he has a calming silence to him.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He keeps things neat. A nice close trim for his own preferences but even when it grows out the hairs are fine and rather soft so it’s not really a bother anyways.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He’s a romantic at heart but he’s a pretty quiet lover. He’s the type to be thrusting into you in missionary,brushing your hair out of your face and littering kisses over your cheeks and neck. If he’s particularly overwhelmed by pleasure or he’s having a bad day, he’ll bury his face in your neck and let out the cutest little pants while his hands are bruising your hips, mumbling incoherently about how much he loves you. If you can hear him over your own moans, he whimpers occasionally.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

His sex drive is pretty middleground so if you’re around he doesn’t really feel the need to jerk off. When he does, it's much more utilitarian so he’s trying to get off as quickly as possible. He’s not a fan of porn, not when he’s got so many photos of you saved to get off too. If he’s feeling more self indulgent he’ll sit and set the scene for one of his fantasies.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He’s a kinky boy. BDSM is very high on his list in every aspect. He’s dominant. He enjoys being dominant and he’s always preferred submissive partners--Suguru loves a crybaby--because he loves feeling needed and nothing makes his dick harder than a whining sub clinging onto him and begging to cum.

Dacryphilia is another one, he used to be slightly ashamed of this one but he can’t help but feel his stomach tighten and his breath hitch when your whines turn into broken sobs. If he’s got you on your back and you’re looking at him with tear filled eyes, he’s going to put a baby in you. Periodt point blank, that’s a threat and a promise.

Suguru is also into primal prey. I’ve already mentioned that he tends to get power highs when domming, but the thought of hunting you down and fucking you actually makes his heart stutter. The pride in catching you, the complete domination, it gives him the sense of satisfaction that almost nothing else can. The fear on your face, the flicker in your cursed energy that you’re not even aware of. You’ve got a blinking target on your back and you don’t even know it. And he likes to mess with you, he likes to make you think you’re winning. He’s got such quiet feet and he moves so fast from years of training that one minute he’s there,the next he’s gone and soon you’re pinned on your front in the dirt with your panties ripped and being drilled into.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He’s a simple man and honestly just wants to fuck in the comfort of his home. Now inside the house, nowhere is off limits. He’s fucked you on the table,on the couch,bent over the dryer,in the middle of the hallway 😭

He doesn’t care bro

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

I mentioned this a bit earlier but he really likes when you’re needy for him. Like Suguru loves a needy,clingy,crybaby sub who’s gonna act like his shadow. He also really loves when you take what you want from him. He gets off on seeing you so flustered on his lap, grinding in little circles and whining for him to just flip you over and fuck you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He doesn’t like bodily fluids besides cum and in the right circumstances blood.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He is a MUNCH!!! Suguru is a munch and he is proud of it. He’s eating pussy AND ass and he’s very much so giving aht aht aht move your hand. He will have you in that bed for hours on end eating you out for his own pleasure. You are not leaving unless you safeword or he’s done. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Suguru is a complete wild card but usually since he has so much patience, he fucks hard and slow. Really deep thrusts that jostle your entire body and have you gripping the sheets. If you want him to go faster you have to beg for it.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He is not a fan of quickies because he likes to take his time and really take you apart. But he’s a little whipped so if you beg for it you’re getting fucked alright 🙂

You won’t be walking afterwards but you’re gonna get fucked

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He takes risks within both of your boundaries, but nothing too crazy. If anything has the possibility to cause either of y’all physical harm it’s an immediate veto because you’re his number one priority.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Oh Suguru? Mister first grade sorcerer? He can go as many rounds as you can take. His self control is pretty good so he tries his best to make you cum before he does. If he does somehow cum before you do, he’s immediately pulling out and finishing you off anyway you want.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

You two have a plethora of different sex toys. He had a humble collection before he met you but now there is definitely chest kept in the bedroom with a padlock because SOME guests(Satoru) are too nosy for their own good 🙄

“Suguru, what does this do?” “You don’t want to know”

He has some of the basics like vibes,ropes,and paddles. But he also has nipple clamps,chastity belts and whips.

He likes to keep an array of things on deck.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh he’s absolutely the worst. He loves to tease you because he just thinks you’re so fucking cute when you’re whining and begging.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

It depends but he tends to be on the softer side of sounds. He has a naturally soft voice so his moans are breathy and he lets out little sighs and whimpers. When he’s close he tends to bite his lip and let out noises that couldn’t pay him to admit to. He definitely groans when he’s getting head and purrs low in his throat. Different types of stimulation make different sounds.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

This is my bisexual king and he’s a power bottom. He’s not letting you top, but in the past he’s definitely taken both dicks and straps. He’s secure in himself and prostate orgasms are nice 🤷🏽‍♀️

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I’m feeling like he’s a good 7-8in in length? Like that’s just the vibe he gives. He definitely doesn’t have the biggest dick in the JJK verse but he’s definitely up there in the top 5. Tan shaft and a tip that flushes red when he’s hard.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I mentioned earlier but his sex drive is very in the middle. He gets the horny zoomies sometimes where he’ll jump you in the hallway and take you like a cheap whore. But he usually likes to plan and have structured scenes thought out.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He needs you to be asleep before him. It’s his own thing, but once you’re safely tucked into bed, bathed,fed,watered and asleep he can finally feel like his job as a dom and boyfriend is complete. He will quite literally not be capable of rest until you’re snoring.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk headcanons #jjk x y/n #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru #geto suguru smut #jujutsu kaisen geto #jjk x reader smut #gojo mention

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please read the tags and warnings before reading.

BNHA

you could have knocked me out with a feather by sahwen

"Your X-rays don’t indicate any fissures or other breaking in the skull,” his handler said as she looked over his file. She always spoke like that, as did his other handlers; the skull. Not his. Because it wasn’t his, when you got right down to it. He was a public figure. He was property. He was real estate.

And he knew what she meant when she said your x-rays don’t indicate any fissures. It meant, you’ve wasted our time. It made him sweat.

Or: Hawks gets bonked. The HPSC is not a hospital.

Stranger Things

Adopt a Jock by @sp0o0kylights

Hellfire adopts Steve during his final year of high school. Pre-Steddie. (Ongoing tumblr fic)

DC (Batfamily)

This Dark Ceiling Without a Star by Miss_Lazy_Tuesday

"For fuck’s sake, your chatter is going to drive me crazy faster than this stupid spell.”

“Then you talk!”

“There’s no point!” Jason snaps. “I can feel it, okay. It’s—there’s no emotion behind it, it’s not using my thoughts. It’s just a bunch of weird Greek echoing in my brain and a compulsion to act. And it’s getting stronger. Talking isn’t going to slow it down.”

“Then what will slow it down?”

After five long seconds of silence, Tim gives into the urge and viciously jabs his fist into Jason’s leg for the second time.

“Goddammit, why?” Jason snaps, green briefly sparking in his eyes before disappearing just as quickly.

“You are not seriously going to just sit there and wait to die.”

“The hell do you care anyway?”

“Because I don’t want you to die! Obviously!”

“You fucking should."

Marvel

status quo by jilliancares

"So, you’re investigating this not-so-bad-bad-guy, and you’re coming out of his apartment at—" Wade tilts his head to the side, just enough to check his watch “—almost exactly the time you usually start your patrol.”

Peter chews on the inside of his cheek. “Yep,” he decides on.

“And — just to be clear — I definitely shouldn’t unalive this guy instead of the douchebag across the street.”

“Definitely not,” Peter agrees. “No one would like that.”

Wade bangs his head against the fire escape again. “Okay, Webs. This one’s just to gauge if you’re smarter than a fifth grader: how much of that do you think I actually believe?"

Or: Somehow, the components of Peter’s secret identity keep crumbling all around him.

Also: He’s running out of excuses not to tell Wade that he’s in love with him.

9-1-1

Don't You (Forget About Me) by Princessfbi

"Bill, can you tell me your location? I want to send some people to make sure you’re okay. You don’t sound okay.”

“I’m not. But he’s worse off than I am. Shouldn’t you want to help him instead? Wouldn’t you want to know where he is?”

“Who is he?”

“That firefighter I buried underground.”

The long awaited buried alive fic

ATLA

All the Little Things by CSHfic, VSfic

Sokka receives an offer of an arranged marriage from the Northern Water Tribe. On the one hand, accepting would strengthen ties between their tribes. On the other hand, Chief Arnook has suggested Hahn as a potential match, and Hahn sucks. But with the future of the Southern Water Tribe Reconstruction project relying heavily on the good will of the North, Sokka doesn’t know how to say no.

(Katara doesn’t have to deal with this. Katara is dating the Avatar.)

Zuko has a solution. Sokka just wishes he’d realized he was in love with the Fire Lord before he agreed to pretend to date him.

Classroom Lessons by Thisisentertaining

Sokka never would have thought he'd be pretending to be a Fire Nation Colonial Citizen, going to a parent conference about his fake!son who was an airbender, but here he was.

At least life wasn't boring.

Sokka turned on Aang, fake mustache and beard bristling. "Young man, as soon as we get home, you're gonna get the punishment of a lifetime."

The headmaster smirked, smugly, evil-y, Fire Nation-y. "That's what I like to hear. Really Zuko him."

the snakes, and the people that they bite by Serie11

Rai is just a normal guy, really. One of the many guards that patrol the Fire Lord's palace.

Why did it have to be him who got caught up in this assassination attempt?

Finishing Each Other's Sentences by mindbending

fire lilies are red your melancholy mood’s blue still I prefer you 

After the war, Sokka starts writing poetry.

She broke your throne by Serie11

Zuko is kidnapped from his afternoon of paperwork by a well intentioned friend. There just so happens to be a festival on in town for them to attend instead of working...

#happy monday everyone! #we've got a big boy round up this week #my posts #fic recs #weekly fic round up #bnha recs #marvel recs #dc recs #stranger things recs #atla recs #911 recs #misc recs

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review 48 – Legends and Lattes by Travis Baldree

I will be honest, I read this book because it was nominated for a Hugo award and I have a mildly masochistic personal commitment to read every nominee I can (and so remain at least slightly aware of the genre at large). Otherwise, I’m quite certain I never would have touched it – everything about the pitch and marketing made it seem like something I would hate. I’ll try to be fair and approach the book on its own terms but, well it wasn’t exactly painful I wouldn’t say my initial impression was wrong either.

The book follows Viv, an orcish adventurer in a generic D&D fantasy sort of world, as she decides to retire from the dungeon-delving/monster-slaying game with her last big score – a magical stone that, when buried, is supposed to bring ‘the ring of fortune’ to whatever you do above it. She opens the city’s first and only coffee shop. The book follows her collecting a cast of lovable misfit friends/employees (Calamity the hobgoblin carpenter, Tandri the succubus barista/eventual love interest, Thimble the ratfolk baking savant, a bard whose name I’m blanking on, Amity the dire shop cat/security) as they run the business and develop it into what by complete coincidence will end up looking very familiar to the a cute quirky modern indie coffeeshop. There is theoretically some conflict happening, first with the local mob boss and then with one of Viv’s old adventuring companions, but they both feel pretty perfunctory and like they’re only included out of a sense of obligation.

The actual meat of the book is basically focused on Viv instantly becoming fast friends with all her employees/coworkers and how endearing they are, and also the step-by-step of the coffeeshop's development. First in renovating the property into her vision, then in the branding and marketing, and then the gradual addition of menu items and live music. Through it all Viv and Tandri have a developing romance that (rather appropriately) feels like a coffeeshop AU fanfic where the author decided the slowburn tag meant ‘every other character will just assume they’re already dating by the halfway point but they’ll act like flustered teenagers and refuse to actually discuss their feelings until they kiss on the literal last page’.

So, the book is ‘cozy fantasy’ which as far as I’m aware does basically means ‘no tension slice of life fanfic but with original characters’ (alternatively, ‘2000s ‘cute girls doing cute things’ anime but with a moderately more diverse cast and in sf/f book form’). The only other books in the genre I’ve read are Becky Chambers’ stuff which, while I didn’t particularly love them, I now feel I was being way too harsh on. Those have legitimately impressive worldbuilding and coherent themes and at least gestures at real compelling character arcs and dilemmas. This, well, what you see is what you get? Like, there’s zero false marketing, the entire book is entirely dedicated to hitting the exact broad emotional beats you would expect it to. There’s not really any interest in the world beyond the cafe, it is in fact a plot point that Viv attracts a found family she clicks perfectly with and their relationships are all uniformly positive, and there is exactly one point where she suffers any sort of real reversal – which lasts for about five pages before everyone comes together and rebuilds things even better than ever. There is a wizened gnome whose clearly living time backwards who takes the time to pat Viv on the should and reassure her that everything turns out alright, in about as many words. There's clearly a market for this, and I am not it.

Morality in the book is basically synonymous with niceness. If someone is friendly or at least polite to Viv then even if they seem like an obvious problem in the end they’ll turn out to have their heart in the right place and only want the best – as, for example, the local crime boss proves to be a nice old lady who accepts an order of cinnamon buns every week as ‘protection money’ and donates several shipments of materials to rebuilding the place without any expectation of payment or stake in return. The only two characters in the book who are rude assholes to someone in the cafe are also coincidentally the only real villains there are.

All of this is stuff that on some level I more or less expected opening into the book. The thing that actually disappointed me is that this fluffy book about opening a coffee shop doesn’t actually care about coffee. If you’re going to make it the centrepiece of your whole book, I expect some exultation and appreciation of the stuff! Give me self-indulgent passages going into detail about the smell and taste and smell and experience of it. Make me put down the thing actually craving a latte!

But the book’s mostly interested in the, like, trappings and signifiers associated with a cafe, not (despite Viv’s theoretical obsession with it) the actual coffee. This feels like a point that generalizes. (There actually is a decent amount of detail spent on the baked goods their genius baker invents, which just makes the lack feel stranger.)

As an aside, and I know this is very clearly not a book that expects you to care about the worldbuilding, but it’s kind of strange that coffee is presented as this new exotic novelty to a vaguely European fantasy metropolis that is explicitly already familiar and comfortable with tea? Like obviously the historical analogues aren’t worth getting into – Viv is creating a cute neighberhood coffeehouse by a college campus, no a 17th century Venetian cafe – but it’s not the first place I’ve seen the same portrayal of the two drinks and it’s, odd? Like it’s not like tea is any less foreign to Europe, or arrived particularly earlier.

But anyway, yeah, didn’t enjoy this but can’t say I was misled. It is in fact a book that you can entirely judge by its cover and not be surprised one bit.

#legends and lattes #sff #hugo nom #book review #travis baldree

[soleilnomoon]

i would love to place an order for Meringue Cookies, Dark Chocolate, Jelly Beans, Candy Necklace, & Blan Manje, with Caramel & Honey. Side menu # 1 for Boa or Nami. either is fine! with a g/n reader! These stories are a blast to read!

anon i am so so sry this took forever 😭💕💕💕 but i finally finished and i'm actually happy with it; also ty for requesting, i love boa hancock sfm i wish more ppl wrote for her.

4.3k words, gn reader (no pronouns), nsfw, 18+ mdni; angst angst angst bc that's how i vibe & smut, and if you squint real hard there's some fluff somehow i think. hancock is a brat as usual and reader ain't shit, but they go great together <3 feat. cute things like oral (f receiving), fingering, a lil bondage, hair pulling, some pussy slapping, more stuff that idr anymore ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა (if u see grammar/spelling errors no u didn't ;_;)

tagging lil’ kaia bc she asked so nicely ❤︎ @cvvor

“our love would be death” — anaïs  nin

sea salt sifts through the wind, warm and fine enough that most don’t notice its intrusion. it lands on your nose and lips, coats your tongue when you exhale through your mouth; no matter how many times you try to wash away the taste, it still lingers. a persistent annoyance that refuses to leave you alone. it’s a bitter, yet familiar taste — one that fills your heart with memories you’ve long wanted to keep buried. you’re no stranger to heartache, but this is different.

you find that you can never sleep through the entire night without dreaming of your ex — of how you begged them to stay, of how you told them you couldn’t live without them. pathetic, you tell yourself one morning after another restless night — you know you need to find a way to move on, but there’s no way you can, not when you carved so many pieces of yourself to give away without much thought.

what you’re left with is a battered heart that can barely function on its own; it flops pitifully in your chest, rattling against your rib cage weakly. every day it gets harder to breathe, harder to face the truth that you’re all alone — again.

boa hancock doesn’t know why she even fucking bothers, but she can’t seem to stay away from you. it’s a privilege, in her opinion, for you to be graced with her presence, let alone be allowed to touch her intimately. so, when she finds you staring wistfully out of the window, sighing to yourself again she snaps.

“y/n, look at me,” she commands loudly, voice piercing through your body like a thick arrow that keeps you frozen in place. you know better than to disobey her, even though you want to; you know you’re being unreasonable, but the heart always wants what it can’t have, right?

not that she cares about any of that. in her mind, your ex is an ex for a reason. she grabs your face with her hand, squeezing tightly, delicate brows furrowed together as irritation drips down her spine. she could easily kill you and you know it. “i’m the most beautiful woman in the world,” she boasts, although there’s something melancholic about the way she says it.

you narrow your eyes at her, mouth moving before you can think better of it. “and what of it?” it’s not often that you challenge her like that, but today you’ve had enough of her games, of constantly catering to her whims and desires, of her veneer that she insists on keeping even when she’s alone with you.  

it dawns on her then what the actual problem is. “you’re still in love with them.” anger seeps through her pores, and she knows if she doesn’t walk away soon, she might say or do something she’ll possibly regret.

you flinch, eyes widening — she’s not entirely wrong, but she’s not right either. you’re just stuck in limbo, unable to move on because you refuse to do so; after seeing them so happy with someone else, you can’t fathom finding any sort of happiness yourself. so, you cling onto the past, even when it threatens to destroy your present life.

for some reason, this pisses you off — that hancock is so much more perceptive than people give her credit for; that she’s not afraid to tell you the truth, despite how your friends sugarcoat everything for you. the rage that’s bubbled deep inside of you for months finally pushes out; you can barely think or see properly, and you forget yourself when you practically shout back at her.

“and you’re just jealous because for once, you’re not the focus of my attention.” you’re not sure why you say it, but as soon as the words leave your mouth, you feel like shit.

there’s rarely a moment where hancock finds herself in absolute shock, but your venomous words cut into her bruised ego with vigor. it's a harsh reality that she refuses to accept, so she lashes out at you again.

“you’re pathetic.” her tone is cold, and she steels her face enough that she almost looks bored with you. hancock releases her hold on you and swivels on her heels to walk away. you don’t bother calling after her, but she pauses in her gait to look over her shoulder at you. “i’m done playing with you, get out of my sight.”

the dismissal is the first slap of many and her insistence on blatantly keeping her back turned while she ignores you is another. something in you breaks, but you know you’ve angered the pirate empress enough for one day. you don’t hesitate before scrambling to your feet and leaving her alone. after you close the door, you hear a shriek that’s accompanied by what sounds like a large vase shattering. you don’t bother checking on her, because you know you’re not wanted in her presence right now.

you should’ve seen this coming. one doesn’t simply think about another lover while in the presence of boa hancock; it’s absurd and theatrical, but it’s an unspoken rule that you keep breaking over and over. in the back of your mind, you know you should go make things right with her, but you just don’t know how.

hancock’s frustration continues to build throughout the day. she doesn’t know why someone — you, a commoner who should be groveling at her feet daily — can be so insolent without remorse. she’s smashed several expensive sculptures, shredded her mattress and bed sheets with large scissors, and cursed out every staff member in kuja palace. her anger only intensifies when she hears someone whisper your name, so she locks herself in her bedroom, refusing meals or assistance from anyone.

you’ve always thought that the pirate empress was annoying, self-centered, and unnecessarily mean without reason. you’ve told her this on several occasions, stunning her into silence — a feat that most cannot achieve. hancock would normally sentence someone to death for those sorts of callous remarks, but for some reason she spares you. maybe it’s because despite her incomparable, unrivaled beauty, you don’t helplessly pine after her.

and she absolutely hates that about you.

hancock’s not someone who’s used to being treated like a regular person, and yet that’s what you do to her. you barely hold any reverence for her, give her the minimal amount of respect owed as a citizen of amazon lily, and you don’t flinch when she threatens you publicly. most are afraid to be associated with you, out of fear for incurring the snake princess’ wrath — not that you care, you’ve known that your personality can’t be tolerated by most because you tend to happily go against the grain.

you’ve always found her beauty to be intense and intoxicating — imposing like the sun, forcing a heat to surge through you that has yet to dissipate. you hate that your attraction to her impedes your daily life, especially when you’re plagued by dueling thoughts of her and your ex. you’re barred from entering the palace, and you’re thankful for it as you don’t know how you’d be able to face hancock after all that you’ve said. you know that you should apologize profusely, but a woman like hancock requires something extravagant and elaborate — something that’ll prove that your adoration and loyalty is genuine and not forced.

the first few days are relatively easy; you work tirelessly to keep your mind and body busy, and you’re so exhausted by the end of the day that you sleep without dreaming. when a week passes, you start to notice that certain things are off; you didn’t make it a habit of frequenting the palace that often, but you were there enough that the staff didn’t give you a hard time when you showed up unannounced. you tell yourself that distance is good — it means you’ll be able to finally focus on the things that are important to you.

but, when you sit and think about it, you’re not quite sure if that’s entirely true.

after the second week, you start getting antsy. your friends keep pestering you, asking why your mood keeps shifting day to day — you’re intolerable and grouchy, snap at minor things and make mistakes all day. your heart, as tired and as worn out as it is, still skips a beat when you think about hancock despite what you try to tell yourself when you’re alone. somehow, you’ve convinced yourself that the only reason why you’re thinking about her, is because you miss fucking her.

the lie is tough to digest, but you keep repeating it and sooner or later you’ll believe it, right?

soon, everything reminds you of her.

on a warm night, a small festival is held, and you wander around listless and slightly tipsy. memories of the first time you met boa hancock — outside of all the fanfare that her royal title awards her — plague you relentlessly. you remember the warmth from that night, similar to this one; you remember how highly oppressive and unbearable the humidity was; and you also remember that you were on your third drink when you unceremoniously bumped into the pirate empress.

at first, her sisters demanded you apologize, but you were annoyed and had just been dumped so you chose audacity instead.

hancock’s irritation was evident, despite her not saying much — and it wasn’t until your rambling struck a nerve that she fired back. it was the first time he’d let her walls down, and her sisters watched in shock as both of you went back and forth over nothing. hancock called you all sorts of terrible names, and you sneered and laughed in her face. the fact that you weren’t cowering in fear or salivating over her beauty set her skin on fire in a way she didn’t understand.

you remember her dismissing the other gorgon sisters, insisting that she’d be able to handle you on her own. and she did, in a way. if anyone were to ask her about that time, hancock would easily admit that she regrets meeting you that night — but it would be a lie. the only thing she regrets is allowing you to infiltrate her heart, to settle without permission, to make her feel less than when she knew she was anything but.

her brattiness is unappealing on the surface and you normally wouldn’t be attracted to a woman who boldly wears such an ugly personality with pride. somehow, hancock has made the trait endearing to you, in a strange way; she’s so unapologetic with her behavior, that you find it rather comical. why people take her seriously is beyond you.

but, despite all of that, you do miss her.

you miss seeing the way her nose would scrunch and wrinkle when she was disgusted with something insignificant and minute; you miss kissing her in the middle of arguments and watching her easily melt underneath your touch; but you mostly miss hearing her complain about your lack of etiquette, about how odd she finds your views on the world, and about how you see her more clearly than anyone else on the island.

that sort of vulnerability terrifies her, and it’s why she’s been so miserable without you.

her sisters pay you a visit one morning and implore you to talk some sense into hancock. they tell you about how her temper tantrums have gotten uncontrollable (even for them) and how she barely eats or bothers leaving the palace these days. that bit surprises you, as hancock thrives off the validation from the populace. at first you mean to refuse them, but when you take note of how marigold anxiously fidgets with the gold bracelet around her wrist and the way sandersonia has dark circles under her eyes, you give in.

after taking a long, long soak in the bath, hancock pads back to her room naked, deciding to keep the windows open so she can air dry properly. you find her shortly after, out of breath from running over to the palace; she didn’t lock her door — and why should she? she’s the empress, after all — so you enter her room with ease. because she’s been so out of it lately, she’s been sluggish in her reactions to certain things; especially since she hasn’t stopped thinking about you.

with the door shut and locked behind you, hancock’s mind clears a bit; she blinks slowly, her dark eyes honed on you, taking in your thick thighs and toned body. as usual, hancock’s face only features an impassive expression, and she keeps her tone flat when she addresses you.

“why the hell are you in my bedroom?” she grabs the silk robe that’s draped over her mattress and puts it on in a rush.

before you can answer her or move closer, she picks up a large pillow and chucks it at you in the hopes that you’ll get the hint and leave her alone. you sidestep the attack, lips pressed together as you hold back a laugh; she can’t honestly think that a pillow will stop you, can she? hancock keeps throwing things, anything within her reach that isn’t nailed down to the floor or wall. you try to reason with her, try to make your way closer, but stop when you see the way her lips quiver.

she keeps fumbling with tying her robe properly, keeps looking down at her trembling fingers — the same ones that have tugged on your hair more times than you can count — but still she won’t say anything else to you.

after a minute, hancock manages to compose herself once again, her lips pressed tightly together as she fights the urge to berate herself for looking weak in front of you — as if you care about any of that. your silence compels her to swiftly make her way towards you, long legs shimmering in the sunlight, captivating you so much that you forget you’re supposed to be angry with her.

“look at you,” she stands tall, her pride giving her the confidence she needs to verbally tear you apart. “you’ve come begging for my forgiveness, right?” she doesn’t wait for you to respond and simply flips her hair over her shoulder before continuing. it’s all she can do to keep her composure around you; she knows if she gives you even a fraction of an inch, you’ll take a whole damn mile. “i should have you gutted for entering the palace without permission. you should know your damn place.” while her words are harsh, her delivery doesn’t quite match the expression on her face. maybe it’s because you haven’t taken your eyes off of her since you entered her room; or, maybe it’s because she’s standing much closer than necessary but can’t physically move herself away.

did you cast a spell on her without her knowledge?

while her eyes do narrow at that possibility, she highly doubts that you could, as there’s no one on amazon lily that doesn’t succumb to her treacherous beauty. but you continue to defy her expectations and you never know when to quit. which is why she just wants to grab you by the neck and toss you out the window; maybe if she actually kills you this time, she’ll be done with you forever.

except, she could never bring herself to harm you — not really. so she continues with her rant, reminding you that you’re beneath her, that you should be happy someone like her gave you any attention at all, but the more she talks, the more you want her to just shut the hell up.

“you’re right,” you say, cutting her off without remorse or any regards for your own safety, “and i deserve all of that,” and possibly more, but you don’t add that bit in. it becomes a little difficult to focus, what with hancock watching you with a different kind of intensity than you’re used to. “i… should’ve just explained myself properly before. but, more importantly,” you decide to take a risk and gently grab her by the hips.

silence wraps around her, blending into her thoughts, warping her perception of everything that’s happening. your hand is warm — much too warm, hot almost; she can feel the heat through the flimsy fabric as she presses her body closer to yours. whatever it is you want to tell her doesn’t matter — maybe she’ll pester you about it all later, but right now all she wants is you.

so, you give in and allow yourself to be more selfish than usual.

when your lips brush against hers, she completely comes alive — the longing you both felt for weeks, the irritation and unsaid words, they all prompt her to wrap her arms around your neck. it’s something short of a loving embrace, but you know better. your kiss goes from slow and tender to something much more fevered and enthusiastic; her lips are soft and supple, wholly inviting and terribly mesmerizing. you back her against the wall as she threads her fingers through your hair, tugging on it roughly, her patience practically nonexistent from all her wanting. you laugh at her in between kisses, breath warm against her skin — a feat that simultaneously annoys and arouses her — and remind her to play nice.

when she tugs on your hair again, you bite her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, but run your tongue along the miniature wound to soothe the sting. she inhales sharply, the pain not noticeable, but the way you suck on her lip makes her head spin while also leaving her breathless.

 a woman like hancock doesn’t beg, but when you grab her ass roughly — aggressive, yet completely undoing — she lets out a whimper so pathetic she’s almost ashamed of herself.

she should slap you, but all she does is roll her hips forward once you spread her legs and run your fingers against her folds. in a fit of desperation, to excuse her reactions, she tells herself that it’s because she hasn’t been touched in so long — but deep down she knows the truth; she knows it’s because there’s no one else she’d rather have here with her, and that is a terrifying revelation. still, she’s very receptive to your touch, her back arching as soon as you spread her with your fingers.

her arousal drips down slowly, and while you’d love to take your time with her, you also know that if you don’t hurry up you might actually lose your mind. you trail kisses down the length of her neck, and hancock presses her lips together to keep from making any more embarrassing noises. it’s ridiculous the way her body can easily be commanded by you without much effort; she wants to hate you for leading her down this path, but she can’t ever bring herself to do so.

love makes people incredibly foolish and tender indeed.

“that won’t do,” you remark lightly, gliding your fingers back and forth, barely grazing her clit. her breathing stops momentarily when you open her robe completely and drop to your knees in front of her. “why are you holding back?” you don’t ask her because you actually want the answer; you ask because you know it’ll annoy her greatly.

you tease her entrance with your fingers and a shiver fires through her entire body; with her lips parted, you strain your ears a bit, but you hear through her all of her light panting, her softly saying please, please, please. she’s trying so hard to hold it together, and you commend her for her efforts by inching your fingers inside of her slowly. hancock’s façade finally shatters, and you hear her moan audibly as you plunge your fingers in and out of her pussy. you love the way she clenches around your fingers — warm and tight, soft in a way that just doesn’t make sense to you — and the way she moves her hips once your tongue playfully swirls around her clit.

you drape her long, shapely leg over your shoulder and scissor your fingers inside of her pussy; you hum against her skin, thoroughly enjoying the way her chest heaves and how she can’t seem to stop moaning your name.

if only she was always this compliant.

a heat passes through your body as her nails rake against your scalp, and if you weren’t so hellbent keeping her steady, she’d probably fall over by now. you eat her pussy with vigor, swapping your fingers for your tongue; you thrust it inside without remorse, and she quickly becomes a whimpering mess as she chants “yes, yes, yes.” you mean to tell her to keep it down, but a part of you also enjoys it when she lets go and gives into her desires. you don’t want to get caught, but the thrill of it incites you to lap at her pussy — greedy and eager, as if it’s the most savory meal you’ve ever had. her wetness drips down your chin, glistening along your lips but you don’t stop.

she watches you in a trance, unsure if she’ll ever be able to let you go after this. possessive by nature, hancock never thought she’d find herself in this sort of position, but there she is, completely under your spell. every swipe of your tongue brings her closer and closer to the edge — a dangerous dance that she does without thinking. she brings her free hand to cup and knead one of her breasts — hefty and round, moaning repeatedly, voice already straining as she shamelessly rides your face.

you love it, though and when you suck on her clit roughly, lightning wraps around her veins, time slowing down around her, causing her vision to blur. she’s so wound up, that the orgasm takes her completely by surprise — her hips buck wildly and you hold her firmly as you work your fingers back into her pussy. you pull away just to give her a haughty look — one that she catches by accident through her tear-stained lashes — voice low and husky as you continue teasing her. “you’re doing so good,” you lick her clit hard enough to have her eyes roll back, “do you trust me?”

it's not fair of you to ask her genuine questions right now, but you need to know.

hancock swallows hard, unable to think properly, but answers without hesitation: “y-yes.”

her voice is sweet, much more demure than you’re used to; your heart suddenly feels much too big for your chest, the beats growing louder and thunderous; a dangerous combination when coupled with your cowardice. but you know better than to cower away, so you muster the courage to quietly respond with, “good, i’m glad.”

you’re not sure why you ask her that, but you keep thinking about it when you have her naked on her bed with her hands bound above her. thanks to you, her normally blemish-free skin is littered with bite marks and dark red bruises — small and harmless, but you do feel a sliver of remorse when you realize she’ll have to cover herself up for a bit when she’s outside of the palace. you tell her she’s a masterpiece worthy of exhibition, and she tells you that you’re insolent for stating the obvious.

she’s so beautiful and vulnerable in this position — flushed cheeks, tears in her eyes, legs shaking as they’re spread wide for you; her pussy is swollen after you slapped it a few times when she gave you lip a few minutes ago. out of habit, hancock wants to run her mouth again when you hover over her, but her words never come out. she looks up at you, silently wondering why you keep coming back to her. the melancholy that accompanies those thoughts is heavy enough to make her want to cry, so she ignores it. she wraps her legs around you as you rock your hips against hers, cunt still dripping — eager and inviting.

fucking hancock is like being trapped in a feverish dream, one where you fall over and over, unable to predict if you’ll survive in the end. it’s an unending maelstrom — powerful and unpredictable, wild, and all-consuming. sweat pools at your temples, but you don’t slow down until you wrench another orgasm out of her. her voice grows hoarse, and she claws at your chest; you lick the tears off her cheeks and kiss her in a way that deludes her into thinking that she’s your one and only.

when you finally cum, it’s with her name on your lips. your hips stutter and your breath is uneven — for you, your pleasure comes mostly from watching her unravel underneath you. hancock never lets you stay over, but she’s surprisingly soft with you afterwards, even letting you run your fingers through her silky, ink-black hair.

the intimacy scares both of you, but you can’t stop yourself from touching her like that. and even though you’re both sticky and sweaty, skin burning in a way that doesn’t make sense, you still stay close to one another.

she opens her mouth several times, the compulsion to curse you out for driving her mad grows weaker as time passes. she watches you fall asleep and she admires your features without restraint. she refuses to tell you that you’re much more attractive than she’d like you to be; she’d rather you be hideous with a shitty personality, but that’s not the case, is it? she’s hopelessly enamored with you, and you with her.

nothing will ever be perfect between the two of you, but you don’t need perfection or superficiality — not with her; you like dealing with the true, raw version of herself. there will be a moment — not now, but in the near future — where you’ll be brave enough to finish your confession; but for now, you keep it to yourself, tucked safely away in your heart, and enjoy the way your limbs are tangled with hers.

#*cries softly* #i am finished!!! finally #fic request #500+ followers event #milestone event #🍭✨🍨sticky & sweet event🧁✨🍭 #one piece smut #one piece angst #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #boa hancock #boa hancock x reader #boa hancock x y/n #boa hancock smut #hancock x reader #hancock x y/n #one piece imagine

[weak4skz]

Hope is For Suckers

Han Jisung x Reader

Genre: friends to lovers, fluff, angst, idol au

Summary: Han and y/n have been friends since before they remember. But what happens if their friendship is severed by an unfortunate situation and Han goes off to be an idol while y/n is in college. When they connect through a mutual friend, what happens then?

Word Count: 1.3k (sorry it's short I'm just trying to get this chapter out)

CHAPTER WARNINGS: eating disorder, negative self talk/thoughts, body dysorphia, a lot of feelings, panic attack

NOT PROOF READ!!!

THIS IS NOT AN ACCURATE REPRESTATION OF THE PEOPLE MENTIONED IN THE FIC

A/N: Sorry for the really late update. I've been really busy and haven't been really motivated to write. I might but HIFS on hiatus until July but idk yet. Thank you for all the support though, I really appreciate it

want2besomeoneelse lixie-jisung-stan jisuperboard mentoslol i-dont-know-me-either mooncallerautumn poisonivy21

this is my current taglist. if your name is in read it means I can't tag you. also please comment if you would like to be added

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When we pull into Chan’s designated parking spot I’m so nervous I could puke. 

“Hey,” Chan says, gently putting a hand on my knee to stop its bouncing. “They’ll all love you just as much as I do. But if you still want to go home I’ll drive you ‘kay?”

“No, I want to meet them.” I force out of my mouth. He just nods and we both get out of the car and begin to walk towards the door. When he opens it, the first thing I notice is the smell of freshly baked brownies. Then, I hear yelling and laughing coming from the living room.

“YOU landed on MY property. PAY ME THE DANG FINE.” 

Then I fear another voice scream

“YOU’RE IN JAIL! I’M NOT GIVING MONEY TO A CRIMINAL.”

“THAT’S NOT HOW YOU PLAY!!!” the first screams.

All of this over a game of monopoly? 

“Boys” I mutter with a playful roll of my eyes. “I know right” Chan responds with a small smile.

Chan leads me to the living room. “Hey guys” he greets the six men casually.

“Hey Chan hyung.” one with mid length dark hair and glasses responds. “Who’s that?” he asks, pointing to me.

“This is Y/n. She’s a good friend of mine and older than half of you so show some manners and introduce yourselves.”

“I’m Jeongin” glasses says.

“Seungmin”

“I’m Felix”

“I’m sexy king Hyunjin”

“Man shut up.” the shortest says with a small laugh, “I’m Changbin”

“I’m Minho”

Then they go around again and tell me their ages. But I thought Chan told me they’re were eight members in his group? As I finish my thought, someone bursts in through the door.

“‘Sorry I’m late guys. Oh hi… what’s your name? I’m…”

“Han?”

There is a pause, a moment of silence, and for a second I regret saying anything.

“Uh yea, I’m Han Jisung. How did you know my name?”

“Chan talks about you gusy all the time. I just assumed it was you because you were the only one missing. I’m Y/n''

oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh there is no way HAN JISUNG the man who is (partially) responsible for my villain backstory is the eighth member of Chan’s band

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick” I say, trying to excuse myself from the source of my impending panic attack. I speed walk to Chan’s bathroom and lock the door behind me. Once I get the feeling that I’m safe, I slide my back down the door and sit on the floor, bringing my knees to my chest and burying my head between them. Then I try to regulate my breathing before I start hyperventilating.

Breath in, one two three, breath out. Breath in, one two three, breath out

I repeat it over anad over again until my breathing is as regulated as it is going to get. Then, I get up and fix my mascara and blot away the bits that escaped with my tears.

I walk out of the bathroom and find Chan alone in the kitchen. “Hey Chan, I’m feeling kind of sick so I think I’m going to head home.” 

“Are you okay? You were fine when we were at lunch.” he looked concerned. Great, now I feel bad for lying

“I just got really bad cramps out of nowhere. And you know I get crabby wehen I don’t feel very well.” I try to end the conversation quickly so he doesn’t catch me lying. “Oh, I didn’t know you were on your period. I would have just brought lunch to your place. Let me go get my keys so I can get you home, kay?” 

My period? Ohhhh, he thinks I’m on my period. Thank God he thought I was on my dperiod because I hadn’t thought that far into my lie. While celebrating that little victory, Han walks into the kitchen. 

“Oh hey. I saw you were looking sick and I wanted to come check up on you” he said while grabbing a soda from the fridge. “Yea I just have really bad cramps.” I lied again.

“That sucks,” he started, taking a sip of his fanta. “Hey, I was just wondering if you went to Fairview High School. You kinda look like this girl I used to hang out with.”

“Uh yeah, I went there. I thought I knew you from somewhere but I couldn’t tell.” I responded. ‘A girl I used to hang out with’ huh. Was I really the only one that was thinking about our relationship for the past seven years. Not gonna lie, that kind of hurt. Because up to a couple moments ago I thought very highly of Han, I still considered him a friend. Because he had been my only friend for so long, I sort of held hope that he would be my friend forever. But I was too naive, I should have known he would forget me. I mean, I’m not that memorable; but I thought I would at least be more than a girl he ‘used to hang out with.’

Not a moment later, Chan comes back into the kitchen with my shoes. “Oh, hey Han. The kids are waiting for you so they can start a new game of uno.”

“Ok. Nice catching up with you Y/N.” I mustered the nicest smile I could at the moment and responded with a bitter ‘you too’ before moving to hop off the counter to put on my shoes. 

Chan holds me down by my knees and kneels down to lace up my converse himself. “What were you guys talking about?” he asked after tying the first shoe. “We used to go to the same highschool.”

“Cool, were you guys friends?” Chan asks, now finished with tying both shoes. “I thought so” I mumble, mostly to myself. 

#han jisung #skz #stray kids #bang chan #bang chris #han x reader #i.n skz #lee felix #seungmin #skz imagines #skz changbin #skz fanfic #skz felix #skz angst #changbin #lee know #bangchan #skz x y/n #skz x you #skz x reader #han jisung x reader #han x you #han jisung imagines #skz bang chan #christopher bang

[munsonsreputation]

Congratulations to 500 followers 🥳🥳💕. You deserve it.

Could you do a little somewhere with Robin and the two prompts ?

"You're jealous aren't you?" "I'm not jealous."

"I might never get another chance to say this."

Love you 💚😍

hey anela!!!!

thanks so much for sending in this request!! i loved this prompt and ive been wanting to write more robin so this was perfect!! this was so sweet and i hope i did your prompt justice!!

and thank you so much for the support and kind words!! it means the world to me!!! 🧸💘

Parties were never your thing, but of course after the coming months of you getting closer to Robin it also led you getting closer to her friends—one of her best friends, Steve, who hosted parties every other weekend at his house.

Usually you’d decline the invite but not when Robin was the one asking you to come. You’d tag along with her anywhere if it meant getting to hear her laughter, brush your hands against one another, and share smiles.

It was sorta obvious. Very obvious that you and Robin liked each other. They saw the way you two looked at each other and laughed a little too hard at one another’s corny jokes. It was cute for a while, but after months of this dragging on, they all were just waiting for you two to get together. To stop dancing around those obvious feelings and finally confess your crushes.

But of course, neither of you had the guts to admit your feelings. At least not right now, because that would possibly ruin your friendship and that was not something either of you were ready to do.

But not for long, at least not for Robin who clutched her soda can so tight that the aluminium crumpled and her glare seemed to harden as she watched you across Steve’s living room.

“So are you from Hawkins?”

The guy had approached you two minutes ago, and you were already over the conversation the minute he opened his mouth.

You nodded, tightly smiling as you looked down at your almost empty cup, “Yeah, lived here my whole life…”

Another wave of awkward silence passed while you waited for him to catch the hint and excuse himself from his place next to you on the couch. But no, of course, an obnoxious guy so full of himself couldn’t catch any fucking hint if his life depended on it.

“Why is she talking to him?” Steve nudged Robin who sighed and shrugged, not tearing her eyes off of you and the stranger.

“He came up to her…he looks like a real douche.” She grumbled sadly.

“Well, first of all, why don’t we put this down,” He reached for the smashed soda, pulling it out of her hands, “second, she obviously looks uncomfortable.”

Steve gestured to you, looking anywhere but the guy and practically burying yourself into the leather of the couch. The smile she loved to see on your face was strained and forced, even more so was the laugh you let out.

“Put your jealousy aside, Robs,” Steve patted her shoulder as she scoffed, smacking his arm lightly.

“I’m not jealous!” She argued ridiculously.

He laughed, pushing her by the shoulders, “Go, Robin!”

Stumbling a bit, she regained her path and made her way over to you. Words already flowing through her head as she rolled her shoulders back and tried to pull herself together.

As she got closer to you, your eyes drifted to the familiar presence of Robin, grateful and relieved that she was near. A genuine smile coated your face while you sat up, waving timidly, “Hey, Robs!”

“H-hey!” She stuffed her hands into her pockets, shooting you a smile that lingered on both of your faced for way too long before she began speaking again.

“Do you wanna go out back and take a breather?” She turned her head to the back sliding doors, the yard empty with everyone inside mingling in the warmth.

You nodded quickly, immediately taking her hand as she offered it to you, helping you up before you turned back to the guy who sulked, “I forgot to tell you I don’t like guys!”

Robin heard you, her cheeks reddening away from your view, where she pulled you through the sliding doors and towards the pool chairs.

“You’re a lifesaver, Robin.” You thanked her, settling into one of the seats and patting the space beside you, gesturing for her to lie next to you under the starry sky.

She took her place, trying not to think about being so close to you. Not that it was anything out of the sort. You and Robin would cuddle each other all the time during movie nights with your friends and sometimes subconsciously during sleepovers where you two with wake tangled in each other’s arms.

But something in the air just told her that tonight was going to be different. She could feel the warmth radiating off your body through the cold air while you tucked yourself into her side, slinging your arm over her stomach.

“What did he say to you?” She asked quietly, wrapping one of her arms across your shoulders while the other went behind her head.

You let out a mixture of giggles and groans, “Just the classic douchey pickup lines. I mean seriously, I feel bad for the girls who actually fall for those kind of guys.”

Her laugh whirled through her chest while she nodded her head, a gentle hand rubbing your shoulders soothingly, “No, yeah, I mean like, you would think they would actually be funny, you know to make up for all the things they lack, but they just totally suck all around.”

You snickered, stuffing your face in the crook of her neck where she could feel the warmth of your breath hitting her skin. She looked down at you, watching the way you tried to stop laughing, but couldn’t because you found her so funny.

She always thought no one would get her humor.

Until she met you.

How could anyone ever compare to you?

You were too precious for this world.

She wished she could show you how much you meant to her.

Robin pulled you in a little closer, a fire lighting inside her soul when she remembered how tense you looked back in there, “Seriously! You looked so uncomfortable, I would totally go back in there and give him a peace of my mind.”

The butterflies erupted in your stomach. She was so protective of you for someone who hated confrontation. You would totally let her go back in there and give that douchebag a piece of her mind, but that would mean missing out on the moment of you and her basking in the moonlight—and you weren’t going to let that happen.

Not tonight, because you knew it was going to be different.

You sat up slightly looking down at her where she furrowed her brows and stared at you, “Y-you ok? Did you want to go back inside?” she sat up too, pointing her thumbs back inside before you slightly shoved her back to lie down.

“Hmph! O-okaaay, what’s going on?” She swallowed, while you smirked, a sense of confidence and courage coming to you.

“You were jealous, weren’t you?” You said slowly, watching as her face dropped as quickly as she tried to put on an unconvincing look on her face that told you otherwise.

“W-what? No, I wasn’t! Why would I be jealous?! I’m not even the jealous type!” She babbled, waving her hands all of the place while she looked anywhere but your eyes, already a clear signal that she was lying.

Your fingers wrapped around her flailing wrists, gently calming her erratic movements. “Robin…” you whispered softly, “I might not get another chance to say this…but I like you. More than friends.”

Holy shit, was this happening right now?

The moment that she was finally waiting for.

Robin was more than awestruck. You could literally see the stars shining in her eyes while she open mouth stared at you, trying to form words of any kind to tell you she felt the same. Her heart was skipping and beating and her stomach was doing somersaults with the way you were staring at her with such admiration.

But at the moment, all she could do was sit up, closing the space between the both of you while she reached for your cheeks, pulling your lips to hers as you two melted into a kiss. Your lips were soft and pillowy against her slightly chapped ones. It was a gentle, sweet kiss at first, but it quickly deepened as the two of you lost yourselves in each other.

The best first kiss of your lives.

When she pulled away,

As you both pulled away to catch your breath, Robin looked at you with a smile, “I’ve been waiting to do that since forever,” she said, her voice shaky with emotion, “I—I like you too. A lot. More than friends.”

You couldn’t help yourself, capturing her lips once more where you two fell back onto the pool bed, giggling against each other’s lips basking in this moment that cemented everything.

“I guess I should go in there and thank that douchebag for making you jealous?” You joked, squishing her cheeks, while she shook her head and pulled you closer.

“Over my dead body!” She hollered out loud with no care in the world because all the weight had been lifted off her shoulders with you in her arms.

Maybe jealousy wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!!

taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @fckthtgetmoney @loving-and-dreaming @awkotaco24

#munsonsreputation #robin buckley x female reader #robin buckley imagine #robin buckley blurb #robin buckley fic #robin buckley #robin buckley fluff #robin buckley oneshot #robin buckley x y/n #robin buckley x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things fluff #stranger things blurb #stranger things x reader #stranger things robin

[skymaiden32]

End of the Interim

Read on AO3 here

Fandom: Thunderbirds

Tagging: @dragonoffantasyandreality @thundergeek59 @janetm74 @katblu42 @liseylou @amistrio @uniwolfcorn @idontknowreallywhy (Please ask if you would like to get alerts when I update or post new stories.)

Thundertober Day 9: Heartbreak

It was time to stop feeling sorry for himself...

Continuity: TOS

------

It struck him just how quickly time could whizz past you, unnoticed until it was too late. Married life had gone by so quickly, and yet they’d spent just about one and a half decades in each other's arms. 

In contrast, the time immediately after the avalanche went so much slower, even though it was only a few months. Making the necessary arrangements. Arranging a funeral…

God, the funeral. Speaking on that stage about them was one of the hardest things Jeff had ever had to do. Remembering Lucy and his father was difficult, even though he knew it was the healthiest thing he could do. Everything was difficult. He struggled with life itself in the year that followed. He poured himself into his work, doing everything he could to make sure his children, the five most precious things the love of his life had given him, had the best life possible.

But as much as he cared and loved his sons, he was also blinded by his own grief so much that he didn’t see how badly they were hurting. 

His eldest three had by far changed the most. With him out the house most of the time, Scott had been frantically getting his brothers ready for school and extracurriculars, doing chores around the house and finishing his homework last minute. And with little to no time for himself or with friends, it was clear he was exhausted with the extra workload. 

Virgil didn’t talk anymore. He was grouchy with everybody all the time, the smile wiped off his face completely. 

His middle boy, John, had taken after him the most it seemed. The aspiring amateur astronomer had poured himself into school work. Most of the time, he was buried in a book or shut up in his bedroom. 

Gordon and Alan hadn’t noticed much wrong, both being too young to realise any better. But Gordon had quickly seen a change in the behaviour of his older family members, always offering to help Scott with things or trying to cheer Virgil or John up. Alan, being a mere two years old, had simply shifted slowly from calling for his mother, to calling out to Scott when he needed something or had a bad dream. Never once had the toddler asked for his father since then.

And Jeff had missed it all… He’d completely failed in his duties as a father. He sobbed, sinking to the floor of his bedroom as everything finally clicked into place after what felt like an eternity of being on autopilot. But he didn’t have time to dwell on that. He knew that now. Steeling himself, he picked himself off the floor, and looked at the clock. Just past midnight. Good. That meant he could try to set things straight with his eldest, who was no doubt still awake trying to unravel his maths homework.

He crept downstairs, making note of the lone light in the dining room. Sure enough, Scott was there, chewing on the end of his pencil. The teenager paused to take a sip of coffee, and that’s when Jeff intervened.

When the beverage was swiped away, Scott groaned. “Dad…” His voice was a low whisper, not wanting to wake up the hoard upstairs. Jeff himself didn’t say anything. He just put the coffee down, and reached forward to give his son a big hug. Scott froze, as if not quite believing it was real. Jeff’s heart shattered.

“I’m sorry.” He said, as if a simple apology could mend what he’d done, or failed to do. His son stayed frozen in the warm embrace. “Time to tag out, Scotty…” Realising just what his father was referring to, Scott finally hugged back, clinging onto Jeff for dear life. “I’ll take it from here.” Father and son separated after a few more minutes, Jeff wiping away a stray tear from Scott’s eye. “Take the day off of school tomorrow, son. Get some rest.”

“R-Really?” Scott sniffled.

“Of course, baby. Of course. I’ll be handling your brothers from now on.”

His son chuckled. “Good luck with that. You’re gonna need it.” His smile fell. “Dad, can you promise me that?”

Jeff sighed. “I’ll give it my best. Like I should’ve from the beginning. I know I can never apologise enough for the way I’ve checked out over this past year, but I’ll do it anyway.”

There was silence for a long few moments. “I can’t promise I’ll forgive you.” Scott finally admitted. “At least not now. But it’s a start.”

“That’s all I ask for…” Jeff gave his son one last smile before standing to his full height. “Get some sleep.”

“Dad?” A third voice whispered into the room, and the door creaked ajar to reveal the face of John. “What’s going on? A-Are you really back with us?”

Jeff reached down to lift his middle son off of the floor and into his arms. “I am, sport. I’m here.” He reassured gently, rocking his boy back and forth in his arms. “What are you doing up, son?”

“Couldn’t sleep…” John mumbled into his father’s shoulder. Jeff tried to catch Scott’s eye, but paused when he noticed his eldest wasn’t returning the look. Instead, Scott’s eyes were transfixed on the dining room door. 

Jeff made a small ‘Oh’ sound, and keeping a tight grip on John, opened the door the widest it could go. Behind the door, much to his chagrin, was a worried Virgil and a very tired Gordon. “Boys…” He shook his head. “What are you all doing up? Come on now,” he gestured with his head for his three standing sons to go upstairs back to their rooms. “Bed. All of you.” He followed them upstairs, making sure each and every one of them would sleep through the night.

He was in Scott’s room when a high-pitched wail pierced the air. Scott made a move towards the door, but Jeff stopped him quickly. “I’ve got Alan. Get some sleep, okay?”

Scott frowned, hesitant, but nodded in the end. “Okay…”

“I love you and your brothers a lot, Scott. I’m not letting any of you down. Not again…” Jeff promised, leaving the room. “Night, son.”

“Night, Dad…”

When he got there, Alan’s little arms reached up to him, desperate for some attention from anyone. Jeff picked him up, soothing his youngest son by rubbing little circles on his back. Slowly but surely, Alan finally fell asleep again. Jeff placed a single kiss on the toddler's forehead, laying him back in the crib with a smile on his face. He’d give the world to his sons if he had it, but for now, he’d gladly give them his time.

#thunderfam #thunderbirds #thunderbirds 1965 #thunderbirds fanfiction #jeff tracy #scott tracy #john tracy #virgil tracy #alan tracy #sky writes stuff #thundertober #thundertober 2023

[cosmikazie]

me and my brother are both pulling an all-nighter right now looking for movies to watch and we found this one called “A Frozen Christmas 3” which… is very interesting, to say the least.

First of all, it doesn’t show up ANYWHERE on iMDB, at least not as I’ve been able to find. Only other D-list Christmas movies with the same/similar title. It’s quite astonishing that me and my brother were able to find it at all in the first place, buried deep in the Free Movies category on Comcast.

(Update: literally while writing this, I found its Rotten Tomatoes page, and it seems that it does have an iMDB page after all, it’s just disguised with the tag line “party time!”)

Second of all, I think it’s worth noting that the poster for this movie looks like this:

The gall of these people to call this a “Christmas Classic”, istg. You’ll see what I mean in a moment.

Now, keep this art style in mind. Look at it, absorb it, remember it, just… keep it in mind, alright?

We couldn’t help but notice an odd picture in the background of our little viewer thing. One that didn’t quite match the art style of the movie poster here. A strange little elf, who looked like he came right from a tech demo on a VHS tape:

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was a little off about this movie. I was being misled to some degree. So I decided to watch just a tiny bit of it to see just how correct I was in my assumption.

Holy shit. I don’t think I’ve ever had more whiplash upon starting up a movie.

ALL OF THESE ARE REAL SCREENSHOTS (courtesy of the YouTube upload because I just figured out that was a thing)

It looks like it can’t decide whether it wants to be made in Unreal Engine, Roblox, or plain Blender. It’s absolutely horrendous and I’m absolutely convinced it’s either a movie for really really young children, or a money laundering scheme. They made 5 of these movies to my knowledge, so it could be both.

Also, I’m convinced the Rotten Tomatoes page for this movie had the best gallery I’ve seen on anything:

[xariarte]

Team Canada

Raptors/rockets (couldn’t choose one 😭)

Dillion Brooks sympathizer (affectionately)

When I saw this in my inbox, I laughed, because I knew the last part was coming for me one day. 😂💖

But before Brooks takes over this ask, I’m real glad that my Team Canada posts have become a defining factor of my account! I never meant to post this much about Canadian basketball but I actually really enjoy it. And it’s definitely both Raptors/Rockets over here. 🇨🇦

And then the last part…listen, I have to explain myself. 🤣 I know I’ve been flinging Dillon Brooks’ name into Tumblr uncensored 😭. This is good timing to talk about all this because the Olympics are coming up too (and he's gonna be doing stuff, I know).

I’ll split this into a short answer and a longer one under the cut. 😭😭

Short Answer: I don’t necessarily sympathize with him all of the time — he has done CRIMES after all — but I am perpetually amused by his existence. I’m usually looking at him like, “why are you like this?” 🤨🤔 I like him AND hate him at the same time for various reasons, like sometimes he is The Best and other times he is The Worst. 

I do know that when I decided to talk about him on here, it was scary at first because he is so hated (for valid reasons). But I was like, I can’t NOT talk about how amusing he is to me! I also find it immensely funny that my posts on him always end up framing him as "some guy on the team". 😃

I will say though if you hate him, DO NOT let me or my posts stop you. He is a villainous menace. If you don’t want to see him, mute my dbrooks tag!

P.S. If you know Molly Morrison on Twitter/Tumblr, just know I highly relate to what she’s said about Dillon Brooks over the years. 😭😭

Longer Answer (aka the backstory lore of WHY): 

When I restarted my Tumblr account, I met Tumblr user siakam. One of the topics we discussed was the cursed idea of a Fred VanVleet and DB fanfic, because we thought they could be enemies thanks to their conflicting personalities. I was intrigued, but I didn’t know anything about Brooks’ personality. Sadly I do love researching things... 😭😭

This research collided with the NBA season/me getting into Rockets basketball/me catching up on FIBA content…so by accident, Brooks was everywhere. 😩 Houston had a honeymoon period with him and he took over the Team Canada run (and stole the hearts of the announcers and the photographers and the reporters and the crowd) so because of that, most of Canada now ADORES him.

(Do you realize how many Canadian compliments I have to read about this beloved Canadian menace. NO YOU DON’T. 😭💖)

Most of what I read about his personality, which was buried underneath all the media reports of his menacing, was just…normal and wholesome? At least I understand now why the Grizzlies sideline reporter always called him her favourite player, and why all his Grizzlies/Team Canada teammates/coaching staff love him so much. 

That being said, I don’t always agree with his actions though. He chose to do things to teams/star players and he should take the consequences for those actions.

Yes, I do love trash talking, yes, I do enjoy taunting (one of my favourite trash talking quotes is from Donovan Mitchell actually). He did a lot of things to GSW that went too far for me at times. I feel like the intense wave of hatred from last summer was good for him because it brought him down to earth (his ego is still sky high though). He’s been a bit better on the Rockets, more willing to admit his mistakes. But still. Sometimes he doesn’t play basketball and it pisses me off. 🤬

Anyway, apologies for the long paragraphs, but I did have more to say and I couldn’t squish it into something brief. 💔 If you did read all of this, I hope you enjoyed the extra xariarte lore! 💖

#despite the research I still don’t know why he is Like That #I admit it...I DO have a soft spot for Mr. Beloved Canadian Menace (with limits of course) 😂 #i was inspired by the canada bball twitter account #they kept posting photos of him like he was just some guy on the team !! and technically he kind of is. 😌 #thanks for the ask!! i enjoyed answering this one despite its long length 💖🇨🇦 #ask #p.s. if anyone has more questions about this then feel free to ask lol

[thedastrash]

OC Tag Game!

Ooo thanks for tagging me @kittynomsdeplume & @cleverblackcat!! This took a while to get to but it was very fun!

Favorite OC: Evil question to start. I can't possibly choose unless I set some limits for myself so I'm going to cheat and say my most popular OC. I have the most art of her by no fault of my own. Velaneth Surana is my canon HoF and Warden Commander. Vela is a very open person: never lies, has no body shame, and loves to learn about other people and where they’ve come from. She walks into every hostile situation with her best foot forward trying to make friends and allies.

Newest OC: I’m slowly congealing my ideas about Orlagh Trevelyan because I’ve been imagining what the different cultures of the Freemarches look like - especially on the coast where trade is frequent. She’s from Ostwick of course and trained as a Templar as a youth but spent summers at a monastery with her aunt in Wycome which I imagine a bit like Morocco. I’ve been staring at my Pinterest boards imagining her lonely days growing up and what it means for her to leave her walls behind and be thrust into this new organization with all these people and their differing ideals. I'm particularly interested in exploring her being a templar but having some latent magic that has been tied up in her templar abilities so long she didn't realize it was ever there.

Oldest OC: In DA my oldest OC is Topaz Brosca from my original run of origins. The one where my save got deleted right before the Landsmeet lol rip. I've recently revisited her and I'm falling in love with her again. She's a hot trans girl and stabby rogue and she falls in love with the surface world immediately. My oldest OC ever though... might be a self insert hobbit character I made for myself as a child before I knew what fandom or fanfiction was lol! I think her name was Charlie? my memory is BAD but I know that's a name I loved as a kid.

Meanest OC: Szadrine Aeducan is my final origin from DAO to get an OC and I'm slowly growing deeply obsessed. She’s involved in (literal) cutthroat Orzammar politics and ends up skipping the warden bit after the whole betrayal and exile thing. She simply deserts at Ostagar. I think she should end up kicking ass in Orlais because she would be so good at the Game.

Softest OC: Bearnard Cousland is a soft, sweet, bookish baby-gay who would rather bury himself in his research in a library than seek glory or fight battles or do politics. Bearn is the second son so he’s gotten away with avoiding some of that but of course he has to attend his lessons and participate in the tourneys. His scholarly work lends him some political savvy since he’s intimately familiar with Ferelden’s history, but he’s most interested in lost texts and translating ancient works. He never had good gay role models growing up and thinks of himself as homely and forgettable, so he never felt like that was an option for him, but Maker does he ever pine lol!

Most Aloof/Standoffish OC: Gotta be Irene Amell. She's a real bitch with resting murder face. Incredibly unapproachable, intimidating Domme energy. Tends to default dislike people and keep to herself, prefering to slink around and eavesdrop than talk to people for info. She’s very protective and loving toward her close friends and lovers, but it’s hard to get close in the first place.

Dumbest OC: Myrna Hawke is a smart woman, she's an accomplished mage, enjoys reading, quick witted, but she has zero self-awareness and has a very hard time even understanding how she feels, much less how other people feel about her. She’s absolutely clueless and fully blindsided by anyone’s interest & gets tongue tied and stupid when she’s horny. She’s also very impulsive and acts before she thinks things through which leads to getting into a lot of dumb shit.

Smartest OC: There are excellent contenders here: Bearn with his book smarts and Topaz with her street smarts, but I want to say Ithadhea Mahariel because even though they are incredibly dense when it comes to interpersonal relations, their wealth of traditional knowledge from their clan is incredible. They are not really a people person, usually quiet and solitary, but they took to hunting like they were born for it and eagerly learned everything in the realm of woodcraft and survival. They know all their clan's stories by heart and and know resources by seasons in a way that is part of their internal clock. I think this kind of generational knowledge probably outstrips the scope of any of my other OC's knowledge.

OC I’d Be Friends With: Edric Cadash is so laid back and friendly I think he’d be one of the easiest to make friends with. I want to have tea and gossip with him and have that turn into late night drinking and telling stories by the fire. Vela would be an instant friend as well; she wants to befriend everyone and she'd have an easy time with me!

no pressure tagging some of my DA OC enjoying friends: @sinquisition, @highwayphantoms, @lets-get-brave, @sandalinbohemia, @dismalzelenka and anyone else who wants to share! Feel free to @ me so I can see your post! <3

#dragon age #dao #dai #da2 #dragon age oc #ask me about my ocs #too many wardens now lol but I love them all #with my one hawke! lol very outnumbered #there's lots of inquisitors too I'm just in a warden place more often. only a few get mentioned usually but they all live in my head. #I tend to think of Vela as the HoF and the rest of the warden origins as companions or other interesting characters who don't move the plot #please don't make Bearn be commander #and you don't want Szadrine as warden commander... but maybe she should steal a throne #etc etc I could go on

[mlmxreader]

More Than Five Minutes | Simon Ghost Riley x trans!m!reader

anonymous asked: The second one I had was for simon riley x pakistani!ftm reader with these two prompts (I don't have a specific idea for this one though, I'm sorry 😭) “How are you gonna explain to high command that we spent an hour in the cloakroom having a snog?” and "This is supposed to be a self defense lesson, not an excuse to flirt"

Again if you don't feel comfortable doing it then its cool, I hope you are having a good day/night.

-🦝

summary: for once in what’s seemed like far too long, you and Ghost actually get more than five minutes together.

tws: swearing 

As the only one in the Pakistan Air Force who wasn't doing anything, you had been sent off to help task force one four one with their training and their sparring for the day, as Price had asked for a hand and your commanding officer was more than happy to send you on your way; they weren't that far, only a ten minute trek down the road, and you were tolerant of helping them. Besides, it gave you an excuse to see Ghost for more than five minutes; you knew he would be looking forward to it, too, as it wasn't often that you both got time together. For all the years you had been with him, and all the things you had gone through together, you hardly ever got real quality time; but you knew that he cared, and that was enough for you. 

You loved Ghost, you really did, as he was the best husband you had ever had; sure, he was far from perfect, but he was good to you, and he loved you. If he ever fucked up, he always tried to make up for it one way or another; even when you came out to him as trans, worrying that he would leave you, he didn't say a damn thing. He just gave you a list of all the things he wanted you to go through so that he wouldn't fuck up - and if anyone ever said anything against you, Ghost had always been there to make sure that not only did they apologise, but that they would never so much as look at you the wrong way again. He was good, imperfect by all means, but good. 

Even though your religion didn't require you to do so after your nikkah, you still took Ghost's last name; you wanted it to be known that you would always be together, not just when it came to Allah, but when it came to everyone else in the world, too. He also had a copy of his identification tags made just for you, so that when he left and when he was off on missions, you could wear his tags around your neck, keep him close. You did the same. You got him a copy of your own tags, and he wore them every day since, knowing that if he left, there was still a piece of you with him. You would always be together, even when halfway across the globe, even when he was on the ground and you were up in the air, you were always together.

So it was only natural that, the very second you saw him, you bolted over, tackling him to the ground as you buried your head against his chest and whimpered his name so softly; Ghost stayed still for a moment, not expecting the sudden contact, but he soon welcomed it as he put his arm around you gently and patted your back softly, too aware of his own strength and never, not even by accident, wanting to cause you even the slightest bit of discomfort. You stayed like that for a while, a tender embrace, until he dared to finally speak up.

“This is supposed to be a self defence lesson, not an excuse to flirt with your husband.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you chuckled, gently patting his chest as you pulled away. “Am I not allowed to be fucking glad to see you?”

“No,” Ghost said, although the slight jovial tone in his voice gave him away. Beneath the mask, he wasn’t just smiling, he was grinning. “Flight Lieutenant Riley, you should be more focused.”

“I could say the same about you, Lieutenant Riley,” you bit back, licking your lips as you cleared your throat. “C’mon, show me around before we start - feels like I haven’t been here in ages.”

Ghost was happy to do so, showing you all the bits and pieces as he jogged your memory by reminding you of when and where you ‘blessed’ certain areas and objects when you were kissing him; you could remember most of it, but when you got to the cloakroom, and he reminded you of the time that you were both just returning home from a fucking exhausting mission, he had pulled you into the very same cloakroom, and had kissed you until you were breathless… only for you to then fall asleep in there together. Ghost could remember it well, as it had not been long after your nikkah, and he had been warned by Laswell that if he did not treat you like a King, then both she and her wife would be on his doorstep with cricket bats; he kept that in mind, constantly. He couldn’t say that he was shocked that you had forgotten, though - he could still picture how fucking tired you were that day and how it had killed him to keep you awake for just a little while longer so that he could revel in the fact that both of you had gotten out alive.

“C’mere,” he grumbled, tugging you into the cloakroom and closing the door tightly, even daring to lock it as he pushed his mask up just enough to expose his mouth. His lips were curled into a smile as he reached for the lightswitch, and turned the light on. “Still don’t remember?”

You shook your head, pursing your lips slightly as you did your best. “Maybe give me a bit of a reminder.”

Ghost wasn’t one to say no to such a thing, pulling you close as he leaned in and gently kissed you; he was always so soft, so gentle, when it came to kissing, as if he worried that he would accidentally make your lip bleed, or maybe even bite your tongue and cause you to yelp. But it wasn’t just that, after all the years he had been hiding behind a mask, acting like the big gruff tough guy, he was so fucking relieved that he had found someone he could actually show vulnerability to, someone he could trust and not have to think twice about it. He started to back you up against the wall, wanting to deepen the kiss but not without asking - only when he pulled away ,you grinned, and gently tapped his chin.

“I remember now,” you chuckled. “Didn’t I ask you: how are you gonna explain to high command that we spent an hour in the cloakroom having a snog?”

Ghost nodded, his lips curling into a smile. “That would be it.”

“Fuck,” you shook your head as you dared to laugh again. “How’d I forget that?”

“You was tired,” he pointed out. “Both were - we ended up falling asleep in here.”

“Not this time we won’t,” you promised, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and pulling him closer. “We won’t have long, y’know.”

“We won’t need long,” Ghost murmured, starting to pepper your neck with kisses. “I just wanna give you all the kisses I’ve saved up.”

“Now’s your chance, big boy,” you teased. “I’m all yours for the whole day… well, until you lot have finished training and all that shit.”

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; if you don’t wanna reblog, then you’ll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM.

#mlem writes #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley fanfic #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley #ghost riley x reader #ghost riley x you #ghost riley x y/n #ghost riley fanfic #ghost riley imagine #ghost riley #ghost cod #cod ghost #call of duty ghost #ghost call of duty #cod x reader #cod x you #cod x y/n #cod imagine #cod fic #cod fanfiction #cod fanfic #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw2 imagine #cod mw2 fanfic #cod mw2 fic #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare 2

[chlorine-and-daisies]

hey!!! Just want to say that your writing is amazing!!! I just read a couple of your posts and I’m sorry you’re feeling down on yourself right now, but know that your work is fantastic!! Keep doing what you’re doing!!

(warning: incoming advice if you want it, if not then feel free to ignore the ask but just know that the above comment still stands!!! 💙)

as far as ao3 engagement goes, as someone who’s been on and posting for a few years now, it can be a real lottery as far as when or how your fic gets seen. My engagement was slow at first and then as I worked more with different tags and posted at different times of day, it gradually went up. I also used to post multi-chapter and one shots all in one go, which is obviously not a bad thing to do at all, but I found that my engagement definitely went up when I started posting chapters on a weekly or daily basis, which helped it to get more widespread engagement! (It can also help, with multi chapter, to let your readers know when approximately you might have the next chapter ready, although there is no obligation to say that of course! One of my big pet peeves is when people try to pressure writers about when their next chapter is coming out. I only mean that if you have an approximation already, then it’s good to let people know so they can be on the lookout! ☺️)

I’ve posted one one-shot that took a really long time to get any engagement (and is still my lowest one, which isn’t a bad thing of course), I think to a certain degree there are a ton of fics being posted every day in this fandom and sometimes things get buried. That doesn’t mean they are worth any less than ones that get tons of engagement!!! Some of my favorite fics have minimal engagement, and I try to push and promote them when I can so more people can read them. I also will post about my own fics on my tumblr when the moment calls for it or if there’s a new work or new chapter out, and tag that with every tag that someone looking for a new fic to read might be searching in.

Tags and time of day really have made a difference for me in publishing (think about when people might be on ao3 the most). I try to use as many as I can that describe the work and also help it to appear engaging to someone who might just be scrolling through, and I’ve learned that the fics I post with a passage or quote from the work (along with a summary line if you want to add one of course) tend to get more engagement because readers can have a little taste of what the fic is going to be like. It’s all totally a process and you are doing great!!!

just remember that no matter what sort of engagement you might get on ao3, your work is wonderful and valuable, and no one can tell the stories you want to tell except you, because you are the only one with your mind and your unique creativity! My favorite thing to do is just write the stories I want to read, and then if people read them and enjoy them as well then that’s a great plus!

anyway sorry for writing an essay in your asks 😂, and again there is obviously no need to reply or take this advice if you don’t want to! Just know that you are amazing and this is all a long process!

hope you feel better soon 💙

oh anon thank you so much for being so sweet and supportive! you made me do a little happy dance :)

i really appreciate your advice!!!!! stuff like including a quote in the summary or posting at different times never occurred to me, and i will definitely be taking this into account in the future. thank you so much for encouraging me to be persistent and continue doing my thing- i hope you are continuing to do so yourself. (oh and please don't apologize for writing a long ask, it means a lot to me :) )

you're so right, we all have our own mind and creativity that we need to keep sharing, and should all write what we want to read. would be a pretty repetitive place if only popular works got posted.

as you've probably inferred, i will say that a lot of this is...more related to preexisting mental health issues than fandom. now that a few hours have passed and i'm out of the urgent Mood i can be a little bit more hopeful about the long game- both in terms of starting therapy and continuing to write in this fandom. as you say it's a long process.

i'll keep writing and being Me and i hope that you are taking care of yourself and doing the same!

[translatemunson]

track two — the ex tapes

warnings: not proofread. this is not a fluff series, so be ready for some angst and angry characters.

author's note: thanks for the love on track one! also, i'm creating a taglist for the series, so let me know if you want to be tagged on track three!

series masterlist

What were the odds of walking into the studio and finding your famous ex boyfriend? He doesn’t even like pop music. How the hell?

You should’ve known that you were walking into a trap when your manager told you it was an impossible to miss opportunity to explore new genres of music. But you should’ve known better that LA was smaller than Hawkins. And that, one day, you would find yourself face to face with Edward Munson.

You can’t hear what people are saying at the entrance, you’re already leaving and never looking back. To hell with the good opportunity for your career. To hell with working for Corroded Coffin. You rather work on a stupid store than write with Munson.

You open the trunk of your car and throw your guitar case there. Your journal is full of drafts of ideas you’ve crafted while in traffic. But you want it all gone and buried deep inside your bag.

“Hey, Charlie, wait!” Eddie is running in your direction, but you couldn’t care less about him. You’re just glad he’s not calling you by your real name. “Please, let’s talk.”

You get inside your car in no time. You turn the engine on and begs for the stupid car to heat up as fast as possible. You need to get the fuck out of there.

“C’mon, let’s talk.” He’s closing the distance between the two of you.

“Fuck you, Munson. No, I’m not helping you with the thing that destroyed our relationship.”

You put the car in reverse and leave the parking lot without looking back. The streets to your apartment are blurry in your mind, the anger mixing with the pain, and you only register you’re at home when you open the door and it’s greeted by a very lazy Steve.

“Edward Munson booked me to write a song for his shitty little band” you announce, throwing your bag on the kitchen table and taking your shoes off.

“Edward Munson in like Eddie the freak Munson?” Instantly Steve is up on his feet and walking towards you.

“The one and only.” You press your palms to your face. 

“Why you?” Steve knows the reason why you mostly work for the pop music field. Because even though the synthesizers and catchy melodies aren’t your thing, it’s better than working with your ex.

“Because I’m the ballad songwriter of the moment. I forgot to add Corroded Coffin on my Never Working With list, fuck me,” it’s all your fault. You might not know with which artist you’re working until you arrive at the studio, but your manager knows and keeps some of them out of your schedule. Sorry, she can’t work with you right now, but we’ll look forward to another opportunity. “My manager told me it was a good opportunity, but I just can’t!”

“Don’t do it. Or like if you want to I could take another day off and go with you. I’ll make sure to kick Munson’s ass.” Steve owns this small cafe a few blocks from your apartment. He works there most of the time, but always takes some days off to relax. Today is one of those days and you wish he was working.

“No, I’m cancelling it. Fuck him and his stupid band, I’m not getting in a studio with him.” Your body falls into the couch. “Stupid Munson.”

“Ok, it’s your call. Fancy some tea?”

“Yes, please.”

Steve is your best friend. He was there when Eddie left everything behind, including you. He knew you would do anything possible to not see Eddie’s face again, but there you are, reality happening right before your eyes. He sits next to you and holds you in an awkward hug — because you’re holding your legs to your chest and hiding your face. 

Your tea gets cold. The moment you get out of your position, Steve is leaving the house to have a night out. He got your acoustic guitar from your car because he knows you’re gonna end up locked in your room writing new songs. That’s how you process your feelings.

You get some leftovers from the week, a bottle of wine and your cold tea. You refuse to let this nightmare get the best of you. So you write your heart out until you hear the phone ring. You hope it’s not Steve calling you to ask for a ride because you’re down 3 glasses of wine and driving is the last thing you wanna do.

You walk over and answer the phone.

“I’m not giving you a ride, I am-”

“Hi, sweetheart. Can we talk?”

You’re killing whoever gave your number to him. 

“Wrong number, asshole. Never call me again.”

You hang up on him and go back to your room. Pages and more pages of your feelings. You might need to find an artist to sing about it, but you do not care. You wanna drag Edward Munson in the mud because of everything he did to you. He must’ve found out you are Charlie, because there’s no way someone booked a pop songwriter for a rock band.

The phone rings again. 

“Hello?”

“Please, don’t hang up,” Eddie asks. “It’s just a business call, I promise.”

“How did you get my number?”

“Does it matter, sweetheart?” He pauses. “So, business. I can schedule a studio tomorrow morning.”

“No, Munson, I’ve told you: not working with you. Can’t you get a no for an answer?” You wish you had brought the wine glass with you.

“No, I can’t. How did you end up on songwriting? I thought you were going to college to study biology.”

“Chemistry,” you correct him. “I’ve given a song I wrote to a singer I was seeing back in Chicago, he recorded it and my name was on the credits. The song was a huge success and the next thing I know I’m moving to Los Angeles to write for other people. Why do you care?”

“And how’s that been going for you?”

“I can pay my rent and I’m saving up to leave this country. Canada, Europe perhaps. Last time I was in Hawkins I saw Wayne,” you remember the encounter with Eddie’s uncle. You were both in the same market and he called you from the end of the aisle. He looked better than the last time, and said his cousin bought him a house. “Have you visited him?”

“No, I haven’t. Been busy with writing the album and touring. But he’s coming to LA soon, I bet he would like to see you.”

“Don’t.” You stop him. “Don’t act like it’s all fine. And only a few people back in Hawkins know about Charlie Roger.”

“Who? Robin? Nancy? Steve?”

They were the ones who encouraged you to keep writing, to try to be a singer yourself, but you just couldn’t. Nancy and Robin are coming to visit you and Steve in a few weeks and you can’t wait to try to convince them to move to LA again. The gang back together. Or at least most of it.

“They know, yes. But to everyone else it is like I’ve left everything behind because of what happened.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I really am.”

“I don’t wanna hear your excuses, Munson. State your purpose or I’m hanging up on you.”

“I wanna work with you.” He’s quick to answer you. But you can imagine him, on the other side of the line, holding his face and staring at some of the most beautiful views of the city. “Even before I knew you are Charlie, I found your lyrics really good. I mean, Charlie’s lyrics. I still loved your poems tho. I’ve been doing fine on my own for, what, 3 records now, but I need some help to finish this one. One song is all I’m asking.”

“No, I can’t. Sorry, Eddie. Goodbye.”

“Good night, sweetie.”

He hangs up before you can. 

It’s gonna be a hell of a night.

taglist: @lokiofasgard616

(message me/coment here if you wanna be tagged on future updates of the series)

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #rockstar!eddie munson #eddie munson #rockstar!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #rockstar!eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #songwriter!reader x eddie munson #songwriter!reader x rockstar!eddie munson

[thesandsofelsweyr]

HOLLOWED OUT

《 READ ON AO3 // TAG 》

When Jason saw that photo of Batman and his new Robin, the thin cord of hope holding him together had snapped and he had broken into a million pieces. No one was coming for him. Not one single person on the planet cared whether he lived or died, or how much he suffered, or how loud he screamed. No one except the Clown. He was Joker’s now, and he would say or do anything to get a reprieve from the torment and the pain, even if it meant letting himself be reduced to something less than human.

《RATING》 🔞 Mature 《WORDS》 15,609 《CHAPTERS》 6/6

《CHARACTERS》 Jason Todd/Robin, Joker, Original Male Character(s), Bruce Wayne (mentioned), Dick Grayson (mentioned), Alfred Pennyworth (mentioned), Catherine Todd (mentioned), Willis Todd (mentioned)

《TROPES》 Hurt No Comfort, Angst, Whump, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

《WARNINGS》 Dehumanization, Bathing/Washing, Master/Pet, Collars, Ownership, Brainwashing, Humiliation, Non-Consensual Touching, Torture, Mindfuck, Scars, Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Loathing, Past Child Abuse, Daddy Issues, Forced Nudity, Swearing

《SERIES》 Part 4 of My Arkhamverse, Part 4 of Ruined

《NOTES》

This fic is my pride & joy! It was the first thing I published after a 5+ year hiatus, and the longest story I've ever written by far!

This fic is also dark so be aware of the tags (especially the DD:DNE tag)

My Arkhamverse canon is a mix of game canon and Arkham Knight: Genesis canon. I pick and choose what I like best 😉

If you enjoy the read please consider kudosing, commenting, and reblogging ❤️

《 READ ON AO3 》 (excerpt below the cut)

Jason let his heavy head sag between his shoulders as he was dragged down the long hallway. He clenched his teeth to keep from crying out. The strain on his upper body reignited dull pain in his shoulders, pain that still lingered from the last time he was strung up like a slab of raw meat. The usual two orderlies, who Joker called “Left” and “Right” to amuse himself and confuse the hell out of everyone else, each grasped a bone-thin arm, showing no more concern for him than they would have for a sack of dirt. He didn’t have the strength to fight the men even if he wanted to, which he did not. Fighting was a punishable offense—he’d learned that long ago—and he would do anything to avoid a punishment. Yeah, the Clown still abused him whenever he felt like it, but punishment was a different experience entirely, the kind that lasted for hours and left him wishing for death. Just the thought of the word alone made him want to curl up and die.

We passed the torture chamber already, he reassured himself, trying not to let the fear take over and start pleading for mercy like the coward he was. They’re taking me somewhere else, someplace new. 

For Jason it was a torture chamber, but really it was another abandoned office in this buried wing of Arkham Asylum where Joker kept all the toys he used to make him squeal. He was almost always punished in that room: tied to a chair, dangling from a meat hook, or, especially when guests paid him a visit, left free to crawl into a corner and contemplate how helpless he was even without any restraints. 

He only punishes me when I’m bad…

He wracked his weary mind for anything he might have done to piss the Clown off lately. Not that the Clown needed to be pissed off to make him regret ever putting on that red suit. Whacking him with a crowbar was probably part of the psycho’s self-care routine. But a punishable offense? He couldn’t think of anything. Joker was usually fair when it came to punishing him. He only hurts me like that when I deserve it, and he had been on his very best behavior. At least he hoped he had. He was so exhausted it was hard to keep track of what he had or hadn’t done.

It seemed as if a lot of time had passed since his last punishment, but he had no real concept of time in this pit. Well, not since the first six months of his imprisonment, back when he thought someone might actually give a damn that he was missing. He’d tried to keep track of the days then, but after Joker showed him that photo he decided there was no point anymore.

In those early days—back when he was nothing but bad—he would fight back. He broke the wrist of one of the guest torturers, bit a guard’s ear off, even knocked a tooth out of the Clown’s stupid grin. He also tried to escape at least once a month. The guards or orderlies or the Clown himself (armed with that goddamned crowbar) would drag him back and beat him within an inch of his life. But as soon as he could stand up again he was running—or limping more likely—toward that salvation that was a concrete staircase leading up to a makeshift trap door leading out to freedom. Even then Joker made sure his ankle stayed broken, but he had way more tolerance for pain when he thought Batman was coming to beat the shit out of the Clown and his goons and take him home. Hope will do that to you.

He was a good boy now though, as docile as a whipped dog—relentless suffering for nearly a year of his life made certain of that. Joker taught him that it was easier to just submit, to obey; that life was better as a broken boy than it was as a bad boy. He no longer wished to escape. Where would he go? He had no home, no one waiting for him. At least here in this dungeon someone actually cared about him, in his sick, twisted, fucked-up sort of way. And then there was the warning of what would happen to him if he ever tried to run again. Oh God… Fear coiled like a snake around his chest, squeezing tighter and tighter as he struggled to push the memory of that terrible threat away, to push back the panic that crept in. I learned my lesson, he reminded himself as he fought for a breath. That will only happen to me if I disobey…

His mind was mercifully wrenched back to the present when the orderlies suddenly turned, pulling his limp body into an unfamiliar room and dropping him to the cold tile floor. His heart started to slow as the pain in his shoulders receded and he took in his new surroundings. The small, musty room looked like it might have been a break room or a kitchen. There was a sink, a fridge, a microwave, an empty water cooler, some cabinets—all blanketed in a thin layer of dust. In the center of the room sat a square table with four metal chairs, and beside it stood the Clown. His heart sank. Joker was grinning at him as ever, his feverish green eyes glittering with excitement for whatever sadistic cruelties he was about to dish out. The sight of the man made him want to puke.

But he couldn’t puke right now, not when Joker expected him in position. With a soft groan he slowly pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, ignoring the protests from cracked bones and torn muscles. His bruised knees ached from crawling on the hard floor for the past weeks (months? years??). Since he’d been stripped of his armor Joker only allowed him to crawl; never walk, never stand. He kept his head bowed low while he waited for a command to obey. 

The uneasy silence was soon filled by the sound of a metal chair scraping against the tile as it was pulled from beneath the table. He shivered as all-too-familiar dread and despair settled over him. It was about to start again.

“Come. Sit,” Joker said in a lilting voice that suggested this was a friendly request, but Jason knew better.

Without hesitation he crawled over to where Joker was standing with his hands resting on the chair back. He gripped the chair and used it as leverage to pull his trembling, broken body off the floor. Gingerly, he slid into the chair, and winced as his ass and thighs—still bruised from the wooden paddle—came in contact with the hard plastic seat. My body still hasn’t recovered from my last punishment, he thought miserably. It was hard for him to believe that this same body was running around Gotham, brawling with its colorful lineup of thugs only months ago. Now he could barely stand on his own, much less run. Even the slightest of movements awakened some awful pain from a previous beating. He was only 16 yet he felt like he was 60.

16… He was only weeks away from getting his license when he fell into this shithole. Two more years and he would’ve had his high school diploma, maybe even sooner. I wanted to go to college. I was gonna try for an Ivy. A ‘fuck you’ to Willis for giving him hell for opening a book more than once in his life. I’ll never read another book. That realization was a particularly brutal gut-punch. Books were always his escape, from his shitty home life when his sperm donor was still breathing, or when he was feeling like he, a corner boy from Crime Alley, had no business living in a billionaire’s mansion. He remembered when he first arrived at that billionaire’s mansion how excited he was when he saw the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves Alfred built for him in his new bedroom, and the hundreds of books that Bruce had already filled them with. He also remembered the pack of Marlboros he had stashed behind his (Bruce’s) first edition copy of Pride and Prejudice. This hell would be more bearable with a paperback and a cigarette. He would never experience either of those things again though. He would never see his bedroom again… or Alfred… or Bruce. He bit back tears. Willis was probably laughing his ass off in hell right now. He always said I was a loser, that I’d never amount to anything. Looks like the fuckhead was right in the end.

Read the rest on AO3→

#sands writes #my arkhamverse #series: ruined #fic: hollowed out #jason todd #joker #robin #arkham asylum #arkham knight #arkhamverse #whump #angst #collars #dead dove: do not eat #jason todd whump #jason todd angst #jason todd fanfiction #dcu

[encrucijada]

Please tell me everything there is to know about Bb&Gg 🙏 I’ve been scrolling the tags but I’m desperate for more!!! Hope you’re doing well 💛

omg first of all thank you so much 💖

and second, bb&gg are the initials of babylon boy and gossamer girl. a duology i co-write with my partner @teddywriting that is titled home habitat.

if you've scrolled through the tags you've got the general idea of what it's about but here are the basics: it follows our characters theodore "theo" rayes and maría paz "maripaz" vega, who each ran away from home for different reasons. they meet on the street and the plot of book 1 (babylon boy) follows their year of homelessness and how their relationship grows and changes. it is a very "characters over plot" book as the plot is really the emotional journey mari and theo go through, dealing with matters of want and trust and companionship. i'm not saying much about book 2 (gossamer girl), just that it follows the same character > plot structure and deals with matters of family and second opportunities.

throughout babylon boy theo is dealing with a drug addiction he is vehemently denying and maripaz is dealing with problems related to shame. talking about bb&gg is difficult without just explaining the entire character arcs these two go through. they first meet when theo helps maripaz shoplift some food and he steals one of the two necklaces she was wearing, this one with an angel pendant (this is important). upon fatefully meeting again theo returns the necklace to maripaz, having felt guilty for stealing it at all, and they form an alliance to help each other survive. the relationship obviously has a rocky start, not aided by each of them dealing with their own internal problems that they make external through arguments and once even ending in a physical fight.

if categorised in the fell first/fell harder, maripaz would be fell first. problem being her backstory includes her literally having just left a neglectful boyfriend that poisoned her rose-tinted look of romance, though it didn't kill it completely as maripaz is at her core a romantic. so, when she begins to catch feelings for theo she buries them and buries them deep. this would make theo the fell harder half of the equation, as he goes through a mini arc of realising he's demisexual and maripaz has the privilege of being the first person he's ever felt romantic and sexual attraction towards.

the real progression of events is a bit hazy. teddy and i do a lot of bite-sized rps that are very call and response, very "yes, and," so whatever happens is revealed to us as it happens. the book properly is not something we've started yet as we're either too busy (teddy) or burned out (me) for it atm. we've got around... 5... ? moments decided, if you don't count the meeting at the start. one of those being the physical fight i mentioned above. said fight is whom we have to thank for home habitat existing at all, we revisited it and a story with character arcs and a whole sequel sprung out. the other scenes are the church scene, the pool scene, the halo scene, and the ending! (not explaining any of those, sorry). i always have a really hard time trying to talk about mari and theo. they are so much the result of their environment that i feel i need to explain not just them but every other character in this universe so people understand. and then you'll be stuck hearing me talking about every single character because i'm also unwell about all of them.

home habitat is a bit of a change of form for what is "base canon" for mari&theo. mari and theo's twin sister bee are usually best friends, a very "extrovert adopts introvert" situation. tge character alex moore and theo are usually best friends, it is a Thing(tm) that they are best friends, in some aus they even live together. but because of the setting of home habitat, mari and bee have never met and neither have theo and alex. in fact, alex and mari were friends in school in this version. i am a little sad people might never get to see that version of them, as these four as a Group(tm) are very dear and special to me.

but yeah, i'll leave it at that. thank you again! 💖 hope you're doing well too

#teddy you can reblog and add whatever you want if you wish <3 #answered #( wip ) bb&gg