#i cannot even imagine... i cannot bear the thought actually

[wri0thesley]

lion tamer - jing yuan x reader (12.4k)

it's taken for granted you'll take the job that nobody else wants, whilst the general is indisposed. you just didn't expect things to turn out like this.

cw: not sfw, minors dni. chubby reader. reader is afab but no gendered terms are used. descriptions of raw meat (animals eating), food, pining, fingering, cunnilingus, coming inside. pet names including little bird, darling, little thing. reader is implied to be shorter than jing yuan.

This was a commissioned work.

It’s a quiet whisper, at first - gossip among the lower-downs of the Luofu. You hear it on the fringes and the edges, but you dismiss it as really none of your business; you’re already working harder than most everyone else thanks to the small matter of your far shorter lifespan, and you don’t intend to set yourself back by listening to idle gossip. You have other things to concentrate on; the busywork that you’ve been assigned to as a junior (very junior) member of the Seat of Divine Foresight. 

Really, though they call you a ‘non-administrative support specialist’, you know what you really are; a general dogsbody, somebody to pick up all of the pieces that others sweep by. Still; just getting a position here means you’ve outdone most people, and you hold in your heart the idea that you could get even further up this ladder of success if you simply tried hard enough. You’ve heard tell that even some of the long-life species haven’t managed to make it as far as actually working within the Seat itself, so really . . . you can’t help but feel a little proud of yourself. 

Which is why you choose to ignore the swirling rumour about your esteemed Arbiter-General until you’re called into a meeting with Yong Hai himself. 

(The General is sick, the rumours say. The General may not last another day. The General’s laziness has caught up with him, the General may not make it, and what will we all do then--)

“So,” Yong Hai says, all business. “You’ve probably heard about it already.”

There’s a flare of disquiet in your gut; that the gossip and the rumours you’ve been so steadfastly avoiding are true. You don’t know what the Luofu would do with General Jing Yuan; you cannot imagine the ship and the world without him, when he has been such a stolid presence - and the way that the general public will react doesn’t bear thinking about--

“Stop that,” Yong Hai says, with an amused look in his eye even as he fights to keep his mouth in a firm, commanding line. “It’s not as bad as people are saying. The General has simply . . . contracted something that he isn’t bouncing back as quickly from as we’d hoped. We’ve had to send him off to the Alchemy Commission for a few days, just to see if we can work out how to help . . .” The secretary catches himself, clearly remembering he’s talking to someone who amounts to little more than custodial staff. He coughs. “Anyway. It’s left us in a bit of a conundrum, and after some discussion, we think you’re qualified to handle it.”

You tilt your head to the side as you try and think what you could possibly do to assist in this matter.

You’re no healer; you’re no nurse. You can’t help them figure out how to cure the General, you’re not equipped to sit at his bedside and mop his feverish brow (your cheeks go hot and your face burns at the very thought of it). You certainly can’t take over any of Jing Yuan’s actual duties. The idea of you as any kind of military strategist is laughable--

“How can I help, Sir?” You ask, partly because that is what’s expected of you and partly because you really have no idea what use you’ll be in the situation. 

“Ah,” he says, and then he coughs again - he looks into the corner of the room, as if he’s begging someone to help him, and you remember that he and his sister are most often found together. But here, it’s just the two of you, and he has nobody to help him to break whatever news he’s going to break to you. You hope it’s not going to involve cleaning up a sick-room; you’re really not good with that kind of thing--

“We need somebody to tend to his home affairs,” Yong Hai says, eventually. “He . . . Ah, look, I’m going to come out and say it. General Jing Yuan has a penchant for taking in stray animals and the like, and he only even agreed to let himself be looked at on the caveat we had to promise to find someone to look after them.”

You think of the statues of lions that decorate the place, and you feel a trickle of cold sweat down the back of your spine. You hope desperately that the secretary isn’t implying that you’re about to quite literally be fed to the lions--

“Stop looking like that!” He says, exasperated. “All of them are perfectly tame, and you’ll be in no danger. He has a . . . lion that he’s incredibly fond of. Several birds. And . . . ah,” he looks embarrassed again. “He’s informed us he usually leaves out a veritable feast for any other neighbourhood strays on his balcony, and he was very worried that they weren’t going to be properly nourished whilst he was away.”

Finches. You can do that. Neighbourhood strays - cats and dogs, you suppose - are all very well. But the lion . . .

That doesn’t matter. Yong Hai seems to have reached the end of his meeting with you, to his tangible relief. He’s already bustling about his desk and looking longingly towards the closed door. 

“A new schedule’s been drawn up for you and sent to you already,” he says. “All of the relevant information should be in the attachments! Have fun, won’t you? The General is so very fond of his pets, you see--”

Your phone beeps as if it is punctuating his point; the secretary beams at you, and you get the distinct impression you are being told to put your best foot forward and roll with the punches. ‘Get on with it’, as someone without any manners might say. 

“Understood,” you say, and you force yourself to smile and look on the bright side of things even if you’re sure you’re going to have nightmares about being eaten alive by a lion tonight. This is a post that the General wanted filled personally! This is almost as personal as someone can get to the General, actually; it appears you’ll be working in his actual home! It’s a . . . a step up! A stepping stone!

You force yourself to ignore that it is actually very much a case of sticking the lowest ranked person (and someone well-known for taking on as much as they can with cheerful aplomb, due to your fear of ever really saying ‘no’) onto the job that nobody else wants to do. 

“I’ll do my best,” you say, and Yong Hai beams at you even as he gestures for you to go and get to grips with your new role. 

Well. 

You have no other choice then, really, but to Get On With It. 

You are quite frankly terrified the next day, when you turn up to your newest duty. The documents sent to you had instructed you to pick up raw meat for the lion from the General’s most trusted supplier before you went up to his chambers; apparently, birdseed and cat-and-dog food was kept there, but the lion’s appetite could not so easily be sated. You have to give yourself a pep-talk before all of it; have to convince yourself that running away from this new responsibility would be both awful for your career prospects and terribly cruel.

“Ah,” says the supplier, when you turn up and tremulously hand over your phone so he can see the attachments displayed on the screen giving you this new Meat Power, “So you’re looking after the waifs and strays and Mimi, then?” 

“Mimi?” You ask, your voice tremulous, and he laughs as he hands over two incredibly full buckets of raw meat. It’s a good job you’re not squeamish. 

“That’s the lion,” he says. “The General tried to name her Snow Lion after he realised she wasn’t just going to be a pretty little white housecat, but . . . Mimi fits. You’ll see!”

The concept of Jing Yuan attempting to adopt a pretty little white house cat and being saddled instead with a huge lion, and having to continue to refer to the powerful beast as ‘Mimi’ despite his best efforts, keeps you entertained right up until you’re outside the door to the General’s chambers and you remember that a carnivorous predator awaits you on the other side of it.

“Well,” you say to yourself, hoisting the buckets up and taking a deep breath, “there’s no point delaying the inevitable. If I get eaten today . . .”

And you let the pass-key you’ve been given float against the sensor, until the ornate doors to Jing Yuan’s chambers slowly part and admit you into the Arbiter-General’s inner sanctum. 

The first thing that you’re struck by is how it seems that the General left in a rush. The entire place, whilst not dirty, has an air of untidiness. You hear the cheeping of finches from the first room; excitement that their Master may have finally returned to play with them. You can’t help but feel sorry for them - from what Yong Hai has said, it may be quite a while before Jing Yuan is well enough to return to his home. 

There are touches of the General everywhere, now that you’re looking. Delicate flowers (you’ve heard he likes small, delicate things, and you can’t help the nervous tug at your clothing as you consider just how indelicate you find yourself). Ceramics and porcelain that you fear are so fragile they may shatter even under your gaze. An unfinished game of star chess, a coffee cup left half-drunk . . . That last one could fetch a fine price in the black market. You’ve heard those traders hawking ‘tissues used by Helm Master Yukong’ or even ‘a book enjoyed by General Jing Yuan’s protege!’. 

Before your mind can lead you too far down that dangerous path, though, the lady of the hour appears. 

She’s beautiful. 

You have to stop yourself gasping aloud. Any fears you might have had seem to fall to the wayside, unimportant, compared to the majesty of the lion before you; the pure white fur, the wise face, the mane that fluffs out from her. She’s pure white; lean, but perhaps with a little pouch at the tummy. Not a single snarl or tangle mars her fur, not a single speck of dirt upon her, like the false moon looking down upon the Luofu--

She sees that you’re holding two big buckets and seems to recognise them, because it’s barely a breath before her ears twitch and she pounces like a kitten, seemingly not realising that you are smaller than her owner and she is far larger than the average kitten is. All of the wind is knocked out of you as you cry out her name and are tackled to the ground. 

You find yourself beneath the warmth of her body, a sweet scent emanating from her fur as if the esteemed General regularly bathes and shampoos her. Delighted, she sticks her snout right into one of the buckets. A low, pleased rumble emits from her throat as she works her teeth over the meat--

You reach up, hesitantly, with the one arm that isn’t pinned by the great weight of her. Your fingers hover for a moment, unsure of what to do - is she like a cat? Does she prefer chin scratches or ear scratches?

You settle for a very light pet at the side of her mane, just by her face. Her fur is just as soft as you had thought she would be - a lady who is clearly incredibly spoilt. Well-cared for. You have another flash of a vision of Jing Yuan - combing her mane, tying a shiny ribbon about her neck to match the ribbon he wears in his own hair. 

Mimi pauses in her enjoyment of the food. Your breath catches in your throat, all of your senses on a sudden high alert - what if she didn’t like being touched like that? What if she’s about to mistake your hand for a part of the buffet you’ve brought her?

A moment that seems like an hour passes.

And then she leans into your hand with a pleased rumble-squeak-growl, her eyes closing in pleasure, and despite how your heart is beating and your legs are aching from the way she’s twisted them and trapped them beneath her . . . you smile. 

For the first week, every time you let yourself into Jing Yuan’s space, you are alone aside from the animals he keeps there. Mimi launches herself at you, but you’ve learnt to sidestep and laugh and ruffle her mane, offering her choice little tidbits to curl up and gnaw on her food whilst you see to the strays that congregate on Jing Yuan’s balcony. They had taken a little longer to warm to you, but after the second day when it became clear if they wanted the same food Jing Yuan usually prepared they would have to come to you, they had thawed considerably. You leave them to their devices, and finish off with the finches. 

They hop from place to place in their cage, cheeping brightly. Sometimes they hop onto your finger or your shoulder, looking at you like you’re the most wonderful being in the universe. Once one had hopped onto your head and you’d stayed stock-still for five minutes, afraid of disturbing it. 

After all of the pets and animals are fed, you’ve gotten into the habit of sitting with them for a little while. Curling around Mimi and stroking her mane and her tail (you’ve braided it, actually, and told her how pretty she looks with little red ribbons in her fur as she blinked at you her slow, lazy blinks). Listening to birdsong. Letting the strays rub about your feet and imagining the Arbiter-General himself doing all of these mundane tasks. 

It’s strange, to think of him as so . . . so much a real person. General Jing Yuan has always seemed a man of mystery and just a touch of romance to you; a long life species who has outlived almost everyone he’s ever worked with, who has steered the Luofu into glories and battled bravely and heroically against Abundance abominations for longer than you’ve been alive. The first time you’d met him, when you’d gotten your place at the Seat of Divine Foresight (before you’d quite found out how meagre your duties really were), you’d been utterly tongue-tied. 

He’d been charming, naturally. Smiling and charismatic and low and pleasant-voiced, saying how glad he was to have you aboard and how he hoped you would enjoy your time here. There’d been, perhaps, a flash of sadness in his eye at the knowledge you were a short-life species-- but you’d quickly tried to dispel that notion, scolding yourself for your own romanticism. Jing Yuan is your colleague, your boss - better to not harbour such idealism, to make him into a storybook character instead of a man. 

Still. It’s rather hard to imagine him out of breath, puffing and wheezing, after pulling the bucket Mimi had gotten her paw stuck in off of the silly lion’s foreleg before she sent herself into a panic. 

You think that the menagerie that he keeps in his private quarters have grown fond of you in turn. The task that everyone had seemed to find so onerous quickly becomes one of your favourite parts of the day; there is something to be said about the healing properties to the soul of having a lion roll over to show you her tummy and wiggle enticingly until you give in to her and give her all of the rubs and tickles that she so clearly desires. 

So for about a week and a half, everything chugs along; you fall into routine, and the animals recognise you in turn. They sometimes still crane their necks and heads hopefully around you to see if Jing Yuan is around (Mimi especially occasionally looks dejected at his absence, though her ears perk up once again as soon as she remembers the buckets you come bearing are filled with delicious morsels for her), but when it is just you they still seem somewhat satisfied. 

Nobody gives you any warning that Jing Yuan has returned to his own rooms. 

Which is why you walk into the main room with your buckets swinging on your arms, singing a silly little song you’ve composed for Mimi about how the meat is soon to be ‘delicious and yummy’ in her ‘full-up-tummy’, you’re so surprised to hear a velvet soft chuckle floating from the big circular sofa in the centre of it that you almost drop all of those delicious-and-yummy steaks and thighs all over Jing Yuan’s ornately tiled floor. 

You stare at the sofa, your cheeks going all-over hot, as a mass of blankets moves and shifts and a slightly ruffled pale head emerges from them.

The General himself. 

It’s obvious, looking at him, that he hasn’t been feeling his best. His normally tied up hair falls over his face in unstyled sweeps, there are dark circles beneath his eyes and a sharpness to his cheekbones that you have never noticed before. Instead of the armour you have grown so used to seeing him clad in, he wears civilian clothes; a loose shirt that shows off the lines of his throat, his collarbone. 

Despite all of that, though, he is still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. Your heart still skips a beat. He takes you in for a moment, his face scrunched up as if he is not quite awake; and then, a small smile spreads over his handsome face. 

“Don’t stop on my account,” he says, in that low, musical voice. “I’d like to know where the song has to go, after her tummy has been filled.”

“I’m so sorry,” you blurt out, awkward, nervous, unsure of what to say. “I-- nobody told me you’d be back, I can leave, I didn’t mean to--”

He holds up a lazy hand, the smile still on his face. His eyes are half-lidded, his overall look almost indulgent.

“Please,” he says. “I’m . . . better, but not fully recovered. I’ve been given strict instructions that I'm not to lift heavy objects or do anything more than relax for at least another week. I’d be much obliged - if it’s not too much trouble on top of your own duties, of course - if you could carry on seeing to my . . . what did they call it?” Another small, secret smile. “Ah yes. My little zoo.” 

“I-if you’re sure . . .” You say, surprised to find when you say it aloud that you’re relieved. You truly have gotten attached to all of the animals, even in this short time. 

Mimi butts your leg, impatient for her food, her huge paw petulantly tapping upon the floor. Jing Yuan laughs again, and you feel your stomach clench at the warm sound as it fills the room. 

“Oh, she likes you,” he says, in delight. “I’ve never seen her be so patient with anyone but myself, you know.”

“She’s been friendly since I met her,” you reply, reaching down to scratch her behind her ears and to place the buckets somewhere she won’t make such a mess (though she’s actually a fairly fastidious eater, for someone with no thumbs; you suppose she’s so proud of her lovely white coat that she doesn’t want to risk staining it).

Jing Yuan hums in consideration, his smile not leaving his face, as he watches you pet Mimi and her affectionate head bump before she dives back into her food. As you move into the other sitting room - the one that the finches reside in - you hear more rustling, and as you gather the birdseed you’re surprised to see that Jing Yuan is following you, sloping afterwards determinedly. There’s a definite tilt to his walk - the walk of a man who’s been in bed for a week - and you can’t help but say something.

“Sh-should you be out of bed, General?” You wince at the slight admonishment in your tone, fearing he will think you’re scolding him - but Jing Yuan simply smiles. 

“I need to check on my sweet little charges,” he says. “Come now. I’ve been in bed for days. Let me wander about my own rooms without worrying your pretty head too much about it, alright?”

It takes all of your grace not to turn into a pathetic, embarrassed mess at the easy way he says ‘your pretty head’ - somehow, you manage to keep your composure, keep some measure of poise, even as inside you feel yourself turn to mush. 

He sits down upon a chaise by the birdcages as you reach in to fill the small bowls and scatter the feed, his eyes not leaving you for a second. He smiles when he sees a finch or two hop upon your hand to peck at the seeds and bits left in the crevices of your palm. 

“A true animal whisperer,” he says, watching one of the more inquisitive finches hop up to your wrist and your forearm to tug teasingly at your elbow-length sleeves. “They’re not too fond of strangers, either.”

“I have been feeding them for a week, Sir,” you say to him, with a smile at the finch as you urge it off of your arm and back to the rest of its friends. “They’ve gotten used to me.”

He shakes his head, his hair falling about his shoulders, and you’re struck with the thought that he and Mimi even look similar. You’ve heard the old adage about how pet owners and their pets grow to look the same, of course, but you’d never realised quite how true it was until that moment and the sight of Jing Yuan doing a motion you’ve grown used to Mimi doing. 

He follows, too, as you take food and water onto the balcony. As cats wind around first your ankles, and then his - as dogs wag their tails and lick at your hands. 

“If I were a jealous man . . .” He says, laughing. “They must see something truly special in you.”

“Me?” You ask, aiming for a tinkly laugh but landing on ‘incredulous’. “No, they’re just sweet creatures. All of them are.”

He’s unerringly patient with the animals; his big hands tender as they scratch ears and tickle chins. Seeing the great General being so delicate makes your heart turn over in your chest; his big, scarred hands in direct opposition to the delicate bones and the soft fluff of all of the creatures that mass here. 

“Don’t be so modest,” Jing Yuan says quietly in reply. “I’ve known some of these animals for years. If they didn’t think you were something special . . .” 

Your cheeks are hot again. Somehow, in the course of this conversation, Jing Yuan has gotten closer and closer to you. Out here on the balcony, under the warm false sun of the Luofu, there’s nowhere for Jing Yuan to sit and watch - so he’s stood close to you. Close enough that you can see the warm gold amber of his gaze, the fan of his lashes, the mole high up beneath his eye. You swallow, and the sound is almost indecently loud even with the background mewls and barks and purrs. 

“I’m glad that they found someone so able to do this for me,” he says, his voice still quiet. That single word, those single two syllables, somehow manage to be imbued with more meaning than you’d ever imagined they could be. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing you.”

“Just until you’re feeling a bit better,” you reply, cheeks still hot, throat still sore, heart still beating far too fast in your chest. You wonder what Jing Yuan is thinking as he looks down at you - if he has noticed your anxiety, the way that he seems to set you all aflutter. You hope he thinks it is merely because he is your superior, and not because it’s so very hard not to dwell on his looks and his warm voice and the surprisingly different persona that he shows when he’s doing this--

Jing Yuan is still smiling at you, from back on the sofa covered in his blankets with Mimi spread out protectively over his feet, as you foolishly wave goodbye and leave his chambers. 

You get to witness Jing Yuan’s recovery firsthand. The first few days, he is still unsure of his own limbs; he still slowly lopes around the rooms. Once or twice, you come in to feed the animals and he stays wrapped within his blankets, Mimi only leaving his side to demand some cuddles and some meat from you. 

Despite his illness, though, he always has time to talk to you. He always asks you how you are feeling, what you have been doing; he teases you for how the animals seem to recognise you just as well as him now. When one of the finches pecks at your cheek, he chuckles and says;

“Ah, wouldn’t we all like to give our little bird a kiss like that?”

You don’t know how to respond to that, ducking your head, muttering something unintelligible that wins another of his laughs. His words err on the edge of being flirtatious. Once or twice he compliments your outfit, your hair - how lovely you look today. You never know how to react to such things; you force yourself not to dwell on them, reminding yourself of Jing Yuan’s own looks and his position and trying to tell yourself not to get attached and that the General is merely trying to be polite. 

One afternoon, he asks you to sit with him and have tea. 

It would be rude of you to say no; not when he has placed two teacups before him, anticipating your acceptance, a plate of sweet treats in an amount that would be gluttonous even for him arranged with the tea service. So you try and gracefully position yourself across from him. You try and remember your manners as you take the cup by the handle, as you choose the least ornamented and sugary of the delicacies on offer--

(It’s hard not to remember being told not to indulge at all. You feel conscious of eating in front of him--)

“Have this one,” Jing Yuan says, as if he can read your mind, and he pushes towards you an intricately decorated little cake resplendent with sugar roses and ruffles. “It’s one of my favourites.”

Your mouth waters. You give him an embarrassed smile as he encourages you further, reaching over to pick it up himself and place it upon your plate instead of merely pushing it.

“Really?” You ask, trying to pick it up neatly. “It’s a bit more delicate than I thought you’d like. I suppose I imagined you liking things a little rougher--”

Your face goes hot as you realise what you just said, but Jing Yuan ignores the innuendo and simply smiles at you. 

“Ah,” he says. “I like things that are . . . delicate. Smaller than me. So lovely to observe and enjoy, don’t you think?” His gaze doesn’t leave your face. You have never considered yourself delicate - the curves that you display have put an end to that - but under his eyes, you can’t help but think of the breadth of his shoulders and his height and think how a man like him could make even you feel small and breakable. “What do you think?”

The little cake is sweet on the tongue, flavoured with a hint of something you can’t quite name. Your eyes widen in surprise. 

“It’s wonderful,” you tell him, swallowing the bite and enjoying how the taste lingers. “Truly.”

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” he says - and then, he reaches over the table. “You have something--” 

You go stock-still, embarrassed and shocked at the intimacy of the gesture, as he uses his thumb to wipe a smudge of icing from the corner of your mouth. He keeps your gaze the whole time. It is something a lover does - it is not something you’d ever expected General Jing Yuan to do for you--

“There,” he says, returning to his cake as if nothing has happened. “It would be a terrible shame if I couldn’t see all of your lovely face, after all.” 

He is always saying things like this; off-the-cuff remarks that, if he were not the General of the Xianzhou Luofu, you would interpret as being flirty. He mentions them when you have tea together, when he ropes you into playing a game of star chess (“Don’t think I will go easy on you because you are nice to look at,” he says, as he places the counters into their starting positions), when he watches you and Mimi and you and the finches and tells you that he cannot decide which is cuter. 

You see him get gradually stronger and stronger. No more limping. He is almost always dressed, now. His hair no longer falls in shaggy waves about his face. His dark circles dissipate, his voice getting somehow even deeper and more velvety. 

The unspoken reality that soon, Jing Yuan will be well and you will no longer have to take on this extra duty hangs over your head.

You find that the idea makes you feel sick. You are not only enjoying caring for the animals, now, but you’ve also started to look forward to seeing the General. 

Well.

That’s not quite it.

You have to be honest with yourself, don’t you? 

You’ve developed a crush on him. 

You can’t imagine not seeing him. Not being greeted with Mimi’s butts and her batting paws; not hearing the pleased chirps of his finches whenever they see you. Not enjoying tea with him any more, simply existing in this lazy golden time when you do not have to think about work or his position above you or anything other than the four walls that surround you and the multiple hearts beating within it. 

Jing Yuan brings it up first.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says, coughing one day after the two of you have played a game of star chess that you were thoroughly destroyed during. “Well. I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’m getting better.”

“I’m glad to see it, Sir,” you say, forcing a smile to your face even as your heart falls into the region of your feet. “We were all very worried about you. Everyone is always asking me how you are and when you’ll be returning to work--”

His face clouds, a flinch so quick you almost miss it.

“Yes,” he says, a mournful tone to his voice. “I’ll soon be returning to work.”

You tell yourself sternly not to cry. This was never supposed to be permanent. 

“Then I suppose you won’t need me any longer,” you say, forcing a smile on your face. You are going to be gracious if it kills you.

“Ah,” Jing Yuan replies. “That’s what I’d like to talk to you about. I . . . we are all very fond of you, you see.” He motions to Mimi, who has come to curl beside you, her head laid against your knee. “I fear Mimi will riot if you were to stop bringing her all of those steaks, you understand. And who knows what she’d do, deprived of your song about her tummy?”

You squeak in embarrassment. Mimi lifts her head and gives you a slow, displeased look, much to Jing Yuan’s amusement. 

“Well. I’m very aware that it’s not part of your duties, and I’d be willing of course to pay you more for all of the trouble, but--” 

You see Jing Yuan falter for one of the first times; as if he is afraid that you are about to reject him outright. He coughs, trying to hide his anxiety, but it is an emotion you’re intimately familiar with and as such you recognise it for what it is. 

“We’re all so very fond of you,” he repeats. “Won’t you keep coming?”

You barely leave a breath before you’re happily agreeing. 

It’s not quite the same. 

You knew it wouldn’t be; you knew that you wouldn’t see Jing Yuan anywhere near as often, as he resumed all of the many duties that the Arbiter-General has to take on. Despite how unenthused he had seemed to be returning to his work, you knew that Jing Yuan took his responsibilities terribly seriously). 

Still.

You had thought you might see him more. Might still be able to drink a cup of tea with him, even if it could not be the same kind of slow, languid time the two of you had taken over it before. You’d thought that there’d still be time for a conversation or two. 

The reality is that you almost never see the General now. 

At work, your paths had crossed only rarely; now, hyper-aware of his presence, you realise that you see him almost never. Not at work, and not at his own home. 

You’re still excited to see the animals - for the finches to happily chirp at you as if they’re telling you about their day. One of them rides about on your shoulder, now, even when you go out to feed the strays. You’re still excited to tell Mimi what a good girl she is and rub her tummy and play with her (she’s inordinately fond of ribbons and the chasing thereof, like an overgrown housecat). 

But without Jing Yuan there . . .

There’s something missing. 

You still do your duties as well as you can - Jing Yuan has negotiated a hefty raise for you, all things considered - but you can’t help sometimes leaving his home feeling a little empty at the lack of seeing the General. You can’t help being disconsolate as you think about him - as you remember his flirty little asides, the way he’d looked at you across the room, the smile that played across his mouth whenever he did. You know he couldn’t really be interested in you, that he was probably like that with most people - but a secret little flame cannot help but burn in your heart even so. 

Days pass, quiet, lonely. You work, and feed the animals, and go home to your own empty quarters. You work, feed, go home, work, feed, go home--

Until one evening, when you’re just about to leave Jing Yuan’s chambers, when the door opens and the General appears. He looks a little red in the face; his breath comes in short little pants. You’ve never seen him so obviously flustered; usually, Jing Yuan fits perfectly up to his reputation as the Drowsy General. 

“Are you alright?” You ask him, rushing over. You’re touching him before you’ve thought through consequences; finger hovering over his pulse point, reaching up to feel his forehead to make sure he’s not running a temperature. Through the panting, he looks at you and smiles. 

“I’m afraid,” he says, still breathing heavily, his voice rasping. “I made up a little lie to be able to get back here on an errand that doesn’t really exist.”

“General,” you scold him. It’s not like him to shirk responsibilities. He laughs. 

“Yes, yes, I know, little thing-- but I had to see you. I wanted to see you again.”

You think he’s misspoken.

“I have to get back,” he says, and he reaches down - his hands upon your cheek again. You don’t know how to reply, what to say, what is going on. All you know is that you are there, and Jing Yuan is there, and something is happening. Fizzing on the air is a promise that something is going to change. “But . . . I couldn’t-- I needed to finally--”

Jing Yuan kisses you. 

It’s a kiss as messy and rushed as he is right now. A kiss that says that he has to hurry back, despite how much he doesn’t want to. You, unused to being kissed and even more unused to being kissed by handsome military leaders who feel a hundred times out of your league, do not kiss him back. He’s messy and wet, and his teeth clash against your lips as you stand there, feeling foolish and wrong-footed.

He realises you’re not kissing him back, and he stops - he draws back, his eyebrows furrowed. He opens his mouth to speak. 

He’s going to say it was a mistake, you realise. He’s going to say he thought you were someone else, that he was carried away in the heat of the moment. You and Jing Yuan? No. It couldn’t be. It’s absurd, it’s silly, nobody could ever believe it - and yet.

And yet.

Your heart couldn’t take his rejection.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out - and you push past him and out of the door and back towards the comforting ordinary normality of your own empty rooms. 

Despite your embarrassment, fear and all of those other emotions keeping you up all night, when you wake up the next morning you know that things will be worse the more you put them off. So you get dressed for work and you thank Lan that, when you walk into the Seat of Divine Foresight, Jing Yuan is nowhere to be seen. 

You hope he is hard at work, far away from you. You cannot quite face him yet. You haven’t properly said goodbye to your foolish dreams. 

You can’t shirk your other duties either, so at the ordinary time you stand up from your desk (you’ve somehow been saddled with the job of reviewing paperwork for grammar inconsistencies. You feel certain there ought to be software of some sort that does this job for you, but it had been laid here on your desk when you’d gotten to it and you were not in the habit of arguing about your duties), and you head to the designated supplier of raw meats for Mimi’s consumption.

“Oh,” says the supplier, the evening after Jing Yuan had finagled a way to see you. “He told me to let you know to go straight up today.” 

You frown, not quite sure why; you hope Mimi is alright. It feels strange to be going towards Jing Yuan’s home without your arms weighed down with buckets of meat, but you push forward even so. You hope last night - the awkward kiss, the way he had looked at you - does not sour things between the two of you. You hope that he isn’t about to tell you to never come back. Your heart makes a new home, somewhere in the vicinity of your throat, as you hesitantly knock upon his door.

A beat passes. Your mind helpfully provides you with all of the ways in which Jing Yuan could be about to fire you - or worse, let you down gently and admit that he had a moment of weakness. In that moment, you suddenly seem so much more aware than before of yourself - of the unfashionable curves, of the amount of space you take up, of how a man like Jing Yuan could surely not have really wanted to kiss someone like you - and then, he has opened the door and he is smiling at you and he doesn’t look angry.

Instead, upon seeing you there, a smile passes across his face; tugs at the corners of his lips, crinkles the corners of his eyes.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he says to you - and he reaches across the threshold and his hand brushes your cheek, as soft and tender with you as he is with his finches. “I’m sorry if I frightened you last night.”

“I’m sorry I ran,” tumbles out of your mouth. “I just . . . I didn’t think you-- and somebody like me-- and I was afraid--”

He lays a finger over your lips, still smiling. 

“It’s alright,” he says, in that low, smooth voice. “I’m sorry if I caused you undue trouble, little bird.” The pet name falls from his lips as easily as any other trifle, though it makes you feel hot and aware of yourself and flattered all at once. “Please come in.”

He takes your hand to gently urge you across the threshold, his touch still feather light. You think, as he does it, of all of the other things those hands have done; all of the battles they have waged, all of the strength that must be contained within them despite how gentle his touch is now. 

“I’ve asked someone else to take care of the animals,” he says to you, not letting go of your hand as he leads you through the front room. You realise with a start exactly where he is taking you as he approaches a door you have never had reason to open before. He looks at you, eyes keen and golden. “I wanted us to be alone. I would hope, little bird, if you do not want this . . .” 

“I do,” tumbles from your mouth. It is nothing but the honest truth. You let the crush that you’ve been trying to deny, the fear of Jing Yuan not liking you or finding you attractive, the anxieties of not being good enough, all wash over you, in favour of the beating of your heart and the feel of his hand on your face and the sight of his hand upon the doorknob of his bedroom. 

He turns fully so he stands before you. Hands come up, cradling your face; thumbs brushing the plump apples of your cheek, fingertips upon the soft flesh. He is smiling still, even as he dips his head lower, so low you can see the multitudes of swirling shades of gold in his eyes. 

“Promise me,” he murmurs, low and soft. “Tell me you want me the way I want you. No expectations, little one. Your career, your position, your everything - nothing will change if you do not want me as badly as I desire you. Honesty.” You realise a tear has escaped from the corner of your eye. You have never felt so . . . seen. So very much wanted. So sure of anything in your life. He wipes that tear with his thumb, tilting your face closer to him so that if you just angled your head differently you could kiss him. “Promise me.” 

“I promise,” you whisper, and Jing Yuan’s lips meet yours. 

This kiss is entirely unlike the one from yesterday; this kiss is slow, luxurious. Jing Yuan starts off gentle with you, his hand still cupping your jaw - his lips moving against yours in slow, indolent waves. He nips at your bottom lip with his teeth and wins a gasp from you, a hitch of your breath, as your own hands come up to rest lightly upon his chest. You feel his mouth curve into a smile against your own. 

“You’re adorable,” he rumbles, pulling back just enough that you can still feel his breath on your face. “Truly - you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this to you.”

“I--” You helplessly stare up at him. You can barely believe this is happening, as he pushes open the door to his most private of domains. “Really?”

He laughs again, gently taking your arm and urging you into the room. You are helpless to do anything but follow him - to let him slowly, slowly, slowly pull you beside him and onto his bed. 

“You really have no idea how . . . desirable you are?” He asks, voice low and husky, humming with want. His hand skims over your cheek, the nape of your neck, following the line of your jaw and your throat to linger over your collarbone. His eyes follow the path his fingers take, not moving from your form for an instant. “You really didn’t notice me staring at you, little bird?” He leans in, close enough for his breath to tickle your ear. His lips brush over the pulse point in your neck, making you squeak in surprise again even as it sends a bolt of heat to the space between your legs. “Imagining what you would feel like under my hands? Imagining what you would look like, divested of that maddeningly conservative uniform they make you wear?” Another kiss, this one with a hint of teeth. You realise with a hot flush of embarrassment mixed with want you have cried out at the sensation of the almost-bite. “Imagining how you would react to every touch I gave you?” 

“Sir,” you pant, dazed and amazed and hot and needy. “I-- I thought about you, too--”

“Oh,” he murmurs, as his big fingers slide over your body, feeling the ample shape of you through that same conservative uniform. His big palms brush the soft chub of your upper arms, the meat of your chest, the shape of your waist and over the curve of your hips, basely appreciating your body even beneath the fabric. “I’m sure they were no match for the utterly filthy things I imagined doing to you.” 

His thumb digs into the indent of your waist, tugging you closer to him so that you’re pressed tighter against his body. He smiles down at you, every inch the conquering general, and your heart beats in time with the pounding between your legs. He looks at you like he wants to devour you. Wanting and hungry and lustful, like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever seen. It’s not a look you’re overly familiar with receiving - but oh, does it feel amazing to be on the receiving end of it from Jing Yuan. 

“Such a fragile thing,” he murmurs down to you, and you almost laugh, for you do not feel fragile - but Jing Yuan continues speaking, and you get lost in the dulcet tone of his voice. “So very mortal. So very ephemeral . . .” He sighs, dips his head and kisses you again, a flurry of pecks upon your lips as his thumb draws circles where it rests. “Will you let me make the most of having you, little bird? Let me show you how beautiful you are?” He smiles. “I have always had a weakness for delicate things.” 

He means it. 

Any time you have ever felt too big; ungainly, or ill-shaped - all of it falls to the wayside under the warm haze of being looked at and admired and wanted by Jing Yuan. You find yourself smiling up at him, aware you probably look as though there is not a thought in your head, but the General doesn’t seem to mind as he looks at you with hunger colouring his gaze. 

“May I undress you?” He asks, voice low and cajoling. His fingers tease beneath the neckline of your uniform, and it feels as though they leave a trail of fire everywhere they linger. You do not trust yourself to speak; you nod at him, your breath coming out in short little pants. He makes a soft noise of approval, before his fingers are working at buttons and fabric. Cool air hits your bare skin; your uniform is gently cajoled off of your body, tossed aside to be worried about later as Jing Yuan’s hungry eyes drink in every new inch of your exposed skin. 

He does not stop praising you as he does it.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, as your top half is bared, as his eyes roam over your chest and his hands come up and squeeze the generous curve of them, palms rough against delicate skin. You shiver as his thumbs find your nipples, as they rub over them again and again until the buds stiffen beneath his touch and a soft whine escapes the back of your throat. “You’re beautiful.”

His tone is nothing if not worshipful. By slow, luxurious degrees, Jing Yuan helps divest you of your garments. As your underwear and bottoms are rolled down, as fabric bunches at thighs and knees, he does not stop murmuring sweet nothings about how soft you are, how beautiful, how lucky he is to be able to see you like this. 

About how he has been thinking about having you like this since the moment he saw you. 

“You looked so beautiful then too,” he murmurs, as your underwear is pulled from your ankles. He briefly gazes at it, the gusset saturated with your slick, and he smiles. “Ah . . . that little song, the nervous, shy reaction to realising I was there - the sight of you all soft-eyed and adoring with Mimi . . . I’ve never wanted to have my wicked way with somebody quite so much.” 

You’re bare beneath him, Jing Yuan slowly urging you to lay down upon the coverlets of his large bed. You suppose that it’s so large so that if Mimi desires to sleep with him, she can, but it alongside Jing Yuan’s own size simply helps you feel small and delicate and breakable in a way you never have before. 

“I wanted to know,” Jing Yuan murmurs, leaning down and brushing his lips over yours, teasing and feather-light. “If you would be quite so adorable, squirming and nervous and vulnerable, if I were to have you like this.”

Your cheeks are hot. Jing Yuan has not lost a single garment of his own, but you are entirely unguarded to whatever he wants to do to you now - bare of every scrap of fabric. His gaze lingering on your body almost makes you want to draw in; to curl around the exposed flesh of your stomach, to cover the pudge. 

Jing Yuan notices something in the way you hold yourself. He smiles down at you and cups your cheek.

“Don’t hide,” he breathes. “I want to see all of you, little thing. I want you to know how beautiful I find you.”

“I--”

He takes your hand in his, shifting so he is on his knees between your legs. Gently, he guides your unsure hand to the space over his own crotch. Even through the layers of fabric, you can sense the heat of him; the stiffness pushing against his trousers.

“If I did not want you,” he says, “why would you make me so needy, hmm? Feel what you do to me.” He presses your hand a little harder against it, a soft hiss of breath escaping him, encouraging you to not simply take his word for it. Your face hot as ever, you do so; give a gentle squeeze that makes him groan. “Ah-- be careful, sweet thing. I want to take my time over you.”

He lets go of your hand, gently urging you to place it back beside you. Your fingers find purchase in his sheets. You still cannot quite believe where you are; that it’s the great Arbiter-General leaning over you, looking down at you like you’re the most beautiful thing that he’s ever seen. 

“I-it’s not fair,” you say to him, your voice dry. “I’ve lost all of my clothes, and you’re still fully dressed--”

He chuckles. This time, when he bends down, there’s a slow, deliberate quality about him. He kisses your neck again; trails wet butterfly kisses over your collarbones, lower and lower to the swell of your chest. His hands come to cup the generous weight of them, even as his mouth floats closer and closer to your nipples, tightening and stiffening in anticipation. 

“I told you,” he says, murmuring in between flicks of his tongue against the buds. “I want to take my time over you.” He looks at you, eyes half-lidded. “Ah, you short-life species . . . You never learn patience. I have all of the time in the world to give you ecstasy over and over--”

People call Jing Yuan the Dozing General. As he applies his tongue to your nipples, though - as he suckles and nips and bites, as he kisses and squeezes until you feel dizzy with the attention he’s lavishing upon you, you realise that they are misinformed. Jing Yuan is not lazy or dozing - Jing Yuan merely likes to take his time over things. 

And oh, is he enjoying taking his time over you. 

You whine under his touch. You whimper and squirm, your cheeks flooding hot, your entire body prickling with tension and pleasure as his attentions upon your nipples send shockwaves of pleasure down to your sex. You feel wetness fair seeping out of you; slick rolling down your thighs, making a mess of Jing Yuan’s bed sheets. 

“Please,” you manage to get out, dry-voiced and wanting, after what seems like an eternity. “Please, Sir--”

“Jing Yuan,” He corrects you, a smile on his face as he continues to trail wet kisses over your bare skin. “What kind of man would I be if I allowed you to call me ‘Sir’ buried knuckle-deep in you, sweet thing? We are on even ground here.”

It’s hard not to think of him as the General. You are currently barely able to string a thought together, and he hasn’t even touched the place between your thighs yet. Still - you need him to touch you somewhere else. You need his attentions to give your chest a break (your nipples are sore, stiffened points - your skin slick with the wetness of his licks and kisses) and move to somewhere else. You force out, through your desire to genuflect to his status, his given name.

“Jing Yuan--”

“Hmm?” He asks, raising his head. His lips are swollen and pink, his eyes amused. “Do you need something, little bird?”

“Please . . .” A soft exhale, trying to work through the mass of sensations and needs that your body seems to have become. Jing Yuan does not stop touching even as you try and get out your words; still gently squeezing and toying with the weight of your chests. He’s smiling, enjoying watching you desperately work through the haze of your desire. 

“Your words,” he says, a maddening smile pulling at his lips. “Tell me what you want, and I promise I’ll do all in my power to give you it.”

“Please,” you say again, your brain fuzzy. His hands move from your chest now; big palms travelling over the curve of your stomach, your hips, resting there in a way that makes you almost lose all of your senses. “I want you to touch me . . . there--”

“Where, little thing?” He’s still smiling. “Here?” A gentle squeeze to your hips. “Here?” His palm roves over your stomach, the soft pouch just above your mound. You whimper again. “Ah. Come now--”

“Between my legs,” you whisper, voice tight and breaking with desire. “Jing Yuan, please--”

“Ah,” he laughs, dips down and kisses you once on the mouth. “You need only to ask. Spread your thighs for me, lovely thing.”

You do, utterly helplessly. Jing Yuan sighs reverently, moving further down so that he can bend his head to look at you. Your face burns under his scrutiny, fearful that he will find something lacking in your body even as his eyes greedily drink you in like you are the finest wine. He breathes deeply, and you hope that your scent is not off-putting - and then, his fingers are sliding slowly and surely up the soft plush of your legs and closer and closer to the space between your thighs and your heart is beating too fast and your breath is coming in short pants.

“Calm down,” he murmurs, and you keen as his hands reach your sex; as he uses his thumbs to spread the plump lips of your labia apart and the cool air hits your slick, heated core. “Ah, darling . . .”

There is so much in those two syllables. Hunger and desire and adoration, all mixed together as one. In another world, with another person, it might have made you feel self-conscious; but Jing Yuan looks down at you as if you are the most beautiful treasure he has ever had the good fortune to witness. 

He leans down, down - and you squeak as you realise what he’s about to do, surprised, but it does not deter him at all as he lets his tongue take a slow, luxurious lick down your sex. The base of his tongue presses against your clit, the pressure on the swollen hitherto ignored nub almost enough to make you come right there and then - but then he pulls back again, chuckling.

“Mm,” he says. “If I allow myself to sample too much of something so sweet, I’m afraid I’ll lose my composure.” He moves his hand instead; lets his fingers explore the length of you, fingertips brushing against your clenching entrance and dancing about your swollen clit. There is little pressure exerted on your sex; merely Jing Yuan’s slow, considering explorations. You clench your own fingers into the bedsheets in order to stop yourself writhing. 

“Lovely,” Jing Yuan says to himself. “Ah, you feel like velvet. Such a pretty thing; so perfectly made . . .” He sighs, even as the tip of his longest finger nudges against your entrance. Your hips move of their own accord, trying to suck him in and get him to put his finger inside of you, but he clicks his tongue with an amused chide; “Impatient,” he says. “Ah. You’re lucky you’re so irresistible--”

He slides his finger inside of you, slowly but certainly. You sigh, your lashes fluttering closed - his touch stokes all of those fires inside of you, of course, burning to fever pitch . . . but the sensation of finally having something inside of you has also made you realise how empty you felt before. It feels good, to have something to fill that pulsing space. Jing Yuan watches with rapt attention as he slides his finger half out, and then half inside of you again. 

You have had some experience, but you have never felt the way Jing Yuan makes you feel. 

“You take it so well,” he murmurs. “Look how pretty you look with something inside of you. Ah. I could spend hours doing this to you . . .”

You make a soft whine of discontent at the idea and he laughs, clicking his tongue even as he’s letting his second finger dance at your entrance ready to join the first. 

“No, even I do not have the patience for that right now,” he agrees. “Not when you feel so wonderful, little bird. Not when I cannot wait to see you come apart.”

The second finger; a slight scissoring motion as it enters you, getting you used to the size and stretch of two of his digits instead of one. The heel of his palm presses against your clit with every wet pump, sending frissons of pleasure to the tips of your toes; but he still does not rush himself. He still lets himself enjoy the feel of you clinging tightly to his fingers, the sight of them disappearing inside of your slick, drooling hole. 

“Does that feel good?” He asks you, deciding you haven’t spoken recently enough. “Tell me if you want me to go faster, sweet thing--”

“Please,” you say, ragged, breathing heavy. You can feel a tight hot ball of tension between your legs, rolling in your gut, threatening to overwhelm you. “Please, Jing Yuan, faster--”

“Very well,” he smiles, and he crooks his fingers inside of you to find your g-spot - causing your back to arch involuntarily, a whine of pure enjoyment to loose itself from your throat. At the same time, his thumb moves to play with your clit - to toy with the bud, to roll and to circle and to press against the swollen bundle of nerves. What already felt like electric shocks of pleasure move on; instead, they are lightning bolts, ricocheting up your spine and stopping just short of striking earth. 

“You’re close,” Jing Yuan says, and you are staring at his mouth. How a strand of your own gossamer-thin arousal is still glimmering at the corner. How his eyes are so focused on you that his gaze feels almost scorching. “That’s right. Let go for me, sweet thing--”

His soft entreaty pushes you over the edge, and the lightning strikes home as your peak hits you with all of the force of a storm.

His fingers work you over the crest of your orgasm, the two inside of you constantly rubbing against that spongy spot that makes you see stars, the big pad of his thumb roughly sliding over your twitching clit in circles and lines. As the waves come to a head and then slowly begin to dissipate, he slows his attentions too - until the slow strokes of his fingers fade out into nothing. He does not seem to care that you’ve soaked his fingers and his palm and the fabric he wears and his bed too - merely keeps looking at you, smiling, like you’re giving him the most precious gift imaginable. 

“Good,” he praises you. “But . . . I’m afraid that just that taste from earlier wasn’t quite enough, little bird. May I use my mouth on you?”

Who would ever believe this? Who would ever imagine little old you, on the Arbiter-General’s bed, as he looks at you and waits for your permission to fuck you with his tongue? You feel rather tongue-tied yourself - but you recall what Jing Yuan said earlier, about using your words.

“Please do,” you say, aloud, and Jing Yuan gives you that same smile that makes you feel like the only being in the whole universe.

“Thank you,” he says, sounding entirely like he means it - like it’s truly an honour for him to be able to serve you on his hands and knees. And then he has moved his body further down the bed, elegant and graceful and leonine, and his mouth is heading towards the slick-soaked place between your legs and his tongue is glinting wet in the bedroom and then he is on you, licking at you, hungrily devouring your sex like it is his last meal before an execution. 

You’re still oversensitive from his earlier attentions, and the sensation of the wet muscle of his tongue working over you almost pushed you into another early orgasm. Your fingers move from where they’re still clenched into the bedsheets to cling to his hair instead, pulling on the silvery pale strands as your back arches and you blindly cant your hips forward towards his mouth.

He groans aloud at having his hair pulled, and the groan sends vibrations all through your body that make you feel weak at the knees, your toes curling. His tongue continues its assault; back and forth, back and forth. Wetness drools from your sex and onto his face; you can feel the heat in his cheeks, the fan of his lashes against your bare skin. 

He twirls his tongue about your entrance, teasingly dips into it, as the channel of your sex constricts and pulses in an attempt to pull him even further in. He groans as your hands knit further into his hair, fucking you for a moment with his tongue before he seems to try and work his face further into your sex. 

It’s like he wants to engulf you; soft noises of pleasure keep falling from his mouth, interspersed with rumbling groans. He’s almost gyrating against the bed, you realise, your cheeks hot - grinding his crotch into the mattress as if he’s desperate to have some attention of his own. 

That sight makes your mouth go dry; all of the moisture in your body instead congregating between your legs to make a new home in Jing Yuan’s mouth and smeared across his cheeks. 

His tongue flicks across your clit and the noise that escapes you is almost animal; Jing Yuan says something, perhaps, or at least makes some kind of muffled noise from his position happily buried in your sex before he shifts his tongue just so and his mouth fastens around your clit fully. 

Sucking and licking, suckling upon the pearl like his life depends upon it; tongue occasionally just brushing under the hood, where you’re most engorged, and you can do nothing but cling onto his hair and pull at it as the most intense orgasm you’ve ever felt rips through your body.

You cannot put into words the way that you feel as Jing Yuan devours you. Your entire body feels, suddenly, as if it weighs nothing; as if sparkling lights suffuse your fingers and toes and you float into the stratosphere, white lights dancing behind your eyes in time with your whine (a whine so loud you’re sure everybody on the Luofu must have heard of it).

You come down, eventually, to the sound of Jing Yuan panting. The wet noise as his mouth separates from you, the pleased grin on his face as he uses his thumb to wipe his mouth of some of your slick. It’s a pointless endeavour, really; his face is so saturated with it you’re not sure if he’ll ever be dry again. 

“Darling,” Jing Yuan repeats, looking you in the eye, smiling like the cat who has gotten the cream. “You have no idea how much I enjoyed doing that.”

The words almost make you go over shy - but you push that to the side. There is no point, you decide, being nervous of a man who has now known you so intimately.

“In which case,” you say, breathlessly - your voice is still a little scratchy from the moaning and whimpering you’ve been doing - “Will you let me make you feel just as good?”

He looks at you for a moment, before he throws his head back and laughs.

“Why,” he says. “Of course I will.”

“Come,” Jing Yuan is murmuring, and he is finally removing his own clothes. Armour drops to the side of him, shirts unbuttoned and fastenings unhooked. His body is muscular and dotted with scars, befitting his status as a military hero; a light dusting of pale hair upon his proud chest, down into a trail to the vee of his hips. You swallow, your throat dry, trying to blink back the waves of pleasure that are still lapping gently at your shores in order to concentrate on what’s going on. His face is still wet with your slick, his hair damp with sweat and falling in messy strands over his flushed face. He looks well-fucked even without you touching him back, as if merely getting you to feel good was enough for him. 

His cock. It’s stiff against the hard planes of his abdomen, a thick, pretty specimen bubbling with precome at the flushed tip. He sighs, running his hand over it once, and your mouth practically waters at the way it twitches. It looks stiff and hard enough that you wonder if it hurts, to want so badly - but Jing Yuan looks at you and smiles, as he rearranges himself on the bed. Pillows are moved, and before you know it he has sat against them, propping himself up like an emperor upon his throne. His cock stands proud and wanting, and he gently pats his thigh as if he is calling an obedient animal to him.

“I don’t wish to hurt you, little bird,” he says - and again, you think of how it feels to be smaller than him. How he does not care about the flesh that spills from straps or curves over fabric. How he looks at you like the most beautiful thing in the world and calls you ‘delicate’ and ‘little’ and ‘precious’ and means them. “Come. Take a seat. As slowly as you need.” 

Despite how he has seen you so intimately, you cannot help but feel a little flare of fear as you approach him. He smiles, entirely at peace and at comfort with you going at your own pace, and you could kiss him for it.

“Touch,” he murmurs. “Don’t be afraid.”

With trembling fingers, you reach out; let your hand encircle his cock, get used to the width and the feel of him and imagine it inside of you. He pulses beneath your palm, a soft hum of pleasure falling from the back of his throat as you give it a cursory pump. He curses softly as your thumb rubs across the slit of his cockhead, the bubble of precome wetting the pad.

“Touch,” he says, with a smile. “But don’t get me too excited, little bird. I don’t want to come anywhere but inside of you.”

Your cheeks go hot at his easy profession; your tongue darts out to trace your lower lip. You’re used to the feel of him now; the heat that seems to stir beneath the surface of his cock, the veins that marble the side of his shaft, the ruddy pink of the head. Taking a deep breath, you spread your legs and let yourself readjust, straddling him. His own hands come up to cling to your thighs, sinking into the soft flesh there.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, as if in devotion, as if praying to an Aeon. “You’re beautiful.” 

His cockhead brushes your clit as you fit it snugly between the lips of your sex; you shift your hips, until it catches against your entrance and your eyes flutter closed. 

Your eyes are still closed as you begin to lower yourself down, so you feel every inch of him as he makes his home within your body. Your eyes being closed, of course, you miss the softness and the warmth that fills Jing Yuan’s gaze as he looks at you. The brief moment of sadness that passes behind his eyes as he remembers that you are a short-life species; that he cannot have all of the time in the world with you, to teach you pleasures the likes of which you do not yet know. The sadness he cannot spend his lifetime learning you by heart--

But you hear the soft murmur of your name, as he bottoms out inside of you and you take a moment to simply rest there with him buried as deep inside of you as he can go. You feel the way one of his hands slides up your spine to grip the back of your head and to pull you into a kiss as deep and adoring as anything else he’s done so far. 

Teeth and tongue and lips, whimpering and gasping into one another’s mouths until you do not know where he ends and where you begin, Jing Yuan somehow manages to murmur;

“Move whenever you want, sweet thing. Set the pace.” 

It does not, in the end, feel like either of those things happen. Instead, it feels as though the universe sets the pace for you; as if you simply know when to begin to move your hips, how to bend and angle yourself just so in order for Jing Yuan to hit all of the most sensitive spots inside of you.

One hand remains on your hip, helping you with the pace - the other remains on the back of your head, to allow him to kiss, as if he doesn’t want to let his mouth separate from yours for any longer than necessary. It’s a romance that you didn’t expect of the General, but it’s hardly one you’re going to complain about when his mouth feels so good and the constant nibbling of your lip and curl of his tongue against yours is distracting you from the mounting pleasure already starting to coalesce inside of you. 

There is nothing in the world for a while except Jing Yuan’s body underneath yours. His hands, his mouth, the feel of his shoulders beneath your own palms where you cling to him for leverage. You sweat and breathe and kiss and fuck as one, until the call inside of you becomes too much to ignore.

“I’m--” You pull back from the kiss to whisper, voice hoarse. “I’m going to--”

“Shh,” Jing Yuan says, kissing again. His own voice climbs in pitch, and you hear a shiver and a shudder in his syllables that makes you aware that he, too, is not far from his own release. His teeth nip at your lower lip as he half-begs into your mouth. “Please. Come again for me, sweet thing, little bird, pretty-- let me feel you--”

Your third orgasm crashes over you, your sex spasming around his cock, tight and hot and pulsing - and Jing Yuan groans into your mouth as you push him over the edge too, and you feel his cock spasm in turn. Ropes of hot release shoot inside of you; you had thought, earlier, that having his cock buried all the way inside of you was the extent of how full you could feel. 

You were wrong.

You bite at his lips, whining and half-sobbing, as the please encompasses you like a cloak of warmth. Jing Yuan groans in return, his hips making needy fast circles to chase the dregs of his own release. It feels right, for the two of you to peak together like this. For the two of you to chase every last drop of pleasure, entwined together and sweating and kissing and as close to one being as it’s possible to be.

Eventually, your breathing slows. Eventually, the kiss turns tender instead of frenzied. Eventually, you pull back from Jing Yuan with a foolish smile on your face and your cheeks hot and tears of pleasure (that you hadn’t even realised you had cried) rolling down your face like sparkling diamonds.

You stare at each other, the enormity of what has happened washing over you. Jing Yuan’s face is calm and serene, but his eyes are bright still, his cheeks still high in colour. 

You fear for a moment that he is about to dismiss you; that what the two of you just shared will mean nothing now that it is over. You fear that you’re about to go back to what you were before; a colleague and an employer, a General and a subordinate. But then, Jing Yuan lets out a deep rumbling sigh, pleased, as he collapses back upon the pillows. He opens his arms for you to dismount, his cock sliding slippery and wet outside of you, his come trickling down your thighs.

“Come here,” he murmurs, sounding tired but terribly pleased; the cat who has gotten the cream. He’s like a lion once more. You are helpless to resist his indication that he wants to cuddle, and so you let him pull you into his arms, let him manoeuvre you to lay against his chest until you can hear his heart beating. His fingers stroke your head, like you’re a sweet-tempered animal yourself. “Mmm. Rest with me, little bird.”

You let yourself. Your body is aching and sore from the orgasms and the sex, and you let your eyes drift closed, lulled by the comforting rhythm of his breathing. 

A sleepy kiss is dropped onto the crown of your head.

“Enjoy it whilst you can,” Jing Yuan hums. “Before we start having to make room for Mimi every night.”

#writing #not sfw text #jing yuan smut #jing yuan x reader #chubby reader posting #commissioned work #hsr x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #hsr posting

[maeofthenoldor]

The mithril shirt makes me so emotional. The way that Thorin gave it to Bilbo out of an act of love, even when he was deep in the gold sickness. It represented what they could have had. When Thorin and his nephews die, Bilbo leaves with the shirt, the only reminder he has of him. He then donates it to the Mathom-house, because he cannot bear to see it, again, a reminder of the terrible ending of his journey. When he departs from the shire, he brings with him the mithril shirt for his last adventure. 

He never even knows how valuable the armour truly is, how it was worth. And the FACT that Gandalf never told him probably leans to the idea that it would only remind Bilbo of what happened on the adventure. (We see how Bilbo's way of grief is denial, he never tells the true story, only child-versions of it so it doesn't feel real). Many years later, he gives it to Frodo, in hopes it would protect him, in a way that it didn't for him. Bilbo sent him off to a perilous journey and prayed that his wouldn't end in tragedy like his. 

 But It saves Frodo's life, and god the PARRELS of Thorin failing to save his nephews, but saved Bilbo's nephew.  In the the Tower of Cirith Ungol, the mithril shirt causes the orcs to fight over it. Remember, it was borne out of an act love, and orcs hate everything about light, so it was almost like an act of vengeance that they only saw the value in the mithril, and not how Bilbo saw it (love) which causes them to kill each other. This allows Sam to save Frodo and THIS is the most emotional scene about the mithril shirt for me. Thorin and Bilbo's story ended but it allows Sam and Frodo's to continue.

The mouth of Sauron takes possession of it, and mocks the remaining fellowship. Imagine how Gandalf must have felt in that moment. He knew what it meant already. How he would have to tell Bilbo that the mithril shirt, the one that already invoked his mourning now held the only thing left of his beloved nephew, who he loved like a son. The regret he must feel, for the both of them. No wonder in his wrath, he retrieves the mithril shirt.

Of course, Frodo is alive and the chain mail is returned to his possession. By then the shirt has saved his life twice. I think that Bilbo's thoughts on the shirt shifted, no longer a reminder of what he lost, but what has been saved. Now we dont know if it goes to Valinor with them, I’d like to think it did, but another idea is that Frodo gave it to Sam. It goes in full circle like Thorin giving it Bilbo then Frodo giving it to someone he loved.

it becomes a family heirloom and is passed down through the family, through the Gamgee's descendants. A final act of love.

Maybe I look to much into things and this is just a string of ramblings. Maybe this was a pointless analysis with a clear bias to my favorite ships then an actual true interpretation to the text. Either way, the mithril shirt makes me feel a sense of loss, love and hope. There is something more then a piece of armour that saved the protagonist. One cannot deny how valuable it is to the story.

#bagginshield #samfro #lotr #the hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #bilbo baggins #lotr meta

[candychasse]

Yandere Sim Male Rivals dealing with the, 'me, my s/o, and their 500 dollar life sized mareep plush' meme being their reality.

Characters: Osano, Amao, Kizano, Oko, Aso, Osoro, Megamo.

Contains: g/n reader, not proofread, fluff. At least five of the guys having beef with a plushie.

Osano.

"What the hell is that."

^ exact words he said when you came home with the adorable pokemon plush.

Despite his harsh words he does think the sheep is cute.

He will complain, like a lot.

"Move the damn sheep." He says loudly as he tries to get comfy in bed. You groaned slightly and moved the sheep to the other side of you. "Thank-" he stops himself as you turn your back to him! "Y/n." He calls out. You turn again to face him, bringing the Mareep to face him too. "Yes?" You ask, a grin slowly growing. "...whatever." He says turning his back to you, 'two can play that game' he thinks.

Two actually cannot play that game. In the morning you found him turned facing you, holding the Mareep tight. You snicker to yourself as you take a photo of him.

Amao.

He's not particularly the biggest fan of mareep, however, he does understand how much the plush means to you.

I'd imagine he'd try to convince you to move mareep somewhere else like, "Why don't we move Mareep to the couch so they can watch TV?"

^when that obviously didn't work. He accepted his fate.

You had just wrapped up closing the bakery for the day and headed upstairs in order to destress and enjoy the rest of your evening. You headed into your room to pick out pajamas, when you saw it. Amao carefully making the bed and placing Mareep front and center on the freshly made bed. "There!" He said with a smile. Your heart melted and you practically tackled him in a bear hug for his kindness toward Mareep.

Kizano.

He actually hates the sheep. No secret love of it or anything.

He thinks mareep is ugly and takes up too much space in bed.

It's the dead of night, you're sleeping peacefully in bed curled up with mareep. Kizano had just got home from a late night film shoot. He did his skincare routine and prepared for bed, but as he gets into bed he feels an unfamiliar lump in the bed. He tries not to make much noise as he pulls back the blanket and investigates the lump....

It's an ugly sheep?

He blinks in confusion for a few moments then simply casts the sheep aside to the ground, adjusting his body to replace the sheep's former place in your arms.

In the morning he pretends not to know of the plushie when you point out it must've fallen in the middle of the night.

"What plushie, my love?"

Bs.

Oko.

I think he'd just get depressed.

Like, I think he'd get self conscious. He really does like snuggling with you late at night, it's even better than summoning demons to him! But now all you do is snuggle Mareep.

Is he not good enough?

You only find out about his feelings towards Mareep during a late night while your a cleaning a stain off her.

"Hey.. Why don't we leave Mareep somewhere else, because she's dirty..?" Oko asks cautiously. You giggle slightly at the thought. "Nah! I'm sure I can clean her up enough!" You replied, dead set on removing the stain. "...great..." He whispers. "What was that?" You question. "I mean great! It'd be a shame if you couldn't cuddle them." He elaborates, but you know Oko, and you know when he's lying, so you decide to toy with him a little. "Well, if I couldn't get the stain off I'd just cuddle with you probably." You say 'off handedly'. "..oh so now you'd want to cuddle with me...." He mutters under his breath. You gasp finally putting the pieces together. "You're jealous of Mareep!" You exclaim loudly. His face turns flush from embarrassment, "..no." He replies turning his face away from you. A common tell of him hiding his feelings. "Well, if you are jealous of Mareep, which I know you're not, I would want you to know that I only got Mareep because I got lonely those nights you would run off to summon demons..." You confess, awkwardly looking down. "Oh, well, uhm, I'm not going out tonight.." He says and your eyes sparkle a little. "Get over here!" You say with a small smile, pushing Mareep to the side and holding Oko closely.

Aso.

LOVES THE DANG MAREEP.

He does however unintentionally abuses the Mareep. Think accidentally sitting on it, using it as a table, etc.

he says sorry to the Mareep everytime.

Throws it in the air really high that it hits the ceiling, BUT he does catch it!

It was a rare occasion where Mareep was chilling on the end of the bed while you and Aso cuddled. Right as the familiar embrace of sleep enveloped you both, a familiar thud was heard. "Aso, Aso, you kicked Mareep off the bed." You said while rubbing his shoulder to try and awaken him. He groaned "huh? Oh shoot! My bad..." He whispered, getting out of the warm bed and picking Mareep up from the floor. You giggled slight at the sight of him placing it carefully onto the bed and returning to your side.

Osoro.

Intentional Mareep abuse. Have you seen those tik toks of squishmallow girls' boyfriends beating up their squishmallows instead of just like, hugging it? Yeah that's Osoro.

HE DOESN'T HATE MAREEP THOUGH! Shockingly (heh get it) he likes the plushie.

"Osaro you're so mean! Mareep didn't do nothin' to you!" You exclaim with a gasp as he absentmindedly punches the mareep. "He's an inanimate object Y/n, he can't feel pain." Osaro replies while punching the Mareep again.

But like Kizana he is not above tossing it a side in order to cuddle with you.

Unlike Kizana he wouldn't put it on the floor but just to the side opposite of the one you're laying on.

Osaro tossed and turned in the middle of the night, to say he had a rough dream would be the least to say. He tries to move closer to you but is blocked by the giant Mareep. Grunting he grabs the Mareep and tosses it to where he was formerly laying. He wraps his arms around your waist and sighs. Now that he's in your arms his dreams seem nicer, even if that does sound silly.

Megamo.

He's a busy guy, being the heir to a mega corp, having his own passions, it's a lot on his plate. So most days he come home by the time you're already asleep.

I doubt he noticed you owned a life sized Mareep until one day...

Once again, we begin our story in the dead of night, you're tucked in, nice and warm. Meanwhile Megamo had just came in from the frigid rainstorm outside. He wasn't all too wet so he just changed clothes and headed to bed. Little did he know, the lump he was cuddling was not you.

In the morning, Megamo was face to face with a sheep's face instead of yours. To say he was a little upset would be an understatement.

He tries bribery, offering you any normal sized plushie you want.

He tries threatening saying that since you're cuddling Mareep you can't cuddle with him.

He even thinks about just throwing it out. But he knows how much it means to you. So he just silently moves it to the couch everyday, and every evening it's back on *his spot* on the bed.

He despises that damn sheep.

#i dont support yandev #yandere simulator #yandere simulator x reader #male rivals #male rivals x reader #osano najime #oko ruto #amao odayaka #kizano sunobu #osoro shidesu #megamo saikou #aso rito #aso x reader #megamo x reader #osoro x reader #kizano x reader #amao x reader #oko x reader #osano x reader #x reader #g/n reader #mareep #megamo goes through the seven stages of grief bc of a mareep. #not proofread

[emmitaaa4]

Azriel, you beautiful, complex man.

Anyone else ever lay awake at night thinking that it’s not that Azriel wants a mate, any mate: it’s that he believes only a mate—only someone who was meant to love him—could love him ?

Do you ever think about the fact that Azriel’s visceral response to Elain looking up at him with trust & hope, was to believe that there was no possible way she could ever look at him that way if she knew the things he’d done and been forced to do? If she knew that his scarred hands mirrored his marred soul? Yet we know Elain has never balked from him and has only ever seen beauty in his scars; in who he is.

Do you ever think about the way Azriel feels this need to prove himself useful—which is why he so clings to his titles and his job—for if he is needed, he cannot be abandoned?

Do you ever want to shout from the rooftops that Azriel is so much more than this « darkness » he cloaks himself in, and that he doesnt need someone to heal him & « handle his darkness ». Healing, for Az, does not mean fighting & ‘killing’ his demons, it means being at peace with himself & learning to live with them without needing to mask who he is. He needs to begin to believe that there is darkness and light in him to love.

Does your heart ever squeeze when you understand that allowing yourself to be loved, first means bearing yourself to another & willingly risking being hurt ? It requires an unparalleled level of emotional vulnerability from him. You ever realize that Az uses his shadows as an emotional crutch, that he so carefully masks his expressions, yet it takes but a look for Elain to read him? He, who finds his strength & perseverance in hope, found his match in her gentle, hopeful heart—and he physically has to keep himself apart from her, only allowing himself to act upon his feelings when she made the first move. Entitlement where?

Truly, how has the fandom decided that Azriel, who follows the sound of Elain’s laugh, who listened to her when no one else would & didnt let her be misunderstood, who trusted her with TT so she could protect herself & those she loves, who stayed up past 3am as she spoke of her passions, who made everyone wait for her to eat, who chooses to sun his wings next to her in peaceful, quiet company… is an entitled, flaky male that sees her as nothing but a sexual distraction?

Do people really not realize what it means for him to question the Cauldron, question the very core of his beliefs?

1) It is not his feelings he questions:

His mind is tortured by thoughts of Elain, so much so he can’t sleep;

They do not need words to communicate, indicating familiarity & understanding;

He IS showing more than “just lust”, it’s clear from their interactions since the first trilogy. There was something there before Nessian happened.

2) Not only does he believe himself unworthy of her, but that sentiment is reinforced by the fact that the Cauldron “broke the pattern”. I do not see the entitled man the fandom speaks of. What he is is a deeply traumatized man, who was abused as a boy by the people who were meant to love him & protect him.

The popular thought that Az would fold for a mate, regardless of who she (or he) is, is truthfully not attractive, not to mention that it implies he’d only risk love for a “guaranteed” happy ending.

=> “Az wants a mate therefore give him a mate” is counterproductive to his growth (tho to clarify, i am not saying he should not have a mate, just that there is a way the story should be told.)

We have seen him plan for snowball fights & tactical missions, yet never for his future: not with Elain—again, he never even actually allowed himself to consider pursuing her—but not in any other sense either:

Children? he tells Cass he doesnt know if he wants any—has he ever let himself imagine having a child? A house ? he has no place to himself. Remember that even after 500 years of existence, Az says he still does not know where he belongs?

Could you not imagine two people who make themselves what others need them to be, being brave enough to bare those hidden, repressed parts of themselves to the other. Can you not see the growth it would require from both of them should they give themselves a chance? To, on one hand, choose the other despite what is expected & the problems it would cause, and on the other, be vulnerable enough to receive that love & believe yourself worthy of it.

Love doesnt care for convenience. It could all go to hell but at least they’d know they had tried, and i do not see how that could ever make for a boring, 2 dimensional story.

#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #pro azriel #elain archeron #i love him and her and them #elriel #pro elain #azriel bonus chapter #acosf bonus chapter #acosf #acotar #azriel acotar

[pinkmirth]

⸻ 𝐸𝒳𝒞ℰ𝒫𝒯ℐ𝒪𝒩!

𝒮𝒴𝒩𝒪𝒫𝒮ℐ𝒮 ⨾ isaac’s contempt for humans is unshakeable. though maybe, just maybe, you can convince him there are still a few good souls left— that you could be of the utmost value to him.

𝒞𝒪𝒩𝒯𝒜ℐ𝒩𝒮 ⨾ ( 1k+ words of . . . ) isaac laforeze x fem!reader (black coded), canon divergent, set in the 15th century (1400s), nsfw/smut, porn with no plot whatsoever, unestablished relationship, hook-up, size difference, rough sex, mating press, gagging using a shirt, isaac is mean, explicit language, lowercase intended, not proofread, minors shoo!

𝑀𝒴 𝐿𝒪𝒱ℰ-𝒩𝒪𝒯ℰ! ⨾ this man has been growing on me, i cannot lie . . . he’s vengeful and cruel and that makes him sexy in my warped little mind >< to all the isaac fuckers, please enjoy! ❤︎

what the fuck is he doing? 

isaac has no clue. all he’s sure of is that right now, in this very moment, you lie beneath him. not in the way you’d imagine either, such as pinning you down and forcing that you accept defeat; but with clothes ridden and a gaze overtaken by lust. it isn’t only you that’s succumbed; it pains him to admit that he wants this too. 

to put it simply, the man’s bedding you— a malicious man who reserves compassion for no one, not even himself. isaac thought he had no appetite for these kinds of things. it’s much closer in his nature to pierce a forging dagger clean through one’s chest, send their spirit on a trip down to hell, and conjure up a better being out of them. he’s even considered turning you. but perhaps, he likes you just as you are. your devotion to him is admirable. he can tell that you love him— it’s terribly obvious, with how eager you are to please. as for whatever’s happening between you and himself, he isn't sure if he could even call it lovely.

it’s more of a rendezvous, as he’d like to put it. you’re there when he needs you to be, so sweet and forever pliant, and he takes full advantage of that. he isn’t fond of your kind, but you intrigue him, so he’ll give you a chance. if humans are good for anything, it can be to gratify him in the very least. 

you’re molded into the position that isaac has shaped you to take; at your back, legs coiling around his waist, with your dainty hands flailing in search of his firm biceps to grab onto. you like to think that you can handle the man, and you’ve surely slept with him quite enough times to accustom yourself. it’s just that tonight, he’s going so fast. he’s had a sour day, you bet. now he’s here at your chamber to take it out on you; not that you mind it. desperation coming from the likes of isaac laforeze is enough to get yourself off of. 

“mmph— forgemaster!” you whine out to him. he couldn’t care less.

“quiet.” isaac hushes you, bringing a large veined hand coming to press at your throat. he’s big, imposing, mean. you should hate him, considering that he likely, no, undoubtedly hates you . . . but his harsh pounding makes your brain melt away.

“don’t be a nuisance, just take me. it’s the only thing you can do right, after all.” 

he might be currently spitting venom your way, but you think he’s actually growing more of a liking to you. in truth, you might just have hopeful thinking (including an unhealthy attachment to the man.) before, isaac would only ever take you from behind so he didn’t have to see your ‘disgustingly shameless expressions,’ as he’d call them. he couldn't bring himself to bear witness to your glossy eyes. now, he’s got you laid on your back, so he can unleash the nastiest set of words straight into your face. 

apart from the bedroom, he isn’t necessarily rude. isaac speaks with poise, his accented tone forever calm. the forgemaster is nothing but well-mannered. yet, hatred still remains. you see it quite clearly— a fiery contempt that his eyes cannot hide. 

there’s a narrow bead of sweat that travels down the side of isaac’s face, his mahogany-red eyes focused on your core as he wrecks you, spearing you open time and time again. the man peers down at you with what you could only consider to be disdain, and such a look shouldn’t excite you so. it’s as if the wet squelch of your pussy is too vulgar, too loud for him. he’s ramming in with reckless abandon, and your cunt’s making a nasty mess all over his smooth, clean-shaven pelvis. 

he’s so fucking rough, uncaring of whether or not it hurts. his thighs are flexing along with his rugged thrusts, enveloping you within the security of his deep brown frame. between your body and his, you slip a hand down to rub at your neglected clit, since you know he isn’t about to go out of his way and do it for you.

you mewl with every jolt of his hips, and he’s had enough of the sound. isaac stops, takes hold of both your legs, presses them down to your chest, and keeps them there with his own weight. in this air-thinning position, he slips back into your heat. this time, with more control. his reign on you is stronger, and his thick cock is going so much deeper. 

“by god, just— fucking shut up.” his otherwise handsome face is twisted into a shadowed scowl. oh, how humans irritate him so. he prays that the lord can forgive him for his spiteful heart. “be good, just this once . . . don’t allow my patience to wear thin, woman.” 

not wanting to upset him further, you take your bunched-up top from your chest and bite into it, drooling over the fabric to keep yourself quiet. isaac almost chuckles. it’s simply air passing through his nose, but a laugh nonetheless. 

“you look better that way.” he grunts, bruising your soft-brown flesh with his grip, “when you’re being muzzled.”

you begin squeezing him rapidly, cunt fluttering in a way that tells him you’re closer than ever. you moan into the spit-riddled cloth and shut your eyes hard once you come all over him, leaving the both of you with sticky essence dripping down to your thighs. isaac’s climax soon nears, a lowly ‘fuck,’ escaping him. he pulls out instantly, allowing his cum drop onto your heaving tummy in hot spurts. the last thing he wants is to bring another poor soul to a world as cruel as this one. 

all is done, the highs pass, and your eyes meet. his own, colored similarly to the finest redwood, have softened just by a little. maybe you’ve fucked away some of his contempt. isaac brings a hand to his tattooed forehead, and wipes off his sweat with the back of it. 

“it’s reassuring to know that humans are useful for something.” 

© 𝑃ℐ𝒩𝒦ℳℐℛ𝒯ℋ! — all rights reserved! do not steal, plagiarize or repost any of my works. please and thank you! ౨ৎ

#𝜗𝜚 ⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𝐵ℐℒℒℰ𝒯 𝒟𝒪𝒰𝒳.ᐟ #꒰ঌ my writing.ᐟ ໒꒱ #꒰ঌ castlevania.ᐟ ໒꒱ #ৎ୭ ⨾ isaac.ᐟ #isaac forgemaster #isaac castlevania #isaac laforeze #castlevania netflix #castlevania #castlevania x reader #castlevania x you #castlevania smut #anime smut #fem reader #fem reader smut #smut #anime x reader #anime x black!reader #black reader smut #castlevania x black reader

[cassius-the-kitten]

General Headcanons (DDADDS x Reader)

warnings: just a lot of x reader fluff, also swearing in some sections, also some alcohol mentions

-

Pairings: Brian Harding x Reader, Hugo Vega x Reader, Robert Small x Reader, Mat Sella x Reader

Brian Harding

Brian loves to cook, even if he’s better at grilling. he will cook you bacon, eggs, sausage, and pancakes every morning. it’s honestly a miracle that nothing ends up burnt, because he does it all at once like some sort of multitasking magician.

he may be a general contractor, but he’s got Very clumsy hands. nothing in his house is glass or ceramic because he WILL drop it. it’s all plastic cups from here on out.

thankfully he is very, very careful and extra mindful when he cooks. to the point where you shouldn’t have a conversation with him during his cooking because he will have a hard time keeping up with you due to the 5 million other things he is doing.

his dadbook profile isn’t wrong. he thinks a lot about how much smarter Daisy is than him.

but in Daisy’s defense, Brian is a himbo, through and through.

he cannot get any social cues ever and is absolutely clueless when someone obviously has a crush on him. he’s the type of guy to think you’re just being nice to him when you’re flirting.

he genuinely just likes having friendly competition, he has no clue why the dadsona seems to hate him and is getting so frustrated with losing.

and Brian’s autistic, which actually makes a lot of sense because of him missing every social cue ever.

over half of his wardrobe is button-up shirts and cargo shorts of various colors. he actually wearing socks and sandals… and even crocs. thankfully he sometimes has the decency to wear normal sneakers or even boots outside.

if you get him a button-up shirt, he will love you forever. he basically collects them.

believe it or not, but Brian was born in Florida. his parents just decided to move up to Massachusetts when he was little. his parents have since then moved back down to Florida for retirement. he and Daisy visit them sometimes for the winter holidays. one time they made the mistake of visiting during summer, and have never visited Florida in summertime since then due to the heat.

he is a very warm man. not just when he’s sleeping. he is a furnace. if you hug him for long enough, you will be sweaty by the time you come out of it.

his love language is physical affection. he just loves to pick up people and hug them and cuddle them whenever it’s socially acceptable to do so.

he’s like a dog sometimes. if you have a job and you get home after he does, he will be ECSTATIC and like Maxwell, will immediately come up to the door to greet you with kisses and hugs.

and like a grizzly bear, he’s pretty fond of fish. Brian just prefers whitefish like cod or haddock to salmon, but he’ll eat pretty much anything you put in front of him.

unless it’s spicy. Brian cannot handle any spice hotter than black pepper. on good days he can eat some semi-spicy chicken wings and enjoy himself, but only if he has a lot of water and coleslaw on hand to eat with it.

Brian actually likes piña coladas. it’s his favorite alcoholic drink besides beer, and it’s usually his second choice if he’s got a sweet tooth that day. but he doesn’t drink that often, actually.

honestly, he’s probably gone to Margaritaville with Joseph at one point. Joseph kinda meant it as a date but Brian had no clue and was so oblivious that Joseph thought that it was on-purpose in a passive-aggressive manner.

Hugo Vega

Hugo is autistic and his special interests are wrestling and literature. Ernest is also autistic. i will die on this hill

sometimes he writes a bit of poetry in his spare time, though he’s quite insecure about it so he has never shown it to anyone. a lot of them have allusions to other pieces of literature or wrestling.

the poetry writing is funny because i imagine that when he was first put into a poetry course in highschool he probably Hated it because he just couldn’t pick up much on the metaphors and the tone of the piece (just like me fr). but later in his life Hugo definitely gained an appreciation for poetry and started to write a bit of it after the divorce just to deal with his feelings.

he’s always willing to give constructive criticism. to anyone. sometimes he comes off as judgemental when he does that and he doesn’t realize it

Hugo speaks Spanish fluently, and knows a little bit of French. he actually grew up speaking Spanish and English in a bilingual household because his parents immigrated from Mexico.

he also celebrates Día de los Muertos and has since he was a child. it is his favorite holiday due to the symbolism, even if he ends up just celebrating it from home with Ernest. it’s actually one of the few things they still bond over — just decorating, making food, and Hugo going over some family history with Ernest.

this man works hard to keep his house as clean as possible. and he works hard to try and get Ernest to clean his room, which works maybe half the time. sometimes Hugo caves in and can’t help but to go in there and clean it himself if it gets bad and Ernest is out. he makes sure to try and put everything back where he found it, unless it was on the floor. then he puts it on Ernest’s bed.

Hugo isn’t much of a movie or TV show type of guy, unless they are an adaptation of a book. then he reads the book and then watches the movie\TV show. then he writes a review of it to get his thoughts and feelings out, and he Will send it to you if he trusts you enough. but only if you’ve watched it. Hugo believes heavily in the sanctity of not giving out unwanted spoilers.

he’s got a guilty pleasure of watching bad horror movies. this is canon. go replay Hugo’s second date and you will find this piece of dialogue which i hold near to my heart.

he can’t really handle good horror movies. horror movies that are good at scaring people, anyway.

he could probably crush a watermelon between his thighs. or his arms. if you ask him if he could crush a watermelon, he would be Very confused because he doesn’t know the trend(? was it a trend or did i imagine that???)

“…what? Why would I want to crush a watermelon between my thighs? I don’t like watermelon. Neither does Ernest. Honestly, I don’t know the last time he’s ever willingly eaten a vegetable or fruit.”

but then he’d be very surprised if you showed him videos of people doing it. he’d just stare with interest, impressed by the muscles.

if you manage to do it, he’ll actually start blushing so hard that he has to try and hide his face.

speaking of, he actually does try to hide his face a lot when he realizes he’s blushing. it’s very cute because he also can’t hold back a very embarrassed smile when he does so.

Mat Sella

Mat’s kind of a punk, alternative, and rock music guy, but he also really likes R&B, indie, and even some of those catchy pop songs.

his handwriting is very, very neat and pretty. he writes in cursive a lot, but only because he thinks it’s pretty and he’s just used to writing in it a lot.

he takes very, very good care of his hair. he also is the one mainly taking care of Carmensita’s hair, since she has a general disregard for taking the leaves and twigs out of it after she plays outside. so Mat is the one doing hair clean-up duty all the time.

he also cleans Carmensita’s glasses after she comes inside after playing. because she refuses to clean her glasses.

thankfully, Mat is good at cleaning and likes to clean. obviously he bakes almost every other day for both the Coffee Spoon and himself. music is playing on the record player while he’s baking or cleaning, unless he’s doing some late-night cleaning when Carmensita is asleep; that’s one of the few times he wears headphones in the house

he takes headphones with him everywhere he goes, though. he has a little bowl next to the front door with his keys and headphones in it so he doesn’t forget them

he loves coffee, to say the least. he brews a cup every morning, it’s almost like a ritual to him at this point. he just enjoys the process and relishes in it every day. it’s almost like it’s own type of therapy for him.

if it turns out that you don’t like coffee, however — he will act like a normal person and say “oh, okay” and just not make you drink coffee. he’s a little disappointed that he won’t be able to share his morning coffee time with both of you having a cup.

but if you at all try to join him on his coffee time with your own drink, just sitting in the morning and soaking up the sunlight and happy silence, he’ll be over the moon sharing that time.

we all know that he has the tendency to talk too much when he’s anxious, so moments like these where you’re just sitting together, mostly silent, is his favorite.

Mat just isn’t much of a talker when he’s super comfortable. so cuddling will be pretty quiet, too.

Mat grew up with cats, and absolutely adores them to the point where he is so tempted to turn the Coffee Spoon into a cat cafe. the only reason he hasn’t adopted any cats is because each time he is confronted with the idea he is incapable of making any decision and gets anxious.

but if you like cats, you’re totally getting a cat together. especially if you give him any kind of confidence when you’re around, like Rosa used to.

Mat isn’t an alcohol kind of guy. not since Carmensita was born, anyway. he also just doesn’t really like the taste of beer and other alcoholic drinks. he prefers the bitter coffee taste (couldn’t be me).

Mat does drink tea sometimes, but not often. maybe once a month he treats himself to a cup of tea.

Rosa actually really liked tea, so part of the reason Mat doesn’t drink it that often is because it reminds him of Rosa.

Robert Small

the man is Big. 6’3” and pretty chunky, so yeah. he’s pretty intimidating, and not just because of his RBF (resting bitch face).

speaking of RBF, he looks constantly mildly ticked off when in reality he is thinking about what he’s having for dinner. sure, he has plenty of other expressions, but they’re not quite as common as his “looks like he’s thinking of committing multiple crimes” look.

this man wakes up with some serious bedhead — hair sticking up in all sorts of directions, not because of the way he sleeps but because of Betsy. sometimes she gets up and sleeps right next to his head. and sometimes she gives Robert’s hair a bit of a nibble.

he really gives the whole “raccoon at the dumpster” type of look.

sometimes he volunteers at the animal shelter but only really late in the day when nobody except Mary is there. he usually brings a flask of whiskey with him to share with her, but Mary isn’t super keen on drinking around the animals.

he’s more like a cat than he is a dog. he likes to just sit in the general vicinity those he likes without saying anything while they talk for hours on end and he gives acknowledging feedback. usually just a blink and a nod.

but sometimes, very rarely, if he loves likes you enough, he’ll smile as he stares right at you, saying nothing.

if you end up dating him and move in with him, you could be doing literally anything and then turn around to find him staring at you with a smile that he tries to hide. sometimes he can’t believe that he’s in a healthy relationship after all the heartache he’s suffered.

but it’s also unnerving when you do something kinda embarrassing, like struggling to find a midnight snack, and then you just turn around and this big old man is just staring at you like my a cat waiting for you to go back to your bedroom.

remember how i said he’s more cat than dog? scratch that. if you have a job or god forbid, leave home without him, he will wait for you to come home. he will check the front door any time he hears even a little noise, very excited to see you, until he realizes you’re not home yet.

he counts down the hours and minutes until you get home from work. if it was socially acceptable for him to drive you to work and sit in your work’s parking lot the entire time and spend it waiting for you, he would do it.

if he can go with you somewhere, he will. even if it’s a 5 minute trip to the grocery store and it will take him longer to get dressed than to go with you, you better wait because he is coming with.

the second you come through that door? he is getting up off the couch that he moved to purely so he would be closer to the door and he, like Betsy, is coming directly towards you to ask you how your day was and if you brought anything back for him.

if you critique any of his whiskey then he will break out into a very passionate rant about the best kind of whiskey is the kind that makes you almost die a little bit on the inside when you take a shot.

idk why, but i feel like if he and Saul Goodman met, they’d be best friends. they’d pull off the best grifts together.

also Robert fucking loves Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul. he just rewatches it over and over again as a comfort show even though it doesn’t provide any comfort whatsoever. his faves are Saul and Nacho

he will force you to watch Breaking Bad or Better Call Saul. or at the very least, he explain the plotline.

Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul is the Only reason that he has a Netflix subscription. there is no other reason he’d ever need one.

also Robert fucking hates Margaritaville. Joseph took him there once — Robert got sick from the Cheeseburger in Paradise, and now Robert vows to never step foot in one of those damn restaurants ever again.

Robert doesn’t like margaritas, so maybe it was doomed from the start.

#ddadds #dream daddy a dad dating simulator #dream daddy #hugo vega #robert small #mat sella #brain harding #headcanons #x reader #general headcanons #game grumps #ddadds headcanons #ddadds imagines #dream daddy headcanons #dream daddy imagines

[pathetic-sapphic]

viktor with a gf who’s usually positive and cheery but is going through a bad time in a lot of ways so she’s trying to hide it but not doing good at that either~ sorry ik it’s a lot

Our Love Will Be Passed On

Viktor x Fem!Reader

Something was going on and he wasn't sure what. Viktor always hated not having an answer to different questions and problems. His whole life and job revolved around finding solutions and he was usually very good at that. Science, engineering and theory came naturally to Viktor. But you... you weren't any of those things.

Quite the opposite actually. You were unpredictable, soft, warm, kind and so happy all the time. So what happened? What changed? He wracked his head with these questions for days, his mind constantly replaying your tired eyes, slouched posture and sorrowful demeanor.

He hated nagging you or overwhelming you. He knew that you hated worrying others, always so dead set on carrying your burdens alone. It's funny, for all the lectures you've given him about leaning on others and letting others help him, you were truly terrible at taking your own advice.

He wanted to let you come to him, at least he hoped you would. Viktor didn't like to pry into other people's business, but... you weren't other people. You were his, his girlfriend, his best friend, his sweetheart. You were his darling girl, and you were sad, maybe even depressed. No matter how much he wanted to trust you and give you time to confide in him, he wasn't sure he could endure seeing that crestfallen look on your face once more.

So, after finishing his work early for the day, Viktor put on his coat and headed towards your apartment. He made sure to pick up a lovely bouquet with your favorite flowers and your usual order from your favorite takeout place. Before he knew it, he was at your front door. Balancing the food and bouquet with one hand, while also trying to hold onto his cane, Viktor barely managed to ring your doorbell with his elbow, cursing when he almost slipped on the icy pavement.

After almost half a minute, the door slowly opened and Viktor was greeted by the sight of your teary, flushed face. Your usually sparkling eyes now only had a gloss of sadness over them, cheeks splotched red and lips trembling. He knew you must have seen him through the peephole because you'd never let anyone else ever see you like this.

In fact, he was surprised you even let him see you like this, you were always so stubborn and headstrong, not to mention a professional when it came to putting on a fake smile. So he cannot imagine just how awful you must feel to let him in like this. Nonetheless, he is grateful. Janna knows how many times you stood by his side, reassuring and comforting him, you were always a kind and joyful presence, lifting him up when he was so sure he had hit rock bottom.

His thoughts are interrupted when he hears you let out a sob before you tackle him into a hug, tears immediately rolling down your cheeks. He tries to hold you and get you inside, closing your front door with his good leg and depositing the flowers and food onto shelf next to you. Viktor immediately puts his arms around you, shushing you gently, one hand cradling your head protectively while the other rubs your back.

''Oh, miláček. Why didn't you come to me sooner, hm? It hurts to see you so sad and in pain.'' He asks gently, looking down at your teary face. Even as you sob and sniffle, your eyes red with snot and tears running down your face, you're the most beautiful thing in the whole world to him. He presses a gentle kiss against your forehead as you gather your bearings, trying to control your breathing.

''I-I just... I didn't want to bother you. I thought that I could get through this on my own.'' You admit shyly, embarrassed at being seen by your boyfriend while in this state. You never planned on letting him see you like this, surely he'd think you were pathetic and needy. At least that's what your mind told you. Often times, you forgot just how loving and kind your dear Viktor was and he was to prove that once more, telling you; ''Oh my love, you know you could never bother me. I want to be there for you, when you're happy or sad, it doesn't matter to me. I want to hear you laugh and I want to hold you as you cry. Please, no more hiding your feelings and hurt. Let me take care of you, yes?'' Viktor asks with a soft smile on his handsome face.

You can't do anything but nod slowly, your face pressed up against his chest. You cringed at the realization that you were dirtying up his coat with your snot and tears but he didn't seem to care. Viktor held you in his embrace for a while longer before slightly pulling away to look at you. ''Now, how about we get cozy and have a movie night together? I got you your favorite and you can pick out whatever you wish, how does that sound?'' He asks, his thumb caressing your cheek and wiping away the remaining tears.

A slight smile appears on your face at his words. ''Can we watch something animated?'' You ask shyly at which Viktor grins in agreement, happy to see the old you coming back. ''Of course, my love. Pick out what you want us to watch and I'll heat up our food, okay?'' You nod, picking up the flowers he brought you, planning to put them in a vase.

Before you leave, you give Viktor a soft kiss. ''Thank you, for everything.'' You whisper as the two of you pull apart, holding the bouquet carefully against your chest so that you don't crush the flowers. Viktor lifts up one of your hands to his lips, kissing it gently. ''Anything for you, darling. I'll always be here, for better or for worse.''

''I love you, Viktor,''

''And I love you, more than anything.''

a/n: woah this came as a good small break from writing smut all the time lol. thank you for this request anon, i'm sorry that it took some time but i hope that it was worth it and that you're doing okay. feel free to message me if you ever need someone to talk to <3

#arcane #arcane x reader #viktor x you #viktor x reader #arcane viktor #viktor x female reader #arcane viktor x you #arcane viktor x reader

[screeching-bunny]

Yandere! One Piece Charlotte Katakuri

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Possessive Behavior, Reader is Referred as ‘You’

🌟 He is extremely kind and basically a gentle giant when it comes to you. You have home wrapped around your pretty little finger.

🌟 Very insecure on how you view him due his appearance and wants you to view him as perfect just like everyone one else does.

🌟 Is a very possessive and touch starved yandere. Absolutely hates it whenever you interact with anyone but him even if it is his own family. Honestly can’t trust anyone to look after you because of how many enemies he has and how crazy his family members can be.

🌟 No matter where he is, he is always worried about your safety. Your well-being comes before anything else in his life. If anyone dares to lay a finger on you there is going to be hell to pay. Will frequently use his haki around you because is worried that you might get hurt. Definitely baby proofs the house you two live in. He can’t bear the thought of you getting injured no matter how small the injury may be.

🌟 Loves it when you touch him or physically interact but is too shy to admit it. Will give signs that he wants affection if he’s in the mood for some cuddles but won’t verbally announce it. He enjoys the feeling of your soft skin on his.

🌟 When you guys met you were a baker that he saw in a bakery. He was far from home and was low on his donut supply so he decided to stop by. The minute he saw you for the first time he believed that you were extremely adorable and pocket sized. He ordered some donuts and was extremely whipped. You can bake and you’re good looking! He definitely has to have you.

🌟 I can imagine him sailing back home as quickly as possible and just begging his mom if he could marry you. Will absolutely do whatever it takes just so he can have you, no matter what. If Big Mom says no he’ll try to convince her that being married to you will give the Charlotte family many benefits and explain how the two of you can produce powerful heirs. When she agrees he is immediately kidnapping you.

🌟 If you try to runaway from this, he will immediately kill everyone you are close to and destroy the island that you live on. You’re forced to go with him because you now have nothing and can only rely on him for the essentials for survival.

🌟 Your wedding will be big and grand. He wants to make sure that everyone in the Grandline knows that you belong to him and if anyone messes with you it will be a direct insult to the Charlotte family. Will be a complete groomzilla so much so that over twenty wedding planners will quit before your wedding actually starts. Makes sure that everything is spotless and the the way that he envisioned.

🌟 Wants to have as many kids with you as possible. The thought of you having a swollen belly with his baby just melts his heart. He believes that having kids is a way to show everyone that you also love him as well. He would definitely want his kids to inherit your looks and not his due to his insecurity with his mouth.

🌟 Loves it when you bake for him and hand feed him. He always includes you in his meriendas and will absolutely obliterate anyone who interrupts that time he has with you. It’s very sacred to him because it’s where he has the most free time with you and it reduces the stress of his position.

🌟 Like Ace, he realizes that his tendencies are very wrong but won’t do anything to change it because of how much he needs to be with you. He absolutely cannot see you interact with anyone else because it feels like he’s going to explode when he does. You only belong to him therefore he’s the only one who gets to take up your time.

🌟 Will turn as bright as a tomato if you ever call him cute. No one has ever called him cute before but he doesn’t mind it if you do it. He feels very normal around you and will be absolutely over the moon if you don’t find his mouth to be terrifying to look at.

🌟 He loves you more than donuts and all the sweets in the world. He’d be willing to give up anything in the world just to have the opportunity to be loved by you and to have your affection.

🌟 From the moment he met you, he’d only be willing to eat the sweets that you made. Will no longer eat any donut that is not baked by you, no exception. He treats everything you bake like it’s a fine delicacy that can’t be replicated by anyone else in this world. He loves watching you bake as well, it’s very therapeutic to just watch you around the kitchen while you hum in your own little world.

🌟 Definitely loves how small you are compared to him. He finds it cute how he just towers over you and you have to look up every time you wanna talk to him. You look like a sweet innocent kitten to him that could do no wrong. Even though he loves it he’s also afraid that he might hurt you at times and often treats you as if you’re made out of glass.

🌟 Can not sleep unless you’re in bed with him. I can imagine him patiently waiting for you to get out of the shower at night so he can finally fall asleep. He sleeps with you on his chest with his arms wrapped around you. You honestly don’t even need a blanket with his massive his arms are.

🌟 He’s usually very intimidating and confident around others but with you he’s just a blushing mess. Whenever he looks at you he just blushes no matter what. You read a book *blush*. You pick up a flower off the ground *blush*. You fall asleep on the couch *blush*. You simply exist *exist*. With you, he’s acting like a teenager that interacted with their crush for the first time.

🌟 You can do nothing but just accept his love besides who is crazy enough to go up against the commander of the big mom pirates? You’re just better off at accepting his love if you don’t want any unnecessary deaths, you are his after all.

#yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere one piece #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere #male yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #gn reader

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five

TW: abuse of authority, harassment, cops

The next day, you are driving home from a long shift in the wee hours of the morning when you see the dreaded flicker of blue and red lights flashing behind you. There’s hardly anyone else out on the highway, so there’s little chance they’re not directed at you. 

What the hell? You weren’t even speeding. You are exhausted. Did you drift over the line? Fuck. A ticket is the last thing you need right now. You make your way over to the side of the road, hoping you don’t get a flat from all the extraneous bullshit that peppers the asphalt. There really is no one around, and a little thrill of fear tightens your chest. Being a woman alone late at night in this situation isn’t exactly what you would call ideal. 

You know you don’t exactly look threatening, but you’re still careful to place your hands in full view on the top of the wheel. You glance in your side mirror at the black Dodge Charger parked behind you, momentarily blinded by those stupid flashing lights. However, when you set eyes on the figure who emerges from the driver’s seat, your heart plummets to your stomach. 

That motherfucker. 

He approaches your open window with all the swagger of a rooster, long legs and broad shoulders. Doesn’t look much like that burn is bothering him now. You know part of the bulk of his chest is a vest (and you’re glad he’s wearing it, considering his habits) but it still manages to fry the aesthetic center of your brain as you watch him. 

He bends down slightly to peer in your window, blinding you with his flashlight. So unnecessary. 

“Really?” you grouse, squinting at the bright light. 

Ignoring your complaint, he offers that shit-eating smirk. “Know why I pulled you over?” 

He leans on your window, and you know you stare at that large hand distractingly close to your shoulder for a beat too long, utterly betraying your thoughts to him. “No idea,” you sigh, tired, and pissed off, and you hate to admit it-entirely too titillated by his newest form of harassment.

Again, it occurs to you how very alone you are out here, at this time of the night. Even if there was another car driving by…there’s no way they’re stopping to help you. 

“For driving while adorable.” 

Of all the things he could have said in that moment-and you cannot help but remember the way he trussed you like a christmas turkey and said such filthy things in your ear that one time you treated him-it’s so cheesy it almost makes you smile.

“Are you kidding me?”

“And you were going 7 miles over the speed limit.”

This was LA. You took your life in your hands for not speeding at least fifteen over most of the time.

“You’re writing me a ticket for going seven over?” 

He doesn’t actually have the ticket book in his hand, and he looks around the deserted highway as though thinking about it. 

“Well. I don’t have to…”

Here it comes. 

“I’m not going on a date with you to get out of this. Write it up. Fuck it. I don’t care.”

He pays you a little frown, because he’s trying to be cute, but you’re just not playing his game. You imagine a man like this isn’t used to women not playing any games he asks them to. He has no idea how stubborn you can be. 

When he honest-to-god makes a pouty face, pushing out that beautifully full lower lip it’s all you can do not to reach out of the car and slap him-or maybe punch him in the dick-because it’s charming, and it melts your heart a little, and you so do not need this. You’ve been dreaming about him nearly every goddamn night since you first treated him and this is only going to throw gasoline on the fire-fuck!

“Did you forget that I have a boyfriend?” you remind him, for yourself as much as him. Maybe it’s not wise, to poke the bear while he’s actually almost being sweet-but you are mad.

His eyes narrow at you, and why do you get such a thrill from that? 

“Do you? Because the two of you seemed a little…awkward, together. Not sure I buy it.”

“Things are just new,” you defend. “What, do you want to hear about how he rubs my feet on my break?”

The glint in Officer Ludlow’s eyes is like a bared blade. “Just your feet? Honey, if you were my girl I’d rub you all over. For your health.” 

Fuck if that doesn’t send a spear of heat straight to your center, your heart thumping painfully in your chest. You hope he doesn’t notice you shifting in your seat, trying to relieve some of the absolutely diabolical ache between your thighs.

“Well…the break room has its limits.”

“Wouldn’t stop me.” The images that is going to give you when you lay down to sleep. 

“I’m sure it wouldn’t. But Julian is actually a gentleman.”

“Yeah? Pretty sure that’s code for boring as fuck.” 

“He’s not boring. He’s sweet. He’s taking me to coffee on Saturday morning, and you know what? I’m not going to think about you at all.” 

A greater lie was never told.

It almost feels like you finally scored a hit. His expression turns stony, unreadable, and you know it’s crazy but you almost feel bad about it. At last he straightens from practically leaning into your window, hooking his thumb in his belt. “Alright, sassy girl,” he says, patting the top of your car. “I’ll let you off with a warning this time.” With a final dark look he swaggers back to his Charger. 

It’s possible you watch him go in your side mirror-it’s really not fair, that God gave a man that annoying such a biteable little muffin of an ass.

#tom ludlow x reader #tom ludlow #street kings #keanuverse fic #keanuverse

[viablemess]

Gale's Childhood + Mystra

I just have some thoughts and need to articulate them because they will not leave my brain alone at all and I cannot think about much else. Feel free to sit down and join me as I word vomit how I imagine Gale’s childhood went. I did not edit this or proof read it at all, so bear with any grammar/spelling/flow mistakes please!

So, Gale’s mother is Morena Dekarios, we know that. She’s an angel, an icon, and she cares so much, and she is wicked smart. I also headcanon that she is a high quality escort in the City of Splendors, and so grew up knowing how to please people and blend in with high society in any way she can. So, she raised Gale right. She told him about what she did, never hid anything from him, and would bend over backwards to ensure that her son was happy, healthy, and cared for. Because she had to blend in with high society, she had so many books, and art pieces, and high quality alcohol and clothes all over her house. Gale grew up around these, and absorbed it all with ease, and Morena thought that was fantastic. She frequently sent him to school whenever she had to work even if he had already spent the entire day there because she knew he would be safe and looked after, because his dad was not around to look after him.

Speaking of his dad, let’s talk about Waterdeep politics for a moment, shall we? We will circle back to Gale’s parentage. Waterdeep is ruled by a council of 16 Lords, all of whom are anonymous. Whenever they are ruling in public, they use magical masks called the Lord’s Helm that hides their identities. A common game in Waterdeep is to identify the Lords and figure out the rumors that float around about them. The Lords actually start most of their own rumors, though, so these can be easily misleading. Because the Lords elect the other Lords via anonymous vote, it is difficult for the Lords to even know who is who, but they do know their names, and so they have more information. So, while the Lords are frequently protected from assassination / bribes / stalking / lobbying from the public, they are not as always well protected from each other, so the secrecy is still important, and caution is warranted. I imagine some of the Lords take this very seriously, and value the job over forming families or bonds, so high quality well-to-do escorts like Morena are highly sought after.

Now, back to Gale’s father. So, Morena is an escort for a Lord, one thing leads to another, some mistakes are made, and Morena gets pregnant which was definitely not the goal, but she can’t tell anyone she is pregnant with a Lord’s child, so she just pretends the child’s father is another client and moves on. So, if the Lord happens to be a (maybe red) wizard/cleric/paladin of Mystra… who is to say? If this Lord happens to be highly talented and magically inclined (or magically manipulated) who would ever know? Gale starts showing magical inclinations in the womb. Morena’s 9 months of pregnancy are absolutely hell. She isn’t ready for a child, but she isn’t not ready, either. So, she gets shit done and gets ready. She talks to the local Blackstaff Academy and seeks help and these teachers are /interested/ because rarely does anyone show magical talents in the womb and they are here to support her and more importantly here to teach this would-be-prodigy.

Morena is wealthy, so she can pay for private tutors and Gale shows magical abilities akin to a teen when he is a child, and so she fanes those (sometimes literal) flames. She knows her son’s child is powerful, and so Gale must be powerful, too. She loves him, and fully enables him to make his own decisions, but he is /good/ at magic and a child. He likes being good at things, and so of course he follows his talents naturally. So much so, in fact, that when he accidentally sets off a fireball trying to pick his mom some roses with a mage hand, Elminster shows right up. He had been watching Gale, after all. Mystra had told him to. Mystra had told him to watch Morena when she was pregnant, too, because Mystra knew what would happen. Mystra willed this to happen, and neither Morena nor Gale are any wiser about it.

“I wanted to give my mum something pretty,” tiny Gale had said, tears in his eyes and chubby cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry! I thought the roses were pretty, like sunsets are pretty, and I must have thought of the fire of a sunset by accident and—and—please don’t get mad at me.”

Because if there is one thing that Morena did instill in Gale other than politeness, a love for the finer things in life, and a sense of ambition (heh, ouch), it was to be respectful of authority, because Morena isn’t stupid. If a Lord could use another Lord’s child against them, they would, no hesitation. So, Gale is taught to be a good, rule-abiding little boy who has a healthy caution of leadership but mostly knows how to smile and nod and keep his head down. And Elminister, while not masked, gives off waves of authority, so Gale aims to please and keep his head down.

Elminster smiles. Gale clutches Morena’s skirt and hides behind her and Morena glares at Elminster as if daring him to do something. Elminster puts out the fire with a wave of his hand, and introduces himself. “I’ve been keeping an eye on your talents, Gale Dekarios. You’re so talented, but you do not know where to aim your talents. May I help you?”

Morena knows who Elminster is, she has heard the rumors. She does not know he is Mystra’s chosen (Morena knows Elminster to discuss grandiose tales with her clients, not to study magic or doctrine) or his relationship with Mystra at all. Morena frequently says, only in private and after a few glasses of wine, that the Gods can fuck right off because they were no help to her, she helped /herself/ thank you very much, so she does not know. She just sees this powerful and well-known figure who might be able to help her protect her son from his dad who is maybe still a Lord, and says yes.

Gale’s private study with Elminster goes on for a few years before Mystra gets involved when he turns 11. He excels, he goes to Blackstaff as one of the youngest students ever, and his classmates hate him. He is too good, too favored, too young. He does not have to try, as if he is blessed, and Gale does not understand why his classmates hate him. He’s studying just like they are, just many years ahead. He is young just like them, but a few years more. He has a favorite teacher in the form of Elminster, just like his classmates have their own favorites who actually are teachers at the academy and not a rumored hero of Faerun. His experience is close enough for Gale to not understand why his situation is unique, and why his peers hate him for it. So, he asks for a cat. Cats are nice and soft and hiss at people who they do not like, and Gale always had a hard time saying when he didn’t like someone so maybe the cat would do it for him. But Gale needed to focus on his studies, and cats couldn’t live with students at Blackstaff, so everyone tells him, respectfully, no. Gale keeps trying to make friends, and keeps failing, and he finally says “fine I’ll summon my own friend!” and summons Tara, which is an impressive feat, and within a single hour Tara says “fuck everyone this human is /mine/ and no one can tell me otherwise.” People try to banish Tara away, and she always comes back, but only for Gale, and sometimes for Morena.

Everyone knows Gale is talented, but it is not until he casually wields the Blackstaff entirely by accident that everyone realized how much so. The staff molds to his hand, and flutters in his direction ever since he picked it up. The school is furious, and Gale does not understand, because does that not mean that he is good at what he studies? He doesn’t understand it means he is a threat, he is too good, he is too strong, and some people would rather eradicate him than educate him.

One of the requirements for students at Blackstaff is survival training. The students are released into nature and told to fend for themselves, summon food and water or use their magic to otherwise make some, to create shelter, to prove that in practice they can manage a bad situation. The teachers are nearby, of course, to help should something go wrong. However, at this point, teachers feel one of two ways about Gale Dekarios, and that sometimes is a help but frequently is a hinderance. These teachers see this child, and can easily understand that one day he will be a threat to their jobs, their research, their theories. He’s just that good. And some of the teachers get together to make this test akin to the hells for Gale, and he goes off by himself. Waterdeep is surrounded by beautiful golden beaches and stalagmite caves, which are beautiful blessings during the tourist times of year. They are deathtraps during high tide, and the teachers know this, and so does Mystra.

It's pouring by the end of the first day, and Gale does not know where to go. He can heat his closes, and summon food and water, but he is aware of the fact that magical exhaustion is a thing, and that he cannot keep himself dry and warm constantly with magic for the duration of the test. So, when he sees a rainbow will-o-whisp that feels safe, he follows it into the cave. Mystra leads Gale into a shallow grave planted by the Blackstaff teachers, and watches him almost drown. The teachers would have let him drown. They would have let this eleven year old boy get grabbed by the rushing water and dragged to the bottom of a sharply pointed, mud filled cave. At the bottom of that cave is a large hollow tree trunk, and the teachers would have waited for tide season to end, and eventually drug Gale’s tiny corpse out of where it was wrangled around the smooth wood, where Gale had tried to hold in and climb out feebly, crushed by the weight of the water overhead, until the calmness of unconsciousness met him.  

Drowning was calm, for Gale, at first. It was calmest when the rainbow will-o-whisp appeared again, a single speck of bright light in the murky darkness, his eyes stinging with water, his chest and stomach throbbing for oxygen. Drowning was calm, as he felt warm arms wrap around him, and felt the water get expelled from the hollow tree. Gale felt the weave rid his lungs of water and dry him off and warm him. Mystra lead Gale to his death just so she could save him, and so easily, Mystra became an exception to Gale’s distrust of authority, because she taught Elminster. She was the very rush of security and rose and love that Gale felt every time he channeled the weave. Mystra was magic—what Gale was good at, what made Gale who he is, what Gale loved. So how could he not love his savior? His muse? Mystra welcomed him into her hollow tree and taught him of Her. Her world. Her gifts. Her abilities. The three days of the test passed in a blink, and Gale emerged from the cave tinged with blue and white and the teachers who sent Gale to die heard Mystra’s laugh in their ears.

Mystra had staked her claim on Gale, and everyone knew it. Everyone had suspected it, when Elminster kept showing up, but now they had proof. Gale’s magic was sprinkled with starlight, brilliant blue and white and purple of Mystra. Gale vanished in his dreams to visit Mystra in her domain, and she continued to teach him everything that the teachers couldn’t or wouldn’t. The teachers who tried to kill him snapped to attention and did everything they could to help Gale, then, because to not would be to betray the Weave itself.

Gale went back to the hollow tree when he was about to graduate and the tide lowered, and met Mystra again. She took a more physical form, then. She guided his hands and arms as she taught him magic, and she kissed him on the forehead. She whispered, “my child, my star, my boy, my prodigy,” and Gale fell further and further under her spell. The Blackstaff Academy had graduation ceremonies where everyone would dance and celebrate their victories with one another. Morena was so, so proud. A few Lords showed up to congratulate the students, and check on the fresh talent. Gale was the equivalent of the valedictorian, and when he danced with himself, the more learned students and the teachers and Tara could see the strings of Mystra’s weave manipulating his movements like a marionette until they were perfect. Because he was her’s, and she would settle for nothing but the best.

#bg3 #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #fanfiction #morena dekarios #tara the tressym #bg3 gale #bg3 headcanons #fanfic #writers thoughts #because gale was groomed and I will talk about it #fuck mystra #I have so many thoughts #screaming crying throwing up #feel free to add to this #would love to hear if folks have different thoughts #syr and the amazing devil fueled this ramble #baldurs gate gale #baldur's gate gale #baldurs gate #baldur's gate #baldur's gate three #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3

[kwop-kilawtley]

Bella’s depression months/suicidal tendencies/ hallucinations in New Moon are not “romantic,” sorry. It’s just horrible how traumatized she is. Imagine being a 17 y/o girl who never dated anyone and the first person you date is a mythical creature who essentially is the idea of perfection. It knocks down your self esteem even more, makes you feel embarrassed for not being enough and then after you almost died at the hands of others of his kind, he leaves. Leaves you for dead.

How is it romantic that she now sees no worth in her own humanity? That she deems life useless without him. Then Jacob comes along and makes her see life can be good again. She falls in love with Jacob naturally and effortlessly. If Edward and Bella were truly “fated” and “meant to be,” Bella wouldn’t be so in love with Jacob the way that she is. Jacob is the only person who truly understands her and he would do anything for her. He would protect her and keep her alive.

Bella choosing Edward is literally suicide and allows her to be stunted, to not fix her self esteem issues. Yet this is supposed to be romantic somehow?? The text literally leads you to believe that Bella will grow and get out of her depression with the help of Jacob. And he totally could have because she could’ve been open about the vampire secret since he knew about them too. It only makes sense in my mind she chose him. She actually has fun with him, he understands her personality better than Edward, understands her mind better than Edward. Their love is so intense that she even says she may have actually chosen Jacob if she hadn’t known what losing Edward felt like. She was so deeply traumatized by him leaving she couldn’t even bear the thought of having to heal. But she almost did. She could have.

The fact Bella cannot let Jacob go all throughout Eclipse even after Edward comes back is proof that she’s not fated to be with Edward. Literally no matter how many times I read these books I will never see it that way even though her narrative wants you to believe that in the end. Like sorry but having cutesy quotes and ogling over his physical perfection every second without there really being true reason behind it, just doesn’t hit for me. They were together for mere months and she’s already talking about “I want to be with you forever.” Like yeah that was me in high school too with the first person who ever gave me attention. I didn’t know any better tho. Now pair that with someone who literally hypnotizes humans lol.. yeah she didn’t stand a chance. Yet her lack of autonomy is romantic? Gross. She even says “it’s like Sam & Emily, I never had a choice.” How does anyone find this romantic LMAO.

If Bella had no feelings for Jacob and he had no good aspects of him and he wasn’t trying to keep Bella alive the whole goddamn time then no one would be for Jacob. But she literally is in love with him, it’s just not “magical” bullshit love. Which doesn’t even make sense for her btw. She doesn’t have any development whatsoever. Vampirism is just her bandaid and Jacob and the entire wolfpack are done dirty.

She tries to die and hear voices of her ex who abandoned her yet that’s romantic lmfao. New moon is legit based off of Romeo & Juliet, a tragedy where they both die. Bella & Edward simply shouldn’t have had a happy ending. Naturally it doesn’t make sense that they do, which is why breaking dawn is such a shit show. Because their relationship just doesn’t make sense and only harms them and everyone around them.

& before anyones like “it’s just a fantasy stop analyzing it wahh” no <3 these books shaped my way of viewing relationships as a teenager and it should be talked about how harmful some of the messages in the series are.

#twilight #twilight renaissance #team jacob #jacob x bella #jacob black #new moon #bella swan #bella x jacob

[atopvisenyashill]

thoughts on the grand northern conspiracy theory?

it makes some points but i think most of it is deeply silly and relies on far too many leaps in logic and characters acting in a way they would never act all to push a “jon will be king” theory, which as i’m sure everyone knows, i am a big hater of.

The basis of the theory is that the Northern lords are purposefully playing Stannis & the Bolton/Freys against each other so they can take each other out, and free the North up for a Stark King & Northern Independence. That, on its face, I fully believe. It’s the details in the theory that I don’t fully buy into.

It’s basically canon that the Northern lords & ladies are really taking advantage of the chaotic politics & lack of a real centralized leader at the moment to make their own political moves. Some examples here include:

Arnolf & Cregan Karstark are explicitly doing this, something Alys comments on and something several other lords point out: "My uncle declared for Stannis, in hopes it might provoke the Lannisters to take poor Harry's head. Should my brother die, Karhold should pass to me, but my uncles want my birthright for their own." They don't really care about Stannis, they want Harry dead so they can have Karhold.

Alysane Mormont is potentially working off orders from her mother, when she says here, "Five, we were. All girls. Lyanna is back on Bear Island. Lyra and Jory are with our mother. Dacey was murdered." Even though as far as we know before that, all of Maege's girls were at Bear Island (except Dacey, who was with Maege in Robb's campaign).

There's the Umbers refusing to fight each other while picking two different sides, and this theory here that it was likely a plan between Mors and Hother to keep the Greatjon alive.

The Manderly Of It All re: very obviously using his granddaughter's anger as a cover for his own brutal plans for revenge and a Stark restoration.

The North is all clearly playing the game & attempting to oust the Boltons & Freys from power. I also don’t think the grumbling for Northern Independence would have died down since Robb died - if anything, after their King is brutally, viciously murdered, his mother’s corpse made a mockery of, his little Queen now a prisoner, and his sisters married off to enemies & humiliated, I imagine the calls for Northern Independence have gotten louder. This is a people that has suffered not just death and violence, but a lot of humiliation on top of that, and all of that is the perfect recipe for some sort of nationalist call for independence.

But the theory has. Some points that I just cannot co-sign because they make absolutely zero sense to me.

The idea that the only thing stopping Jon from being king is Jeyne being pregnant or the witnesses of Robb’s will being dead is just silly. He isn’t Ned Stark’s son, he is Lyanna’s! That puts Robb’s entire will in question, and you can bet your ass that there will be some grumbling or discussion about whether Winterfell should bypass Ned‘a line despite him having TWO true born sons and TWO true born daughters still alive, or whether it goes to Lyanna and therefore to Jon. The succession question is just NOT as simple as the meta makes it out to be because it completely ignores that Jon is, I cannot stress this enough, NOT actually Ned Stark’s son.

The meta is right that it’s likely Maege & Gallbart got a message to Howland because Theon notes that there’s been attacks by craggoman. But. Howland is one of - possible thee only - person left alive that knows Jon is Lyanna’s son. There is just no way he doesn’t have a strong opinion on whether Jon should inherit winterfell without knowing the truth.

Irrelevant but it’s really mean to Jeyne Westerling. Whatever role she may have - even if it’s to die in the prologue of TWOW - her life and her death are important regardless of whether she’s pregnant! She is the widow of a King, and if she dies by LSH’s hand, it’s going to be a huge point in showing us the violence in the Riverlands. Maybe the continued breakdown in the Riverlands, Lady Stoneheart’s anger, and Jeyne’s defiance of her family is not relevant to the King Jon pushers, but it IS thematically relevant to the plot thank you very fucking much. THE GIRL IS JUST AS IMPORTANT AS THE BOY.

More relevant to this point is there’s just no way in fuck that Lady Stoneheart is trying to crown Jon. “oh she has bigger problems” she is going to crown one of her children if she crowns anyone, likely Arya, not her husband’s bastard who she fucking hated & asked to be banished to a glorified penal colony. Look at Brynden’s comments about Jon:

The Blackfish narrowed his eyes. "Did your father arrange for that as well? Catelyn never trusted the boy, as I recall, no more than she ever trusted Theon Greyjoy. It would seem she was right about them both.

Cat hates that kid so much she wrote letters to her uncle talking shit about him but we are supposed to believe this is proof she wants to crown him? When she's so far gone she's willing to kill Podrick and Brienne off a perceived slight against her? When she's heard several rumors that her daughters may still be alive and well? No. Don't buy it even a little.

Also, Brynden is flying Robb’s banner bc Robb was his family, because he loved Catelyn, and because what else is he supposed to do when he’s in the middle of a siege?? This point is silly and nonsensical.

Harwin as the Hooded Man - i mean. there’s nothing for or against this really, but also the Theon Durden theory aka Theon is the hooded man and doesn’t realize bc he’s having a psychotic episode, is much more believable to me & much more in line with everything that’s happening in theon’s chapter.

So like. Yes, the basic premise of “the northern lords are desperately looking for a stark, any stark, to make king/queen in the north, bc they are tired of All This Bullshit” is something i completely agree with. I do think it’s likely Maege has been in contact with her daughters, & that she and Gallbart made contact with Howland, who is about to enter the scene in a big way. But all that ish about LSH, the BWB, and Blackfish? Absolutely not. LSH is about Arya’s story (and Brienne & Jaime’s), not Jon. Stoneheart doesn’t care about the politics in Westeros; she cares that she followed all the rules and it got her family killed, so now she will break every rule there is to get revenge for her slaughtered children. she is Alyssa Arryn except she has the power to cause a lot of suffering before her tears drown her. she is not wasting her second life crowning jon snow!

#the grand northern conspiracy #valyrianscrolls #the north #and the mummer's farce is almost done #lady stoneheart #anti grand northern conspiracy theory #getting on my soap box #this is all me being a hater aljdsflkj

[inventedfangirling]

Pran's Growth : from pran-so-cool to pran-in-love

Since I did one for Pat I thought I should do one for Pran too although this one turned out slightly different than Pat's and far faaaar (im talking crazy levels of scrolling far) more detailed because i'm only human idk how to be brief about Pran FORGIVE ME.

Look at him he's my baby, i just CANNOT. So that now we have established that I have unexplainable levels of fondness for him, and so can only view his actions through love tinted glasses which means i'm basically Pat which means I'm super qualified to write this post, lets move on to what i actually wanted to say.

The first glimpse we get of Pran's mind (if you look in the chronological order of events in the show's universe) then its during his conversation with Pat where they discuss what song to perform for christmas.

Here we see the normally closed off Pran share his feelings (albeit about the topic of the song) with Pat with an ease that feels uncharacteristic of the Pran we come to see later. Because while Dissaya was still overbearing and controlling, Pran hadn't had to bear the worst of it yet. For a single child without friends that he could really open up to, it was natural for Pran to feel a pull towards Pat boisterous though he was, because he offered him a space where he could for the first time in his life open up in. 

It could be argued that Pran didn't reveal anything to Pat (it could be argued otherwise too i will get to it soon) but for a person of Pran's nature, who finds expressing himself difficult the space Pat offered for him to express his creativity and his passion for music and song writing was by itself a lot. But it's not just that. Pran is not only talking about a random song is he? He is talking about putting his actual feelings into the song. How he likes the feeling of hesitation of wanting to jump in but being afraid to be heartbroken.

He is knowingly or unknowingly speaking about his own feelings with respect to Pat. I say unknowingly because it is hard to imagine Pran really revealing his heart like that if he really knew what he was going through at that very moment.

And how does Pat react to Pran's words. He pays attention, listens intently and encourages Pran's idea. Pran opened up and Pat let him and Pran actually felt great about it. Its one of the rare moments in his life where he could be honest about something so special. 

And then Pat goes on doing random thoughtful acts like making the guitar pick out of his own ID just cos he saw Pran was struggling to play the guitar without it. He had nothing to gain and he still did that. He is nice to him. He says hi to him by the juice stand, he tells him he'd see him in the music room. Like he wants to see him there. Pran almost forgets their family feud. He was falling in love after all. How could he not?

The feeling being new to him, Pran like any teenager was curious to see what would happen? 

What if I step closer? What if we spend more time together? What if i was more nice to him? Could something actually happen?

But then he sees InkPat in the music room and Pran loses the spirit he had suddenly gained. 

Maybe not. Pat probably didnt feel the same way.

 And then the bracelet thing happens. 

Of course he didnt feel the same way. 

And then the christmas show happens and they practice together again, they play music together again and music and his feelings for Pat have somehow been inextricably intertwined ever since that conversation they first had about the song. And so here he was finally singing the song in front of people, declaring his feelings out loud, and the crowd was actually cheering and grooving to their song and the whole vibe of it puts him in a space where he feels anything could happen and in a rare moment of indulgence he turns to smile at Pat while singing the song he wrote about them. 

But then before he could even taste the feeling of freedom that that performance was potentially offering him, it all comes crashing down as he sees his parents standing in front of him, face aghast and anger writ large on it. And before Pran knows it he's shipped off to a boarding school away from everything he ever knew.

For any teenager that's a harsh change. For a neurodivergent gay introvert like Pran it would have been an even more isolating experience. Finding himself in an unfamiliar environment with no friends, no family and just a bunch of strangers, his only companions the anger and frustration at the whole situation at his mother and the boy who broke his heart (oblivious though he was of it).

How could Pran have let this happen? How could he have ever thought there was something there? And even if there was, that something could happen? How could he let him in? Of course it was gonna end up like this.

3 years at the boarding school pass and we can assume that Pran makes his own set of friends during this time. But we know that none if any are close enough for him to even bring up later on. Which means the one person who got him to open up, who gave him a safe space to talk and share feelings was still Pat. The one person he didn't have to be anything other than himself was, Pat. The only person who he ever felt comfortable enough to open up to was Pat. And Pran can't believe his terrible luck when he sees him stand across from him. 

Unlike Pat who has seemingly gone back to acting like a spoilt child fighting for no reason who is trying to hold onto the person he had become the past 3 years when Pran sees Pat all his feelings come rushing back to him. Despite it all, despite the three years of gap where he swore to never let himself be in such a position again, the moment he sees Pat he is gone again. Because the three years felt like nothing suddenly. And he's once again standing across from the boy who broke his heart.

Why the hell did this have to happen? Out of all the universities he could go to, why this one?

And this time things are more conducive to their budding friendship. And Pat  soon gives up his macho act and somehow keeps finding excuses to spend time with him. Of course Pran's feelings sprung back up in twice the ferocity.

His defences were still up but what the hell was happening?

Why is he helping him out for no reason? Why is he offering to do that? What the hell is being like this way for? Why is he smiling at his dimples like that? This possibly can't be real.

And yet. Day after day Pat keeps coming back and Pran's defenses are slowly threatening to come down and it's scary but its also exhilarating, but it's mostly scary.

And then he's proven right. To have been scared.

Because of course Pat never feels the same way. Of course he likes Ink. Of course that's what was happening all along. Silly Pran letting himself hope again. How foolish of him.

Episode 5 is Pran scrambling to pull back and secure his defenses, Pat is never getting through this wall again. He's done with this. He can't possibly be heartbroken over and over and over again for the same oblivious guy who probably has not a single clue what he's doing to Pran's heart.

And then the freshy night happens and then Pat acts a confusing combination of angry and hurt at the bar and Pran is supposed to be celebrating but he can't wipe Pat's betrayed face from his mind and then if that wasn't enough the confrontation with Wai happens and things come to a shrieking halt in the rooftop where Pran has finally had it. He tells him.

He finally lets it out, in the most Pran way he could at that point, telling Pat to not give him any hope to not do this to him. But instead of the final nail on the coffin that he expects Pat to hammer in, he knocks the winds out of him as he tells no, because no he actually does not want to be friends. He actually wanted what Pran wanted?

After all this time?

And then they step closer and wait for a while before Pat finally leans in, giving him the kiss that he had been dreaming about since god knows how long. Except the kiss is too short and maybe Pat had only that much to give, but Pran had years worth of love and want and longing he had been carrying around and he wanted nothing more than to let it all go. And so he does. He pulls Pat closer and gives him the kiss that he's been wanting to give him forever. 

Pran tells Pat every single one of his feelings through that kiss. Because he was never going to ever be able to put them into words was he? But alas...if Pat wasn't putting the final nail on the coffin, then the wave of realizations that follow the kiss tells Pran that he needs to be the one to do it.

It's never gonna work out ever. This is the most they could ever have. And knowing that Pat returned his feelings doesn't make it any easier.

Because what the hell was he doing? Letting himself go like this!? Setting himself up for getting hurt again? Pat may have kissed him, but he liked Ink too didnt he? And even if he didn't any longer, their families hated each other. And the last time they knew they got close, Pran had to go through hell and back. 

How could he do this to himself again? No.

It is over. It has to be over. He can't keep getting hurt again.

And he pulls back.

By miles. He is done letting his guard down and getting hurt and causing hurt. This is best in the long run. He should just stay away from Pat. No matter how much it hurt. It was never gonna work out anyways.

But then Pat comes back. Pran pushes him away. He has to give up at some point. He has to. Why would he keep coming back? But Pat keeps surprising Pran. He keeps coming back and butting in and being a pain in the ass and Pran is at his wit's end because he just doesn't know how much more he can withstand. He could see how much effort Pat was putting just to have a conversation with him. And eventhough he was staying away to protect himself he also thought he was doing it for Pat's sake too. That it was better for everybody in the long run. But Pat's steadfast efforts finally get to him.

He was still the one person in the world he could truly be open in front of. His defenses were somehow at his weakest. And sitting there on that beach dreaming of a reality where their parents don't have a life consuming feud going on Pran actually lets himself open up once again. After that it was just a matter of time before Pran was lured into the who falls in love first challenge bet. Bringing their love for competing with eo into this was the only way Pran could be eased into this.

Pat knows him so well. They've come so far. What the hell, he could win this challenge couldn't he? Pat followed him all the way to their hostile architecture trip didn't he? He would cave in.

Pat keeps surprising him though he keeps finding new ways to flirt and stump him, and Pran never to be beaten has a few tricks up his sleeve too.

Neither end up winning and things stay in that will they won't they when will they limbo and there was all chance of it continuing indefinitely and then Pat surprises him again.

He doesn't take Pran's easy out. Pran had basically offered to confess and end this bet. Pat was being handed an easy win. But he declines it. And then he surprises him even more by walking into the loss, showing up to play Kwan in a drama he didn't even need to act in, in a play he signed up for just to flirt with Pran and now the play he is offering to do, entirely and completely for Pran. At this point Pat really had the upper hand in the bet. And he still willingly volunteers to lose. He puts himself out there, knowing he will lose. Because on the other end of it Pat saw a relationship with Pran. Why prolong it any longer? And how could Pran not melt at that. Bet be damned. 

And that's why he cooks curry for Pat and when Pat tries to eat it himself, Pran stops him, looks at him meaningfully and then feeds it to him, as if signalling to Pat that if you lost for me, i'm losing for you too.

And so they start dating. And Pran now has to get used to this feeling of his defenses being down. His vulnerabilities exposed and his heart basically out there to be hurt. It was absolutely terrifying. And he wouldn't have had the courage to go for it if Pat hadn't done what he did. Showing him that he valued Pran and his feelings over his own ego. Pat's consistency and sacrifice proved beyond a shadow of doubt as somebody Pran could actually trust himself with. Over and above his overwhelming love for Pat, I believe it is that trust that helped him take that step. 

And Pat keeps showing him every step of the way that the trust was given in safe hands. After every fight, every disagreement, they stop and they talk and they communicate. Pran asks for time. Pat gives it. Pran asks him to keep it under wraps. He's okay with it. Pran compromises on a lot of things himself. He steps out of his comfort zone, willingly does things he wouldn't have dreamt of otherwise just to make Pat happier.

Because he realizes that if the relationship has to work, they both need to put equal effort. By being with Pat, Pran while being in a safe space gets to open up his heart in ways he would have been afraid to otherwise.

It is implied that Pran is the one who cooks for both of them, he leaves cute notes to make Pat smile when he's upset, he does random thoughtful things like putting the paste on the toothbrush for a waking Pat, he hurries home immediately to comfort an upset Pat, and even if it made his friend mad he still showed up to practice sessions and games because he wanted to support Pat and be there for him.

When Wai outs them it is the tremendous trust that he has in Pat and their relationship that helps Pran go over to assuage Pat and helps them get through it together. Every step of the way every block in the path they handle it together. His trust in Pat, his belief in their love growing more and more.

And that's why when Pran sees that Pat is quite serious about staying on at the beach, despite his reservations and fears and wanting to be there for his mother too he still goes all in. Of course he does. Of course he goes all in for the boy he has loved ever since he knew what love was. The one person who kept showing up over and over. The only one who he had complete and utter trust in, to be there for him. 

Because finally, finally Pran could see what he couldn't even dream of when he was young and a life he didn't dare let himself think about in their few months of relationship. A life with Pat, the kindest warmest love-shaped boy he knew, no matter how silly he could get, he would always want to be there for him, with him and he no longer felt like he had to clutch onto his defenses like they were the only thing he really had, because no? He had Pat didn't he?

The only person who knew what it was like being in Pran's shoes, and who loved him nonetheless and maybe even all the more because of it, the way Pran did with him, because he knew Pat would never hurt him knowingly.

He could do this.

He could do this with him.

His belief in their love, his trust in their relationship, the commitment that Pat expressed to him in that conversation, ensured that no matter what challenges came up later in their fake break up era, things would still be okay. It's because of that faith that Pran knew that he could afford to go to Singapore for a couple of years and they would remain strong though it all because of that assurance and confidence he felt in himself, in Pat and this relationship that they had nurtured and cherished.

We see him grow up from a boy who was scared of feeling things to a boy who was brave enough to overcome that fear to let himself be open to hurt to crying in the arms of Pat, letting himself be his most vulnerable to braving hurt to fighting for what he loves and doing what he feels is right.

We see his growth from when he went from being afraid to express his feelings to expressing that in actions and then in words and asking Pat to do the public confession and writing a song for him and asking him how good he was in bed and demanding Pat call him sweetly.

Unafraid of his wants or desires and no longer averse to expressing them. We see him growing beyond childish hijinks to buying a gift for the man who had once hurt his mother, because two things can be true at once ( Ming was an asshole, but he was still Pat's father). He was building a life with Pat, and a meticulous planner like Pran was obviously not going to leave his relationship with his future father in law to chance. 

And that's my take on how Pran went from "You still owe me" to "Every time i'm near you, nothing good happens" to "Can you please stay away from me?" to "You know that fact (that you aren't my friend) now leave" to "Someone like you what's to like?" to "You've got to stop doing this to me Pat" to "Why start when you know how it's gonna end" to "It's the kind of relationship i always avoid"  to "I care about you more" to "if you want my hand be brave" to "If i do that (thinking of it as a song for Pat) then how can i ever really quit" to "Being with you already feels like freedom" to "We like each other. Why does it bother anyone?" to "I can be anywhere as long as i have you" to "I wrote this song for him." to "Give it to him for me" to "If not you i won't allow anyone else to use it" to "Call me nicely" unafraid of expressing his feelings and desires, heart more open and loving than the one he started off with.  

To conclude and in short throughout the show the growth we see in Pran is perfectly illustrated in his password change from the Pran (who was uber protective of his own self and was emotionally repressed and closed off trying to appear cool and unaffected) of Pran So Cool to the unabashedly in love Pran (having made rapid progress in expressing his feelings and braving fears) of Pran in Love, and it's Pat's love and kindness that helped him along the way. 

The world didn't change him. Pat's love did.

#bad buddy #pran x pat #pran parakul #bad buddy meta #patpran #bad buddy brain rot #bad buddy the series #i may have projected a bit #okay a lot #but im also probably right

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

Daisy & Mavis?

Or maybe Sir Handel & Peter Sam?

Ooooh, Sir Handel and Peter Sam have a fascinating dynamic. However, I don't really have much to say that others haven't already said, and probably said better. To the degree that I'm tempted to talk about their Trauma Responses, I have another ask about Sir Handel & Skarloey, so I think I'll fold these thoughts into that post.

So, Daisy and Mavis — love 'em — only wish they got more screen time!

("Screen" time. Do they ever have a significant interaction in the television series? I really want to be told if they do.)

Actually they only have one page in RWS where they exchange a word. But it's such a good page. Posting it here for the uninitiated:

Look at this mess. Look at this absolutely perfect bitchfest. There are a total of zero brain cells in this conversation. Venting to your work bestie and and letting loose your inner mean girl. A classic RWS dynamic! It's just the diesel (& the female) version of the Thomas and Percy relationship: They make each other worse.

But, they need each other.

But, they make each other worse...!

Despite their lack of screentime following this, you cannot convince me that these two don't remain peas in a pod, just like 1 and 6 after 6 is transferred to the branch line.

I do think it's rather sad that Mavis is holed up in the quarry. :( There's a real bummer of a line when she appears in a later Christopher story...

"Besides, she sometimes finds it dull up at the Quarry with no one to talk to but trucks." I know it's realistic, but I want better for her. LET 👏 HER 👏 OUT 👏

Once smartphones became a thing, I like to imagine that they videocalled from the quarry to the carriage shed every night. (Annie, Clarabel, and Henrietta are very understanding about this when the call lasts half an hour. If ever the workers try to indulge Daisy and Mavis with a longer call, however, the coaches start murmuring...)

One great thing about this convo is that it's the first time I feel like I'm really, genuinely looking at lasting steam/diesel coexistence on Sodor's 'big railway.' Coz this is a target Awdry has been trying to hit for at least a dozen books now, yeah? Due mostly to his publishers' pressures, he's been trying to have beloved diesel characters while keeping his 1920-cosplay steam railway too, and this is where I think he finally hits the target. Daisy's first appearance was hamstrung because the turning point where she changes her haughty new-engine attitude and where the others accept her despite all the shit she's already pulled is off-screen, we're just told "they're friends now" and have to be all "right. sure." Probably because he got negative feedback on his Daisy hash, Awdry played it suuuuper safe with BoCo and Bear — less so Bear, but that's another post; for now I will just say that in contrast to Daisy they are presented as very clean-as-a-whistle, and their acceptance by the railway is made so much of that it doesn't feel natural, they both feel like one-offs. But then, ahhh. Now we've got Mavis, and Awdry has the bright idea to let her talk to Daisy, and BANG. Now we're here. This doesn't feel Informed, or starch-and-stiff, or tokenistic. You read this and you're like oh, yeah. Even the sleepiest branch line on this railway is now part dieselised. They're acting like characters! Everybody is acting like squabbling coworkers! It's like sinking at last into a warm relaxing soak. Ahhhhh. Here's the good stuff.

Because they don't need to be Representatives of dieselkind? They can just kinda suck for a moment, without being villains? When TVS subs out Daisy for Diesel, it automatically gives this conversation a sinister air. He's the devil on Mavis's shoulder. But in the original, there's nothing sinister here; it's homey. They're just venting to each other. Their behavior is kinda crappy, but also very normal and recognisable. New work besties fr. They are both three drinks in.

Daisy: He said what to you? Omg babe. I cannot believe that old garden shed said that to youuu.

Mavis: Right?????

Daisy: raising a glass Anything steam engines do, we diesels can do BETTER!

Mavis: hauling herself a bit unsteadily to her feet so that her gesticulation can be its most dramatic and sweeping You are RIGHT and you should SAY IT!

(Narrator: mildly ... Daisy was not right and, being probably the most specialised and least versatile engine then on her railway, she definitely should not have been saying it.)

(Above: The quintessential moment. Mavis & Daisy are commiserating/carping, and Annie & Clarabel are trying so hard to not hear their shit.)

Now, I've always had a question here...

Did Toby really say that only steam engines can shunt trucks?

The text indicates only that he was annoyed that she kept re-arranging things, they had a tiff, she rejected his input and left.

Then again, the text doesn't reveal that Percy calls Mavis's shunting "a ---- ------ ------ mess!", so, y'know. We get the minimum detail necessary in these stories. ;)

We never see Toby express any such sentiment about diesel engines. I'm inclined to think he never said this — and I suspect we're not supposed to believe he said this, only that Mavis is in stroppy teen mode and exaggerating and embellishing her grievances to the point where she's straight-up making shit up.

Still, I'm not sure. Usually in the RWS if a character is lying they are slyly or explicitly called out for it in the nearby text and this time the claim is just... sitting here.

Ultimately, I don't think he ever said that to her, but (considering how salty everyone on the Ffarquhar line can get: some have quicker fuses than others but they're all so provoke-able) I don't think Mavis just made this up completely. If she were making up stories from whole cloth, that would be... well, that would be 'Devious' Diesel behavior! I suspect, however, that Toby and Percy (comparing notes on her shunting) are at least thinking it, or have said it to each other, and Mavis has picked up on these vibes. All of which would be incredibly realistic.

Anyway, I bring this up because the answer does color my read of this conversation a little. If Mavis is completely making up attitudes that Toby never dreamed of having, and Daisy just eats it up and eggs her on, that makes this conversation somehow even 10x messier (and somehow I'm still rooting for their friendship). If this is a sentiment that is real or implied when Mavis or Daisy annoy the other Ffarquhar engines (and they can both be annoying, no question) then the bond between these two characters, with their very different personalities, just becomes even more 'understandable.'

Anyway, about those differences. Mainly, Daisy is ultimately very conventional. (This reminds me I have a nearly-finished essay about Daisy lying around somewhere. For now...) Mavis is the original, creative one, the mover-and-shaker. All Daisy's initial behaviors, as Hazel observed recently, are things we've seen from proud new engines before! She wants lots of attention, she boasts, she tries her damnedest to get out of work that she thinks is beneath her. What Mavis wants is to improve things, to have more responsibility, to get to stretch her wheels. Furthermore, Daisy by nature is keen to avoid work that's too heavy (she's a railcar with limited pulling power, so, you know, understandable); Mavis doesn't mind work — she just doesn't like being told how to do it, and she doesn't like being bored!

A point where they can be contrasted is in how they accept Toby's help and friendship at the end of their initial... "arcs." (All right, Daisy's "arc" is ended so clumsily that you can barely call it that, but you get me.) I'm not saying Mavis is devious or calculating, but for her Toby's offer of friendship is just as important as a pathway to her getting out of the quarry sometimes as it is for his forgiveness. It is her ticket out. For Daisy, Toby's offer of friendship was important because she wants friends, now she's making a friend yay!! — and I think that was pretty much it. Daisy just wants positive attention; that's what all her 'modern and right-up-to-date' stuff was about, but that failed to get her the positive attention she wanted and it turned out that being a team player did, so she had little trouble re-orienting herself. She resisted the pressure of everyone on the platform for her first train because she clung to the memory of her friend the fitter, but I don't think she's one to resist peer pressure in general, and as time passed and the Ffarquhar line residents became her peers, it was completely inevitable that she start to conform to their ways.

So (although, again, annoyingly — we aren't shown) I reckon that Daisy panicked after Percy's accident when she realized that she would be in trouble too (all right, someone probably had to point it out to her). And so for the first time she pitches in and does some hard work. Toby can't help but own "you did well to get all your half cleared, Daisy" and Daisy's entire system lights up because compliment, baby!!! That's all she ever wanted. She's Toby's man now (so to speak).

I can also easily imagine that, in trying to get adjusted to Mavis, Toby remembered how thing went last time. He must have tried from the first to tell himself, through slightly gritted teeth, "Just find something to compliment the new engine on, just anything. Helps build trust." But he was stymied twice over. 1) She keeps re-arranging the trucks in some crazy-ass unapproved way and he can't find ANYTHING nice to say! 2) It wouldn't have worked, anyway. Mavis wouldn't have been satisfied with just some friendly attention. Mavis wants to do. shit.

Mavis is bright — possibly has little common sense, but she's bright. I do wonder sometimes if her shunting arrangements are actually bad, or if they're just different and Toby and Percy can't adjust. (The text does own that due to the siding arrangements it's inefficient to put the trucks where Toby expects them. She probably does optimize things — from her point of view, anyhow.) Either way, though, here is an active and creative mind at work. Plus, her ploy to slo-o-owly expand her pathway down the line in "Toby's Tightrope" shows long-term planning, which is hardly something we've ever seen any vehicle do! So yeah, she's well above-average bright for an engine.

Hilariously, in Their Own Scene she is easily impressed by Daisy's lofty confidence (another classic RWS dynamic — it's giving Duncan staring amazed at James's boasting), but she's also super young, hasn't been Toby-fied yet, and in short I expect that as the years go by Mavis is likely to see Daisy as less of a role model and more of a crony/partner-in-crime. Daisy might instigate things sometimes — but she needs Mavis and Mavis's bright ideas before she really makes much headway! And I expect Mavis is often the instigator anyway. In her literary-device role of Second Coming of Thomas (Dieselised Flavour), she probably continues to want all sorts of things that engines aren't supposed to pine for (silly stick-in-the-muds!) Daisy is quite content to grumble but put up. Mavis will find a way to make stuff happen.

(Which is the only explanation we're going to get for how Mavis is at large on every quarry and some not-remotely-a-quarry sets on the island, come TVS!)

That was a light rap on the TVS there, but not a very hard knock; at least TVS insisted (in spite of all logic) on using her character for stuff. Christopher lets me down, personally, by finding so little for Mavis to do — and never having her and Daisy interact! I want more of this shit so badly.

However, in the Author's Note of Thomas Comes Home, Daisy apparently has a bee in her bonnet about fans who think the series has no female engines and is like 'me and Mavis tho!!!!!!' Which... I like seeing Daisy mention Mavis. That's all. It assures me that they’re still a duo (although I prefer Wilbert's interpretation that they bond over being The Two Diesels On This Line vs. Christopher's implication that their bond is being The Two Girls On This Line).

#i want them to have more adventures in making things 'better' (worse) #like the lucy and ethel of the ffarquhar maybe? #(i haven't actually seen i love lucy... this is just osmosis) #i would also be all right seeing them kiss #highly acceptable #just give me more daisy & mavis content. please. #d1+fqc #great ask! #thank you #chatter #ttte daisy #ttte mavis #ttte toby #wilbert awdry really said 'someone on the ffarquhar needs to civilize these headstrong young half-feral engines' #' ... and it ain't gonna be thomas lmfao' #i think he's WRONG to discount thomas and percy but i think it's very funny that his attitude is just 'they're toby's problem coz no one #else is qualified' #'thomas and percy are out there causing wrecks and playing dress up and being chaos gremlins themselves' #ttte analysis #ttte headcanon #also 'no one to talk to but the trucks' IS big 'i was desolate. all alone in the empty manor. me and a staff of eighteen servants.' energy #the SOLITUDE mwahaha #... but yeah i get it #get 👏 her 👏 out 👏

[wri0thesley]

you cannot tell me itto doesnt have the biggest size kink in teyvat - he’s already taller than like, a majority of the visible population so far and it doesnt help i hc him to be even taller than his in-game model depicts - like those oni genes making him a bare minimum of 6’5 (~195cm) if not even more. and he’s just so. Big and bulky - his model even agreeing with his extra defined abs and muscles even through his (albeit somewhat minimal compared to the other genshin men) clothes. he’d just engulf you in the best way possible - be it to fuck your brains out and watch the bulge in your stomach disappear and reappear or just for the best bear hugs and cuddles. please i need him

- might as well call me the desperate itto wanter anon at this point - he’s taking over my entire mind T-T

cw; not sfw, minors dni. size kink, mating press, fingering, tummy bulge, ‘pussy job’, pet names (babe, pretty baby,), itto has a longer-than-average monster tongue and also a monster dick (as it should be, not sfw link for what i always imagine him with). afab reader, gn pronouns! 

(send me a genshin kink thought/thirst for elucidation and drabbles)

Itto’s breath is panting hot against your ear. Big hands are curled around your thighs, almost bending you in half, your knees nearly up around your ears - and despite that, the way that he’s holding you and keeping you pinned beneath him seems effortless. 

The panting is not from the exertion of having you in this position - the panting is, instead, from the way you feel as his thick, stiff cock slides in between the messy slick that leaks and drips from your sex. 

“Babe,” Itto is panting, mumbling, practically whimpering against your ear. “Babe, s’not gonna fit.” The muscles in your thighs twitch and clench as the tip of his cock nudges your clit again from the way he keeps rutting his hips against you - sliding his cock between your wet folds without actually managing to penetrate inside of you, where you desperately want him to be. He whines out in desperate despair; “You’re too small. S’gonna break you in half--”

It would be impossible to not feel small beneath Itto. His broad shoulders block out any light that might filter through into the bedroom from the window; his hands taking up a great swathe of your bare thigh, the expanse of his own chest glistening with sweat. The muscled planes of his abdomen, the thick, defined line of his thighs--

Taking one of his fingers is already a stretch for you. One that has you squirming beneath him; looking up at him with your eyes blown wide and your lips swollen from biting. You’d taken two of them tonight, as Itto made you come apart with nothing but the curl of his knuckles and the drag of his thumb along your clit - but that hadn’t been enough. 

“I need your cock,” you’d told him, even with the damp proof of your own gushing release shimmering on his fingertips. The sight of his long - just slightly too long, in a way that makes your insides clench - tongue licking up that same wetness and clearly revelling in it had done little to ease your desire. You hadn’t cared if your tone had leant to petulance as you’d insisted; “Itto! Want you inside of me. I want you to stretch me out more . . .”

Arataki Itto is not good at saying ‘no’ to you. Despite his position of the leader of a gang, despite the loud exclamation of his horns saying he is something other than human, despite the sheer breadth of him . . . you have him wrapped around your little finger. And looking up at him like that and earnestly begging him to ruin you when his cock had been begging to be sheathed inside of you since the first time you’d kissed him . . . any attempts at retaining the self-control he’d had for fear of hurting you with it had been pushed to the wayside, as the inhuman part of his brain had looked down at you and thought ‘mine, mine, mine’.

That inhuman look had been in his eye as he’d wrestled you into position; as he’d manoeuvred you like a ragdoll until you felt tiny and utterly claimed in his grip. Itto’s red-gold eyes stare down at you with something between hunger and adoration painting them, as he slurs out (his cock not ceasing rubbing up and down the lips of your sex);

“You’re so much smaller’n me . . . Really could break you, huh?”

“I can take it!” You whine up to him. You rock back on your rear as best you can, your elbows keeping you propped up on the bed, and the position manages to stretch you just a little bit wider - at the cost of making you even more helpless to do anything but stay in the position that Itto has man-handled you into. His eyes drag down your body, centring firmly on your sex. 

“Shit. . .” He sighs, quietly. “Can’t-- can’t not put it in ya, seein’ as you want it so bad . . . So wet. You’ve made a messa me already, pretty baby--” 

A few more helpless strokes of his cock between your folds, and the slightly spade-shaped tip of him is gently nudging at your opening. Your mouth drops open as you gasp - Itto gently, gently, gently pushing himself inside of you. The way the tip of his cock widens makes your thighs jump again, your stomach tight - and your cunt clench around what little of him is already inside of you. Itto whines.

“Fuck, babe, you’re squeezin’ me--”

“Keep going,” You breathe out at him in return, feeling tears spring to your eyes. “I-- at least get the tip in, Itto, please--”

“Ah--hnn. Can’t say no t’my pretty baby when they ask like that, can I-- hold on, yeah?” 

He shifts slightly, and you realise he’s reared up fully onto the balls of his feet, effectively keeping you completely pinned beneath him in a mating press, even with barely an inch of his cock inside of you. Your fingers twist into Itto’s rumpled sheets as slowly, inexorably slowly, he sinks the entire head of his cock inside of you. Sweat is dripping down his forehead, his eyes glittering dangerously - and he is every inch an oni, like this, bearing down upon you.

And you cannot help but love feeling like his prey. 

“So big,” you tell him, in a whining little moan. “I can take more, I promise. Wanna feel all of you.”

“I-I’ll go slow,” Itto manages, choking through the waves of desire that are roiling through his entire being. “I wanna feel alla you too.”

Itto is true to his word, though every second that lasts feels like it lasts a lifetime. The sensation of him sinking inside of you, inch by slow, torturous inch, makes you feel fuller than you’ve ever been; the ridges and bumps of his cock rubbing against your inner walls in a way at once pleasurable and mind-numbing. Your mouth is open; you think you might be drooling. Certainly, the over-stimulatedf tears that have been threatening to fall for what seems like hours have made shiny trails on your cheeks. 

He’s so big, simply getting wider and wider as he fucks further into you. You think you might be split apart - you think that you might come just from the sensation of being so utterly taken, as your heart pounds so loudly it echoes in your ear. 

Time stands still, slow like molasses - nothing in your mind but the complete stupification of being stretched to your limits and then some. And then Itto groans out your name like a prayer and says, over-awed;

“I fitted.”

And then, as his eyes once more travel over you, his mouth drops open and you see the glint of his fangs.

“Babe. Your tummy.”

You look down to see that Itto has finally bottomed out inside of you; the heaviness of his full balls pushing against your opening. But, more pressing than that is the sight of how your stomach has distended; a noticeable bulge, right where all of Itto’s cock is currently nestled inside of you. 

“I--I can feel you there,” you breathe out - and Itto urges you to hook one of your knees over his shoulder so that his hand is free to press gently on said bulge. As you feel that pressure, his thick fingers and hot palm against it, your eyelids flutter and roll back into your head, pleasure zapping through your synapses. 

“I can feel it too,” he says. “I . . . I gotta move, babe. If I don’t fuck you ‘m gonna just . . . ‘m gonna die right here, I need you so bad, gonna be careful I promise--”

You look up into his eyes; clouded with a haze of lust. You feel so small underneath him; so small even with him inside of you, stretched out around him, claimed and loved and wanted and taken. 

“Itto,” you say. You hold his gaze, feeling your lips curve into a smile. “D-don’t. Don’t hold back.”

#itto x reader #arataki itto x reader #itto smut #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #not sfw #afab reader #writing #drabble #ask game

[oscconfessions]

HI HI i come bearing more black hole talking.

i think it's so fucked up that black holes cannot create, that they're only made to destroy, yet bh literally defies his nature by refusing to destroy. YOU DON'T KNOW HOW THIS AFFECTS ME BECAUSE LIKE. imagine going against what you're meant to do. DUDE HE IS MADE TO DESTROY AND HE REFUSES TO !!!!!!!! !! I'M GOING INSANE!!!!! you cannot ever take that fact away from me this has affected me in ways i cannot express.

you don't understand. he keeps trying to follow the "no killing" rule even after accidentally killing people. he.he keeps on trying even if it doesn't benefit his team and him. time and time again the universe reminds him that he's meant to be destructive yet he pushes through and keeps trying. to me his character just screams hope because how else are you supposed to do that. dude i would've given up the moment i failed.

EVEN WHEN KILLING SOMEONE WOULD BENEFIT THEM HE STILL CARES IT DOESN'T JUST END WITH PREVENTING DEATH!!!!!! i'm so insane. the fact that he only kills his friends in his dream??? in a world where killing is seen as not a big deal??? AND TO MAKE FANNY UNDERSTAND WHY HE'S FOLLOWING THE PATH??? if he was real i'd trust him with my soul.

TALKING ABOUT THE PACT,,, maybe i'm just projecting but why would he be scared of him consuming everything if he doesn't follow the pact if he didn't think that he's (emotionally) capable of actually consuming everything. here i go again with the intrusive thoughts headcanon but AUGHHGHHGH it just makes sense !!!¡!!¡!! anyways. i will forever be not normal about the fact that he's trying to be open about the idea that refusing to kill isn't that good. like even if he's not ready to go of the rule of not killing he's still trying to be open about it. this is something that directly opposes how he (used) to think and that he was just so stuck to it that it made his team loose the challenge multiple times yet he's still open to it. like imagine how jarring it must be to him.

i desperately need an arc where death pact again all help bh slowly let loose of the no killing rule. just dpa being patient with him and helping him along the way and being awesome friends. also need bh and tree to talk things out desperately PLEASE JACKNJELLIFY PLEASEEEE. send ask

.

#confession #/bfdi #/bfdi/black hole