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kryptonitejelly · 24 hours

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flyboy!universe - but readable as a stand-alone. jake seresin x reader. the two times when jake sees you in a skintight dress (ft. college flyboy!jake) ngl, but two was entirely inspired by the skims dress.

one

college!flyboy era

Jake’s gaze has been trained on you the moment you stepped out of your room and into his line of sight.

“Too much?” You ask, hands smoothing down the fabric against your hips as you look up at him, waiting for his opinion. Jake sees the hint of insecurity flash through your eyes and it baffles him, because you look great.

“No,” Jake tries not to let his gaze run down the curves of your body, but he fails, miserably, “you look good.” Jake mentally kicks himself as the word ‘good’ tumbles from his mouth - the southward flow of blood through his body clearly limiting on his ability to speak, fucking hot, was more like it.

“Really?” You ask again while moving towards the wide full length mirror which leans in a corner of the living area of your apartment.

“Yes,” Jake pushes himself to a stand. He walks up behind you and you meet his gaze in the mirror.

“Really,” you ask, your voice trailing off, more an open ended statement than a question which Jake punctuates by dropping his chin onto your shoulder. The thin straps of your dress allow you to feel his skin, warm against yours.

“Yeah,” he repeats again more firmly as you both lock gazes in the mirror, “and you smell good.”

You find a slight flush start to creep up the back of your neck as Jake turns his face; you can feel the tip of his nose against your skin, and his forehead and the softness of his hair brushing your cheek. You feel Jake’s gentle inhale as you see his eyes flutter close for a brief second.

“Are you sniffing me,” you blurt out, mildly flustered at the action and the clench it makes you feel in your lower belly, “that could be perceived as creepy”

“Me?” He mock gasps as he straightens to his full height, “how could you.”

You mourn the loss of Jake’s skin against yours, but not for long as he takes a small step forward, your back connecting with the front of his body. Jake can feel the curve of your ass against him and it takes all of him not to let out a desperate groan.

“Maybe I should change,” you say, your gaze tearing away from Jake’s reflection in the mirror to run over the dress hugging each inch of your body. You move to take a step forward only to have Jake reach out to stop you by tugging you back by your arm.

“You will do no such thing,” he says just as you stumble into him, meeting a hard wall of muscle. Jake holds you steady with a hand on your waist as your palms press against his chest for stability. It gives him the chance to observe you both in the mirror, you pressed up against him and he can’t help but think how good you both look together.

You open your mouth to protest just as the doorbell rings - you hear the calls of your friends outside, a sign that you’ve both let them wait below the apartment block for a tad too long.

“Promise you look good,” Jake says his fingers giving your waist a reassuring squeeze before he gently tugs you towards the door and out towards your friends and the night.

two

flyboy!era

Jake glances down at his phone, giving a light tap to the screen to check two things - the time, and if there were any messages from you.

“They’ll be here,” Bradley nudges Jake lightly on the shoulder.

“Not soon enough,” is what Jake grumbles to himself as he takes a swig of his beer. An early Saturday morning tee time with the gang for him, and a late night over at Penny’s house the night before for you meant that he hadn’t seen you proper, since the day before yesterday - Jake wasn’t counting your half awake goodbye yesterday morning as seeing you. He was, admittedly slightly on the crankier side today from not having spent time with you. After all, the point of you being here, in San Diego with him was so that he could see you daily before you both went back to normal life and him to facing the possibility of being shot across the world with little warning for potentially months at the drop of a hat.

“Didn’t peg you as needy,” Payback teases gently, but with no bite, from across the table.

Jake opens his mouth to retort when he sees you step into the bar, laughing shoulder to shoulder with Phoenix. It distracts him to say the least, as he places the beer bottle back on the table, his body twisting in the chair, neck craning so he can get the best view of you from his perch. Jake’s focus is your face, but he lets his gaze drift down your body, over the grey form fitting dress that hugs your curves like a second skin. The dress ends just around your ankles, but the thin material that accentuates your curves, Jake notes is making more than his head turn as you walk in.

Jake catches your eye and the way that your face lights up upon seeing him makes his heart swell. He doesn’t take his gaze off you and watches as you scrunch the side of your in one of your hands and pick your way across the crowd towards him. Jake can’t help but think back to that one time in college when he bad to practically drag you out of the house in a similar, albeit much shorter dress. He marvels at the differences the years have made to your confidence. You’ve always been beautiful to him, a sight for sore eyes, but that confidence now, well Jake thought it made you pretty fucking hot.

“Hi,” he has his feet on the ground and arms open the second before you reach him, so you oblige, stepping into his embrace.

“Hey,” you respond, arms going around Jake but the palm of your hand raised up in a wave at the gang behind you. You can’t see them past Jake’s shoulder, but you hear a chorus of greetings to you, and almost audible eye rolls at Jake.

“You look good,” he says, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, while letting one hand drop down to your rest on the curve of your ass, his gaze scanning across the bar. He sees the gaze of some patrons dart away, and meets some disappointed ones. Jake was fine for people to look, but it didn’t mean that he wouldn’t stake his claim.

“You like?” You say as you pull away. It allows Jake the opportunity to take you in again, from the dip of the neckline which showed just enough cleavage, to the contours of the material which hugged your waist in while rounding your hips out.

“I can’t decide if you look better in the dress or without it,” he says, not soft enough and it earns him a series of loud groans from behind you coupled with crumpled up paper napkin or two chucked at his head. His words make you flush, while you let out a soft embarrassed groan of your own to which Jake squeezes your waist before ducking his head down, lips beside your ears, opting instead to say the comparably more chaste line to you only, “I love it.”

Your smile is all the reward Jake needs, but as you lean up to press a soft kiss to his lips in thanks, a hand on his bicep for support, Jake can’t help but think he is the luckiest man in the world.

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oatmilk-vampire · 2 days

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steddie suspense for my lovelies <3 tw: panic attack, mention of death // ~700 words

Steve feels the exact moment the blood drains from his face.

Of course his mind would find a way to ruin this, using an innocent conversation between the two of them against him to prove he will never be okay.

“Did you give ‘em hell, baby?” Eddie had asked with a crooked grin when Steve was talking about the unruly customers he had to deal with earlier.

He bites his cheek hard as the lights flicker and dim around him, as the four walls of his room shift into the cruel expanse of the Upside Down.

He wants to run. He doesn’t have the strength to fight anymore.

“No.” He breaths out, voice just as shaky as his limbs.

“No? That’s okay. Maybe next time.” Eddie shrugs, as if Steve wasn’t struggling to breath.

He has to get away.

“Steve, where are you going?”

Why is he so cold? My God, he’s freezing.

“I gotta go. I gotta go. I can’t be here.”

“Steve, wait!”

He’s using that voice again, the one from earlier that makes Steve squirm. He doesn’t know why, though. Not yet. All he knows is it’s too much. His chest physically aches at the intensity of emotion.

Steve starts breathing fast and shallow.

It’s too much. He’s too cold, and he can’t breathe, dry ice invades his lungs.

The room starts to close in on him. His heartbeat races so fast he’s scared he may die, thinks maybe he already has. His breaths turn ragged as he tries desperately not to suffocate. He doesn’t know how to make it stop. He can’t make it stop. All he can do is reach out for the man in front of him. All he can do is try to get away from him.

“Oh shit. Come on, Stevie. I’m sorry. I was teasing—I didn’t mean to—”

Whatever tone Eddie was using before is gone, instantly replaced by something closer to his normal voice, only maybe a little softer.

“Hey—hey it’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe, I’ve got you.” He wraps his arms around Steve, dragging him down, down, down until he’s sitting. Pulled so close he’s practically in Eddie's lap.

Steve feels himself melt into Eddie’s touch, throwing his arms around his waist and gripping the fabric of his shirt in his fists. He buries his face against his chest as he continued struggling to breathe. Steve is horrified to realize it’s warm and sticky, slick with something he doesn’t want to look at. Can’t stand to see.

“Shhh It’s okay. I’ve got you Steve, it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you.” Eddie murmurs, cradling his head and petting his hair in soothing repetitive motions.

“Try to take some deep breaths, okay? You’re safe here. I’ve got you.”

Steve is still shaking in Eddie’s arms, and may or may not be making pitiful noises as he hyperventilates and cries, but he does try to slow his ragged breaths by matching them to the rise and fall of Eddie’s chest. Being held so tightly, and having the steady rhythms of Eddie’s heartbeat and breathing to focus on helps tremendously. It takes him a while to realize that was the whole point.

“I’ve got you, Steve. You’re doing so good. Keep taking deep breaths with me.”

Eddie’s voice is so gentle, so caring, and his exaggerated breaths are so soothing and easy to follow, Steve almost can’t remember why he’s so scared. Eddie’s here. Eddie’s here with him. Why did that feel so wrong?

It takes a few minutes, but eventually he stops shaking.

Eddie keeps comforting him, whispering soft praise against the top of Steve’s head.

“There you go. Deep breaths. You’re doing so good. Just stay with me. This will end, I promise.”

That’s when the dam breaks.

Steve lifts his head from Eddie’s chest, blinking away his tears.

“You’re not here, you’re not here. You’re not real.” Steve backs away, tries to shield himself, tries to get away.

Eddie follows after him, quick to pull him back into his arms in a tight embrace, preventing Steve from going anywhere.

“You’re okay, Stevie. You’re right here. I’m right here. It’s okay. Whatever you’re seeing isn’t real. Just me. Focus on me.”

“You?”

“Me.”

Steve shakes his head, a new sob rips through his constricting throat.

“No, Eddie. You’re dead. You died.”

Steve squeezes him tight, knows the moment he lets go reality will come back to him. The false memories and imaginary conversations his consciousness had conjured up will be revealed as exactly that: fake.

He’ll be all alone.

“You’re not real.”

#it's midnight here which means I'm droppin a new steddie thanggg #this came to me in a dream #spoilers incoming>>#is eddie dead? is steve? are they both trapped in the Upside Down? maybe Steve's just losing it #feel free to continue or just lmk what you think it means #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic

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sugawarassoulmate · 3 days

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More of shitty boyfriend daishou?????

tbh i didn't think anyone cared about him!! i never get requests for daishou 😅

words: 725

cw: fem!reader, cheating, unprotected sex, minors dni

he's still around, being the world's worst boyfriend. and honestly, reader's probably getting fed up of it at this point. he's never breaking up with mika, no matter what he whispers in your ear when the two of you are together.

you start to pull away a bit. you brush off his advances, laughing them off a simple joke, and you're making sure you're never alone with him for too long. he tries to put the moves on you but you're out the door before he can fully sink his teeth in. he tries to walk you to your dorm one night but you tell him you're meeting a friend instead.

after a while, daishou stops trying and you think he's gotten the hint. you wondered if the two of you could ever become friends once the awkwardness died down but the guilt of seeing mika's sweet face whenever she kissed her boyfriend killed that thought for you.

everything seemed fine. no more late night phone calls or sending nudes through snapchat. you and daishou could stand to be in the same room without palpable tension. his words to you were brief and while it hurt at first, you figured it was best than to continue the mess you were in before.

so when daishou approached you at a party — a get together between some of his teammates and other friends from campus, really — you didn’t think he had ulterior motives. his girlfriend was here and gave you a big hug. "it's been so long! we should hang out," she said, giving your hands a firm, loving squeeze.

you accept when daishou asks to talk somewhere quieter, thinking that he deserves some closure too.

"fuck, i need you to be quiet," he breathes, clamping his free hand over your mouth while the other keeps you pinned to the wall of the upstairs bathroom. you hadn't slept with anyone since giving daishou some distance all those months ago. the feeling of his long cock bruising your cunt had you shaking with pleasure.

you wanted to shout, to cry about how good he was fucking you but it all came out as a babble under his palm. it's probably for the best, you can only hope mika isn't getting suspicious downstairs wondering where her boyfriend ran off to.

"you can't deny of me of this like that again," a cocky grin slithers across daishou's face as he latches as the skin of your neck. "went fucking crazy not being in this pussy."

it's hard to ignore the tight feeling in your stomach when you hear those words, trying not to put so much weight into them but you've missed him too.

you didn't give much thought to date someone else — not like you and daishou were dating anyways — but you had given him so much of your attention, you didn't even know if you could flirt with another person.

there was no one else that caught your interest, just him. and it felt pathetic to admit it, having feelings for some guy that would rather juggle between two people than commit. but you can enjoy being a selfish person at least for now if it meant getting to enjoy the feeling on him.

knowing that time isn't on either of your sides, daishou fucks you harder. his hand drops from your mouth to lightly squeeze your neck, the dizziness only adding to your euphoria.

with your fingers in daishou's dark hair, you cum around his cock. any feelings of guilt you had wash away as you're overcome with the thought of "just daishou" over and over again.

"that's my girl, you're gonna take my cum, yeah?" he coos. "don't let a single drop go to waste."

even after he cums, daishou doesn't stop his pace, fucking his seed deep inside you. "ahh sugu, it's so much," you whine, feeling his cum running down your thigh when he finally pulls out.

daishou does his best to clean you up with toilet paper, flushing away the evidence.

when the two of you finally make it back downstairs, mika seems blissfully unaware that daishou had been gone for so long. she pulls you into a conversation about her classes and you try to follow along, ignoring the feeling of her boyfriend's cum pooling in your underwear.

#haikyuu smut #haikyu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #daishou suguru x reader #daishou x reader #daishou suguru smut #suguru daishou #haikyuu daishou #🍑#🍑daishou #shitty bf!daishou

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lis-likes-fics · 2 days

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Shijetra Nyke, Mandia

Pairings: Daemon Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader Word Count: 5.9k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, technically dubcon bc coercion, fingering, implied age gap (she's laena's little sister), multiple orgasms, p in v sex, breeding kink, sort of cheating, mentions of death and war, swearing, technically reader is black but she can be read as any race, High Valyrian, Daemon is not a good person... A/N: Hey, everyone! Was trying to hold off on this one but I decided to just post it anyway. Super excited for HOTD S2 to come out in June. I promise there are ideas for Aemond but writing sucks so much ass so it's just taking a while to get to it. Thank you so much and happy reading!

The seas are steady tonight. As the moon glints off its gentle waves, the water seems to mourn as you do. It was hard to find sleep. You came all the way out here to watch the crashing waves, in hopes of finding some solace in the sea, but even it does not seem to have the strength to roar tonight.

Your nightgown blows in the soft winds of the night as you watch the ocean.

The rustling of sand pulls a sigh from you, and you grit your teeth as you turn away from the man coming to stand next to you. You don't have to look at him to know who it is. You could tell him anywhere.

“I wish to be alone,” you whisper.

Daemon clasps his hands in front of himself as he looks out at the sea. “That is understandable, my lady.”

“And, yet, you are still here.” You look up at him, your features hard as you glare.

His voice is soft. You're not quite sure it fits him. The non-confrontation in his voice feels strange.

“I thought you might need company,” he says, examining your face as he does. For a moment, you think he can see the ghosts of the dried tears you've shed. “It has been a tiring day, after all.”

You huff, turning away again. Looking at him for too long makes your skin crawl. “I have not want of company.”

He hums. “I said ‘need’, not want.”

You roll your eyes. “Alright, I have no need for your company.”

He seems unphased by your hostility. “Even so…” he looks down at you, the look in his eyes sending a shiver down your spine, “you shall have it.” You stare at him, wanting to step back but not wanting to give him that satisfaction. He turns his body to face yours, craning his head down to watch you better.

He lowers his voice to a whisper as he leans in, as if there were thousands of people here and the secret he is to bestow upon you is too dangerous to say aloud. “It is in times like these, I hear, times where we are most vulnerable, that a bit of presence does one good.”

Despite your urge to stay planted in your sandy spot, you take a small step back without breaking your feigned confidence. “Very well, then,” you say. “You may go and fetch someone else to give me presence. I do not need yours.”

He almost seems amused, though he dies it well. He leans his head back a slight. “You despise me so, yet I have done nothing.”

You let out a breathy scoff, turning away from him and toward your humorless response. “Well, that's the whole of it, isn't it?” You shake your head, your frustration piquing once more. “You've done nothing.”

He hums. “I don't think I understand.”

You look at him, and he can see the anger simmering in your gaze. “Don't you?” You step closer to him, invading his space as he does yours, daring to play his game. “Where were you when my sister left her birthing bed? Where were you when she left the walls of the castle to give herself to her dragon's breath?” Your voice broke as the pain threatened to tear apart your anger. “Where were you when she ordered Vaghar to take her life?”

He almost rolls his eyes at your accusations. “I tried to stop her.”

“But you didn't try hard enough,” you seethe. “Or she would be standing next to me.”

He steps closer, taking the control back. His voice is still quiet, though his level tone is twinged with annoyance. “Laena had her own spirit,” he insists. “She did as she liked well enough. I see not why I should have blame for her own decisions.” His near lack of regard fuels you. “And besides, she would have died anyway. The maesters told me so.”

You shove him back, and your rage is flared by the knowledge that he only moves because he allows you to move him.

“She was everything to me!” Your uneven breaths have your chest heaving as your voice echoes across the water. “Not only my sister, my blood—she was my protector.” You sigh shakily, angrily wiping away the tears welling in your eyes. Your voice softens, though not because you want it to. “Now she is gone.”

He remains silent for a moment, letting it sit until it's no longer comfortable. He tilts his head, still standing so close. “And yet, I am not to blame.”

You roll your eyes, unable to look him in the eyes anymore as you look past his head. “Do you even care?”

“Of course I care,” he insists. “She was my lady wife, after all.”

You raise a brow. “Yet you do not mourn.”

He shrugs a shoulder, entirely unconvincing. “Everyone mourns differently.”

You nod. “And you mourn by shedding no tears and strutting through the castle halls?”

Daemon hums. “You must forgive me if I have offended you, my lady.”

You stare up at him, unblinking as your rage and grief continues to give you the strength to look in his eyes and speak your truth. “You have, and I don't.”

A huge part of that strength crumbles when he steps so close to you that you're forced to step back. You falter, a momentarily fear in your eyes at the predatory gaze in his own. His eyes seem to examine you, taking in each and every little curve of your body every crease in your dress. You try not to shrink under his scrutinization.

His voice is so soft, and your flesh crawls with the sound of it. “What do you need from me?”

You have no choice but to break eye contact. It's too much, too close. You swallow thickly, your voice quieting to a low request, rather than the command you had wanted. “I need nothing from you but for you to remove yourself from my presence. Hastily.”

He stands completely still for a while, his eyes just as fixed on your face. When he moves, it almost startles you. His hand reaches up to touch your face, his fingertips brushing your cheek. You're quick to swat him away with a harsh swipe of your hand, taking a step back. “Do not touch me.”

He says nothing, and the silence is unbearable. He just…watches you. His gaze is intense, focused, terrifying. He stands there, still as a statue for the longest time, before making another attempt for your face. You're just as quick as the first, if not quicker with your flickering frustrations.

“I said don't–”

He grabs your face, not caring this time for gentleness as his dull nails dig into the flesh of your jaw and hold you, pulling you close and keeping there, no matter how much you fight him. Your heart pounds against your ribs, beating so heavily that you think it'll stop any moment now. The fear that washes over you is both a searing chill and a molten burn. “Get off of me!”

Leaning in close, he shakes his head. “Shh, “ he bids. “Hush, little river.”

You hate that. Your family calls you that on occasion because you're the youngest of the Velaryon siblings, Laena especially. It's meant to be kind, for rivers are the waters that feed the sea, but when Daemon says it, you feel so small. You feel so insignificant. He taunts you with it.

“Don't call me that,” you hiss. “Get off of me!” You try to push him away, but as you suspect, he doesn't budge. But his next words make you freeze in your spot.

“You are just as beautiful as her,” he says, tilting his head as he stares. “Your sweet sister.”

You're stunned into silence, into stillness. You stare wide-eyed at him, holding your breath as the sound of the waves slowly beginning to build and the sound of your own heart beating away in your chest fill your ears.

You blink, confusion and shock coloring your face. “What?”

He tilts his head. “I wanted you, you know,” he whispers, his words lingering in the tiny space between you. You can hardly breathe, but you can't look away with his iron grip on your face. “When I married your big sister, I wanted it to be you I would bed that night… I only settled for her.”

Your shaking breath became loud as you tried to remove his hand from you, grasping his wrist with all your strength in an effort to pull him away, to no avail. “Daemon. Don't do this–”

“Now that she has taken her leave of us, bless her…” the slightest smirk slips onto his lips, “I am free to pursue my true desires.”

You shake your head, “Daemon–”

You turn your head just in time to avoid his kiss as his lips press against your cheek. Your squirm, squeezing your eyes shut as frightened tears spring to your eyes. Daemon chuckles darkly, taking a slip of your flesh between his teeth in a nip.

You have no control when he turns your head for you. His lips press hungrily into yours, forcing his lust down your throat whether you want it or not. Your protest comes out as a whimper, and it fuels his fire as his arm snakes around your waist and pulls you flush against his body.

You push against him, struggling to get any traction to shove him away. You reach around to grab his hand at your waist, pulling at his pinkie until you've bent it too far for him to continue holding you. He pulls away, pride shining in his face as he smirks. You push him, but this time he doesn't move.

“Get your fucking hands off me before I call for Arlaryx!” Your command is sharp, but he doesn't seem all that phased by it. You honestly hadn't expected him to be.

He inclines his head back, sneering. “And bring her against my war-grown beast?” He stalks forward, invading your space again, no matter how far you stumble back. “You know your dear thing would not stand a chance.”

The thought of your precious creature in the jaws of Daemon's monstrous demon makes your blood run cold. He's right. She would not be enough against Caraxes.

You shake your head. Your voice is weak. “Please.”

He sighs contently, his smile curling into something especially evil. “I like you begging,” he purrs. “So small and sweet you are, when you do not spit venom.”

A deep snarl just barely resounds over the waves picking up about the sea. As you look over your shoulder, you both take in the sight of Arlaryx, her scales almost as blue as sapphires, a color that blends with the deep seas.

Her towering figure stalks out onto the beach, smoke billowing from her nose as she watches the both of you. Another snarl rumbles in her chest.

The faint sound of another snarl, one much different from her own, is heard seemingly in the back of your mind. But you know you did not imagine it. By the smirk on Daemon's face, you know you have not imagined it.

He bends down, his lips by your ear as he whispers. “Do you want to do this, little river?”

You stare at her, your eyes watering at the haunting images of her torn apart on the sand. Your heart thuds in your chest, and you know she feels it because she begins to snarl again. Her claws dig into the sand, her long tail swishes the water when she takes another step forward.

You steady your breath, opening your mouth and hesitating for a moment. You clear your throat, speaking as level as you can manage.

“Dohaeris, Alarlyx,” you command, swallowing roughly. “Dohaeris. Nyke sȳz.”

The beast makes no move to leave, and you sigh heavily. Curse her and her loyalties. They will get her killed.

You steel your voice, trying to sound stronger than you feel. She will not listen to you if you sound weak. “Lyrkiri,” you insist. The smoke diminishes, becoming thinner and thinner until it has stopped. “Sōvēs, Arlaryx, sōvēs.”

She lifts a heavy claw, easing slightly like she'll actually listen.

Then Daemon wraps an arm around your midsection, pulling your body against his as he presses a kiss to your forehead. You wince, squirming in his grasp.

Arlaryx’s mind seems to be made up. She crouches again, advancing slowly once more as her snarls become louder. Smoke arises once again from her nostrils as she opens her mouth, the burning heart of her rage billowing inside of her.

You both know it's just a threat. She would not put you in such danger, but Daemon's crimes against you have officially enraged her.

But Caraxes’ distant croaks and growls fill your head, and you can't stand it. You nearly shout, sounding almost as desperate as you feel as you drop your voice and command her.

“Dohaeris, Arlaryx,” you bellow. “Dohaeris se sōvēs.”

Her warning snarls are replaced with a sort of whining sound as she takes a hesitant step back. She grunts, and you watch the smoke dissipate. Unfurling her great wings, she takes flight as she disappears into the night. Caraxes’ sounds have ceased. You sigh, almost relieved until Daemon's teeth nip at your ear. Anxiety fills you once more.

“That one is just as stubborn as you.” He kisses your cheek, his tongue darting out to taste the skin. He inhales your scent, and a shiver runs down your spine.

Shutting your eyes, you let out a shaky breath. “Just get this over with.”

Anticipation swirls in your belly, the prospect of his hands on you, his mouth, his…

But he just laughs at you, pulling away from your body and leaving you cold. You turn, surprise on your face as you try to figure out why he'd suddenly pulled away from you. Is he so fickle in his interests that he should let you go before having his way?

You have half a mind to run.

“Ȳdra daor gaomagon bona.” Don't do that. He remains close, his predatory gaze follows you. “Nyke gīmigon jaelā nyke, riña. Tepagon isse, byka qelbar.” I know you want me, girl. Give in, little river.

You clench your jaw, balling your hands into fists as you step closer. “Nyke ȳdra daor jaelagon ao,” you spit. I don't want you.

He chuckles, leaning in until your faces are inches apart. “Pirtra.” Lies.

He takes a step forward, continuing this back and forth dance—you step, he steps, forward and back, left and right. Then he begins to circle you as you stand there, feeling as small as he probably views you.

“You think I don't notice when your eyes follow me down the hall?” he asks, and the question makes your blood run cold. “You think I don't see you peeking over your cup at dinner?” He stops behind you, pressing his chest to your back and whispering in your ear, his lips caressing the shell. “You crave my touch so deeply, it makes you look pathetic.”

His arms snake around your waist as he pulls you close. Your breath catches in your throat when you feel his hand teasing you, reaching down, down, down.

“I hear you.” Your breath hitches. “At night when you touch yourself to my name.” The smallest breath slips from your lips when his hand cups your heat, his finger teasing your clit over your gown.

“Does it feel good?” His voice is a purr in your ear. “Imagining my fingers plunging inside of you? Wishing it was my teeth sunk into your flesh and not your own nails digging into your skin?”

Your legs tremble, his words resonating in your bones. You shake your head, taking a breath for courage as you object.

“You are not mine,” you whisper, your voice weak. You break out of his hold, turning to watch him as you try to recollect your wavering dignity. “Dead or alive, you are my sister's. I will not sully her memory this way.”

“Oh, come off it.” He comes closer. “Either way, your sister is dead. Why deny yourself pleasure for the memory of a dead sister?”

You slap him. His head whips to the side as your hand inspires a large red blush over his cheek. His fingers brush his skin, a large crooked grin taking his face as he slowly turns to look at you.

You take a small step back, anxiety creeping into you at the way he watches you, like prey being stalked by a cruel beast. He says nothing as he stands there. He begins to walk forward.

And you run.

Sand kicks into the air as you bolt away, your breath loud in your ears and your heart heavy in your chest. Tears spring to your ears as the exertion, the cold thrill of his hunt encourages your escape.

You don't get far. He's faster than you, and his strength is far superior to yours as he wraps his arms around you and lifts you from the ground. You kick your feet, trying to break free from his hold. But it's of no use. You shout over the crashing waves of the tides, waves that have picked up since Daemon arrived. Like they mourn with you, they fight for you, too.

He wrestles you to the ground, flipping you onto your back as he pins your arms down by your head. He looms over you, positioning himself between your legs and ignoring your fight like you're nothing against him. And perhaps you are.

“Go ahead,” he grins, spurred on by your struggle. “Pretend you despise me. Perhaps, now, you do.” He leans in close, whispering in your ear. “But we are all the way out here, with no one to hear your screams but the sea.”

Your fight diminishes, the reality of his words sinking in. You look at him, your eyes wide and struck with adrenaline-coated tears. His gaze is dark, his smile even darker. He shifts one of your arms to the other, grasping both your wrists in one of his big hands as the other strokes your side, dipping beneath your thin gown to touch your bare skin beneath. You shudder at the feeling, anxiety pooling in your belly at the knowledge that you can do nothing to fight him.

“Will you lose breath screaming or cumming?”

Your voice is weak and broken. It's barely a whisper when you speak. “Please.”

He shushes you, his lips so close to yours. You can almost feel it, the heat of his kiss as he would devour you.

And then he does. He presses his lips roughly against yours, his tongue slipping past them to taste you. He grips your side, his dull nail digging into your flesh. You can't help the whine you let out into his mouth, regretting the way you seek him out, especially after he pulls away. And he smiles triumphantly, knowing he has you right where he wants you.

“Don't worry, little river.” A quiet gasp erupts from your chest when his hand cups your bare cunt, his fingers rubbing against your folds before he parts them to plunge his finger inside of you. Your mouth falls open, sharp breaths teetering in and out at the way he touches you, at the way you clench around his finger like you'll die if he pulls away now.

“I'll give you what you've been craving all these years.”

He moves like fire. His hand is insistent as his finger plunges in and out of your wet heat, pulling more and more arousal from your already damp folds. You clench your jaw, stifling your moans as he forces the pleasure down your throat.

When he thrusts another finger inside of you, you moan at the stretch, your eyes rolling back at the way he curls them inside of you. You grab his arm, gripping it tight, though you're not sure if you're trying to stop him or not.

He moves quickly. You don't have time to catch up with the harsh thrusts of his fingers, so you lay back and take it as the pleasure explodes all over your body.

It feels so good. His fingers reach deeper, faster, too. The feeling of someone else's fingers inside of you instead of your own is so foreign. Your frantic breath makes you light-headed, and you can hardly keep your thoughts straight.

“I know it's exhausting,” he mumbles as his palm slaps against your clit, “fighting me.”

But you must fight. For your sister, who meant so much to you. You must fight against this man who let her die. Who would you be if you allowed yourself to succumb to your late sister's husband? She practically raised you, and this is how you repay her?

But here you are. She died hardly two days ago, and you were laying on the sand with Daemon's fingers in your cunt.

Being in this position is surreal. Because he was right, you had been craving this moment for years, wanting so deeply to feel Daemon's passion on your skin. His lips brush your cheek, and he murmurs into your ear. “You'll feel better when you let go.”

Your breath hitches. “Daemon.”

“That's it,” he smirks, feeling you leaning into him. “Close your eyes and give in to me, little river.”

Your eyes flutter shut. The pace of his hand, the feeling of his fingers thrusting so deeply, the pleasure scours your body until you feel yourself reaching your limit.

“Ȳdra daor keligon, Daemon,” you sigh, your voice high with bliss as you pull your hands away from his grasp. “Nyke jorrāelagon ziry.” Don't stop. I need it.

“Qilōni?” Who?

“Ao!” You! You moan, rolling your hips into his hand as he continues to coax your release from you. Your head is spinning, and you've long since left reason behind. “Nyke jorrāelagon ao,” you beg. I need you.

You turn your head to lay your eyes upon the sea, the pleasure within you swelling like the waves crashing against the shore. “Shijetra nyke, mandia.”

Forgive me, sister.

Your lips part and your back arches off the sand as you come undone. Your moans echo off the waters, becoming all the worse when Daemon's teeth nip the flesh of your neck.

It feels amazing, freeing almost. His hand continues to work out through your pleasure, even when it all fades into oversensitivity. He lets go of you, pulling away from your body and staring down at you. You watch through hooded eyes as he examines his hand, watching the way your arousal glistens off his fingers in the moonlight. He looks at you as he licks his fingers clean.

The scene is so erotic, the way he groans at the taste of you on his tongue. “Such a magnificent treat you are,” he hums. He bends down and takes your lips against his own, his tongue licking into your mouth as you taste yourself on him.

You watch as his hand reaches for his belt, and you can't help the way your legs close at the thought of him revealing himself to you. He reaches a hand out, gripping your knee and pushing your legs apart again. “Do not move.”

You do as you're told, waiting with bated breath as he unlatches his belt and sets himself free. You gasp silently at the sight of him, long and solid and flushed pink at the tip. When your eyes lock with his, he looks quite proud of himself.

Daemon turns you on your belly, positioning you as he wants you, with your face shoved into the sand and your hips in the air. His harsh hands grope your body, your ass, your waist, your thighs. You groan, your hips jerking when his thumbs spread your folds apart.

“You're fucking dripping,” he says, a dark smirk in his words as he runs a finger between them.

“Kostilus,” you whisper, taking handfuls of sand to try to control yourself. You were in too deep. Your desire for him has turned to a desperate need embedding itself in the pit of your stomach. Please.

He chuckles, “Say it again.”

You have no mind to refuse him. You've long since lost your dignity, and you've betrayed your sister like you never thought you would. It's too late for you. Why deny yourself pleasure over broken promises?

“Kostilus, Daemon,” you whine, shuddering at the way his hand strokes down your spine. “Nyke jaelagon ao.” I want you.

He puts you out of your misery with a harsh thrust into your needy cunt. You moan, your heavy breaths blowing sand into the air. “Ondoso se gods…” By the gods…

A long groan rumbles in his chest as he closes his eyes, relishing in the feel of your tight pussy. “Fuck,” he curses as he bottoms out. “You are a virgin.” He grips your hips, burying himself so deep that you feel like you can't breathe. “With all your supposed virtue, I thought you were pretending you weren't a dirty whore.”

As he grips you tight, Daemon doesn't take you, he fucks you. He holds you, digs his nails in your flesh. He thrusts his cock in and out of your tight hole, fast and rough and with the recklessness of a starving man devouring his food. The ocean rages. You're not sure if it's a reflection of your betrayal or your need. The sea is strange in that way, it's versatility.

You wish you could disappear into the dark waters, break away from this beast of a man and let the sea consume you. At least then you'd be at peace with yours, part of the waters of your bloodline.

But here are you, consumed by fire as you ignore the burn of the sand scratching your skin. It's a molten kind of pleasure, the kind that oozes out of you in lingering bliss and deep desires. You're slick with arousal, which makes it easier for him to glide in and out of you. His relentless pace smacks against you, the sound of it echoes through the air with the heavy heat of his passion.

Your position is so compromising. Anyone could happen across you. Anyone could walk the shoreline and find you being fucked into the sand by your sister's husband.

Your rationale falls short because the fear of it is nowhere near as strong as it should be. If the lords of Pentos saw you, they would surely gossip. Word would spread through the city, and that word would spread all the way across the sea. Everyone would know, your nieces, your brother, your mother and father. They would reject, disown you. They would strip you of Velaryon, you would be just another Waters bastard of Driftmark.

You could say he made you. You could tell them he threw you to the sand and took you as he pleased, ravaged you as though you were nothing but meat. But Corlys would go to war over you. To have your honor destroyed in such a way, it would be a war of sea against fire, a war full of bloodshed and hatred.

The idea has you running cold, but the chill doesn't last long with the way Daemon's hips thrust into you, full of his own fire.

“What I wouldn't give to spend every moment snug in this virgin cunt,” he grunts, reaching forward as he flattens his hand against the back of your skull. He twists your hair around his fingers and pulls, keeping you secure in his grip. You go limp at the feeling, the weakness seeping into your bones.

“Perhaps I should breed you,” he sighs with a laugh. “I'll fill you full of my seed, maybe even keep you as my broodmare. I'll keep you round with my children, always ready for me to fuck as I please. Is that what you want, little river?”

So truly blinded by your pleasure, you have no choice but to agree. You lean into the way he makes you feel, letting your troubles melt away, your concerns and your hesitations a thing of the past. They will do you no good now.

“Yes,” you gasp, allowing yourself to be ravaged. “Yes, Daemon, I want that.”

The triumphant look in his eyes shines at the way you give in so completely. Empowered by your submission, his thrusts become more merciless. He grunts and groans behind you, tugging on your hair and holding you still as you return the passion.

All of the sudden, he pulls out of you, leaving you cold and shaking. A stray whine seeps off your tongue, but you have no time to let it linger before he’s flipping you onto your back. He throws your legs onto his shoulder and shoves himself back inside of you in just a couple fluid motions. His ruthless thrusts have you nearly crying for him. The blunt head of his cock reaches so deeply like this, punching against that spongy part inside of you as stars swirl in your vision.

“It feels so good,” you moan, though you’re sure your words are nearly incoherent. It feeds Daemon’s ego either way, encouraging a rougher fuck as he gives you what you want, gives himself what he’s been craving all along. He was right. You do feel as good as he thought, better even. You’re so tight, so inexperienced and untouched that all of his cruel pleasure wrecks your body in your sensitivity.

“You can get louder, can’t you?” he asks, bending down to fold you in half for a different angle.

Your head falls back against the sand. You must look a mess, covered in tiny grainy crystals, hair all over the place. But it doesn’t matter. That’s probably what he wants. Your hands reach up to touch his face, pulling him close as he continues to fuck into you. His thrusts are shorter, harder now. You’re running out of breath quickly, struggling to keep up.

“Fuck, don’t stop!” The breathy wail feels almost like it was forced from your lungs. As he reaches his hand down to touch your clit, you’re done for and you know it. “Oh, Daemon, please.”

He’s intent on making you cum, and with the skill he’s acquired throughout his years, you know he’ll be successful. He’s already got you crying his name.

“Are you going to cum on my cock, girl?” he questions, his breath heavy and his hair messy upon his head. “I know you want to, you’re squeezing me so tight.” You cant your hips up into his own, seeking out your sweet release as he hangs it over your head. “Tell me who you want.”

Your eyes, blurry with tears, watch him hazily. “You.”

He tuts. “You can do better than that. If you want to cum, you will tell me who you want to breed this tight little hole of yours.”

You have no mind to refuse him—you have no mind to do anything but follow where the pleasure takes you. With shallow breaths, you blink pleasure tears from your eyes. “I want you, Daemon. Please, I want you to cum in me and make me your whore.”

He doesn’t know if you could have said it any better. Making harsh circles over your clit, he fucks you with all the strength he’s got. You feel like he’ll bruise you with how brutal he’s being. You feel a tightening coil in your belly, one that just clenches and clenches and clenches with every circle on the sensitive pearl he attacks.

“Cum for me, little river,” he commands, leaving you and your body no room to refuse him as he pulls it out of you. “Cum all over my cock and scream my name like the perfect whore that you are.”

And you obey. It’s like a lever being pulled. One moment you’re teetering on the edge, the next you're arching your back and feeling pleasure consuming your body in a fire that makes you shiver. He doesn’t stop fucking you. If anything, the way you tighten around him only makes his thrusts shorter and his grinding rougher. You’re dizzy and your moans are high and pathetic.

He doesn’t stop attacking your clit. You’re so sensitive, once the pleasure wanes and the movements sting, you squirm away from him, but he doesn’t care. He holds you in place and commands you as though you were one of the dragon beasts he meant to train. He wraps his free hand around your throat, leaning down to bite and suck at your neck. “Dohaeris,” he hisses, his tone sharp and quiet but full of so much of a threat that you bear through the discomfort until it twists in your gut into the dizzying sensation of overstimulated pleasure again.

His name falls from your lips like a chant. The sound of it continues to spur him on, his thumb becoming faster as he searches for that same release for himself. “Please, Daemon,” you whimper, “please cum inside of me. I need you to cum inside of me, please.”

You tip him over the edge. With a growl, he shoves his cock as far as he can go, far enough that it hurts when he buries himself so deep. Grinding into you, his hot release fills you to the brim. Encouraged by the adrenaline, his ruthless thumb carries on until you’re cumming with him.

Your sounds mix in the air, his grunts, your moans, the squelching sound of his cock thrusting into your clenching cunt. “Fuck, you take me so well,” he praises, his voice rough with the effects of his release.

With two more thrusts, as rough as he can make them—just for the fun of it—he pulls out of you. You whine, laying limply on the sand. He watches you, smiling at the way you seem to struggle to stay conscious.

He considers just leaving you there to recuperate on your own.

Daemon adjusts himself, stuffing his cock back into his trousers and fixing his belt. He stares at your cunt all the while, using his fingers to shove his cum back inside of you every time it begins to leak out.

He sits you up, fixing your gown and pulling your face to sit inches from his own. “Iksā ñuhon,” he mutters into your ear, his words clear. “Daorys kostagon renigon ao sir.” You shudder at his claim, your eyes fluttering shut as he whispers to you. You are mine. No one can touch you now.

”Do you understand me?” he asks, and you know you cannot refuse.

Not that you ever want to.

You nod slowly, looking up at him as you accept your fate. “Kessa, Daemon.”

He hums. “Good.” Staring at your lips, he leans in and kisses you. He kisses you with force and power, using a kind of domination that was quite unnecessary—given the fact that he’d already taken your virginity and, quite possibly, bred you with his children. There’s a hint of something in the background, however, a hunger, a desperation that seeps into your skin and makes you feel warm.

Under the cruelty is a gentleness that is entirely foreign to you. You chalk it up to imagination as he pulls away, pinching your cheek. “Come with me,” he orders. “I am not done with you yet, my little river.”

Shijetra nyke, mandia.

Ice and Fire taglist: @divinearchangel @alexxavicry @katsukis1wife @kmc1989 @the-nerdy-goddess @urmomsgirlfriend1 @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @lover-of-books-and-tea @avalyaaa Tag yourself here...

#daemon targaryen #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen x reader smut #daemon targaryen fanfiction #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #a song of ice and fire #fanfic #fanfiction #female reader #reader insert

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hazbinhazmeinachokehold · 2 days

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Hello hello,dearie!!

How are you,good?

My name is Nina or Weewoo,self proclaimed platonic (Hazbin) asker!

I have seen your platonic works,and I have to say,you've peeked my interest,darling!

The way you write is very wholesome and cute,so please,indulge me in an ask!

May I request a Zestial,Rosie,Alastor,Vox,Husk,Charlie and Carmilla (you may remove,replace or add character as you so please! I simply like to give a character list so you can choose!) with a platonic!child!reader that loves art but gets really messy with it? A little energetic artist.They're all giddy and happy getting everywhere with the rainbows and sunshines. Maybe one time they get really upset because they messed up,and they start to cry? (If you need an age approximate,maybe 6-10 years old?)

I hope that not too much info!!

Have fun writing this,don't forget to drink,eat,and take breaks!!

Have a fantastic day,honey!

Stay proud.

-Nina <33

A/n: My shift key fell off so I'm having a hard time with that. Sorry if I accidentally didn't capitalize something! (I planned to also do Vox but I couldn't think of anything, I'm so sorry!)

!!not proofread!!

Roise: Doesn't care that you are messy with art at all! She'll make sure you don't stain or break anything but besides that she lets you go wild. Would probably give you your own art room. Is also very sad when you mess up. She hates seeing you sad. She draws with you to help you feel better.

Alastor: He likes you but stay away from him when painting. He would rather keep having a red suit, rainbow wouldn't suit(ha) him. Though he does give you room to paint and draw where you want. All those spaces are suspiciously close to Husk. Tries (and likely fails) to comfort you when you mess up. Might draw with you to help you smile again. After all, you're never fully dressed without a smile.

Husk: Talks to you while you draw. Kind of like you are a drunk bar patron lol. But instead of their insecurities it's what animals you like (or maybe about your insecurities too.) Very grumpy especially when you get paint on him but he does care deep down. For example, when you mess up he helps you calm down. Gets you some chocolate milk or apple juice or whatever you want <3.

Charlie: Very supportive! She'll draw with you!!! Happy to help get you supplies. While she gets that you're a child and usually wouldn't be that upset about making messes, Nifty keeps giving you death glares and she doesn't want to risk anything. Feels bad when you're upset. She'll get you anything that she can help to make you calm down, and also does a group session on learning about healthy coping mechanisms. It's supposed to help you not break down but everyone in the hotel, including her, could use it.

Carmilla: She has two kids so I'd imagine she has some experience. Hangs your art on the fridge like a true mother. While she does like you being hyper and happy she doesn't think the house needs a new paint job. She'll try to make sure you get most of your paint and markers on the paper. Like I said she has two kids so she is great when comforting you when you mess up. She'll encourage you to try again and might even draw with you if that helps.

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #carmilla x reader #charlie x reader #rosie x reader #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #husk x reader #charlie morningstar x reader #platonic #child reader #No YOU reblogging about 100 k0sa things to your fandom blog and didn't do fandom content for weeks

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vickyvicarious · 2 days

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Then seizing the shaving glass, he went on: "And this is the wretched thing that has done the mischief. It is a foul bauble of man's vanity. Away with it!" and opening the heavy window with one wrench of his terrible hand, he flung out the glass, which was shattered into a thousand pieces on the stones of the courtyard far below. Then he withdrew without a word. It is very annoying, for I do not see how I am to shave, unless in my watch-case or the bottom of the shaving-pot, which is fortunately of metal.

He has a curious habit of looking one straight in the face, as if trying to read one's thoughts. He tries this on very much with me, but I flatter myself he has got a tough nut to crack. I know that from my glass. Do you ever try to read your own face? I do, and I can tell you it is not a bad study, and gives you more trouble than you can well fancy if you have never tried it. He says that I afford him a curious psychological study, and I humbly think I do.

Several of us pointed out last year how the timing of Dracula Daily juxtaposes these two lines/scenes, with Jonathan's mirror being taken from him just before Lucy talks about looking into hers. I'm going to try not to retread the same point too much, but instead I'd like to note the contrast between the way Lucy and Dracula speak of mirrors.

Dracula calls mirrors an agent of man's vanity. Essentially, he's dismissing them as promoting excessive ego. Looking in the mirror too often leads one to think too highly of themselves. And the image of a beautiful young woman spending time staring at herself in her mirror plays right into stereotypes about exactly that. It suggests self-absorption, obsession with beauty over substance, etc.

But that's clearly not what Lucy is doing. She links her mirror to self-knowledge, not self-praise, and in fact specifically points out the difficulties involved. She is flattering herself a little here as she says, but only in the context of realizing it can be hard to figure her out from appearances alone. Her doctor friend says she's a curious study, and despite looking her straight in the face cannot figure her out. Even she has trouble telling from her mirror. This could hint at her deliberately putting on a false front, or perhaps at feelings of uncertainty about her own identity, or difficulty expressing herself in the ways she wants. Regardless, her time spent looking into mirrors isn't vain, it's inquisitive.

And while that doesn't match up to what Dracula says about mirrors, it fits very well with the reality of what mirrors mean to him. He has no mirrors in his castle. Not because he's humble; he's obviously got a very inflated sense of his own importance and superiority. But he doesn't keep mirrors because they reflect what he is by failing to reflect him at all. It's a curious mix of being unable to see or know himself by looking at his own reflection... but also being known/revealed in a way that cuts past any examination of his actual face. Jonathan looks very closely at Dracula when he meets him, but despite spotting various unusual features* he doesn't realize his monstrous nature. But when he sees him in the mirror - or rather, nothing where he should be - he finds his first real proof that Dracula is inhuman. And that's why Dracula gets rid of Jonathan's mirror; he hates being known, unlike Lucy who enjoys the struggle of trying to figure herself out.

Mirrors as a window to knowledge also connects back to Jonathan. With his mirror stolen and destroyed, his ability to assess himself is hampered accordingly. Perhaps it would be a difficult study regardless (as Lucy says) but no mirror makes that even harder. He will have to rely on sub-par reflections in tools not made for that purpose. Not just to shave, but to be able to see himself. This coming when he realizes there are no other people around cuts him off even from seeing himself from the outside, so he can't see a human face... only Dracula's face. But also, Dracula is outright trying to deny him knowledge, and Jonathan is in a position where he's having to try and maintain his faith in his own sanity. The inability to look at his own face and examine his appearance might make that harder... although it also cuts him off from comparing his current appearance to how he used to look, and I suspect the lack of that comparison might be better than the alternative at times.

* This also ties in physiognomy. An inherently racist "science", of course, but one that was popular at the time this book was written, and engaged in by a couple characters. I don't think Jonathan outright says he's examining Dracula's features for that purpose, but I believe readers could be expected to take that description and use it to 'figure out' aspects of his personality. It's possible that Lucy is hinting at using a similar process on herself here, but if so then she seems not wholly satisfied with the results. She isn't saying that studying her face reveals her true character - closer to the opposite, if anything.

#dracula daily #lucy westenra #count dracula #jonathan harker #dracula meta #my meta

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atalossofwords · 2 days

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YOU TASTE THE SILVER - CHAPTER TWO

As promised, here's chapter two! Revised, with some additions to some places, and hopefully no more typos.

I have a good part of the next one planned, so hopefully it won't take too long to update!

And, as promised, here's Mizi's extra;

Mizi is aware she sometimes doesn't have the best notion of how famous she is.

Her mom was one of the few who tried quite hard to shelter Mizi from the media while supporting her dream to be a singer. She's always kept Mizi humble, showed her how to budget and where all the money from her commercials went to.

Also, Mizi met and fell in love with Sua quite early, when she barely knew what love meant. She's never had to deal with people lying and manipulating their way into her circle; Sua has always been there by her side, looking over her contracts, giving advice, steering Mizi in the right direction, her own lodestar.

It all means that she's still a little bit uncertain of the effect she has on people. She still sees herself as that girl with glasses and braces, too shy to speak up unless she was in the middle of performing.

So, when she walks into the recording studio, cheerfully greeting Till and saying she's got his coffee order, she's a little bit surprised by how surprised and flustered he gets.

Mizi has to admit, Ivan has good taste; she doesn't like boys, but Till is plenty cute, especially when he's all flustered with that shy smile on his lips. It's endearing.

They go over their greetings, say all the pleasantries, and sit down to discuss the song in more depth, since she quite enjoys hearing about the creative process of a piece before recording; it helps her get the right sentiment for it.

Till finally sips his coffee as she's looking over his annotations for discarded lyrics.

"Oh, this is…" He's looking at the cup, surprised. Mizi tilts her head.

"It's how you normally order it, right?" She asks, thinking back to try and remember if she asked for the wrong order. It was quite a complicated one. "That's what Ivan said, at least."

He startles, a blush overtaking his face before he shakes his head and leans forward. She can see his hand closing in a fist over his knee.

"Oh, uh did… Ivan tell you to order this?" He asks, and she nods, before a thought strikes her. Ivan actually gave her something else for Till!

He was trying to act nonchalant about it, but Mizi knew him well, Ivan was excited when he handed it to her a week ago. She'd always remember him as Sua's little brother, peeking around a corner to watch the both of them, running to hide when Mizi looked over but always coming back.

She'd invited him in to sit with them as they made flower crowns, and Ivan pretended reluctance, but sat beside Sua, as far away from Mizi as he could. He'd just listened as they talked, somehow always surprised if Mizi addressed him. He'd worked quite hard on his own crown, eyeing Mizi as she taught Sua, and scampered away the moment Sua's father's voice echoed from the house, signaling his arrival.

(She remembers seeing the crown on Sua's nightstand, Sua telling her with wry smile that Mizi never saw directed at herself that he'd waited until she was outside the house to leave his gift.

She remembers Sua, already eighteen and the loveliest person Mizi had ever seen, holding Mizi's hand below the comforter, whispering that Ivan was such a brat, that he refused to be nice to his classmates, how he'd make friends if he'd just stop biting before anyone had the chance to get close.

It took years of constantly being by Sua's side, years of reaching out and asking his opinion, years to prove again and again that she wouldn't crack down on him if he said something she didn't like. She always felt so warm, glad that Sua's important person trusted her so much.)

He was a little odd, Sua's little brother. He'd grown up with some ideas about how socializing worked, and she would blame it on Sua's father, the asshole, except when they were all living on their own and Ivan was confident enough in her to speak his mind, he had some truly terrible ideas that she was sure were all his own.

He'd break into her and Sua's apartment by the window on Sua's office – she was sure Sua picked that bedroom exactly because it was closer to the fire escape – instead of using his key, leave gifts on Sua's bed like a cat dragging a dead mouse to their owner. He'd hear from Sua that Mizi had a bad day and spent close to one hour filling their chat with cat pictures, but he'd never reach out to actually talk to her. He remembered Mizi's drink and takeout order, and always brought some gift with him everytime he came to visit, like he wouldn't be welcome without it.

Mizi was sure that whatever Ivan had her bring to Till was similar in its thoughtfulness and just as deranged in motivation, but she'd decided long ago that questioning him just made him more likely to close off.

"Here, this is from Ivan as well!" She chirped, digging around her purse for it. It's a thin, rectangular package wrapped in nondescript brown paper. Till puts his coffee down, still flushed, and flicks his eyes back at her. She smiles and makes a shooing motion; she's curious! "Open it!"

Till bites his lip, but smiles back at her, carefully tugging the paper free. Oooh, he's so cute, she'd just have torn it open. Soon enough the gift reveals itself to be a leather-bound journal, the kind that has a tiny metal clasp to keep it shut. It also has Till's name engraved in a beautiful looping cursive that Mizi happens to recognize as Ivan's.

Till's eyes are huge as he runs one hand over the leather, reverent, and then opens it. She can't see what's inside, but whatever it is, makes Till's face erupt in a blush. Ooooh, what's that!!

She doesn't have the time to say anything, he mumbles something about needing a moment, and basically flees from the room. Mizi shrugs, she has no idea what that was about, and she's more than happy to take the opportunity to message Sua about how weird her brother is.

As always, Sua answers readily, teasing and warm and kind, asking how Mizi is, if she remembered her snacks. Mizi says she's fine, and Sua sends a picture of their cat, Nabi, which just happens to include the tentalizing view of Sua's thighs on the backdrop. Nabi is kneading Sua's belly.

Mizi is so jealous, she sends back a picture of herself pouting.

By the time Till gets back, she forgot all about the journal, soo distracted by her girlfriend. He asks if she's ready to record, which fills her with enthusiasm again.

The session goes well, they run through the song twice before heading into the booth; Mizi has more fun than she's had recording in a while. The song is just so good, and Till is a delight to work with, he doesn't try to outshine her, or let himself fade into the background. They sing together, to each other, shaking their heads to the beat and even dancing in place. They grin and feel the beat together.

It's such a nice time, Mizi leaves the session in better spirits than she'd been in a while. She doesn't even notice Till's serious expression as he collects his things, including the journal.

She just wishes him goodbye, tells him they need to get lunch after the photoshoot next week, and leaves, eager to get back home to Sua.

#published fic #alien stage #ivantill #ivan alien stage #till alien stage #mizi alien stage

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spacemonkeysalsa · 23 hours

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Somebody (okay like a lot of people) said being attracted to a character makes it hard to be objective about them. So, for science (eh, for fun) I have interviewed a lesbian with nearly 3000 hours in Baldur's Gate 3 with questions about Astarion:

Q: Hi. I know you are a lesbian, but that doesn't preclude being attracted to Astarion, so let's also establish objectivity according to the experts. Are you attracted to Astarion at all?

A: No. It's kind of devastating to me because I love vampires. But apparently they do have to be lady vampires.

Q: Perfect. Have you ever tried to romance him anyway?

A: I started a couple of games with the intention of romancing him. It never worked out. I always end up with Shadowheart. Or Lae'zel.

Q: Do you like him, as a character?

A: Yeah. He's great.

Q: Ever kill him in any of your playthroughs?

A: Only to resurrect him, to see his lines. But I've never permanently killed him.

Q: Why not?

A: Because I like his story. I don't always enjoy talking to him about his story, because he's a bit much. But I want him to have that development and see it through. Be happy and free! Fuck Cazador. What a bitch.

Q: Is he an asshole?

A: Yes, but he's a lovable asshole. As much any of the others. Well, some of the others. Let's be fair.

Q: What's his alignment like?

A: I don't understand DnD alignment.

Q: For the record, have you played DnD?

A: Yes. I still don't get it. I have played for years now and this is all I know: lawful tends to equal "the worst in your group." There are exceptions though, like obviously I love Shadowheart, even though she starts off pretty strictly obeying Sharran dogma. Chaotic means "fun." Most party members in any given campaign say they are one thing but then act as true neutrals. And if you participate in a torture session with a DM controlled NPC and you forget to ask any questions, then your alignment will get shifted mid campaign. I learned that recently.

Q: I have no comment on that besides that maybe you should have listened to the bard in your party telling you this was stupid and pointless?

A: I wasn't running the torture session, I just held her still! I'm an accessory. I'm a barbarian, I can't be expected to think shit through or pay any attention to you when you speak.

Q: ...So can Astarion fall in love?

A: He's perfectly capable of that.

Q: If you had to guess his sperm count...?

A: Why would anyone ever care about that? Even if he were a real person? Why would anyone give a shit? Is this really a talking point? Fuck. I hate you guys. Just play the game.

Q: Whose your favorite companion?

A: Shadowheart.

Q: Tell me what you like about her?

A: The process of getting to know her, delving underneath that shell of secrets. She's so strong and sweet even through she can't easily show it right away because of all the bullshit she's been taught. In early access, when I couldn't get her out of the pod, either because that wasn't an option in the game yet, or I was too stupid, I've never figured it out, I was devastated. I didn't even know her yet, but I was so in love from the very beginning.

Q: Aww, that's really nice. What character do you think you are most like?

A: Karlach and Lae'zel. Maybe more Karlach, but definitely both. Not that Karlach isn't great, but I wish I was more like Lae'zel.

Q: And I should probably end on an Astarion question again since that was kind of the point. What about him do you find relatable, assuming that's anything?

A: I totally relate to wanting to put up a front to protect yourself. Can't relate to the method at all but the motivation is solid. Also, even though I have never romanced him, I have seen his DTR dialogue, and I really love it. I love how honest he is about his feelings. It's not romantic to be uncertain, but he doesn't care about that anymore, because he's just being totally transparent. It might seem weird that I would say that while being down bad for the least transparent character in the game, but that's a trait I personally value in myself more than a partner. Don't get me wrong, it would be nice, but for me I really try to be honest about what I am feeling. You can't DTR with Shadowheart really, the equivalent would be the stupid "you've never been in a relationship like this have you?" dialogue option which is never what I would say irl, but it's all I get in the game, and I think she's telling the truth when you have that conversation. With Astarion, it's so obvious. He's so obvious. I'm like that. I think it's very cool that you see that development in him, going from lying to survive to just being totally readable. Whether you're romancing him or not, by act three you know exactly what he's really about. Or if you don't, you haven't been talking to him, or like failed all your insight checks or something.

Q: Thanks! You were great. Anything to add?

A: Shadowzel forever.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 astarion #astarion #bg3 astarion #but for the record I literally asked her these questions #these were her literal answers #the fake part isn't the interview #it's the underlying assumption that any of this matters

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perfectfangirl · 2 days

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i'm not new to the fallout fandom but

and i also haven't made a written post in years but yet i'm sure there's already discourse on the tv show about it on here with me not finding it right away but i'd like to talk about how cooper [the ghoul man] decided to unalive and butcher another [going feral friend] ghoul, roger. though terrifying and universally morally reviled... i think it's a genuinely interesting choice of him to me with having his companion hostage [vault dweller] lucy around. morally, on the scale, it was oddly compassionate, for lack of a better phrasing. stay with me now! [ghouls just do not perish under usual circumstances in this universe and that guy would've been doomed to a "life" to fallout's equivalent of zombism] and though obviously i do not like that he did that [lmao like i'm repulsed despite very much knowing how the "fallout" games can go down, i mean there's a cannibalism perk 😭] i still think it was choice. and i think he was thinking about lucy when he made, despite how um how disturbing that entire scene was fldgld listen. when he went to the lead farmer's house, they thought so lowly of ghouls, that man and his son genuinely thought he was eating the farmer's daughter 😭 and until further episodes, i'm basically of the mind he'd probably only consume either bad guys or ghouls or both who are about to turn but anyways. back to the main point. cooper already has to face the prospect that he could be one of "them" any moment too, since he was no vials himself in that episode. so it was duly hard for him to watch--- knowing that person like that and then seeing them slowly turn. i think he knew even with any vials, that man was finished. compassionate might be a very odd word for me to use here but i say this for a couple reasons. it's "compassionate" for this universe, at least. the wasteland is cruel and unforgiving. if cooper was just after meat, why... he could've just had lucy. but i think it was an interesting choice to consume a friend type person and a [going feral] ghoul. he's not even consuming a regular ghoul. he put down one who quite literally was already turning into a feral one. it's giving "lost cause" [this show hurt just like the games, swear] looking back on the scene, he kind of tries to have a [last] warm conversation with him. about food. human food. rewatching the scene now, i actually barely caught the fact that cooper shot roger as he was looking away from him. like, my goodness, he didn't hate this man at all. this was mercy k ill if there was one. in the back of my mind, i keep thinking "was this his call to make?". in a lot of ways, i'm still on lucy's side about everything. but lucy isn't a ghoul. and i don't live in the fallout universe. there's always some type of alternative yet this is what cooper thought he should do. a few episodes later, lucy can't reason with a ghoul anymore and has to do the same thing [minus consuming them]. i guess it was his call. she is gobsmacked that he's really about to butcher and eat that man and it's kinda funny he asks her name. some insane foreshadowing that's intriguing on subsequent watches no less. i want to keep this a little short for sanity's sake--- but like. when lucy asks cooper how does he live like this. why keep going. briefly. for a short moment. while he's turned away from her. he remembers. he wishes. he misses. who he was. before all this. then, feeling contempt for who she thinks she is, he makes her butcher roger. and it was in that moment i realized cooper was for sure playing a character to cope. but that's a post for another time, wastelanders ⚡

#fallout #fallout show #lucy #ghoul #cooper #cooper howard #lucy maclean #i know he sold her to organ harvesters but listen to me for one second #text post #my meanderings

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candy8448 · 4 months

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Based on this fic by @klesek

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found--family · 2 months

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am i the only one who sensed some jilted lover vibes from jensen?

#burcon #cockles #thoughts #at the start of the panel and through a few particular interactions he seemed very standoffish #he was giving a little bitter and hurt and perhaps even resentful - maybe he only learned of misha's gf #at this con too! maybe it was news to him. on top of not seeing misha for months i can understand #if he was feeling a bit neglected and out of the loop. there's also the matter of misha's gf not being #in a poly thing with jensen and dee like vicki was ie. what she has with misha is seperate so i'm sure #that's another difficult thing to deal with knowing their time together is strictly separate #i've no doubt he wants misha to have a partner and be happy but there's an adjustment period #letting new people into your life and whoever misha's partner is now or in the future is going to #affect jensen on a personal level and moreover his relationship with misha. it's all very intriguing #and while i like what little i've seen and heard about this woman for misha i just think no matter who #she is it's going to take a toll on jensen's relationship w misha. i thought it was plain to see on jensen's face #during their panel: numerous moments where he was giving a poker face that wasn't covering a laugh #but instead like he was trying to smooth out his bitterness. or so my eyes and brain and heart tell me.#just various moments where things looked uncomfortable and jensen making off-colour jokes that didn't land #and which furthermore were barbed and snarky - not in their usual banter way but like he was lashing out #and using the excuse of chaotic panel convo to explain away his comedic pitfalls. but again maybe i'm #looking to much into it? idk. there are some lovely moments! fun and caring moments - but they #mainly came from misha's direction ngl. it seemed like misha was trying hard to keep the peace #while jensen was just running his mouth on comments and jokes that kept not landing - for me #everyone on my dash is loving their dynamic this panel - and i want to feel that love! it is possible that #learning misha has a gf has skewed my perception a little like i'm putting context onto moments #i otherwise wouldn't. but i also think i would've laughed and generally felt better watching their panel #if that was the case. idk. whatever the reason i do think something was OFF between them on stage #and it was coming from jensen from the start. misha picked up on it partway though but things felt #a little strained throughout. like jensen wasn't looking at misha as much as usual or reaching out for him #misha tried to salvage and not react to things. but both their answers to the last Q were passive aggressive af #and when they left the stage together they weren't close or touching or chatting like they usually are...

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theultracharmingladynoire · 6 months

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I am just so tired of everything but I can't do anything about it

#I can change this situation if I work hard and sincerely....but I just.... can't?#I just feel more physically tired day by day and it feels like I am being lazy and not trying hard enough #But I just. Can't.#Like one surface level I do understand it's just that I am not in a really good place mentally but sometimes it just feels so...bad #I don't know. I have been feeling a lot of unpleasant feelings towards people I though I loved and cared about and it is really troubling m #And then there's this situation of me just not being good enough. And it's so frustrating #I just. There's this person who I have been really envying for a while. I felt very guilty to admit it but I don't know man. Especially whe #I can't bring myself to completely envy and dislike them out of pettiness....it just feels so Wrong And Bad #But I don't know....why do I feel like I can't do anything about this when I can if I try #Why can't I just try to change this. Change myself #I am surrounded by people who support me always....yet I can't do better and I can't do ENOUGH #It just.I don't know. On one hand I wish I was better because I do have a bit of an ego and I want to relish that feeling of winning #On the other hand....I want people who I love to be proud of me.#But I can't because I am too lazy for this can I #It's like I've hit this slump and I can't get out of it #I've tried so much to get out of it....everyone around me tells me not to let myself get too deep into whining and negative emotions and #give up...but man is it so fucking hard not to. It makes me loathe myself that #I feel like running away from my responsibilities when I don't even carry them out. I haven't done shit to feel like I need a break #I don't know I just really am dissatisfied and disappointed with my current self now.#N rambles

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salaciousdoll · 7 months

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· · Just in: Kento Nanami isn’t tolerating his young hot neighbor party habits, here’s what he has to say · ·

･˳ . ⋆ Reporting Live from Kento Nanami and Next door neighbor!Fem!reader ･˳ . ⋆

୨⍣୧ ⁺⁎˚ ⋆━━ Warnings : smut, Nanami is a hard!dom, hair pulling, creampie, fucked through orgasm, pet names( stupid bunny, slut, etc.), degradation is big time here, bed breaking( not just the head board), breeding kink, Nanami talks about getting you pregnant, hardcore, reader is mind fucked, Nanami is pussy drunk, reader is dick drunk, fluids( cream, squirting, drool), if I’m missing anything let me know WC: 1,081

MDNI, 18+

ෆ ‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿ ෆ ̟ ̇ ┈•ﾟNote from salaciousdoll: Please do note this was just to poke and have fun, it’s not gonna be perfect so don’t expect it. Anyways, hope you all enjoy my 35 min writing and yes I know this troupe and idea been used a thousands times, act like it hasn’t 😭 Nanami ass may be ooc here, idk.

Nanami always kept his eyes out for the new neighbor who threw parties with mountains of people coming in and out. He was pretty tired of the parties you throw even if you never introduced yourself to any one of your neighbors. You were young and everyone in this neighborhood was either stepping into their 30s or older than that. Only reason he knew you were young was because of how often he’ll see you leave and come in with different boys and girls.

The parties you threw were rowdy and full on project x type beat except without trashing your house. Nanami would be sleep and all he would hear is screams, music, and even the sound of fucking near his window. It’s like you didn’t care about anything or anyone, not even the complaints or calls from the police the other neighbors sent.

So Nanami didn’t care about the way you were clawing at his chest with your long, pretty acrylics as he gripped your hair in a tight ponytail— pounding into your pussy from beneath you with no mercy. The squelching sounds weren't enough to make him stop, in fact, that’s the sole reason he kept going. He ignored your cries and scrambling to get away from him because of how good he stretched your little hole out.

“ you’re not lasting like I thought you would… I mean sluts last long, so why aren’t you?”, Nanami grunts into your ear, his hips thrusting up into your weeping pussy, angrily. He didn’t care about the bed hitting the wall as he fucked you like the whore you’re mother wouldn’t be proud of.

You coughed and tried to make eye contact with him, but his grip on your hair was too much for you to see his face under you. So you cried out your frustration through crystallized vision, “ M’not a slut. Please slow down, Mr. Nanami.” Your sweet little moans and whimpers were beautiful.

Nanami let out a loud growl like moan and wrapped one arm around your body while he now had some of your ponytail tangled and wrapped into his hands, he was making your hair messy just like he was making your pussy messy. You partially regretted coming on because of the dare, but in the same breath, you were happy because now you’re living two of your fantasies.

“ You are. You are. Nnnhh, you’re a little slut that’s been disturbing this neighborhood since you stepped foot in here. Shame on you, did your mother and father teach you anything or are you too dumb of a bunny to understand. Fuck!”, Nanami grunts out his words because of how tight your fluttering walls wrapped around his dick.

Nothing but cries and little chokes escaped out of your mouth. You couldn’t form basic words, how dumb can you be? Nanami balls were slapping on your puckered hole from how fast and rough he was going. You gave up on digging your nails into his chest because you were so fucked out and tired from the pounding he’s giving you. So now your bare chest was pressed onto his bare chest, sweat glands producing from both of you.

“ Please! Please! Please! M’gonna m’gonna— uhhnnn.”, your moans were suppressed by his smooth lips. You were screaming into his mouth as you squirted over his pelvis, his balls, and legs. Some of it was getting on his sheets and he didn’t care one bit. He was too angry at you to see how messy you’ve gotten his covers.

You tried to scramble off him because you were squirting too much and the pressure of it all was too much especially for your already beaten up pussy. It’s like Nanami has superhuman speed and stamina. He sped up even more faster as he fucked up into you, you and your pussy screamed and cried.

Nanami grunts were beginning to become broken, “ Sh-ittt, s’good, pussy is so good squirting like that. I guess all those boys coming in and out of your house taught you how to milk cock, perfectly.” Your eyes widened and then they rolled back into your head at the rolling of his hips hitting the inner thighs repeatedly.

As soon as he did one more snap of his hips, the bed frame broke underneath you two causing a loud noise to erupt from how hard it hit the floor. The poles attached to his bed fell in the opposite direction of you two. If someone were to walk in right now, they’ll see that it looks like a tornado hit his room with how broken the bed was. Yet that still didn’t stop him. He now had a great angle as he pounded your tired, wet cunt over and over with one knee propped up, so you were now fucking rapidly and properly. He felt your velvet walls sucking him in with your liquid coming out at the same time. You were perfect for his cock. Nanami’s cock was big, way too big for your pussy. He loved your pussy so much. He was too drunk on your pussy to understand that his bed broke.

“ My fucking slut, such an devilish little temptation you are, gonna breed this tight little pussy. Nghh! Hopefully that’ll get you to stop having these parties and fucking with those boy toys of yours…. Settle down and grow round and big with our child, how does that sound? Hmm.”, Nanami moaned as you were now creaming on his cock from how overstimulated you were.

Your brain was fogged and your words were slurred with drool hangin out your mouth as you answered him, well tried. Luckily he understood every word you said. “ Yesh—yess, I wan’ your babies. Ahnnn. Want to be full and bloated with your children, mmm mr. Nanami”

Nanami smirked in victory because now there were no more parties, boys, or loud music. Gotta love corrupting and breaking his pretty little neighbor.

ෆ ̟ ̇ ┈•ﾟ Tagging: @chosoist @simpingfor-wakasa @honeybleed and anyone else who wants to be tagged

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