just thinking out loud here about one last night of passion with thomas hutter and how utterly sweet, how overwhelming it would be. there is no pretence in how he almost, no definitely, worships you. he is far from pious, but kneels like a man at the foot of god by your bed side. he is so impossibly pale, so warm and shivering slightly, whilst knelt between your legs. his hands dig into your sides, as if you were made to be held by him. he’d kiss your hip, a noticeable blush forming at his nape when he can see your body beneath the fabric. can see your plush thighs, the whiter edge of your undergarments, the way you glow in the flickering candlelight.
he’d apologise, though it was not his fault, for having to leave. some business about a count, and his estate, and how he hopes it’s not as harrowing as his boss has made him to believe it is. but he is distracted. by you. your presence. how can you blame him? he is besotted with you. when you cup his cheeks, reassure him, he turns his face so he can better kiss the inside of your palm. his kisses don’t stop there. they trail up to your wrist, almost sucking at the skin. he would leave a mark if he wasn’t mapping your entire body so fervently and in such little time. in seconds, he crawls to you with both hands and feet, caging you completely. his body is broad, broader than yours. and his face is twisted in agony, in need. he is so desperate that he should be ashamed, but he isn’t.
“i do not know how long i can keep away from you,” he’ll mouth against your neck, trailing hot kisses against the thundering pulse there, “this trip will test me. i know it will.”
his hands will wander underneath your shift, broad, calloused and strong, spreading apart your thighs for room or massaging your hip, or sliding downward to grab your calf so he could better adjust between your legs. he’d be such a mess, not stuttering - not yet, atleast, there’d be more of that soon enough - but begging with his eyes alone. he would roll his hips into your own, chasing for friction, finding the restriction of clothing a blessing and a curse.
if you even begin to seduce him in the way that always sets him off like a habit, maybe a fluttering of your lashes or some begging or even the mere act of being so breathless, teary eyed and chasing his hips with your own, he would hold back no longer. he near pops the button off his dress shirt from yanking it off, revealing toned, pale muscle. his hands would feel up your sides, his lips too busy kissing your own till they bruised as his hands push up your shift, revealing your body to him. your tummy, your perky nipples, your undergarments barely clinging on - and when he gets them off, you’re so unbelievably warm down there, that he actually flushes. he says unintentionally teasing little things, like “it is so warm, and my fingers… they disappear completely…” that only spur you on.
and he’d make love to you. he is a lover, not a fighter. he’d give into you so easily that you could barely call it a fight. he’d push into you, warm and wet walls clinging onto his cock like a vice. he’d stutter - there it was - his head dropping pathetically against your collarbone, his hot lips dragging against the column of your neck. he’d try so, so hard to keep it together, to last a while longer. but the way you clench down on him is only short of torture, the rest being sweet, sweet pleasure.
if you’re thinking of giving, he wouldn’t be opposed. as your husband, and contrary to conventions of the time, your pleasure would be above anything else. his pleasure too, but he finds that in your sharp little gasps and the way your body writhes. his pleasure is yours. so he is a little surprised when you roll the both of you over, him pinned to the bed. a little disoriented, sure, and a bit conscious of what exactly you were getting at - but when he sees you almost hugging his hips, your cheek squished against his hip bone and so dangerously close to his hardened cock, his heart jumps.
maybe you let slip a “please – please, can i make you feel good too?” and he can barely breathe. his vision is swimmingly, and his cock twitches ever so slightly near your lips. his hand would come to tighten in your hair. not pulling nor pushing. just there. his voice would be so breathy, all guttural and raspy as he nods. he can’t hear the words but he is half sure that he responds with a yes, yes – please, my heart, please.
Caught my first ever non-Masuda Method, mainline Shiny ever!! And I wasn't even Shiny hunting, I just randomly stumbled upon him! Tried to auto-attack it with my Ralts, but it wouldn't work, and just kept shaking its cute lil head no. So I showed my husband like "why won't it attack it??" and he was like "Oh, is it like too high of a level for the Ralts? *peers at my screen more closely* Amber... Babe... That's a Shiny! The game is programmed to refuse to auto battle Shinies!"
I have always loved both Makuhita and Hariyama, so this works perfectly!
bocchi the rock is so touching (TuT) bocchi’s anxiety is very exaggerated most of the time because the show loves to play into it so that the animators can really go wild so i was taken aback when i saw that the way it depicts nerves onstage is so!!!!!! incredibly realistic!!!! in so many subtle ways!!!! episode 8’s performance where she finally keeps her eyes open gave me so many flashbacks to my first lead role (=´∀｀)
as a fellow performer with anxiety, her journey feels so familiar and the support she has from her friends is so heartwarming T^T i got over stage anxiety quite some time ago but auditions still make me want to curl up into a ball and live in my closet so thank you hamaji-san for this season’s Literally Me anime
oh god i know i sound so delusional… but i really wish ellie williams was my neighbour.
that overly chic neighbour who you can see from the cracks of your window, brushing her teeth on her porch, with a snarl of a smile on her face when she spots you staring. you look away, of course you are unaffected. whatever. silly neighbour.
but then she repeats it, now flowing her hand beneath the fabric of her shirt, massaging her shoulders but its the way her shirt hitches up just the slightest, that you focus on (and totaaaaally not the outlines of sun kissed abs). its irrefutable. you’re in love with your neighbour.
i need that overly caring neighbour!ellie who spots u limping over to ur door with a large bag in one hand and portfolio in another. she rushes out, still in baggy pants and a slight grey shirt, the slightest traces of a smile breaking on her face, hands skittish as it brushes against yours to grab the weight in them and fucccckkkk her freckles look so kissable.
that neighbour!ellie who knocks on your day every friday to drop off another portion of messily put together casserole, smiling so wide when you accept it (and invite her in sometimes wink wonk)
that neighbour!ellie whose guitar you can hear strumming past the walls, soft hints, so close. you almost want to run to her door but your dinner is burning and fuck.
neighbour!ellie who smells of cola, cigarettes and gum all at once, who feels like the susurration of music in your lungs.
thinking about college!au ellie williams who never misses any lectures (except for when she is plastered against her bed from yet another fever from waiting in the rain for you). ellie williams who borrows a pen from you and bites on the edge, prompting her to panic so badly (internally, cmon) that she buys you a whole new pack of the exact same pens (its not like she stayed up trying to find the same pack online OH NO) ellie williams who saves you a seat every lecture, patting it dry, with the smallest of smiles cracking on her face when you shuffle onto it quietly with a “thank you”.
oh and she would definitely go to a local coffee shop and pick up two coffees for the two of u, during study dates, despite the fact that she hates coffee and its bitterness but oh she loves the fact that the two of you are matching drinks and its coupley and cute and fuck she’s in love.
SO imagine. college!modern!ellie writing on her little journal in her ipad, constantly. she probably sketches so many things — wild flowers, the moon on occasions where she can’t sleep (fuck morning classes), details of you, random canopies she spots out her student accommodation.
she password locks them because god forbid you find her little love confessions and over dramatic completely rational fear of ever watching you fall for someone else because damn her, right?
ipad ellie. fresh in my mind. lmk if you guys want a fic around it. fluuuuuufff baby fluff!
just wrote some more for the ellie fic… definitely not a piece of mine that i will get done in a day, i find it better to pick it back up after i take a break. its coming along well, i hope it will be just as exhilarating of an experience for all my ellie enthusiasts 🥹
