#*blinks wetly and audibly*

[corpsoir]

my mom almost walked in and saw me drawing this. anyway enjoy!!! 😋😋😋

this is the kind of pictures skagen takes of solvei

[valtsv]

it's so cold outside rn that when i go outside my eyelashes freeze and when i come back in they melt and make my eyes all wet like a seal

[diadraws]

some1 asked abt aqua power ups and wether theyd become water creatures or just get scuba suits... who do u think i am... *blinks wetly and audibly*

[avonne-writes]

humbly here on my knees to beg and beg for more kitty!Gale content 🥺🙏🏻 can’t get enough!!

You're in luck, anon 😊🩷

~♡~

Outside, the men are still shooting up the occasional flare to celebrate the end of the war, but on the stairs inside the Tower, the noise is barely audible. The whoosh of Gale's rapid breathing echoes between the cold walls and the icy grip of nerves around his heart. The only sound of life is his own. No footsteps followed him here. John stayed up there with only his flask and the heavy emptiness they both feel for company.

But not for long now.

Gale closes his eyes and sinks into that wild call inside of him until his bones start shifting, and the next blink finds him on four cream-white paws on hard steps that look bigger than they were a moment ago. He shudders and almost shifts right back by accident, because the fear of being killed or eaten hits him with a harsh, unexpected low blow. But he counters it with the memory of his father, stomping and swishing his belt as Gale scrambles to hide with the barn kittens, and staying a cat becomes easier again.

Gale's bravery is sometimes only a matter of finding a stronger fear. He’s not sure if he should be ashamed of that.

Soundlessly, he pads back up where he came from. On his way down, he left the door open just a crack, enough to shoulder it further ajar and to push his slender body through the gap. He’s a pale shadow sweeping across the ground like the moonlight. Stealthiness thrills him, even as the jitters under his skin are making his fur all puffed up. No matter. At least, it might cover the sorry state he's in with all the weight he lost. He’s grateful that the scars on his cheeks don’t show unless one's looking for them.

A few feet away from John, he freezes, crouching low. His heart is pounding so fast it might just tear out of his chest. What if John doesn’t recognize him? It’s been almost two years since he last saw Gale in this shape, since he last held him and whispered sweet compliments in his ear. Two years since he let Gale rub his cheek against his neck and leave his scent on him. What if he doesn’t find Gale lovable anymore? What if all he sees is a mangy stray, or worse, a reminder of - of what they’d done in the stalag.

He doesn’t have time to get lost in the horror of that memory though, because John turns his head to watch a green flare on his right, and in its flash of bright light, his eyes land on Gale.

He gasps and leans forward in his seat. "Princess?"

Gale's relief is loud and high-pitched. "John!" He wants to sob, but all he can do to let the waves of pain out is to continue meowing. Sad and pitiful, it floods out of him in a way he can’t express as himself, as a man.

"It’s you! Jesus Christ." John slides out of his seat and to his knees on the rough stone, his arms outstretched like the first time he met Gale as a cat. "Come here, come here, baby."

Gale wants to jump into his embrace, but his doubts hold him back. What if he remembers it all wrong and it won't feel as good as he thinks? What if John changed in the stalag? What if he did? He walks towards John slowly, hesitant. His whole body trembles, and he can’t get a grip on it, so he starts a low purr, both to calm himself and to offer an apology.

The noise John makes is nothing like Gale has ever heard him sound. It’s both happy and distraught, a perfect mirror to the turmoil in Gale's heart. He scoots forward until his hand is right in front of Gale, and when Gale headbutts it, he chuckles wetly and runs his large palm over the line of Gale's spine.

"Shh, don't be scared. It’s just me. Just me, darling." John's quiet voice cracks. "I know I've changed. I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?" Gale cries as he closes the rest of the distance between them and tries to climb on John's lap, rubbing himself to John's stomach and chest. When John's arms wrap around his small body, he goes limp and closes his eyes. He’s scooped up high on John's chest.

"You’re so thin, Princess. The boys didn’t take good care of you, did they?" John says mournfully, then his voice goes even quieter. "Or did you lose the ones who did?"

Stroking Gale's back and side, he sighs long and hard. "Oh, your fur."

"Just ignore it, please." Gale thinks, hiding his face against John's uniform. It will be silky and beautiful again, it has to be. He’ll recover.

John pets his head and rubs his ears, sniffing and rocking gently back and forth with Gale. "I'm sorry I wasn't here. I'm sorry."

"I love you." Gale purrs when he feels John's face pressed to his side. He puts his paw on John's chest and sinks his claws in softly, then releases. "I love you."

But John doesn’t know what he's trying to say. He doesn’t know how every second of his warm embrace tears Gale's badly healed wounds right open just to stitch them together properly. He doesn’t know how much pain and joy and relief it is for Gale to be here with him, still loved. Not even the knife of captivity could cut this away from him.

John doesn’t say anything for the longest time. His breathing comes uneven against Gale's fluffy body, as if he's trying to hold something back. Gale keeps purring and kneading his chest, hoping it helps, but a few minutes later, he feels wetness soak into the cushion of his fur.

John cries silently, without a single sound. His chest shakes and heaves with it, and his heartbeat drums erratically under the touch of Gale's paw, but he doesn’t let himself sob. Not until Gale gives his temple a lick as a kiss of consolation.

It bursts out of John then, hard, guilt-stained agony. "I didn’t know." John cries. His breath hitches. "I didn’t know."

It doesn't matter what specific facet of the war he means, Gale feels what he feels. They didn’t know how horrifying life could get, when you live in an endless hide and seek with death, or how far an act of madness could ripple down a group of men. They didn’t know what it was like to starve or to be powerless on enemy soil, to see no point in existence anymore but the light in each other's eyes, to march into their death with the thought that at least it would be by each other's side.

Perhaps, what John means is that he didn’t know what he signed up for, or that he didn’t know the cat he thinks he left behind would end up thin and faded in his absence. It doesn't matter. Gale understands.

"I know, John," his small, rumbling meows mean to convey, and he squirms in John's hold to be able to rub his head to John's chin.

"I missed you too." John laughs wetly. He wipes at his face and stands up. The movement makes Gale's stomach flip in a pleasant tickle. "Think you can handle a jeep ride, Princess? Wanna introduce you to someone."

He scratches Gale's chin until Gale's putty in his arms. "I'll find a way to take you home with me." John cups his paw, and to his own astonishment, Gale lets him. "Or find you a nice home in town at least, I promise. How about that?"

Uh-oh, Gale thinks. He’s too comfortable to be alarmed, but a thought appears in his mind. Is he gonna have to help organize his own adoption?

[hywl]

blinking wetly and audibly

[meowzfordayz]

Hello!!! Happy Valentine’s Day!! 🌹 wishing you a wonderful day and sweet smooches!

Congratulations on your milestone! Thank you for providing us with soft and heart warming writing ✍️ ;-; and for being such a sweet moot. For your 15.0 event, may I request SFW “I love you” for Tanjiro?? :3 Here’s to another year of writing!

MILESTONE 15.0

Hihi !! 😁 Ty for participating in my event — I hope Feb's treating you kindly. 🥰 Totally random, but I just realized my 1 yr anniversary on Tumblr was like, 2 days ago. 🥴 Cheers indeed to another yr of writing !! 🥳

Song Inspo: I Like The Sound Of That by Rascal Flatts

CW: mild sexual content

"It's 2am," you yawn, eyes blinking tiredly, "Go to sleep."

Squinting, Tanjirou flicks your nose, heart fluttering as you let out an indignant squeak, "No."

"Rude!"

"But you're so cute," he grins, bumping your thigh with his knee, "All sleepy and cuddly."

"You're sleepy and cuddly," you huff, kneeing—much harder—at his groin.

"OI!"

"Go to sleep."

"How am I supposed to sleep if you kick me in the balls?" he pouts, rubbing carefully—placatingly—at your knee, his own legs crossing (a protective measure).

Shrugging, you tug the comforter up and over your head, inhaling the soft, warm scent of recently washed sheets and freshly showered Tanjirou, "I missed."

"And you're not going to make another attempt?" he chuckles quietly, grin returning at the adorable lump of you under the covers.

"Hm," you respond nonchalantly, cool fingertips making their way toward his bare stomach, "Maybe not."

"What are yo- AHHHHH!"

"Everything okay?" you hum innocently, savoring the surprised flex of his muscles, palms pressing eager along his sides, mouth nuzzling fond and satisfied at his chest — a stark contrast to the uninhibited, gleeful torture of your cold palms.

"You're! So! Mean!" he gasps, eyes squeezed shut, resisting the urge to jerk away, hands gripping gentle at your shoulders as though to brace himself, "You'reluckyIloveyou!" gulping for air as your ministrations continue.

"Oh hush," you mumble into his skin, beginning Phase 2™ as your feet go in for the kill, outright cackling when his body goes rigid, plaintive whimper burying itself in your hair at the touch of your frosty toes, "You signed up for this."

"I! Did! Not!" he whines, grip tightening, teeth gritted, internal mantra of I love them, I love them, I love them the only force keeping him in place.

"Did too!" you declare, smooching wetly at his collarbone, "Thank you for being my favorite space heater!"

"I take it back," he huffs, shivering despite himself, "You're not cute at all!"

"But I am sleepy and cuddly," you retort, "Aren't I?"

Disgruntled, he pulls lightly at your ear, endearment audible in his tone even as goosebumps creep up his forearms, "Absolutely."

"Are you cold?" you coo teasingly, fingers grazing the curve of his pelvis, "My favorite space heater's struggling."

"Nope," he mutters, "Not cold, not struggling," stubbornness narrowing his eyes, "I might start sweating, actually."

"Sooo I can use them then?" you ask sweetly.

"Use what?!" he swallows nervously, immediately on alert.

"The forbidden hand warmers!"

Shortly thereafter, Tanjirou almost wishes you'd just gone for another knee-to-balls... your contented sigh hardly enough compensation for his embarrassing shout and consequent shuddering + the temperature shock and potential flash freeze death of his sperm.

—

"You're dramatic," you giggle, wiggling upward to meet his begrudging gaze, apologetically kissing his forehead.

"And you're cruel," he scowls, expression quickly breaking into an exasperated smile, because I love you, "You better sleep with one eye open!"

"Ooh is that a threat, my sleepy man?"

"YES."

[harteofthehart-ayyy]

only reason people dont assume youre gay married is because they dont see how you act around tabs.

@equine-fanblog

Imagine me blinking very wetly at you. And it makes an audible noise.

[samuelroukin]

love a man that blinks wetly and audibly

[androdragynous]

whenever I see that post that's like I want to be a seal I want to blink audibly and wetly all I can think is how much you Really Really Don't. nothing about blinking audibly or wetly is enjoyable. be free while you still can

[corpsoir]

????? thank you to the random anon who gifted me ad-free browsing out of nowhere????

[jjjjabberwocky]

hellar jude. is it ok if i use yr art as an icon. blinks audibly and wetly

YAS as long as you credit me it is totally ok :P!!! Ty for asking

[hederasgarden]

Safe With Me

Summary: Six is a hard man to read up until the moment he isn’t.

Paring: Sierra Six (Court Gentry) x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.7K

Rating: Mature, 18+ only. AU, violence, blood, angst, whumpage, death and some sexual content.

A/N: If this gets a good response I will write a sequel that takes place during the movie. Please note the reader has been Claire’s caretaker since her first surgery and is in her early 30s. The story is based on this ask. Thank you N and a @a-reader-and-a-writer for beta'ing and @skvatnavle for the title.

When Six comes into your lives, you’re not sure what to make of him. He’s clearly CIA-adjacent like Fitz – or some other alphabet agency– though he has none of the easy warmth of Claire's uncle. Just his quick sense of humor, but even that comes out sparingly, often startling a laugh from you. Claire takes to him quickly, poking and prodding at his cool exterior until you begin to see little cracks in it. Small glimpses of the man beneath the protector.

Once you notice the little tells, it becomes easier to catch them. Like the soft way he looks at Claire when she’s singing along to a record or the way his lips twitch up into a brief smile every time you remember his favorite pastry from the bakery. It’s apparent in the way his hand always rests at the small of your back when you’re out in public together, guiding you along as Claire tugs excitedly at your arm. You see it in the way he keeps himself as a buffer between the two of you and other people.

It’s how you know his nightly check-in at bedtime isn't just about following security protocol. Seeing you both safely tucked into bed for the night seems to ease some of the tension he carries. Most times the two of you don’t speak, he just pokes his head in and nods, giving you that awkward little grimace he probably thinks is a smile. Claire is another story, you can normally hear her excited little voice asking Six a hundred different questions that he patiently answers.

Tonight you’re in bed early, a warm cup of tea and a book in your hand. You thumb through the pages while you wait for him to come say good night, unable to rest until this part of your routine is complete. The clock on your bedside ticks steadily forward until it’s 9:05. Six is always prompt and when he doesn't show you grow concerned, venturing out to find him. You don’t make it far before a gloved hand covers your mouth and an arm snakes around your stomach. You’re pulled back against a solid wall of muscle.

“Tell us where the girl is,” comes the gravelly demand.

In your panicked state you thrash around, jerking your head back. Pain explodes along your skull and the man groans, releasing you. When you look back, you see blood pouring from his broken nose. You scramble away from him and scream for Six but the man catches you quickly. He forces you on your back and your head snaps to the side with the force of the first blow. You lay there stunned, with the taste of pennies in your mouth. You've never been hit before or purposely hurt like this and the ugly surprise of it is almost worse than the pain.

Tears well up and you breathe in wetly, blood escaping from your split lip down your chin. The man stares at you and even though the mask hides most of his face the anger in his gaze is unmistakable. Before you can recover he hauls you to your feet and throws you roughly against the wall, demanding you take him to Claire.

"No," you croak. He strikes you a second time and you flinch. God you hope Claire made it to the panic room. The thought of this man touching her makes your stomach roll. You close your eyes when he asks you again, waiting for another blow to come but nothing happens. When you hear the audible click of a gun’s safety your eyes shoot open. The man in front of you freezes.

He’s quick to recover, turning around and bringing you in front of him as a shield. You blink rapidly to clear your tears, relief surging through your body at the sight of Six. He looks a little worse for wear, a wound on his arm bleeding sluggishly and a gash on his side. To your surprise, he doesn’t address the man but looks right at you.

“You alright?” He asks.

You're not, but you nod anyway.

“Where’s the girl? Take me to her or I’ll kill this one,” the man demands, pressing a knife to your throat.

You whimper and Six’s lips thin, a muscle in his jaw jumping. Still, he doesn’t look at the man, speaking to you again. “Did he do that to you?” Six asks, motioning to your face.

“Yes.”

“Take me to the girl,” the man growls.

You jerk in his arms when you feel the blade split the skin of your throat. Six takes a step forward but stills, watching you for a long moment before he shifts his attention to the man behind you.

“I want you to know. I was going to leave one of you alive. The CIA loves to interrogate you assholes… but you touched her. That was a mistake,” he says, his voice cold and even. When he speaks again he’s still watching the man though you know he’s addressing you. “Close your eyes.”

You squeeze them shut, holding your breath. There’s no hiding what Six means to do and even though you know it’s coming you still flinch at the sound of the gun and the hollow thump of the man’s body hitting the floor behind you. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you feel Six’s touch on the side of your neck.

At his coaxing, your eyes flutter open, and you stare at his bloodied face. You can’t stop your hands from shaking and when your lips part no sound comes out. Some part of you knows you’re in shock, but you can’t make your body cooperate. It’s a struggle to breathe.

“It’s alright, take a breath,” Six instructs, cradling the uninjured side of your face in his hand. You inhale through your nose as he continues to watch you, nodding encouragingly until you're breathing normally.

"Six," you whisper, grasping his shirt.

“How are you doing, hen?” He questions, the use of his terrible nickname for you startling a laugh from you. Mother hen. For the way you tended to follow Claire around the house, fussing over her even when she tried to wave you off. “Should we go check on our little chick?” He asks.

“Where is she? Did they-” you start.

Six is quick to reassure you. “She went straight to the safe room just like I taught her. She’s okay,” he promises.

He offers you his hand and you take it, letting him fold you into his side. The smell of blood and cordite burns your nose but underneath is the familiar scent of Six’s cologne. It helps calm you, grounding you to him until you turn the corner.

“Don’t look,” he instructs, a hand on the back of your head urging you to press your face into his chest.

You only catch the briefest look at the carnage in the living room, thankful for the way Six shields you from it. He guides you along the hallway and you don’t open your eyes until he tells you to. The thick door to the safe room slides open and you smile in relief at the sight of Claire, lamp raised and a fierce expression on her face.

As soon as she sees you, she drops it and rushes into your arms. She touches your face so gently and cries, turning even more upset when she sees the state of Six. It takes both of you nearly an hour to get her calm enough to sleep. Even then you can tell it’s a fitful slumber, her little face scrunched up in concern. You stay with her, stroking her back while Six leaves to deal with whoever he called to clean up the mess in the living room.

You’re thankful nothing happened to her but it scares you how close those men got. If they’d gotten their hands on her… You shake your head, not wanting to think about that.

“Hen.”

You turn around at the sound of Six’s soft voice, finding him leaning against the doorframe. Even though he’s cleaned the blood from his face you can still see the gray shirt clinging to his side.

“We should get you cleaned up,” you say concerned.

“That’s my line,” he tells you, brow raised. “Come on, she’ll be safe. I got three guys in the house and another four outside. No one is getting in.”

You follow him into the hall, letting him lead you to the spare bathroom. He shuts the door behind him and you turn towards the sink, flinching at the state of your face. You raise a trembling hand to your lip. Six stops you with a gentle grip on your wrist.

“Did he get you anywhere else?” He asks, looking you over critically.

“Just the face.”

“So nowhere important, huh?” He questions, making you laugh and then wince when the action tugs on your split lip. “Hop up,” he directs, tapping the counter.

When you struggle to do as he asks, a disconnect between your mind and body still, Six helps you. He grasps your hips and hefts you up with a surprising amount of gentleness. You look up, your face close to his. He squeezes your hips and steps away, bending down to take out supplies from a little bin under the sink you never realized was there.

You clear your throat and curl your fingers into the fabric of your PJs. Now that things have calmed, pain filters in through your scattered nerves.

“You a doctor now?” You ask.

“No but I play one on TV,” he replies without missing a beat, rising back to his full height.

He stands between your legs and pulls on a pair of gloves. His touch is gentle as he slowly cleans your face and treats the wound on your neck. Your eyes fall closed at the feel of his fingers tracing the cut on your throat, spreading a cool, numbing cream over the angry line. He does the same to your lip and it helps take the sting out of it. After he removes the gloves, he runs his fingers over the rest of your face, applying gentle pressure at different points. You know he’s looking for fractures or breaks. Outside of the underside of your jaw being tender to the touch, you’re mostly okay.

“It’s not a lollipop,” he warns, dropping two little pills into your hand, “but they’ll help with the pain.”

“What about you?” You question.

He shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You’re still bleeding.”

“It’s not my blood,” he tells you.

“Oh.” You fall quiet and look up at him.

He turns away from you, listening to something outside the door and you look at his face in profile. You can see the faint beginnings of bruises on his cheek and jaw and there’s a patch of dried blood at his temple. Your eyes wander down his chest, cataloging what looks like a knife wound on his right pec and another down his left side. Hesitantly, you reach out and touch him.

Six grunts, eyes closing briefly. “Well, maybe a little bit is mine,” he admits.

“Let me help you.”

“Not to sound dramatic but it’s not the first time I’ve stitched myself up,” he tells you.

“Please, I…” You trail off, close to tears again.

“What’s wrong?” He asks quietly.

You don’t know how to explain that even though he may trust the men outside, you only trust him. You don’t want to be alone. He makes you feel safe, his presence the only thing keeping you from unraveling. It was easy to hold it together for Claire but now that it’s just the two of you there’s nothing to distract from how close those men got to her or what they did to you.

Six says nothing but he doesn’t have to, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around your shoulders carefully. You sob when he hugs you close, twisting the fabric of his shirt in your finger as your body shakes. He rests his chin on your head and drags his hand up and down your back soothingly. The tears don’t last long, not with him holding and comforting you.

A small part of you thinks Six needs it too. You hear him breathe out and some of the tension leaves his body. He cares a lot for you and Claire. It’s why the two of you make an effort in your own ways to make him feel a part of your little family and cared for. To know he’s worthy of that affection. Eventually, Six pulls away, smoothing a large hand over the back of your head and down to your shoulder, squeezing it.

“Alright, your turn to play doctor,” he says, reaching back to tug his shirt off.

You can’t help the small sound that escapes your mouth at the sight of his scarred body. He doesn’t react to your response, staring steadily at a point beyond your head. His right arm is the worst, deep scars mangling his tan skin but it seems like everywhere you look there’s more damage to find. Underneath your concern is another feeling, one you try to ignore because now is not the time for your body to recognize just how good he looks without a shirt.

“None of these look too deep,” you say, taking the pair of gloves he hands you and getting to work cleaning and bandaging his wounds.

You carefully avoid the gun on his hip, looking up every so often to see his face. His expression is blank, and he doesn’t react to your touch even though you know it must be painful. You want to ask him what really happened tonight, but you know he’d only give you a glib answer. After you’re finished Six inspects your work. He gives you a thumbs up and smiles.

“Not half bad, doc.”

You grin back and stare up at him, breath catching when his eyes dip to your lips momentarily. The expression on his face is uncharacteristically soft and vulnerable. You feel an answer tug in your own heart and slowly reach to touch the side of his face. Even though he’s still a mystery to you in a lot of ways you know him well enough to understand he would never make the first move. Too driven by some internal moral compass.

“Six,” you whisper, tilting your head up to invite him in.

There’s only a flicker of hesitation before he’s kissing you, a hand on your hip drawing you close to his body. He groans and you respond with a little gasp of your own when he pushes you back, your head bumping against the cold mirror. Your lips part for his tongue, a brief flare of pain from the cut there but it fades quickly when his hands cup your face. His scent and taste surround you and your body responds.

You grab his shoulder, wanting him closer and he grunts, pulling away. Pain clouds his eyes and your brows raise in concern.

“Six…”

He shakes his head and steps back, rolling his shoulder with a grimace. The air between you shifts, whatever softness he allowed to the surface dissolving as he steps away.

“You should go check on Claire,” he says.

“Alright,” you agree, letting him help you down from the counter. His hand lingers only for a moment.

He follows you down the hall to Claire’s room, hovering in the doorway as you climb carefully into bed with her. She stirs, blinking sleepily and reaching for you. When she says your name softly you assure her everything is ok, curling your body around her smaller one. She grasps your hand tightly against her chest and sighs, falling still. Six turns to leave and you call out to him quietly.

"Stay. Claire will feel better if you're close by," you lie. "She'll want to see you when she wakes up."

He nods and takes up a vigil in the brightly colored chair in the corner of her room. You lay your head on the pillow, the back of Claire’s head obscuring his figure from you. You don’t need to see him to feel safe. You know Six will always protect you and Claire.

Taglist: @wildbornsiren, @a-reader-and-a-writer and @blue-aconite.

Join my tag list here.

[introloves]

Just thinking about being super Domestic with Aone! He starts thinking about what a great little wife you’d be and how sweet you are. One day you casually mention what a great father he’d be if you guys had children and it does something to him! 💓

papa! aone + housewife! reader + HEAVY BREEDING KINK + talk of pregnancy (no kids) + princess complex + pillow princess! reader + overly protective! aone + praise + mating press + squirting + size kink + overstimulation + dacryphilia + creampie + f! reader

— word count; approx 2k

you treat him so gentle- a big man like him coming home to you after a long day of work always brings out a near overwhelming need to take care of him, to be there at every beck and call, waiting for him so pretty, looking towards the door with every second coming closer to him coming how to you.

everything you do for him doesn’t go unnoticed, aone doesn’t say much, but he returns your sweet kisses with an equal amount of love and adoration for his sweet little wife.

you’re near ravenous when he finally comes home, shrugging off his coat, boots taken off at the door, handkerchief in hand to wipe any lingering dust and dirt from his hands- not wanting to dirty any surface you’d spent all day cleaning. he’s even apprehensive in giving you his coat- looking at you with pinched lips, grunting while gently placing it in your waiting hands.

he doesn’t touch you until he’s all showered, even when you insist that it’s okay, the dirt beneath his nails from working, from being outside all day makes him feel dirty, you’re his princess, his pretty baby- how could he ever think to lay a soiled finger onto your soft and well taken care of skin...

he usually relents to your whines, begrudgingly bending down to place a quick kiss to your pretty lips- puckered and waiting for his own to press onto yours. he makes a straight line to the bathroom, showering, rolling his shoulders back once he steps out- towel secured ‘round his hips, and once again walking in a practiced route to your shared room.

he doesn’t change, he can’t because as soon as he’s out, you’re sat on the bed. pillows, blankets- comforter fluffed daily in anticipation for him to fuck you.

eyes eagerly drinking in his every step, water running down rounded out muscle, not so defined- not anymore. the home cooked meals that you make for him has treated him well, form fluffed out with muscle that’s more fitted for his job, it’s dense and packed in, thick. it makes your pussy throb.

“how was work papa?” you question sweetly, legs spreading wide to receive his body, slick folds wetly (and loudly) parting for him while you pin your knees on either side of you, giggling at the way he sucks a breath in every time, eyes looking at the pussy he so adores, mouth salivating.

he loves coming home to you.

he loves how soft you are, warm- thinks there’s nothing better smelling and more comforting than sinking deep- so very deep into the tight and wet heat that is your pretty pussy.

letting the towel fall at the foot of the bed, his cock hangs in a thick curve over his heavy balls, pretty white pubes decorating his crotch, tummy clenching in anticipation, it’s a sight seeing him get hard, thick length bending with how big he is- even fully hard there’s a delicious curve, gravity not too kind to him.

“good... i missed you.” aone mumbles. huffing as his now cleaned, calloused- thick... such thick hands reach to finally touch, soothing up the expanse of your legs, wondering how someone so pretty- so beautiful is laid out beneath him, pussy drooling for a cock like his.

you purr, smiling, body twisting- pushing up as his hands press you down.

“missed you more... was thinking about you- ‘bout something in particular.” you mumble, lidded eyes wandering up to his neck. watching the pretty blooming blush roll down all the way to his chest- wanting to reach up and remark and fading hickies, fingertips ghosting along faded lines of your nails dug in the moment of overwhelming passion.

“hm.” he hums, giving you his whole attention as you speak- looking at your lips as you form every word, planting heavy hands to the apex of your legs, digging the pads of every finger into the giving flesh, encouraging you to continue with a nod, all while kneading and squishing your body.

“was just thinking what a good papa you are- was thinking if you’d give me a baby... to keep me company while you leave.” you breathe, pulse quickening at the thought- head spinning the second the last word tumbles free, all because you’re suddenly pulled down.

it’s near audible, a lowly groan spreading forth from the deepest parts of his chest while he huffs- pale chest rising and falling rapidly, cock visibly throbbing- balls clenching, there’s even a moment where he thinks he may cum.

“f-fuck- a baby?” he exhales, tipping his head back, the stutter making you look at him with a hint of curiosity.

blinking away the base need to shove his cock inside, blinking away the need to push your head into the bed and dump load after load of his cum inside you, all with the intent to make you round with his kid he pulls your legs up he comes down towards you.

all to make you fat and pretty and waddle around while he takes you hand in hand everywhere you need to go.

he doesn’t realizes his hips have instinctively rutted down into you- too caught up in the thought of holding you while fat with a baby the two of you made.

hands dimpling your soft skin- muscle memory carrying every action, already folding you down, knees nearly pressing against your chest, heavy cock slotted onto your cunt, squished between your bent legs.

“i’ll give you a baby. my princess wants a baby.” he grunts, gone dizzy. all of this taking place in mere seconds of you spilling the thought. he says it like it’s a command from you, tunnel vision suckering him in, barely able to see you in the absolute need to give his princess everything her pretty heart desires.

you don’t know where he’s gone, obviously lost in a heavy headspace- popping the head of his still throbbing cock into you, crying in suspense. this is all so exciting, he’s always so eager to bring you what you want, always willing to move the stars and moon for you and now he’s answering to the fantasy you built up all day.

“p-papa!” you squeal, sucking in a breath when he barrels into you with a near punishing thrust.

this is different, he’s different. he’s always cautious with every thrust, but there’s no regret or remorse while the second slam of his hips knock into you. kicking legs just barely able to squirm at all with the way they’re perched on his broad shoulders, you watch as they dangle, watch while he stares you down, his own body moving with intent- drilling into your sopping pussy.

“papa!” you yell this time, soft hands holding onto his arms, his large palms resting on either side of your face while he folds himself down, the creak, sway of the bed dangerously loud- sucking every breath from inside your lungs.

he’s never been this rough, never- and your lips curl with every open mouth yell.

he fucks into you like you’re not there, thick cock splitting you open- filling your cunt, bringing you so very early into a blinding orgasm.

it’s so wet- eyes wet, pussy wet while you squirt and gush, crying out tiny little whimpers of his name as every wave of orgasm takes you. it splatters all over his thighs, painting his tummy, dripping back down onto you hotly.

this is all he needs, needs you wet and messy, needs your pussy swollen and slicked with need and cum so you can take such a big cock easier- if you take it easier he can use every inch of strength he has to dig the swollen and still throbbing cockhead right up to your cervix. he can almost see the swollen ring so ready to take his cum, displacing your own weepy orgasm, making room to receive all of his own thick, milky orgasm.

“good girl- my good girl.” aone nearly chokes, unfocused eyes zoning down onto your bent form, pussy lips and folds sucked in and out in with each drag.

you’re melted, reduced to a babbling little baby under his large mass- doing so well, taking someone so strong and so big like him with nothing more than a few overstimulated tears. drool forming at the corner of your mouth, the only thing you can do is wait for his cum like the pretty princess you are.

“papa- ‘ts too much- too much.” you gasp, wandering eyes roaming up his neck, landing on hardened eyes.

“no- no it’s not. you want a baby. i’m giving you a baby.” he speaks- knowing this is hard on someone treated like a doll, soft hands digging into the veined arms of his, same hands that never work too hard for anything at all, all because he insists on treating you with any and everything.

and just like everything else, he knows he needs to cut this short- knows you’re tired and wanting to drift off onto a nap, so aone fucks you deeply.

he needs to bend further and kiss away the tears spilling down your soft and plush cheeks- heated with the exertion he’s putting your body under, gently apologizing. the high and heated coiled need to breed you slowly waning, now just needing to paint your pussy with his cum.

“it’s okay- it’s okay, papa loves you- you’re okay.”

the gentleness, lowly and grunted words truly bring you peace, trembling under him- hiccuping at the thrusts he gives you, exhaling heavy when he tips forward to an orgasm finally.

sealing hips down to your own, rutting with securely placed knees down onto the bed.

he pushes you up a good amount, crinkling the bedding around your limp body, pistoning shallow thrusts, each one stickier- messier, harder to deliver as he cums. thick cock pulsating in need, sinking into such silky gummy walls all shaped to the form of his large cock.

he huffs equally shallow breaths, tired- so tired from an intense fucking, balls squeezing up tight to his body, every contraction followed by a deep squish of him to you.

“fuck- fuck.” aone groans, his shaking form transferred down to you, slowly bringing your aching legs off the perch of his shoulders. he gathers the last bit of strength residing in his body to take care of you, once more- with a gentleness only found in someone who’s been cautious of their own strength their whole life, he places your legs onto the bed.

you’re still dizzy as he does so, unable to keep the seizing of your muscles down- body heated and sweaty with how he folded your form into his desired state, slowly blinking your eyes more and more open.

blurry gaze landing on him, watching with a slowly growing smile as he looks at you with a reserved guilt.

“it’s okay.” you whisper, only able to whisper for the time being- “i’m okay.”

but even with what you say, he brings a large palm to your tummy, holding it there- reminding himself that it was to give you what you wanted. you just look so broken now, limbs unmoving, all dead weight while he positions your body much more comfortably.

with a nod, he pushes down any worry to hold you tight- swollen muscle wrapping your precious body up. your giggles bringing forth a near exasperated smile from him- wondering how his sweet baby still can be so... sweet after being fucked like that.

sleepy face burying into the crook of his neck while he fights to keep his softened cock inside you, pulling his princess onto him, slotting the plushness of you against his body.

“pretty.” he mumbles once the two of you are relaxed, basking in the tiredness throbbing throughout two fucked out forms.

“pretty baby.” aone whispers, bringing down a large hand to your tummy.

you can’t lift your head off his chest to give him a sweet smile, instead giggling with how well your papa takes care of you, how well he loves and gives you everything your pretty pink heart wants.

[daevastanner]

imagine gwyn handing azriel his daughter for the first time:

Madja had handed her to Gwyn first, who laid the babe on her chest, pressing a kiss to the top of her tiny head and whispering her name over and over again. Repeating already just how much she loves her.

Azriel watches, awestruck, at such a beautiful sight from where he stands at her bedside.

He sees Gwyn’s eyes shining with tears, and hears her say in a voice that’s barely audible: “Hello, Catrin. Hi.”

Azriel’s knees feel weak at his wife, his mate’s, gentle greeting. It’s not a declaration of love or a promise of protection. It’s a warm welcome.

He has to sit down before his legs give out.

Unsteadily he lowers himself onto the edge of the bed, a lump in his throat that he just can’t swallow.

Gwyn presses kisses to the top of Catrin’s head again and again, and Azriel can see the tears rolling down her cheeks as she clutches the small babe to her chest, fingers careful not to crush her delicate wings.

Finally Gwyn looks at Azriel, sniffling.

She beams at him and Azriel laughs wetly, shaking his head in disbelief.

Because he never thought Gwyn could be so beautiful.

Not after that night where she’d first kissed him and had pulled away with her lips swollen and cheeks stained red.

Not after their mating ceremony where she wore a gown of ivory and teal.

Not after when he’d made love to her endlessly during their frenzy and she’d tilted her head back gasping with pleasure.

Not after he’d found her singing to her suddenly swollen belly just five months ago.

But today… Today she’s surpassed every stage of beauty he’s ever seen.

Sweat plastering the strands of hair that have escaped the confines of her braid to her freckled face, tears streaking down her pink cheeks, and their daughter resting on her chest Gwyn is utter perfection.

And the realization makes his breath catch in his chest.

He could sit here in this moment for centuries and never tire of the sight.

But Gwyn stirs him from his thoughts, brows furrowing. “Madja said we should wrap her.”

Azriel nods and in a flash he’s snatched the blanket Elain has knitted them from the table behind him, presenting it to his mate. To the mother of his child.

Gwyn grimaces. “Teach me?”

Azriel blinks in confusion.

Gwyn taps a finger against Catrin’s small wings. “I don’t want to hurt her.” A small laugh. “None of the books covered how to swaddle a baby with wings…”

But he doesn’t share in her laughter. He grips the blanket tighter in his hand till he can see that his knuckles are white.

He looks upon the mottled, pink, alabaster, and gold flesh with mild horror.

The uneven grooves of skin, the pock marks, the splotches.

The thought hadn’t crossed his mind in years, just how hideous, how monstrous, how gruesome his hands are.

They can’t touch something so perfect, so pure.

They’d frighten her.

They’d hurt her.

Azriel doesn’t realize he’s sneering, recoiling, until Gwyn clicks her tongue.

He turns his eyes from his filthy, mutilated hands and meets those warm, teal eyes.

They are still wet with tears, but so tender that he feels himself melt, feels the tense line of his shoulders ease.

“No,” Gwyn says with a wry smile. “No, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel’s throat bobs.

But after a moment, he nods his head at his mate.

Because his hands aren’t monstrous or hideous or gruesome.

They are the hands that rescued his mate.

They are the hands that hold his Gwyn when she wakes screaming.

They are the hands that slipped a ring on his mate’s finger the day they were joined.

They are the hands that caressed his mate’s stomach lovingly as his child grew.

They are the hands of a brother.

They are the hands of a protector.

They are the hands of a mate.

And now they are the hands of a father.

(And also, he does know exactly how to swaddle an Illyrian babe.)

So he lays the blanket out on the empty space beside Gwyn.

Then, trying to keep his hands from trembling, he reaches for Catrin.

And Gwyn lifts the babe off her chest, extending her daughter to her mate.

And as his daughter lets out a tiny huff, Azriel’s chest pinches to the point of pain.

As the weight settles in his hands, he chokes.

She’s so small.

She’s so helpless.

She’s so perfect.

And his scarred hands feel as though they were made to hold her.

In fact, Azriel adores the feeling so much that he is frowning as he gently folds her wings and sets her down on the blanket.

His eyes are trained on his daughter’s face as he begins to wrap the fabric around her.

Her tiny fists clench and unclench as the material seals her in a warm bundle.

And when she’s safely tucked into the blanket, her little lips part and she yawns hugely.

Azriel feels tears slip from his eyes, a soft sob shaking his shoulders.

Beside him Gwyn laughs quietly.

“That was precious,” his mate breathes.

Azriel nods and scoops Catrin up into his hands once more.

He moves to place her back on Gwyn’s chest, but his mate shakes her head.

With a grunt, she scoots over making room for him on the bed.

And Azriel doesn’t care that Gwyn is still perspiring, or that the sheets, though clean, are still damp with sweat.

He clambers into the bed, Catrin on his chest.

He can pick up on her scent already.

Cedar and water-lilies.

She whimpers, nestling into Azriel’s tunic, and his large hands cover most of her back.

Gwyn shifts so that she is pressed against Azriel’s side. She lifts a speckled finger to brush over the feathery dark hair on their daughter’s head.

They lay there in silence, watching their daughter sleep soundly.

Eventually Gwyn’s eyes shut, and the last thing she says is: “Congratulations, Papa.”

And Azriel shudders, placing a kiss on Gwyn’s sweaty brow.

Then he turns his head to press a shaky kiss to his daughter’s head.

And he never thinks of the scars on his hands again.

Because like his mate and his daughter, his hands are beautiful.

[clawsextended]

the cat blushes a soft pink. it’s a rosy shade, something small and sweet and flushed, not out of embarrassment but out of a shy delight to have been foolish. she’s gotten far better at stifling the flinch that innately so badly wants to crawl into every interaction — the laughter is something she feels pang her heart only just so, and she keeps herself softly pressed against emma with a placid peace.

she’s never been used to laughter being so warm. not from anyone but holly, perhaps, who is a very different animal all her own. to her there has always been an innate cruelty to it — she hears the sound of her own viciously misanthropic laugh, that same one emma heard, and the chord it strikes is always too sharp. it cuts her, but now the knife’s more plastic than it used to be.

it’s possible, she thinks suddenly, to be happy. to start to feel it, or to recognize it and not feel a hastened fear to grab it. to feel happiness and not crush it in her hands as she reaches for it with clumsy, scrabbling fingers. she can keep this sensation and not flee from it. it’s safe.

“oh. gosh. i’m so dumb, sorry.”

she laughs, now, softly pressing a hand to emma’s cheek with all the fondness in the world.

and then that look on her face could be vulnerable. it’s open, childish — emma speaks so frankly and selina’s the child again with the tremendous brown eyes, with that unmoving gaze that seems so nakedly afraid. she blinks, almost audible.

and kisses her. quite without restraint. it’s a tremendously honest thing, the way her arms wrap around emma’s neck and she laughs, wetly this time. there are tears hovering at the edges of her lashes, spilling like something diamond and sacred. she thinks emma can taste them and she forgets how to breathe for a moment. her next laugh is a choked rasp, as though she’s practiced this attempt and in this moment cannot perform it, falls short of its usual display.

“sorry. i just — i just felt a lot and that’s the only way i could let you understand it.”

she leans her head against the other’s. almost meek.

“you can ask me whatever you want. i trust you with that. i’ll answer you the best i can.”

it’s not quite that selina’s slow on the uptake. she isn’t, actually. she notices everything pretty fast. she can hear almost every tone in someone’s voice — but it doesn’t mean that’s she always catches it.

after all, thinking about things in this context is — new. it’s the joy selina tries to encompass, the little moments — and this moment is brand, brand, brand new. this feeling is brand, brand, brand new. emma teases and selina, being exactly who she is, only leaps to provide.

“….do you want a better one? silly me, a harley. you’re worth nothing less than a ducati.”

she cradles that face in her palms after that kiss and ducks in to press their noses together, foreheads, this uniquely feline thing that makes selina her. she has a need to connect every little touch — has to translate it to her so constantly, so deeply. she wants to give emma the entire world, the earth from space, the moon in the night sky.

“—thank you. for trusting me so much. a cat’s heart could burst with it.”

she folds emma’s hands in her touch, then, taking them to kiss her knuckles with nothing but the impulsive sense of affection in her breast. it always insists, always presents itself. loudly.

she can’t help it. is it the true love thing…? she thinks it must be.

“—you meant it. that it didn’t change what you feel about me. you meant it.”

maybe it’s a little astounding to her. to feel it. to see it, no lies, no trappings. just a blunt and absolute honesty, a way emma could not have lied. not in that place, not in her place, not in the place where selina is so, so herself undiluted.

maybe it’s a little amazing. (maybe she’s never believed she ever deserved this. maybe she’s always believed it’s meant for everyone but her. who would love a monster?)

but a monster isn’t a monster at all when you love it, is it?

it’s your monster.

it’s the monster that’s chosen you.

[queen18xo]

Fat future thor reunited with past loki request pls

Here you go I hope you enjoy! :)

"Well, brother, I must say you're looking - different" Loki's low voice rumbles teasingly, his eyes lingering over the blondes plump middle, a smirk curling at his lips as Thor startles visibly, his head snapping up, their gazes meeting.

"Loki-" Thor gasps with a breathy chuckle at his brother's familiar teasing, his eyes shining wetly as they rake over his brother's lithe frame propped casually against the door frame. His long hair unkempt, stray inky black strands falling over his mesmerising green eyes, a pair of skin-tight black jeans clinging to his long legs, the ensemble completed with a crinkled black t-shirt.

Thor rises from the bed, his hand trembling as he reaches out before hastily correcting himself, his fingers curling into tight fists at his side as he eyes his brother. "Brother, h-how're you here?" Thor chokes out hoarsely, his breath hitching in his throat as Loki pushes off the wall, his eyes sharp and assessing as he closes the distance between them.

Loki closes his eyes briefly as he sucks in a steadying breath, "I knew I'd be safe with you," he confesses quietly, his voice wavering as his green eyes blink open, peering up at Thor from beneath a dark set of lashes. Loki clears his throat thickly, "although I must say brother, I wasn't expecting this hovel you call a home," he murmurs wryly, his lips twisting in a grimace as his eyes rake over the interior of Thor's cabin.

Thor eyes Loki assesingly, his eyes lingering over his brothers youthful, boyish features, "you're younger" Thor rumbles observationally, quirking a questioning brow in his brother's direction.

Loki scoffs, rolling his eyes "you're fatter", the trickster quips, a teasing smile tugging at his lips, Thor's heart fluttering in his chest at the familiar sight, a sight he believed he'd never see again.

Thor laughs throatily, Loki's brows furrowing at the choked sound, his lips pursed in a confused frown. "I've truly missed you, brother", the blonde confesses, moisture gathering at the corner of his eyes.

Loki sucks in a sharp, surprised breath as Thor's strong arms curl tightly around his trim waist, the thunderer pulling the younger god into a bone-crushing embrace. Loki stiffly wraps his arms around Thor's neck, exhaling shakily as he relaxes into his brothers hold, laying his head against the blonde's chest, soothed by the steady thump of Thor's heart.

"Brother?" Loki croaks raspily, an unsure lilt to his voice as he draws the blondes attention. Thor sucks in a deep, unsteady breath, Loki's head bobbing with the gentle rise of Thor's chest as he breathes.

Thor pulls away, his arms still loosely bracketing the delicate curve of Loki's waist, the touch setting the younger gods nerves alight as the blondes unique, mismatched eyes meet Loki's. "I thought you gone, brother", Thor manages to choke out on a shuddery breath, "I-I let you down, I couldn't save you" Thor gasps out between ragged breaths, a stray tear escaping his eye.

Loki's features shift into a delicate frown, shaking his head softly, "whatever happened brother, I am sure you didn't let me down", Loki rumbles, his voice full of conviction. Thor swallows thickly as Loki absentmindedly captures the stray tear on the pad of his thumb, his piercing gaze holding Thor's intently.

Thor exhales shakily, his fingers trembling as they graze Loki's cheek, the trickster's dark hair falling over the back of his hand as he cups the god's smooth cheek. Loki's eyes flutter shut, his breath hitching audibly as his soft lips part in surprise, "don't leave", Thor pleads, his voice barely more than a whisper, his hot breath ghosting across Loki's parted lips.

Loki's green eyes shine with emotion as they flutter open, the god swallowing thickly as he meets Thor's intense gaze from beneath his dark lashes. "Y-you can't possibly want me to stay", Loki croaks, his voice wavering with insecurity as he ducks his head shyly, a familiar suppressed longing curling in his stomach.

Thor sighs quietly, hooking a finger beneath the trickster's chin as he gently tilts Loki's head up, "I can't bear to watch you leave", Thor confesses, his throat tight with unspoken emotions.

Loki's hand trembles as he lays it atop Thor's, gingerly nuzzling into the blondes warm palm; Thor tightens his grip around Loki's waist, tugging the younger god flush to his body. "Thor", Loki gasps out weakly as the blondes gaze darts to his plush, pink lips, heat curling in Loki's stomach as the pad of Thor's thumb delicately grazes the silky flesh of his bottom lip, Loki's ragged breaths puffing hotly against the digit.

Thor's gaze flicks to Loki's searchingly, "am I wrong, brother?" the blonde whispers thickly, his throat tight with emotion, heat flaring in Thor's gaze as Loki's tongue darts out to wet his dry lips nervously.

Loki tugs his bottom lip between his teeth, gently worrying at the sensitive flesh as he holds his brothers gaze, swallowing nervously as he shakes his head. Thor smiles brightly, his eyes shining with affection as he ducks forward, his warm lips grazing Loki's in the barest hint of a kiss.

Loki gasps audibly, his breath hitching in his throat as his hand curls shakily around the blondes nape, Thor's long fingers tangling in his long inky black strands as he deepens the kiss with a content hum.

Thor nips at Loki's bottom lip gently, soothing the reddened flesh with his tongue, smirking as the trickster whimpers into the kiss, his mouth swallowing the sound as he licks into Loki's mouth, exploring the soft heat, the kiss remaining tender as the hold each other in a desperate embrace.

Loki pulls away with a ragged gasp, his lungs burning with their need for oxygen as he rests his forehead against Thor's, his eyes fluttering open lazily as he meets the blondes adoring gaze. "I'll always love you, Loki", Thor professes, his quiet confession setting the younger gods nerves alight, butterflies twisting in his stomach.

Loki exhales shakily, his lips grazing Thor's in a chaste, tender kiss, "I've always loved you, Thor", Loki confesses hoarsely, his green eyes heavy with emotion as he holds Thor's gaze, the thunderer smiling brightly as he lovingly tucks a stray strand of dark hair behind Loki's ear, his hand lingering against the younger gods soft cheek. "I'll stay as long as you'll have me", Loki breathes out, tilting his head into his brother's palm, seeking comfort in the intimate touch.

"Forever", Thor rasps, his eyes burning brightly with reverence as his strong hand curls beneath Loki's slender thighs, the younger god gasping in surprise as he's tugged from the ground, his long legs wrapping around Thor's waist.

Loki chuckles breathily, a bright, carefree smile curling at his lips "forever is an awfully long time for us, brother," Loki whispers, his fingers lacing behind Thor's neck as the blonde effortlessly supports his weight.

Thor laughs brightly, Loki's chest swelling with affection at the sound, "not nearly long enough, brother" Thor rasps blindly, walking them to the bed with a warriors grace, his heart soaring as Loki clings to him, peppering lingering kisses full of promise to his lips.