#Elastic Hosting

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Pirate, A Wench, And Whiskey (Demon!Alastor x Reader)

CW: Closet sex, drunk sex thus murky consent, clothed sex, p n v sex, cream pies, thigh riding, biting, blood drinking Rated: Adult Requested by: @nyx-umbrakinesis Summary: Charlie decided hosting a costume party would be the best way for the residents to celebrate the season and for the hotel to get some grand publicity. Dressing up wasn't optional. Though you were proud of your bar wench costume- not too skimpy but just skimpy enough, not everyone announced their plans.

The result was a bar wench that did everything you could to avoid the red pirate, drowning your anxiety in shot after shot of whiskey only to find yourself cornered by the very man you could hardly look at when you made an attempt to retire for the night.

You danced, and you drank. You drank, and you danced. It was all in a desperate attempt to keep your mind off the one person it was most drawn to at the hotel costume party. It wasn't intended for your costume to match his,. He had told no one what he would dress up as or even if he would dress up. 

Though people kept joking about your matching attire, how nicely it complemented each other, you did everything you could to avoid being even on the same side of the room as Alastor. The reality was you were far too terrified to speak to the tall demon dressed as a pirate, let alone make a game out of your unintentional stylistic matches. 

The perfect complement of your outfits was nothing more than a coincidence that stroked the flames of your painfully one sided crush. 

At least, you had thought it was a little, one sided crush.

That’s why you couldn’t wrap your mind around where you were right now, pressed between Alastor and the wall as he struggled to open the door next to you. His lips moved against yours, taking in the warm taste of whiskey on your lips. 

The moment he turned the knob, he pulled you from the wall. Clawed fingers gripped your thigh, urging you to jump and wrap your legs around his hips. 

You didn’t need to be told twice. Hell, you hardly needed to be told once. 

Your sensitive core pressed against Alastor’s abdomen as he walked you both into the closet, shutting the door behind you as he went. Reaching up, you pawed through the air until you found the cord to the light, yanking it.

The bulb was old, outdated, and dim. It cast enough light for you to know you were in a closet, but that was it. The countless shots of hot whiskey that flowed through your veins, making your muscles weak and uncoordinated. The unstable feeling only got worse as you looked at Alastor, his red eyes glowing dangerously in the dark room. 

Your grip failed, sending you sliding down his torso. The friction of the ruffles, belts, and clasps that covered the waistcoat and pants felt intoxicating against your sensitive skin as you worked your way down his body. Before you could realize it, you were propped up on his thigh, knee pressed into the wall behind you and keeping your toes from doing more than grazing the ground. 

“Alastor,” you moaned as his teeth grazed your neck, rocking your hips as you worked your core over his thigh. 

His clawed hand gripped your breast, seeking the feeling of more and more skin under his hand. He needed to touch you, hold you, taste you. He wanted everything your body offered him as he pulled the thin ruffled cotton down. The elastic gave easily.

From the moment you walked into the room, Alastor’s mind, like many of the individuals in the room, was consumed with the question of if your breasts were contained in anything beyond the thin cotton. 

He had watched as they moved with your body. The way they jiggled as you danced consumed his thoughts. When you had bent over, grabbing a hat for someone who had dropped it, Alastor nearly dropped his glass. It was then that he decided you surely were braless- naughty minx. 

The heavy round globes of your breasts dangled forward, pressing tighter against the soft fabric of the shirt you wore. He could see the pebbled bud of your nipples, just slightly pressing into the fabric. As the night wore on and you danced more, your nipples grew stiffer as they rubbed against the fabric. 

Now he was rewarded with the confirmation. Full and heavy, they spilled over the elastic band that held the collar of your shirt up. The weight of them pinned the elastic down as Alastor tucked it under. Mindful of his sharp claws, Alastor wasted no time pushing the sleeves off your shoulder. 

The under bust corset tightly laced around your waist kept your shirt pinned in place, held up to frame your breasts. This was how the costume was worn, Alastor decided. The shirt was nothing more than a suggestion, a cover until you could be gotten alone. 

“Beautiful,” Alastor murmured, static popping and pumping in his voice. Warmth surrounded your breast, making you aware of something other than the pressure against your folds and the glow of his eyes in the dim room for the first time. 

“Alastor?” 

“Did you dress up like this for me?” He asked, too lost in the moment to remember that you hadn’t a clue what he was going to attend dressed as.

“I didn’t-” You gasped as a hand gripped your hip, pulling your pelvis up his thigh. “I didn’t know,” 

“Right,” Alastor licked his lips as he watched the bud of your nipple peek out from between his fingers, “I suppose you didn’t. My mind- it’s been confused since I saw you tonight.” 

“I’m sorry,” you said through the sea of whiskey in your system, trying to process what he was saying over the sensation of him squeezing and lifting your breast. Sharp eyes watched as they moved with his hand, knuckles pinching your nipples. Your back arched, pressing your chest into his hand and rocking your pelvis on his thigh. 

“Perhaps you will be,” Alastor said, as he pulled your hips back along his thigh, pleasure sparking as the rough fabric of his pants scratched at your inner thighs. Your panties, painfully thin, did little to protect your cunt from the harsh sensation of his thigh between your legs. “But that is still to be seen.” 

“What do you-” Your question was cut off as he worked your hips over his leg again, sensation stealing thought from you. Slowly, he lowered his leg some, allowing your feet to reach the ground. 

“Do you like that?” Alastor asked, smile glowing in the darkness. 

He kept his knee planted on the wall between your legs as he leaned in. There was nowhere for you to go, not that you had any thoughts of running from him. A hand on the small of your back pulled you to him as he kissed you. 

The kiss was far from sweet. It was a hungry meeting of lips. Teeth clashed against teeth as Alastor devoured you. He ground his thigh into your hot cunt, taking the gasp that left your lips as an invitation to delve his long dexterous tongue into your mouth. 

Hands gripped your body, greedy for the feel of you as you ground your core against his leg again and again. He was dominating your senses in the small room, leaving you unable to think of anything but Alastor.

You breathed in his air.

You drank in his essence. 

You fed on his attention.

You needed him to live. 

Faster and faster, you chased your orgasm as your fingers fought to work buttons and clasps free. Buckles fought back as you tried to expose any part of Alastor to your greedy hands. 

The hot ridge of his cock extended down his leg, pressing up into you as you worked your cunt shamelessly over his leg. You moaned softly as his lips left yours, kissing a trail down your neck. Stinging nips from sharp teeth left red marks as he made his way to your breasts. 

“Are you going to cum on my thigh?” Alastor asked, lips moving against the plump globe of your breast as he looked up at you with bright eyes. “I can feel how wet you are already. You’ve soaked through your panties.” 

“Fuck, Alastor.” You had never expected to hear such things from the deer demon, yet each word he spoke urged you closer and closer. 

“Should I let you cum like this?” He asked, tongue running a path around the pebbled nub of your nipple as you thrust your cunt up and down his thigh.

“Fuck. Fuck, Al-Alastor. Fuck me.” You were so close and yet there was something missing. As you drove yourself closer and closer, your core clenched around nothing. You craved being filled. 

“I don’t know if I need to,” he teased. “I think you’re doing a good enough job of that already.” 

“Damnit, Alastor.” You hissed as your orgasm remained just out of reach, “Fuck me.” 

“Is that how you ask?” He chuckled, teeth nipping at your breasts. 

“Please,” you added. “Please, Al-alastor, fuck me.” 

“You want me to fuck you, get down and dirty with you in a supply closet while dressed as a pirate?” Alastor asked, laughing as the blush on your face deepened. 

“Please?” you said again.

“As you wish,” Alastor pulled away, making quick work of his pants. “Take your panties off.” 

You did, fumbling and unstable on your feet as you stepped out of your panties. His cock sprang free from his leather pants, curving up toward his abdomen and throbbing with every beat of his heart. He was on you in a heartbeat, pulling your leg up around his waist as he slotted the dark red head of his cock against your entrance.

“You sure?” he asked, frozen for a moment in time.

“Please,” you said, “I need you.”

“What kind of pirate would I be to deny the bar wench?” Alastor asked as he thrust into you in one quick, smoothe motion. 

There was no prepping you. You were far more than wet enough to take his considerable length. There would be other times for him to taste you, to explore every part of you with his hands, fingers, and eyes. Right now, all that mattered was putting his claim deep inside of you. 

“Fuck, Al!” you moaned, back arching as he stretched you to your limits without apology and then kept on stretching you. Pain and pleasure mixed as his balls nestled against you. “Fuck, you’re too big, I can’t.” 

“You can,” Alastor said, pulling his cock from your body before slamming it home again, “and you will. You already are.” 

Each thrust of his cock had your clit rubbing against the fur at the base of his cock. He pounded you again and again, the pace brutal as he pushed the coil inside you to wind tighter. Lips ghosted over yours as his head fell, resting against yours. Each of his sharp thrusts into you had your breasts jumping, nipples rubbing against the rough fabric of his vest, scraping against the clasps and buckles.

You were drunk and far from in condition to last long. Your walls caressed and twitched, gripping him as he pushed in and out. Alastor continued, teeth sinking first into his lip before his head shifted, mouth hitting your shoulder with stinging force. 

Teeth ripped into flesh, pain dancing through the pleasure that was consuming every nerve in your body. 

“Al,” you cried out his name, blood running down your chest in a trickle as he drank from you. A deep moan reverberated from his throat, through you and running straight to your clit as he shoved you violently over the edge. 

Your body twitched, convulsed and gripped him as you chanted his name. The thump of your head against the wall was lost to both of you as he fucked into you with violent abandon. The pace grew sloppy as he moaned deeply, cock swelling and twitching before erupting inside you. He pulled his head back, lips painted red with your blood as he painted your walls white with his release. 

Leaning forward, pulling yourself off the wall with trembling arms, you brought your face to Alastor’s neck as his head fell back. Lips caressed over the bobbing of his Adam’s apple, tasting the vibration of his deep moan as he came. 

You didn’t know what this meant for you and Alastor or if this was a one-time event. You didn’t know if he would regret it come morning. Hell, you didn’t know if you would. 

What you did know was that Alastor was careful to support you as he pulled his cock from your sore, twitching hole. Only once he was sure you wouldn’t fall over did he set his pants to rights again. Tender hands pulled your shirt up, carefully covering your breasts and straightening your skirts. Once all was as it should be, he opened the door for you and tucked your arm around his as he walked you to your room. 

You didn’t know a lot but what you knew most of all was that you were going to be feeling Alastor’s cock in you for at least the next day.

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers!

[obsessedwithtoomanythings]

Sweet Tooth (NSFW)

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Reader

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, he absolutely is all over her, jokes about breeding and pregnancy, talk of oral (f receiving), Leon’s fingers go places, swearing probably.

Words: 530 (v short, I just wanted to get SOMETHING out for you guys)

A/N: So I saw these Eating HCs today for Leon from @ichigo-dream and I was obsessed. I didn’t have a whole lot of time as most of my writing power has been dedicated to 3 fics I am SO excited about; but yeah! A lil something!

Also my requests are open, it may just take some time for me to get to things! ❤️

*gif not mine. Found on Tenor*

Days like these? These are the best kinds of days. Leon’s home, wrapped up in some kind of paperwork on the couch, but he’s home. I pull the tray of cupcakes out of the oven, dreading frosting them for this stupid party my cousin was hosting. Thankfully, I don’t have to stay at said party, but having to make 4 dozen cupcakes all within a few hours is frustrating to say the least.

“Ah no!” I yell as I turn to see Leon eyeballing one of the cupcakes. “Absolutely not!”

“Why? Just one?” He pleads, a slight pout on his gorgeous features and I roll my eyes.

“Sorry babe, but I am only making enough to send with Kim.” It may have been a bit mean to only make enough for what she needs, knowing about the agent’s overwhelming sweet tooth, but it honestly slipped my mind when I started them this morning. I turn to grab the piping bag when I hear a low whistle from Leon. “What’s up, agent?”

“I didn’t know you owned shorts like that.” When I finally look back over my shoulder, his blue eyes are locked on my ass, the bottoms of my cheeks spilling out of the bottom.

“They’re just at-home-shorts. Not like I wear them anywhere.” Do not tell him what your best friend dubbed these shorts. I begin piping green frosting onto the soft cake, but as soon as I lift the tool away, a hand slaps quickly over my ass and I gasp. Leon’s strong arms wrap around my waist, tugging me against what I can tell is a speedily rising erection.

“You gotta change outta those shorts, Princess, or they’ll be around your ankles by lunch.” His husky tone sends a chill down my spine as my back arches on it’s own accord, his hot breath tickling my ear.

“Don’t you have work to do?” I tease, trying to draw his attention elsewhere.

“I did. But then I smelt something sweet in here that I’m apparently not allowed to have.” Soft lips pepper kisses along the column of my throat before his teeth lightly sink into the flesh. “So I need to find another snack.”

“Leon, baby, I only have a couple more hours to finish these,” I argue, but it’s no use, his fingers sliding into the elastic band of the shorts and pushing them to the ground. Wrapped around my ankles.

“Well, maybe my girl should have thought about that before she went teasing me with these sexy little shorts.” He presses his hand down to cup my sex through my panties before he clearly has a realization. “Wait, are these the shorts your friend called the ‘get me pregnant’ shorts?” My cheeks heat up as two of his fingers rub teasing circles over my clit through my panties.

“It was a joke, babe,” I mutter, head dropping back to rest on his shoulder at the stimulation.

“Well, joke or not, now you have a choice.” Oh god, what is this little shit planning? “You can let me ‘get you pregnant’ or you can let me get my sugar fill by letting me eat this sweet little pussy.”

Fuck. Tough choices.

*****

Tags: (tag list is open)

Leon: @house-of-kolchek @bonnibuckets @athanasia-day @muffimtv

Everything: @chaosandbubbles @kassiekolchek22

[murdrdocs]

back home thinking about neighbor miguel o'hara ... tw age gap + miguel calls reader "kid" once + dads best friend miguel

you come home to visit your parents one day, a basket filled with multiple loads of laundry of your most valuable clothing items, ones you didn't trust the dorm machines to take good care of.

your parents are gone, and you're having a little trouble with opening the door and balancing your bags. just when you're about to drop the basket, and your laundry is about to become even dirtier, hands take the basket away from you and your senses are overloaded with heavy breathing and the smell of musky sweat.

you look up, then up some more, and you're met with dark eyes, wavy hair that hangs over thick eyebrows, prominent cheekbones, and a really pretty smile. but as attractive as he is, he's definitely a stranger, and your keys are almost sandwiched between your fingers before you see your father's face pop up over his shoulder.

he says your name happily, a wide smile on his face. the stranger steps out of the way so your dad can hug you, but you can't help but attempt to peek over his shoulder to see this handsome stranger again.

loads of excited rambling and questions from your dad later, he's finally introducing you to the man now making a green juice in your kitchen.

"this is miguel. my running buddy? fitness trainer? and our new neighbor!" and your parents new neighbor is incredibly hot.

during your short stays, you see him running, doing lawn work, talking to the mailman every so often. mundane things that should not be as attractive as they are.

and when you come home for the summer, you've never been happier for how social your parents are because there's cook out after cook out and you're always forced to attend, putting up a front that you'd rather be home but you knew that your dad would force his new best friend to show up too, which would let you ogle him.

and ogling eventually turns into small talk, which turns into lingering glances, which turns into receiving lingering glances, which turns into small hugs, into longer hugs, into laughing at dumb jokes, and eventually, into sneaking kisses behind corners.

your parents are hosting the next cook out, an excuse for your father to use his new grill that he'd spent entirely too much money on. there's only two weeks left before you go back to school, and you need something to happen before you go.

which is why whenever you and miguel are the only people inside of your home, you put your glass of lemonade down and grab his forearm, leading him to upstairs where you pull him into the bathroom before he can say anything.

standing with your back against the door, you look up at him, eyes wide, small smile on your lips.

"what're we doing in here?" he asks you, voice low and rough but not completely uninterested.

"we're getting some alone time, miguel."

his eyebrows lift. "alone time? for what?"

you stare at him, deadpan, head tilting. miguel, clearly trying to play off his feelings, laughs, dark eyes looking around before they look back down at you.

"that's funny, kid, now get away from the door."

and the opening is right there. so, of course, you're gonna take it.

"make me."

it could've gone so wrong. miguel could've lifted you over his shoulder and put you down on the other side of him, leaving an open space for him to escape and ignore you for the rest of the time you would be home. but instead, he takes the bait and pushes his lips against yours, kissing you harshly as his hands run down your chest to bunch up the skirt of your dress.

when his fingers slide down against the crotch of your panties, your moan is muffled by miguel's lips, but he has to pull away for air and he's kissing your neck instead and it's much harder to hide your moans when his fingers slip between the elastic of your panties and he starts sliding them through your folds, gathering your slick enough to comfortably begin to slowly plunge one finger into your walls.

the stretch is different from your own fingers, one of his almost equivalent to one and a half of yours. your bottom lip is attacked by your teeth, your hips grind into his hand, your nails scratch at his scalp.

it's so good. even better when two fingers are steadily pumping into you, and he's speaking lowly to you, voice right beside your ears.

"there you go, just like that. such a good, dirty, little slut for me. wanting your dads best friend to fuck you in your own house? would've never expected that from you when we first met. shit, probably wanted me to fuck you right then too, huh? pretty little head thinking about nothing but me bending you over that counter. could sense it with the way you were watching me make that juice."

anyone could hear. anyone of these slightly drunk guests who were entirely too comfortably in your home could come wandering upstairs for the bathroom, the downstairs one probably occupied consistently, and they would hear how miguel o'hara was fucking you on his fingers and talking to you.

your moans were incredibly conspicuous, they were incredibly revealing, not only of your scandalous actions, but of how amazing you felt in the moment.

they were letting miguel know just how close you were, becoming more erratic and high pitched with the longer he continued.

his free hand that was previously pushed into the wood of the door yanked your panties the rest of the way down, letting the material fall to the floor.

"touch yourself for me, amor. play with that pretty little clit of yours." and you do what he says, instantly setting a pace sure to push you over the edge. which, it does in just a few moments.

miguel kisses at your jaw and cheeks as you come down, fingers slowly pumping until they slow to a stop and he pulls them out, sticking them into the wet heat of his mouth instead.

when they're pulled out, clean of your juices but dirtied with his saliva, he asks you: "when do you leave for school again?"

[miiroki]

𝘿𝙖𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙣 𝙏𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙮𝙚𝙣 𝙭 𝙃𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧! 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧/𝙤𝙘

𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧, 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦. 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦, 𝘩𝘦’𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳. 𝘐𝘧 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘢 𝘏𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘦’𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘥. 𝘠𝘦𝘵, 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩.

Warning: Vulgur language, sexual moments (no actual sex)

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Maricelle Hightower was born a regal lady, bred to be perfect, obedient, and pliant.

Born from the same womb as her twin sister Alicent Hightower, the two girls were meant for high class living, meant to be royal wombs to any high class lord, or king.

Alicent Hightower had always been deemed the oldest, the most quiet between the two sisters. Due to her submissive behaviour, she had bore the brunt of their fathers actions.

Otto Hightower had tried to bend and fold Maricelle to his whims, but he had been met with consistent hostility and resistance.

In his hold Alicent felt like dough, elastic but agreeable when met with enough pressure and force. Maricelle felt like molten glass, permanent burns and scars would be the punishment for attempting to change her mold.

…

Once Otto had tried to be physical with her, grabbing her wrists so harsh it would leave bruises. Pulling her hair to ensure her conformity.

Maricelle had shown no reaction, and after dismissing her he kept hearing terrible tales from maids and working men alike, they’d whisper how terrible, and cruel the Hightower family would treat their lovable and kind Lady.

It had gotten worse throughout many moons, that other men of higher class had been known to discuss the hot topic.

Otto had asked Maricelle to stop what she was starting.

He was met with a coy face and her bandaged wrists.

“Father, I’m not sure why your listening to the common men so immensely”

…

During Maricelles first engagement with a neighboring Lord, a large event was hosted, which lasted 2 days and 2 nights. On the final night the Lord was said to have excused himself from the celebration and had asked for Maricelles assistance to his bedchambers.

The next day the man was found dead on his plush feathered bed.

No blood, no coughing, no struggle.

Maricelle was seen during that time. Their had been many accounts of her leaving the Lords chambers as soon as she tucked him into bed.

…

Shortly after she was sent home. Her guards and handmaids had been worried for her health, what if this supposed killer had somehow managed itself into the castles kitchen, and would poison their beloved lady.

Otto could recall asking his daughter about the events that occurred that night.

She replied with a familiar coy smile and asked him if he suspected it was her.

To which he replied with a gruff no.

“We all have a time and place father. Lord Alaric has just met his” Maricelle then bowed her head and excused herself from the council room.

Otto swore to himself then and their that he would make sure whomever Maricelle would marry, could handle her tendency’s.

His wishes would come true in the form of a rogue prince.

—

“Has he truly gone mad?” Maricelle uttered to her sister. “What does father want to achieve by marrying me off the Prince Daemon” she scoffed.

The carriage had shook and swayed from side to side.

“Sister” Alicent put her hand over Maricelles gloved ones. “If it is any condolence, Prince Daemon is young and he is always flying to diffrent nations on his dragon. After the marriage consummation, ‘tis certain that you will no longer need to see him”

Maricelle held onto her sisters hand, gripping it tighter. “I suppose. I just hope that I do not see my end like Lady Rhea Royce” she whispered softly.

The people of Kings Landing had known Maricelle as the perfect daughter, kind in every way, mesmerizing in every way. She liked the attention, craved it even. She made it apperant to herself that she would always keep a shark eye and an even sharper ear to hear comments people would whisper about her throughout the cold halls of the Red Keep.

Her father was not opposed to the vision either.

—

“Lady Maricelle” King Viserys had spoken. His voice slightly hoarse, echoing throughout the cold hall of the throne room.

“Your grace” she bowed and held her poise.

“Otto has done his job well with you and your sister. You are both well refined young women, and he aught to be nothing but proud”

She had to stop herself from scoffing.

—

The first time Daemon Targaryen layed eyes on the Hightower women was when he saw her sitting alone on a stone seat near the blossoming flora.

From his spot behind a pillar, his eyes roamed her figure.

Whoever this women was, she was well endowed in all the right areas, the square neckline outlined in intricate embroidery only highlights the swell of her bosom.

Suddenly his mouth seemed dry, and his feet had grown a mind of it’s own. Walking towards the entrancing women, and taking the rest of him with it.

He stood in front of (the still unknown) women.

“The Red Keep gardens are wonderful this time around” Daemon plucked one if the stray petals that had gotten trapped in her hair. “Aren’t they?”

Maricelle slowly fluttered her eyes open, and blinked, being met with the legs of a stranger in front of her. Averting her gaze she was met with the unmistakable likeness that was Daemon Targaryen.

“Prince Daemon”

He hummed, and sat beside her. Making eye contact with while she looked up at him, was to difficult.

Even for a seasonal women wooer like himself.

It was especially difficult when he had a clear view of her plunging neckline, exposing the obvious softness of her tits.

He was a simple man.

“Seems I’m quite well known” He laughed, more so coughed, trying to stop the foreign heat of his ears due to his own thoughts.

She chuckled, and he had started getting dizzy.

“How could one not know of the Rogue Prince”

“I suppose my title precedes me” He mustered to look her in the eyes.

Now close enough, he could confirm that this women had to be a siren. A mermaid maybe. She’d somehow grown legs and had come to taunt him.

Idiot.

He scolded.

Her eyes were umber, with slight glimpses of green when the light hit them just right. If he kept looking maybe he would’ve noticed the similarities between her and her sister, but before he looked strange he had to force his eyes to peel away from her face. Instead he took in her attire.

A verdant green.

If he was in the right state of mind he might’ve put two and two together, but it seems this women was to tempting to think about anything else.

…

The two had chatted the noon away.

Sitting on the stone bench, almost knee to knee, only a whisper parted them, to engrossed in their conversation to separate.

He had enjoyed making her laugh, and while she was in a fit of giggles she had noticed that the sun was no longer high above her, but was now setting atop a hill.

She faced Daemon and had hurriedly said her goodbyes.

Their she left him, high (hard) and dry.

Only the soft billowing of her dress was all he could see as she ran as elegantly as she could away from him.

Daemon sighed. The spell she put him under had started to slowly go away.

It was when he started to walk away from the garden that he realized he has no name to label the maiden that entranced him.

—

The event that night was brimming with Lords and Ladies from around Westeros.

Some had become intoxicated as soon as they entered the great hall.

From her position near her sister and father, Maricelle kept a keen eye upon any figure that entered the room.

Her brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower had been canoodling with the ladies on the dance floor. It was not a sight she wanted to behold.

Finding the party dull, she made her way out of the festivities and found herself back at the stone bench she spent all afternoon at.

She hesitated to sit, but her instincts took over.

Maricelle could feel the cold and sturdy seat even through the many layers of her proper attire. Their was no sound except for the drowing noise of chatter and loot music from the hall just across the way.

Their was no sign of movement, not even servants were seen scattering about.

It seemed like it was just her.

Before she could fully relax, two callused and rough hands gently made contact with her eyes, covering her sight.

“To what do I owe the pleasure” Maricelle laughed softly. Placing her own hands near the ones covering her eyes, clinging onto the man’s wrists

“It’s not every day that I see a dame all by herself, rare in especially beautiful maidens” The man’s voice was tainted in tease.

“Why don’t you reveal yourself”

“As the lady wishes”

Daemon retracted his hands, and quickly held both of her own that were attached to his wrists. He initiated her to rise from her seated position by lifting her hands into the air.

She twirled around and craned her head upwards to face Daemon.

Their hands still holding each others sank between the two, acting like a bridge.

Their faces were to close to be considered polite, and the stone bench parted them by their knees.

“How may I help you Prince Daemon?”

Maybe it was the darkness of the night playing tricks on him, but Daemon swore he could feel her leaning towards him.

“Having you here now is all I need”

She scoffed slightly, “Is this how you charm all women”

“Only lonely pretty ones in gardens”

“So I am lonely?”

“Not anymore”

—

Daemon had unknowingly escaped from the festivities meant for his betrothed to Maricelle Hightower, but he could care less now that a pretty women was running and following him through the castle corridors, all while laughing.

Maricelle held up her dress as Daemon led her by a stretched arm. His other hand was secured on her waist.

The dashed and stumbled through the dimly lit halls, giggling like children.

Maricelle had thought him immature, a barbarian, a beast, and everything under the bright Westeros sun. She still felt that way but even she could admit, he was very fun.

She had also neglected to tell him her full name, wanting to see his reaction at a later date. Which would be inevitable.

…

The two found themselves in the library. Dusty, but most importantly, empty.

Daemon waited no longer, and started to attack her neck. He leaned her on a wooden table, so her ass was pressed against his pelvis, while she faced away from him.

The room was filled with feverish moans and whimpers.

Maricelle’s neckline had been pushed down, along with its many layers. Revealing her plush breasts.

Daemon makes quick work of the clean slate of her skin and littered her with marks of light purple and red bruises.

Daemon on the other was anything but untouched, his hair was being gripped by her right hand, while she had made her own marks on his neck, and jaw. They were much more pronounced.

Daemon had wanted to progress more, kissing her was incredible, but he was sure she was hiding something magical underneath all this fabric. He lifted her skirt and clothing, reaching for her small cloths. His hands caressing her exposed thighs.

Before anything to dishonourable happened, a loud banging was heard from the front door.

“Lady Maricelle? We have urgent orders from your father. A guardsman had seen you entering this room”

It was the nightly watch.

Had her father really been prone to incredibly terrible timing.

I was just about to have the time of my life. Maricelle huffed, disappointed greatly.

“Lady Maricelle, may I enter?” The night watch asked.

Daemon and Maricelle looked at each other with worried looks. If Viserys was to find that he was about to defile a young women who seemed important due to the guard reference of ‘Lady’, he would not be able to avert that kind of crisis.

Otto would be incredibly furious. Maricelle would most definitely be locked up in her room again.

“Uh…please, wait a moment” Maricelle uttered.

“Of course Lady Maricelle”

Daemons head flicked back and forth to his surroundings. Under the table? No. Behind the shelf? No. Behind the door? Stupid.

He then looked at the flustered women before him, all red and blushing with desire. She had pulled those delightful breasts back into their cage, and had tried to hide the marks of desire on her neck with her hair.

His gaze then looked further down, he was still holding onto her skirt.

Under the dress of a beautiful women? Yes.

Maricelle let out a small shriek as Daemon lifted her skirt further up and crawled underneath the large mass of fabric.

Maricelle blushed even harder.

She could feel the way his body was positioned under her dress. His arms had wrapped themselves on her right leg, and he was just hiding on the edge of her skirt.

“Lady Maricelle?”

She twisted her head to the door, and dusted away any remaining evidence on her clothes and made sure to lightly smack Daemons head to let him know that someone was now entering.

“Come in”

The night watch was a fairly old man, suited in the common silver armour, a torch in his left hand, and a spear in his left.

“Lady Maricelle, your father has summoned you to his private chambers, along with your sister”

“Alright, thank you for informing me, you may go”

The man stared and blinked at her. “Um, my Lady, do you not want any company to escort you?”

She tsked quietly, and she could feel Daemons shaking. Most likely laughing at her.

“No need, I will go myself”

“It would be improper of me to leave you to your own defences, especially at nigh-���

“I will go see my father myself” she hurriedly interrupted him, stern in her words.

The man had hesitated to act, but with a sigh he had bowed and wished her good night.

As soon as the doors had closed, Maricelle quickly tried to kick Daemon out of her dress.

“Prince Daemon! I must go!” She spoke quietly through gritted teeth, while holding up her skirt.

He laughed and continued to hold onto her waist now that he was standing straight.

“Alas you must”

He sneakily pecked her lips and whispered a goodnight before watching her scramble away, and out of the room. Leaving him only with the memory of her smooth silk legs, warmth, and another hard on.

Daemon groaned and looked down at his trousers. They were stretched to their limits as his bulge had been trying its best to escape its confinements.

“Hand it is” he sighed.

[zahri-melitor]

A list of DC characters that it is actually important to be able to tell apart, but half the time people forget:-

Plastic Man and Elastic Man: Eel O'Brien is the red one who turns into weird shapes and cracks jokes; Ralph Dibney is the purple one who is a detective who adores his wife.

Atom and Captain Atom: Ray Palmer is the one who shrinks down and does science; Nathaniel Adam is the nuclear explosions guy who's part of the military.

Jason Blood and Jason Bard and Jason Todd: Blood is the host to Etrigan and a demonologist; Bard is a private detective who's an ex-cop; Todd is an ex-Robin and current Red Hood. Both Blood and Todd have white streaks in their hair. They all live in Gotham.

Manhunter and Martian Manhunter: the Manhunters are about 6 different human characters, with little overlap in costumes or aims (they all like killing people who evade justice though); J'onn is a Green Martian who reads minds.

Doctor Light (good) and Doctor Light (bad): Kimiyo Hoshi is a superhero who does hard light projections; Arthur Light's a supervillain who got mindwiped by the JL to the point of stupidity. (I've skipped disambiguing other legacy names but this one is kinda important).

Azrael and Azazel: JPV and the other Azraels are human warriors controlled/brainwashed by Order of St Dumas; Azazel is a Sandman fallen angel hanging out with Lucifer.

This is brought to you by someone saying "Captain Atom is a fascist!" and me squinting and going...Ray Palmer??? Is a fascist? But no.

[bleubrri]

۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ˑ new years kisses — jujutsu kaisen

ft toji / nanami / choso

contains: sfw / suggestive content / fluff / baby yuuji ^0^ / modern aus — minors dni !

☆•° . * FUSHIGURO TOJI

toji has had his tongue shoved down your throat for the past 10 minutes when you hear the telltale countdown of the clock from the rowdy party guests currently occupying your apartment.

the only real way to tell when toji’s drunk is his inevitable pawing and heavy gaze—his libido dialled to a hundred—so you’re almost unsurprised when he catches your wrist and pulls you into the bathroom for a break from the party. you insisted it was rude considering you were hosting, and he’d insisted on unwrapping his birthday gift, flashing you that lopsided smirk and snapping the elastic of your panties against your hip.

he’s got you pressed up against the door, skirt bunched at your waist and a strong thigh between your legs as his tongue sloppily laves over yours. the chanting of numbers has you pulling away, only for him to chase your lips with an unsatisfied grunt.

“we’re gonna miss the fireworks!” you whine, tugging the straps of your top up from where they’ve fallen (or been deliberately pulled) down your shoulders. “and our midnight kiss.” you pout, listening to the slightly distant chant of your friends.

“3, 2, 1–happy new year!”

toji rolls his eyes, rough fingers gripping your chin and forcing your gaze up to his. he wets his lips and gives you a quick peck, bringing his mouth to ghost over your own, “you’ll get more than a kiss, if that’s what ya want, sweetheart.”

☆•° . * NANAMI KENTO

it’s not often that kento let’s himself have a little fun, and so looking at him all rosy cheeks and easy smiles, it has you peeking over the rim of your glass with gooey heart eyes at his droopy gaze and mussed hair.

he’s got one hand diligently draped around your waist and the other serving refills of the cavertnet sauvignon responsible for his adorable wine-drunk state to your tipsy guests.

it’s a quiet gathering—close friends who are still absolutely young enough to celebrate new years, but can’t stand the idea of being in the city past 11pm. a low effort cheeseboard and kento’s special occasion wine seemed like the best way to sustain everyone until at least 1am.

you’re all so absorbed in tipsy laughter and bargains for the last slice of sourdough that you don’t realise that time has bled into january until you spot yuuji’s figure emerging from the hallway, clutching his ratty tiger plushie and sleepily rubbing at his eyes.

you set down your glass and reach to pick him up as he pads over.

“did i miss it?” he mumbles, perched on your lap with his head lolling onto his fathers shoulder. you glance at the clock, “no sweetheart, you’re right on time.” you assure, pressing a kiss to his forehead and watching him grin as his eyes fight to stay open.

“happy new year yuuji.” kento rumbles, his kiss lost in unruly strands of his sons hair. the toddler hums, seemingly on the verge of sleep, and you part from his chubby cheeks to lift your gaze to nanami. he stares back, heart swelling at the image of his son in your arms—he doesn’t think it’ll ever lose its novelty.

his tall frame leans over the sleeping bundle between you, his lips a whisper at the corner of your mouth. “happy new year, darling.” he breaths against you.

“h—”

yuuji fusses, wriggles around so that kento separates and curls further into your hold, burrowing into your warmth. you chuckle, and kento soars.

☆•° . * KAMO CHOSO

it’s five minutes until midnight and choso is fucking panicking. the tequila shots in his system have stopped acting as liquid courage and leave him in a frazzled hunt around the cramped apartment, dodging countless swaying bodies.

he almost gets a pitcher of lemonade dumped on him as he turns the kitchen corner, almost slips on the spilled beer in the hallway that someone should really fucking clean up, almost dies of embarrassment when he opens the master bedroom to find two people in a very compromising position. all in an effort to find you.

he’d stuck by your side all night to make sure that he’d get his moment. well, that and there’s no one else he’d rather spend the night with. there’s no one but you.

god, he wants to kiss you. if he finds you in the next 2 seconds then he swears he’ll do it, countdown be damned.

he shakes his mind from drifting to the image of your face inches from his, the allure of your lips, the home he’d make for himself under your tongue—

he’s made two laps of the apartment when he dips from the kitchen again, at the exact moment that you re-enter the apartment at the other end of the hall. a breathless sort of sigh escapes him and his shoulders slump in relief.

“hey! sorry i was just—” you’re shuffling off your coat and dropping it back onto the pile behind the door when the sudden screams and whoops of celebration signal that it’s midnight.

choso steels himself, long legs closing the distance between you in a few strides. large hands are tilting your head and his lips are on yours, kissing you.

choso’s kissing you.

it surprises you so much that you freeze and choso has the horrifying feeling that he’s ruined five years of friendship.

but then you’re kissing him back, firm and eager and fucking breathtaking. the fireworks painting the sky can’t compare to the sparks flying in his chest, shooting through his veins and bursting against his ribs.

[heartfullofleeches]

Your hands in Mine

Yan Entities T.V Show Crew (Thirteen, Wishbone) + Host Clown Darling

"Ow!....D-do you always have to hold my hand so tight?"

"Maybe I wouldn't have to if your hands weren't so sweaty all the time...."

"But, I sweat when I'm nervous...."

"Excuses, Excuses.. Thats all you ever give. Why am I stuck with you of all people."

Those two.... Never a moments break from their arguments. You could hear their shouting matches from all the way over the pond- Well, it was moreso of a one character in particular screaming and the other timidly raising their voice to be heard. Wishbone and Thirteenth. A bunny lucky as the number of days in a week, and the cat with misfortune tailing every step they took. Forces of calamity on their own, putting the two together was nearly a worse fate than letting them run freely separately.

Pairing the two together was the only solution anyone could come up with. Side by side, Thirteenth's bad luck canceled out Wishbone's good luck - the same going working the other way around for the rabbit. Still, one troubling issue remained. The duo utterly despised one another and would sooner plunge the world into darkness than hold hands.

A solution to their problems was delivered after becoming part of the show's program. Not by a skilled therapist or even talking about their differences together- The answers to all their disagreements where quelled with the kindest of a colorful character with a smile bright as the suns painted on their clothing.

"Wish, Thirteen.... Is everything alright?"

Thirteenth is swift to throw Wishbone under the bus. "How can anything be alright when I have to put up with them everyday?!? You'd swear you could fill a glass with how much sweat I have to squeeze our my fur after holding their hand all day."

Wishbone tugs at their ears - the staples pinning faux fur to the damage corner of their left ear straining from the pull. "Stop blaming everything on me! How am I supposed to hold your hand when you dig your claws into me whenever your mad?!"

"Maybe if you weren't so infuriating I wouldn't be as pissed off!"

You step between the two as Thirteenth shoots an icy glare, advancing towards the twitchy rabbit; claws unfurled. The distance is thin enough you have no concerns for your safety, prioritizing settling things between your companions.

"Relax, take a deep breath, both of you. I know it's hard for the both of you. Just focus on me."

You feel Wishbone's arms around your midsection as you lay a hand on Thirteenth's neck - scratching at that one spot beneath their chin that had the feline melting in your arms everytime. Given that nobody bothered touching them before due to their curse, you knew how much of a sucker they were for it. You reach your other hand overhead to pat Wishbone's ears. The rabbit's happy sigh rumbles against your back, shaking subsiding as you stroke your fingers down their long ears.

These two were some of the sweetest things when around you....

"Hm....."

Pinching the fingers between your teeth, you pull off your left glove - repeating the same process with your right. You'd seen Thirteenth use these left hand for most things, thus you ask them for their right.

"Thirteen? If you'd be so kind?"

"Okay?..." Puzzled, Thirteenth sticks out their hand. Their claws run the fabric of your glove slim as you slip the glove onto their hand, retracting into their skin as you adjust the glove onto them properly. Once fiinished you turn around to face Wishbone.

"Wish? Your left hand, please?"

The rabbit gives you their arm, practically shoving it into your chrstas they hide behind their ears. You stumble a bit, the teetering on your heels as you regain your balance making you giggle.

"I'm sorry!"

"It's okay, it's okay- Here." The airy laughter in your voice calms them as you fit the glove to the best of your abilities over their slightly larger paw. Thankfully, the elasticity of your gloves holds up as hugs their wrist. Seems like most of the size of their hands was just fur.

"Ta-da!"

Thirteenth and Wishbone look at each other.

"Now you guys don't have to hold each other’s hands directly - whenever you have to, you can just pretend your holding mine!"

You take their gloves hands and pair them together, smooching the back's of their knuckles starting with Wishbone as apology for gifting Thirteenth your glove first. The two look uneasy for a beat, eyes softening a second from being simultaneous. If Wishbone closes their eyes and thinks hard enough, the heat of Thirteenth's palm almost reminds them of yours. Holding Wishbone's hand, Thirteenth fondly recalls the texture of your glove brushing their fur.

"Well?"

Thirteenth sucks air through their teeth, the switching of their tail giving way to their true feelings. "I guess it'll work."

"Yeah....." Wishbone admits, beaming from ear to ear, absolutely dumbstruck you'd give them something with so much meaning. They can't let you down now. "This will do."

"Ahhhh, I'm so proud of you too!"

Squealing with glee, you throw your arms around the two - trapping them in a group hug. Thirteenth's tail wraps around your leg as Wishbone's large paw rests gently on your back.

The two didn't have a lot in common, very few things realistically - but their sole interest in one special clown kept them from killing each other and taking the world down with them.

[captainmalewriter]

College Janitor

Alright, I'll be the first to admit that working as a janitor fucking sucks. Nobody has ever said "Wow! I wanna clean up other people's shit for a living!" and for good reason too. It's disgusting and more often than not it's completely thankless job. This shit fucking sucks, pun not intended.

So why did the hell did I willing decide to become a janitor when I hate it so much? Well, let me tell you. Even though there's a lot of cons to the job, there is one pro that singlehandedly makes it all worth it. I didn't just become a janitor at some random place, no, I became one at a college residence hall. This place is just teeming with young, horny bodies everywhere! And since college students are always coming and going every year, my catalog of bodies just keeps on growing! This place is perfect for a body hopper like me, especially since nobody ever suspects the nameless janitor...

Take my most recent body for example. This clueless freshman had no idea he would get possessed when he first moved into the dorms!

I just love the way a fresh body feels after I possess them! My personal favorites are all the skinny guys with no meat or hair on their bones. It's always so much fun seeing my beer belly of a gut squeeze into them as I possess and take over their bodies for myself. They get all bloated and fat while I squeeze my spiritual form down their throats. It always take me a couple of minutes to slither down into their bodies, but the effort is always worth it. The sound of them grunting and gagging while getting filled up by my essence is always so hot!

Their bodies inflate to the max and they stumble around due to all the extra weight they just took on with my soul. Then they get all surprised when their hands start moving on their own. They don't have a clue that it's actually me controlling them from the inside! I love forcing them to moan as I start exploring my new body, slowly but surely taking over control while I rub myself down. Then, once the possession is complete and I get total control, my new vessel adjusts itself to welcome me in as its new host. My new skin snaps into place like an elastic band as all the extra body weight disappears like it never existed. Their body is all mine now, and I just can't help but smile at a job well done.

I wonder how it feels to be skinny and to have a hairy, heavy bear like me possess my body. I bet it feels good to swallow up my long, curly beard as I force myself in. It must feel pretty warm to absorb a beefy, mature man like me. Like a bear hug, only on a much deeper level. Not that I would ever know, I'm the possessor, not the possessee. Just the way I like it! I just really can't believe this twink keeps shaving all this beautiful body hair! No razor is gonna touch this body while I'm in charge, let's see if he can grow a majestic beard and a pelt of chest hair like mine. I can tell this ass is already broken in. What a shame, this long dick isn't getting action. That's gonna change too, there's plenty of ass to fuck in college!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to enjoy my first month of college... Hope the new, temporary janitor knows how to get cum off the shower tiles!

[mjolnirswriststrap]

Trying To Derail My One Track Mind

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader Masterlist Part 2

Summary: Part 1/2 Life was simple, till you met your boss.

Word Count: 3,300

No warnings till part 2

You wake up to see sun rays peeking through the curtains. Rolling over to face your fiancé you smile at his sleeping form, he looks so peaceful. Too bad you have to go to work and couldn’t just stay like this with him.

You would lie in bed all day with him, if that’s what he wanted. You reach out and pet his beard, pecking his lips before you get up to get ready for work.

You threw on your recycled outfit. Discerning no difference between the black skirt and white button up you wore yesterday. You pull on the dreaded pantyhose that were required for your uniform. Black or tan, you couldn’t express yourself at all.

You look in the mirror, tightly pulling your hair into a high ponytail, leaving out a strand to wrap around the elastic. Makeup was allowed, and recommended during your orientation. Guests prefer being hosted by someone who looks put together.

You work in the kitchen, managing the cooks and wait staff. Sometimes it felt like a real restaurant, and you dreamed of having your own one day. But with the pay you get from the manor, you won’t be following that dream anytime soon.

You give your fiancé one last kiss before you leave. Breakfast is served at 8am, so that means you should be in the kitchen by 6. Most of the people renting it out stroll in well after 9.

You always have to remake half of what you’ve already prepared, with a smile. The owner didn’t care about costs, or you. You never met him, just talked over the phone weekly.

You remember bringing up the food waste after a month of working. He laughed and said “It doesn’t matter what time I serve breakfast, they will find a way to be late. They’re paying, they know they have the luxury to be late.”.

Maybe he was one of them. He sure sounded like it. Like he agreed that money lets you by with things. The people that eat at your table get by with far more than you could imagine at the manor. You’ve been told more than once not to mention a thing that happens inside these walls.

Screams and gunshots have been heard. Guests walking around naked in masquerade masks. One guest brought his own meat, insisted on preparing it himself for everyone. You never saw anything like it, it wasn’t pork, beef, or venison, it reminded you of that page in your biology textbook with the skinless human body.

You don’t like to think about what happened before. The only way you can go back is to forget what happened the day before. You never felt fear, you couldn’t describe it. Like you were apprehensive of every new face you met, but they never snapped their fingers at you. You were never in the room when you heard fights happening, your staff was always well on their way home before dessert finished.

You stayed till the last dish was clean. They’re notified when all the staff goes home, because then there’s no one to wait on them. The bells in the kitchen fall on no ears at all. Leading no one to see which room is ringing.

You saw when they began to turn rowdy. Their drinks from dinner finally hitting them. Drunken debates often broke out, causing the last remaining person on staff to clean up broken glass and wine stains. They were always apologetic and moved the argument to a different room, leaving you alone to clean up their mess.

You sped down the country road, you were running late, today is New Year’s Eve, meaning you’d be staying the night here. You tried to go home last year, but you only spent an hour in bed with your fiancé before you had to return for breakfast.

The owner didn’t care that you had a personal life. Telling you no when you asked to take your paid leave, you told him your fiancé planned the trip as a surprise. Causing him to scoff and deny you again. You knew you should’ve quit then, but you didn’t know what would happen to you if you did. You knew too much, and the mysterious owner was a dick, so you didn’t want to test it.

Pulling down the gravel driveway you park behind the house. Entering through the backdoor that only you have a key to. You prepared for the day, making it easier for your cooks when the guest start ordering things.

The day goes by normally, like there wasn’t a party planned for the night. The owner got it catered by this famous new chef, who wouldn’t be arriving till dinner. You had to wait to be ordered around your own kitchen. The guys French accent was so thick you couldn’t understand a word he said.

Somehow you pulled it together, and your servers were carting out a stuffed bird you’d never heard of. These guests might be the fanciest of any that darkened the doorstep of the manor. They held their heads high, and drank wine that was imported in a big wooden crate you broke a nail opening.

They laughed about politics, and argued pharmaceuticals. You’re about to return to the kitchen when the front of the house man, Bruce, approaches you. “Mr. Barnes will be here at 9. He asked that you be in the library when he gets here.”. He gives you a tight lipped smile, leaving you before you have a chance to respond.

You’ve worked here for two years and the night he decides to meet you is your busiest night. You groan as you walk into the packed kitchen. Dishes being tossed into the sink and metal skillets scrapping the stove causes you sensory overload. You’re already irritated and it’s only 7.

When 9 hits, you decide nows the time you should make your way to the library. You didn’t have time to wait around for him, that kitchen would burn down without you, especially tonight.

When you get there, the doors already cracked open, and there’s a glow of lamplight emitting from it. There’s a man standing with his back to you. “Mr. Barnes?” You ask, not sure since the man seemed younger than you expected.

“You’re late.” He says, you roll your eyes, as if this was planned. “I was busy.” You curtly respond. Taking this as a chance to get off your feet, you sit in the velvet chair across the desk. He turns around once you’ve made yourself comfortable, crossing one leg over the other.

He’s handsome, and like you said, way younger than you expected. He has dark blue eyes, the kind that make a girl act a fool. They had no effect on you though, since all you were focused on is your fiancé. You didn’t really look at other men that way, you could admit when they were attractive, but nothing more. You’re better than that.

He sits down opposite of you, unbuttoning his jacket. “So I’ve been going over your monthly reports. You’re meticulous, you know that?” He gives you a genuine smile. It broke down your wall, filling you with pride at the compliment. “Thank you, I try.” You look down at your hands, picking at your broken nail.

“I know you must be busy with the party and Francois in your kitchen,” he says, causing you to raise your eyebrows. He called it your kitchen, you’re happy the two of you are in agreement. ”, so I don’t want to keep you long. I just thought I should finally meet the person keeping this house afloat.”. You take his compliments like knives. You don’t know if he means them, but you find yourself hoping he does. Causing a pang of guilt to hit you.

Why should you care if another man complimented you. You’re engaged to marry the best guy you could ever ask for. You force the blush down, not letting him see any effect he has on you, you don’t want to give the wrong idea. “If that was all, I think I should be going, like we both said, I’m busy.” You stand up, brushing down your black skirt as you do.

“Of course.” He ignores your attitude, standing to escort you out of the room. You give him a weird look, you know where the door is. “Before you leave tonight I’d like to speak to you again about a pay raise, maybe even a promotion.”.

You stop at the door and turn around and he’s only a foot away from you. You can smell the expensive cologne rolling off him, it almost makes you dizzy. “I’m actually staying tonight.” He seems surprised. “Yeah, it’s just, after I finish closing up the kitchen it will be 2, and it’s almost an hour drive home. I wouldn’t get a wink of sleep before work tomorrow.”.

“Where exactly did you plan on staying? All of the rooms are spoken for?” He asks. “The couch in the break room. It’s employees only, so I was hoping no guests stumble upon me in the night.”. He nods, looking deep in thought. “We’ll talk more later.” He says, like it was a fact.

You return to the kitchen. Things had calmed down a lot, only one cook was left, sprinkling lemon on a platter of hors d’œuvres. You got caught up on washing dishes, and cleaned the messy floors. When you were done, you heard the guests counting down, you walked to the doorway, peering in at them. No one wanted to be alone at this moment, even if you had to spend it with people that didn’t look your way. You watched as a few couples kissed and older men raised their glasses high. Mr. Barnes raised his glass towards you. Keeping his eyes on you as he takes his first sip of the new year.

You flick the kitchen light off. Walking across the dark kitchen you hear the party goes laughing and dancing to thumping music. You know you’d be picking up your champagne flutes out of the carpet in the morning. You smile when you enter the break room, you asked Bonnie, the maid, if she found time today to put you a blanket in here, she didn’t forget. Completely forgetting that your boss wanted to speak to you, you close the door behind you. Grabbing your bag off its hook on the wall, you pull out shorts and a tank top to sleep in.

You quickly change and fall face down on the couch, you don’t even cover up, liking the way your bare legs cooled your body down after sweating in the kitchen all day. You’re out like the kitchen light. That is until you feel a hand on your ankle, shaking you awake.

“Huh?” You say, raising your body up on your knees, causing your ass to lift in the air. “I wanted to speak with you.”. You blink your eyes open, and realize who it is. “I’m so sorry, I completely forgot.” You say, pulling up the loose strap of your tank top.

You cross your arms in front of your chest, wanting to keep this professional. He sits down on the couch beside you, your heart starts beating a little faster than it should. You haven’t been this close to another man since you started dating your fiancé. It felt weird and taboo, you know you should scoot away, but you don’t.

“I appreciate the work you put in here, and I’d like to show my appreciation by hiring you on as a live in manager of the manor.” You look between his eyes, trying to see if he’s serious. “I- what?” You say, utterly shocked.

He turns, throwing his arm over the back of the couch. “Everyone would report to you, Bruce, security, the maids, a new kitchen manager. You’d be making a lot of the decisions in my place, I think I can trust you.” He says, you think over his offer for a second, you know the money would be out of this world, but “My fiancé, I can’t just move out, we’re getting married soon.” You know you have to turn him down.

“Do you want to see your room?” He stands up and starts walking out of the room, just like Bruce, not waiting on a reply. “I don’t think that’s necessary, sir.” He looks back at you, like he can convince you otherwise. “What’s a look gonna hurt?” He says.

He leads you to the end of the guest hall, the last door in sight. You hadn’t been upstairs since your tour of the mansion, so you weren’t really familiar on which room was which, but you’re pretty sure this is the master suite.

He takes a key from his pocket and unlocks the door, opening it to reveal none other than the master suite. “Mr. Barnes, this is the master suite, what are we doing here?” You say, taking in the giant poster bed and red velvet.

“I know where we are, this would be your room, if you were to accept my proposal and if you do, just call me Bucky.” He says, walking around the room, studying it, as if he didn’t know what every inch of his bedroom looked like. You’re at a loss for words, you never imagined living like this, or having such a high paying job. “I can’t, I want to, but I can’t.” You say, feeling like you’re making a mistake.

He crosses the room, standing infront of you. “Is there anything I can do to change your mind?” He says reaching out to touch your arm. You lock eyes with him when you feel his hand on your skin. This was inappropriate in so many ways. Here you were half naked at 2 am in the master bedroom being touched by a man that wasn’t your fiancé. You can’t move, just like on the couch.

It’s like you can’t act on what your brains telling you, step away, tell him you’re not okay with this, feel uncomfortable. But you can’t, and you won’t, your body wants to. But there’s something inside of you keeping you close to him like a magnet.

Your heart beats rapidly, fear rushes through you. Not fear of him, but what you could do in a state like this. You’re not thinking clearly, you can’t even remove his hand from your arm. The hand that was numbing the skin on your bicep.

“Like I said, Mr. Barnes, I can’t accept. I hope this doesn’t interfere with my current employment.” Finally, you put your brain on autopilot, jutting out a professional declining of his invitation.

He drops his hand, seemingly letting you win this battle. “Of course not,” he ushers you out of the room, locking it behind him. “I shall let the offer stand, as long as you keep up the good work.” You nod your head, knowing you would never bring it up again.

He insists that you join him for one last drink in the lounge. All the guests were in their rooms, fast asleep. “I’ll just have water thanks.” You say, sitting infront of the roaring fire. He walks over the the bar cart, pouring himself bourbon, and you a glass of water from the crystal pitcher.

He sits down beside you again, you notice he’s closer now than what he was in the break room. You clear your throat, “So how did you come by this place?” You ask, wanting to keep your mind off of the heat radiating off of him.

“Inheritance.” He answers curtly, like exposing any further detail was an invasion of privacy. You find yourself nodding your head yet again tonight. You look at the flames tickling the brick walls of the fireplace, they remind you of your fiancés eyes, and in that moment you feel a bullet create a hole in your chest.

If you found out he were having a drink at 2am with his boss, while she was wearing her pajamas; you’d be furious. How hypocritical, that you find yourself sipping your room temperature water, bumping knees with a man you’ve never even met before.

“What do you want in life?” He asks out of the blue. It shocks you, you don’t know if you should tell him the truth or not. You figured, he knows what he’s paying you, it would never buy a restaurant anyways. “Uhm, first and foremost a family, which I’m currently working on. But in the future?” You say, knowing that’s what he meant.

He seems unbothered by you constantly bringing up your fiancé, like it wasn’t a factor in his motives. “I want my own kitchen. My own tables and menu. My guests sitting in my restaurant.” You say, averting your eyes from him. It’s not everyday you tell your boss you don’t plan on working for them forever.

“If you accepted my offer, you’d have that. You would have say over the menu, you would greet the guests and get to know them as if they were your own. You could redecorate, whatever you wanted.” Your mouth drops open slightly, you don’t know if you should believe him, but he hasn’t given you a reason not to.

As soon as fireworks start popping in your head, they die out. “Missed opportunity I guess.”.

“Well it’s getting late, I should be getting to bed.” You say, leaving your empty glass beside his. You make a beeline for the swinging kitchen door, “I don’t think in good conscience I can let you stay on the couch, employee or not, hosting people is my profession after all.” He stands, giving you a smile that reads in different ways. One could be a business man, just doing what he does best, faking a smile.

The longer you stood on opposite sides of the room, silence growing thick between you, the charming smile read differently, like you were prey, caught in a trap. You could retreat and lick your wounds or stay, and be healed and coddled.

“I insist.” He puts his hands in his pockets, walking to the bottom of the stairs. You could see him waiting from the kitchen door, leaning on the banister. It was nonnegotiable, you huff out a breath before grabbing your bag and shoes from the break room. Might as well let this be the first and last night you every get to stay in one of these rooms.

You follow him back up to the master bedroom, he unlocks the door and leads you in yet again. “Where are you staying? I thought we had a full house?” You say, finally realizing, this locked room was the only free bed. He turns around and shrugs his shoulders, “I just thought, we could share, this beds big enough for the two of us, with plenty of professional space for a pillow wall.”. He says, throwing back the covers, tossing the decorative pillows in the middle of the bed.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” You say, crossing your arms. “I don’t think the couch is a good idea, seeing as you’re scheduled till 7 tomorrow.” He argues. You’re frozen again, like you should fight against him but you can’t, you just let it happen.

Without another word you drop your bag and shoes on the chest at the foot of the bed. You tuck yourself in close to the edge, facing away from him. You set your alarm and close your eyes when he flicks the light off. “Goodnight.” He says, and you try to pretend you’re already asleep, but “night.” Slips from your lips before you could rethink it.

[all-about-kyu]

Summary: Trying something new with your boyfriend is always a thrill. Pairing: Mingi x fem!reader Tropes: established relationship Genre: smut Rating: R 18+ Warnings: language Smut Warnings: nipple play, bondage, protected sex, safeword discussion/check-ins Word Count: 1,012 Host Tags: @sanjoongie @thelargefrye February Filth Masterlist Before You Interact

Listen to ♡ Blow Your Mind by Monsta X

“You’re one hundred percent sure about this?” You ask again.

“I told you, sweetheart, I’m sure.” Mingi smiles sweetly at you, “I trust you, and we’re always safe when we try new things.”

You still feel a bit apprehensive about the entire situation. Yes, you and Mingi always experiment in the bedroom, but you’ve never ventured into physical restriction yet. Different kinks and games have always been fair game, and you’ve talked about them before. Physically stopping someone from moving feels like a different level to you. Mingi notices your still nervous state and pulls you against him. You easily sink against his body and the couch as he places a kiss on the top of your head.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” He calls sweetly.

Looking up at him from your place, you see that same adoring look he always gives you. There’s not a single bit of worry or fear about the situation. It puts you a bit more at ease with everything. Still, Mingi can feel a bit of tension in your body and disposition.

“If you don’t want to, we won’t. Okay?”

You shake your head, “I want to. I think it could be really fun.”

“But?”

“I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” You admit.

Mingi pulls you tighter against him for a moment, “We always do our research to ensure we can be as safe as possible. We have a safe word for a reason, and if one of us needs it, we know what to do to help each other.” He reassures, “If you’re still really uncomfortable with it, we won’t do it. Consent is the most important thing.”

You nod and think momentarily, “We’ll research what we need to do to be safe and make a plan.”

“As we always do.” He smiles.

~~~~

“Is it too tight?” You ask, still fixated on the red ropes wrapped around Mingi’s wrists. 

He’s tethered to the bed frame, almost entirely naked except for his boxers. The pretty, shiny balls of his nipple bars glint in the light of the room. He’s already painfully hard in his boxers but insists that it would be part of the fun to be at your will, even to expose his cock to the cool air around you.

“No, it’s not too tight.” He confirms.

“And you don’t feel like you can just slip out either?”

“Nope!”

You hum, sitting back a bit to admire your work. Absent-mindedly, you run a hand over his torso, paying extra attention to his nipples. A slight whine escapes his lips when you pinch one of the perky brown buds. Your eyes snap down to his eyes and see that they’re blown wide with need. 

“Color?” “Green,” He smiles lazily, “I need you to ride me so badly, please?”

You smirk, playing with his prettily decorated nipples more. “Is that what you need, Mingi?”

He nods and tries to pull his hands forward. His body immediately jerked back to where he was lying back after just a few inches of tugging forward. A small chuckle escapes your lips at the action. Mingi, on the other hand, pouts slightly with the remembrance that he is stuck in his place.

Luckily for him, you’re already just as needy as he is. You let your hands drop to the waistband of his boxers and toy with the elastic for a few moments. His hips jerk up slightly as you brush over a rather sensitive spot. Tapping his hip, you silently ask him to lift up to remove the last bit of clothing. He doesn’t waste a moment lifting his hips, holding onto the headboard for leverage. His hard cock bounces forward against his lower stomach. A small bead of precum leaks onto the skin. Your mouth waters like a Pavlovian response to the sight of him. You don’t let it hold your attention for too long, though. You strip your little amount of clothing off your body and reach into the bedside table for a condom. 

Ripping the package open, you roll it down your boyfriend’s leaking member. He groans at the feeling of you finally touching him where he needs you most. You straddle his lap, rubbing your lower lips along the entire length of his cock. His eyes are fixated on where your pussy is grinding against him. His lower lip is pulled between his teeth, trying to exercise that last bit of self-restraint that he has. His hands are balled into fists, unsure what to do with them restricted above his head.

You finally sink yourself onto him slowly until you’re fully seated on his cock. A low groan escapes his throat. His voice quickly switches into a broken gasp as you lean forward to pull one of his pierced nipples into your mouth. You ride him slowly as you lick and nip at the perky buds. One thing you learned about your boyfriend through these experiences is that he absolutely loves it when you lightly bite his pierced chest. 

“C-color?” Mingi questions.

“So fucking green. Yours?”

“Couldn’t be any greener. Fuck, baby, fuck–”

He trails off into a string of profanities as you start riding him faster, making Mingi try to tug at the restraints again. One of your hands travels up his body to lace your fingers with his. It’s a small gesture, but you think he may need that small bit of gratification. He starts to give weak thrusts up into you, trying to supplement his need further. A moan escapes your lips as you roll your tongue around the ball of the piercing.

“B-baby,” he groans, “I don’t think I’ll last like this. You look so fucking hot riding me like this. I can’t touch you, but maybe that makes it even better.”

You chuckle, your breath fanning over his spit-covered chest, “I like this.”

Mingi moans loudly when you bounce particularly hard on him, “God– fuck, I do too babe. Maybe next time, I should tie you up.”

“That’s for next time. Right now, let me make you fall apart under me.”

COPYRIGHT STARLITMARK 2024© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED — reposting/modifying any fic or piece of original writing posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations are not permitted. 

Networks: @cultofdionysusnet @kwritersworld @k-vanity

Tag List: @bratty-tingz @yeosangiess @minjaeluver @abbietwilight

[wttcsms]

headcanons about the timeskip/pro!bllk boys’ good luck charms that are connected to you

ft. yoichi isagi, rin itoshi, hyoma chigiri

yoichi isagi + totoro plushie !

✧˖° during one of his breaks in between the football season, yoichi visits you at your college campus the same weekend they’re hosting a little fundraising festival!

✧˖° one of the booths featured plushies as prizes, and one in particular catches your eye: the totoro one!!! you know your boyfriend loves that movie, and he’s already won every other game in this festival. he also refuses to let you carry anything when he’s around, so his arms are just full from hauling the enormous stuffed animal he won you, gift bags full of homemade jewelry and baked goods from every stall, and his personal favorite, a strip of photos of you two taken in one of the photo booths.

✧˖° he’s telling you that he doesn’t need you to win him anything, but you’re so excited to “pay him back” for everything he’s gotten you that all he can do is smile and watch as you earnestly try to win him the prize.

✧˖° he flies back to the country where his team is playing at next, this time with a new traveling companion: totoro the plushie 🥹

✧˖° now begins a new ritual: everywhere he goes, your yoichi brings alongside his travel buddy and sends you pics of them. goofy shots of him asleep with his mouth wide open and totoro resting on his chest while he’s on a airplane or he’s holding up totoro in front of an iconic landmark wherever he is. his favorite pregame ritual now, though, is taking a picture of the plushie sitting on the bench and sending you a text that says totoro says you need to wish me luck! 😄

rin itoshi + friendship bracelet !

✧˖° rin doesn’t do too well with trusting people; he’s gotten better at it as he grew older and slowly got over what he considered to be sae’s betrayal, but there’s still a tiny part of him that tells him everyone he loves or trusts will ultimately leave him.

✧˖° the frayed friendship bracelet that he doesn’t keep on his wrist but is tucked safely in a pocket inside his gym bag proves that at least one person will stay by his side.

✧˖° you gifted him a friendship bracelet during valentine’s day when the two of you were in primary school. even when the two of you both went into high school and ultimately drifted apart, he still hung on to the bracelet, subconsciously clinging onto the hope that you would magically come back.

✧˖° the two of you reconnect during the shibuya trip, and he knows everything is going to be alright when he looks down and sees you still have the matching bracelet on your wrist.

✧˖° he doesn’t look at it before every game; just knowing that it’s secured safely in his bag is enough to calm him down.

✧˖° one time he did lose it, and he accused every single one of his teammates of stealing it and was in a god awful mood the entire game. (he bought a new gym bag and didn’t completely finish transferring over all the stuff from his old bag to the new one.)

hyoma chigiri + your hair tie !

✧˖° chigiri does not like people touching his hair without his permission. you are the only person in the world he would ever allow to get away with messing with his hair whenever you please.

✧˖° one day he’s running late for a game and realizes he forget to bring any extra elastics to tie up his hair to play.

✧˖° you show up to the stadium a little bit after he does, and one of his teammates is sprinting to you, begging you to do anything. confused and a little anxious, you follow him to the locker room, only to see a very exasperated and irritated chigiri.

✧˖° a teammate explains that he offered up a hair tie already but chigiri had claimed it was too cheap and would ruin his hair, not to mention that it would probably loosen during the game.

✧˖° you resist the urge to laugh at your boyfriend; even when begging, he’s still so picky. luckily enough for him, you keep an extra hair tie on you and after being with chigiri for so long, you’re already familiar with his brand preferences.

✧˖° chigiri refuses to play any match without this hair tie after performing a hat trick during that game. when he’s not using the hair tie during a match, you’ll see the tie on his wrist.

[eastwindmlk]

Did this just pop into my head this morning and did i write this instead of cleaning? yes and yes. But here is a slightly longer something for today. 1k for Jilyweek. Hosted by @kay-elle-cee and @sunshinemarauder

Petunia had been right. This was not a sentence Lily thought often, at least, not as she got older and her sister had drifted further and further away. Her views follow the same trajectory. Just thinking about it made Lily’s heart ache.

But she’d had a real point the last time the sisters met. “It’s easier like this. I can’t remember the last time I had time to wash my hair,” she explained after Lily had commented on her new, sleek bob cut. Which Petunia had undoubtedly modelled after Lady Di, completing her royal look with their mother’s double string of pearls and the chubby, red-faced infant pressed to her chest.

Harry was two weeks old now and Lily had forgotten what the inside of their bathroom looked like. She always found something to do. Even when, or maybe especially when, her husband told her to rest. Guilt gnawing at her while he maintained the house, did their groceries and indulged her strange cravings, like roasting her chicken at ten in the morning or somehow producing fresh chocolate chip cookies while she fed Harry at three.

All this while, she could not even manage to wash and brush her hair regularly. Lily kept the tangles hidden in a bun that also served to keep the greasy strands away from grabby hands. It was fine. It was something she would deal with when… Well, sometimes she was certain.

This thought persisted until one fateful four in the morning she couldn’t take it anymore. Shifting uncomfortably, itching at her scalp and cringing at the coarseness of her usually soft hair. Lily carefully moved out of James’ arms, cursing the creaking floorboard that was far too close to the crib while she sneaked out.

She rummaged through the kitchen drawer until she found a pair of scissors which she marched to the bathroom. Lily tried to not pay too much attention to how tired her reflection looked, her fingers carefully working the hair elastic free from where it had twisted into the infernal knots that were driving up the wall.

Eventually resorting to pulling at it hard, yelping when the elastic snapped but finally free from her hair. Though it seemed to do very little to move the mess. Scissors in hand, Lily had the urge to just start hacking away and clean up whatever she had left after.

If it had not been for the sleepy voice from the hallway she might have done it too. “Lils? What are you doing?” James’ voice was adorably raspy with sleep and it soothed the fire in her veins enough to nudge the door open to let him in. He rubbed his eyes against the light, blinking the world into focus as his eyes landed on the scissors in her hand. “what are you going to do with those?”

Lily swallowed, clicking them open and shut for a moment before her shoulders sagged in defeat. “Cutting my hair,” she admitted a little sheepishly and watched his features shift through the five stages of grief before settling on concern.

“Any reason in particular?”

It was a fair question and one that she could not really answer with anything more than a non-committal shrug. “It’s a mess and I don’t have the energy to sort it out,” she admitted after a moment of consideration and once more raised the scissors up to start hacking away.

James appeared in the mirror behind her while his fingers wound around her hand. “Darling,” he cautioned and her eyes met him in the reflection. “Do you want help sorting out your hair? If you still want to cut it off after that we’ll get you to a hairdresser.” His fingers slipped down, fingers skimming her wrist and came to rest on her shoulder.

The reflection grew blurry with tears feeling his thumb rub soothing circles into her shoulder blade. She drew in a shaky breath in the hopes of keeping her emotions in check. Something that had proven rather difficult ever since Harry, the pregnancy has wreaked havoc on her restraint. Her heart was on her sleeve whether she wanted it to be or not.

“You’re already doing so much, I c-can’t ask you to sort out my bloody hair too.” She tried to refuse, placing the scissors on the sink with a metal clang. “It’s too much.”

“Nothing is too much, Lily,” he answered so immediately it was almost jarring. “If anything, I am sorry I did not notice it before.” She felt his lips kiss away the tears that rolled down her cheek and his hands steered her towards the bathtub.

With a flick of his wand, it filled and the soothing scent of lavender and oleander swirled around her. Tempting her into the warm water. “I suppose if you insist.” With that, she slipped into the the tub, her body more achy than she had realized before.

With patient fingers silently worked through the knots in her hair, not once did he so much as mention the mess it was. He just worked, slowly and methodically. Lulling her into a meditative state, more restful than she had been for months. Before she knew it the small window started to filter in cool morning light. Which was the only indication of how long they’d been there.

Lily shifted, trying to turn to James to look at him and maybe suggest he take a break. That she could still just cut it all off. But then she realized something. His fingers were slowly running through her locks, smooth and soft. “One more minute. Just need to rinse and you’re good as new.”

Her hand shot up, fingers sliding through with ease. She combed her fingers through once, twice and then again. “Oh, James,” she sighed, her voice trembling with emotion. She could not express how much this meant to her. Lily swallowed the tightness in her throat, her fingers brushing the back of his hand gingerly. “Thank you.”

James lifted her hand up to his lips, kissing her fingertips and she could hear the gentle smile in his voice as he simply answered. “I love you.”

[sapphire-writes]

an ego thing ~ modern!Aemond x Reader

previous part 2 // next part 4 // series masterlist

summary: our academic rivals are at it again, forced to run a study group together. warnings: NSFW 18+ explicit spicy times, oral (f&m receiving), teasing, spit play. word count: 2.3k note: happy feral Friday loves 😈 you asked, you pleaded, you cried and I delivered because ily 😚

“Professor, I don't need a co-facilitator,” you beg your professor.

“It’s university policy, Y/N,” he tells you, “two students have to lead the study group.”

You huff in disappointment. You tutored for extra credit, and not to mention it looks phenomenal on your transcript, but you didn’t want someone dragging you down. You just wanted to host the study group, answer questions, and get out as soon as possible.

“Who’s leading with me?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“Aemond,” your professor answers and your heart drops into your stomach.

You hadn’t really spoken since the other night and your scandalous quickie in the library study room. You’d turned in your paper, said an awkward goodbye, and then proceeded to use your vibrator to the memory of Aemond calling you a bad girl while fucking your brains out. 

Scratch that last part. You’re trying to forget that part. You’re trying to forget the whole thing actually. 

“Seriously?” you ask and your professor nearly rolls his eyes.

“You’re the top students in my class,” he tells you, “it would be good for you to join forces, and work together.”

You raise your eyebrows at his hopeful expression. He tilts his head to the side, lacing his fingers together as he speaks.

“Or no study group,” he says suddenly, “no extra credit, I’ll just do office hours.”

Your mouth falls open.

“That would be a disservice to the class,” you accuse.

“Then you better go chat with Mr. Targaryen.”

A frustrated noise escapes you and your professor’s eyes widen, he even takes a step back.

“Fine,” you say between your teeth, and your professor gives you a relieved smile. 

That’s how you found yourself at the door of Aemond Targaryen’s dorm room. You know it's him, you asked his sister Helaena who confirmed he’s still living on campus even though his roommate (and brother) Aegon joined a fraternity and moved into their house. 

There’s a name card on the door that reads “Aemond” in the shape of a wolf. It matches all the doors on the floor, a cute attempt by the resident assistant, Cregan Stark. 

You knock on the door, tapping your foot impatiently. 

“Hey,” he says opening the door, but it's phrased more like a question. 

He’s wearing a simple black t-shirt and sweats. You can see he was studying, books are strewn at the desk that lies in the corner of his room. 

“Hey,” you tell him, “look, Professor Strong says we have to do the study group together.”

Aemond hums to himself.

“When is it?” he asks, leaning against his door frame.

“Tonight.”

“Can’t,” he says, pursing his lips.

“Why not?” you ask, already irritated. 

“Nosy,” he sneers, looking you up and down. 

“Got a hot date, Targaryen?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he answers, smirking as your cheeks pink. 

“Well save the girl the agony of a date with you and cancel.”

“Who said it was a girl?”

“Spare the guy then.”

He chuckles, moving out of the way.

“I’ll make it work,” he says, “come in, stop standing there.”

You follow him inside. 

“I made some flashcards,” you tell him, closing the door and dropping your bag on his floor. He sits in the chair at his desk, next to his bed. 

“Okay, so you’ve got it all figured out,” Aemond says, in a condescending tone.

“Haha,” you tell him, flipping through, “I only made a few but I figured we could make it fun-”

“How are flashcards fun?” he teases.

Your patience is wearing thin. He’s acting different, cockier now that he’s fucked you. You can sense it with every word he speaks, with the way his eyes caress your body. You want to knock him down a few pegs. 

“Like this,” you tell him, taking the elastic band off of your deck of flashcards.

Aemond raises his eyebrows at you, still seemingly unimpressed.

“Every question you get right, I take something off,” you tell him.

His lips part, a fire dancing in his different colored eyes before he composes himself. You’ve caught him though, and a smirk plays on your mouth. 

“We can’t play that with a study group,” he argues.

You shrug.

“Fine, we don’t have-”

“But we’re not with the study group,” he says, cutting you off. 

Your smirk grows. 

“Here I’ll even start with an easy one,” you tell him, looking at the flashcards in front of you while absentmindedly twirling a piece of your hair. 

“Perfect,” you say, choosing one, “what is the capital of the Reach?”

Aemond takes his tongue between his teeth, you can see it slightly poking out. Your cheeks flush at the memory of his tongue on you. 

“Highgarden, easy,” he tells you. 

“Mhmm,” you answer, unzipping your sweatshirt. 

Aemond watches as you shrug out of the sleeves, letting it fall to the ground. 

You keep going, and with every correct answer another piece of clothing drops to the floor. Your pants are off, then your shirt. You’d even argue for a solid five minutes if your shoes count (they do). They now lay on the ground along with your socks. 

You’re thankful for the matching set you decided on, a lacy number that compliments your skin tone. Aemond’s eyes rest on your face, but you can tell he’s trying to not let them drop to the amount of exposed skin you’re showing. 

Your eyes light up wickedly as he hesitates before answering the next question.

“You don’t know it,” you gasp, dramatically. 

“Hold on-”

“You smug son of a bitch!”

“Don’t talk about my mom like that, c’mon-”

Laughter escapes you as you watch his eyebrows knit together in confusion. 

“Just go to the next one,” he says, motioning. 

“We’re out of cards,” you say, twisting your mouth into a pout, a sarcastic apology.

Aemond’s jaw slacks, his disappointment evident on his face.

“Oops,” you shrug, still clothed in your bra and panties, “guess we need to think of more.”

“You’re actually evil,” Aemond groans, causing you to chuckle.

“Poor baby,” you mock him, reaching for your shirt. 

Aemond is quick to stand, tearing the fabric from your fingers. You blink up at him. 

“Think of another question,” he asks.

You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Please,” he adds, looking away. 

You bring a finger to tap your chin, narrowing your eyes and keeping your lips in a firm pout. 

“Hmm,” you pretend to think. 

“Any day now.”

“I’m thinking.”

Aemond clicks his tongue, and something in his eyes darkens. 

“You are such a brat,” he says, before bringing a hand behind your neck, pulling you flush against him.

His kiss is punishing, it makes your knees tremble. Aemond’s free hand finds your waist, caressing the exposed skin and playing with the lace at the top of your panties. His tongue enters your mouth, deepening the kiss. You let him kiss you for a moment before pushing him away, a hand on his chest. 

Aemond’s reaction is immediate, pulling your face back to his, the snarl on his face. You kiss him back, wrapping your hands around his neck. His hands fall to your ass, kneading into the soft flesh. He backs up toward the bed, taking you with him as he sits, hands skirting down the back of your thighs to pull you on top of him. 

He’s kissing you all the while, tongue licking the roof of your mouth, dragging out a moan as you grind your hips into his. He pulls away only a moment to tug his t-shirt off and throw it to some corner of the room. He’s rock hard, and feeling him underneath you sends a shiver of pleasure up your spine. Aemond drags his mouth to your neck, sucking on the smooth flesh. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmurs against your neck, “how long I’ve pictured having you in my bed.”

“Awww,” you breathe, “careful Aemond, I’m beginning to think you might like me.”

“Shut up,” he murmurs, biting into your collarbone. 

Your breath catches and you tangle your fingers in his silky hair, holding his face against you. You’re bound to be covered in hickies tomorrow from how he’s nipping at you, but you can’t summon the energy to tell him to stop. Not when his lips feel so good against the soft skin of your throat, your shoulders, your neck. You can feel the sharp edge of his nose nudging the spot where your shoulder connects with your throat. 

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” he says as his fingers reach to unclasp your bra. 

You shrug the material down your arms, shimmying out of it until your breasts are freed, hanging heavy and lifting with every ragged breath you release. 

“Hmm?” Aemond murmurs before latching onto your nipple, swirling his tongue around the hardened peak.

Your eyes nearly roll back into your skull as a wave of desire ripples in your core. 

“I have,” you whimper, “especially when you’re being an asshole.”

You feel his finger teasing your underwear and you lift your hips, dragging your fingers down his chest until you reach his hardened cock. Aemond releases a breathy chuckle as you dip your hand below his waistband, wrapping your fingers around his length. 

It’s not fair how well-endowed he is, it's cruel really. 

You bite your lip in anticipation as you stroke him, watching his lips part, the way his breath turns ragged and his lashes flutter across his sharp cheekbones. His fingers pull your underwear to the side and you lift your hips, sinking down onto him.

You can’t help the pleasurable sigh that leaves your lips as you raise your hips beginning to ride him. The burn in your thighs is glorious, and Aemond’s hands rest on your hips, guiding you but letting you control the pace.

“You know what I think?” Aemond says, bringing a hand behind your hair, tangling in it, yanking your head backward.

You moan as you continue to bounce on his cock, as he buries his face between your breasts. He captures your nipple in his mouth, biting down harshly, before doing the same to the other. 

“I think you fucking like it,” he growls, “getting me all worked up in class.”

You choke out a laugh as he drives his hips up into you and it finishes with a moan. 

“You’re such a dick.” 

“You fucking love it.”

You tangle your hands in his hair, holding him against your breasts as you continue to ride him. Aemond’s hands dig into your hips, lifting you to assist the increasing pace. Your breasts bounce wildly against his face as he slams you on his cock, the slickness of your arousal coating your inner thighs.

Aemond becomes impatient, twisting you onto the bed. You lock your legs around his waist as he drives his hips into you. 

“You’re cute when you’re angry,” you tease and Aemond wraps a hand around your throat.

The space between his thumb and forefinger pinches your jaw.

“Open up,” he tells you and your eyes widen.

You can feel your cheeks redden but you do as you’re told by opening your mouth.

“Wider,” he growls and you stick out your tongue.

You know what’s coming, but it still sends a thrill through you as he spits onto your outstretched tongue.

“Still cute?” he asks, quivering an eyebrow.

You close your mouth swallowing.

“Adorable,” you tell him.

His thrusts increase, grip tightening on your throat as he fucks you relentlessly into the mattress. You’re trembling underneath him, whimpers leaving your lips.

“You’re not leaving this fucking room,” he growls, “not until I fuck this bratty little attitude out of you.”

Your smile is wicked, as his hips roll against you, cock brushing against the sweet spot within you. You can feel your orgasm creeping up on you when suddenly he pulls out, standing up. 

“On your knees,” he says, pumping his cock in his hand. 

You eagerly oblige and wrap your lips around his length. He hisses through clenched teeth as you bob your head around his length, his fingers tangling in your hair. You’re a drooling, gagging mess as he fucks your mouth, tears spilling down your cheeks as his cock hits the back of your throat. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna-”

You hum around his length as he finishes, and you enthusiastically swallow his release. You release him with a pop, wiping your mouth on the back of your hand. 

Aemond helps you off of your knees, panting.

“Fuck that was good,” Aemond says, kissing you again.

You moan against his mouth. You don’t think you’ll ever tire of kissing him, that smartass mouth of his works wonders. 

His hands grip your waist pushing you onto the bed. He settles between your thighs, lips closing around your clit, and a strangled cry escapes your lips. 

“Fu-fuck!” you mewl as he slips two fingers inside of you, his tongue unrelenting in its strokes on your needy clit. 

Aemond crooks his fingers against the rough section of your inner walls that makes your vision go white. You bring your hands to your breasts squeezing them as he feasts on you. Your thighs tremble around his head, and soon you’re releasing a flurry of obscenities as your pussy clenches around his fingers and you find your release. 

“Stop, stop,” you whimper as he keeps fucking your swollen walls with his fingers. 

Aemond hums, lightly licking at your clit, as he slowly removes his fingers from you. He lays next to you as you try to recover from the intensity of your orgasm. 

“What time’s the study group?” Aemond asks.

“Hmm?”

“The study group?”

You blink, running a hand over your face. 

“C’mon use that big brain of yours,” he teases, smirking at you. 

“Umm it's at 7,” you tell him, jogging your memory.

Aemond glances at the clock that sits on his desk, before turning back to you.

“Good,” he says rolling on top of you once more, hardened cock pressing against your thigh.

“Plenty of time.”

note: hope you enjoyed!! ILY ILY ILY MWAH 🤭😚😘

taglist: @ephemeralninon, @aemonds-wifey, @haydee5010, @schniiipsel, @sweetsweetpsyche, @letmeloveyouuuu, @glitterandgoldfinds, @greenowlfactif, @vrtualfairy

HOTD taglist: @bluevxnus, @thattargboy, @xlilacfrostx, @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed, @marvelescvpe, @geminithrone, @deltamoon666, @i-killed-ramsey, @tempt-ress, @eddiemadmunson, @zillahvathek, @hangmanscoming, @jojoesq, @f4ll-for-you, @rwdkarla, @nik2blog, @cc13723things, @filipiniamultifandom, @watercolorskyy

bold means I couldn't tag

visit my masterlist (link at top) for link to HOTD taglist 💚

[anarcho-physicist]

i helped* write a new physics textbook and it has a cool (and free) website: softmatterbook.online

*a little bit. The vast majority of the book was written by van Saarloos, Vitelli, and Zeravcic, but a whole bunch of people contributed little bits of writing (myself included) and are credited in the preface.

This book is an accumulation of some of the most fundamental results in soft matter physics, many of which were first discovered or derived very recently. The website hosts a bunch of extra resources (videos, notes, demos, etc.) sorted by the chapters of the book:

Fluid Dynamics

Elasticity

Brownian Motion

Colloids

Polymers

Liquid Crystals

Interfaces, Surfaces, & Membranes

Pattern Formation out of Equilibrium

Active Matter

From Designing Matter to Mimicking Life

It also lists a whole bunch of labs all around the world that are studying the sorts of systems described in the book, as well as mailing lists you can sign up for, conferences, workshops, youtube channels, and software packages. I'm absolutely biased (see below) but I think it's a really great resource for anybody interested in soft matter!

I spent the first year of my PhD helping to put this thing together. I translated research papers into problems, hunted for typos, and wrote most of the solutions in the instructor's manual. I don't make any money off the book sales (my PI told me they made it available for as cheap of a price as the publisher would allow), but my PhD stipend was funded for the year to work on this thing instead of having to TA.

I was ridiculously lucky to get the chance to work on this thing, even if at times it felt like learning how the academic sausage gets made.

[materialsscienceandengineering]

Setting Temporal Boundaries for Sound Waves

A magnet-and-coil system reveals how acoustic waves reflect and refract when the host medium suddenly changes elasticity. [...] Waves modify their behavior when they move from one medium to another, as happens when light bends at the boundary between air and water. Similar wave behavior occurs when the properties of a single medium are suddenly switched at a specific moment in time. Experimentalists have studied such “temporal boundaries” for electromagnetic waves and water waves, but creating rapid, uniform changes for acoustic waves has been difficult. Now researchers have designed a mass-and-spring system with tunable stiffness that demonstrates a temporal boundary in acoustics [1]. Their experiment reveals an acoustic-wave behavior that’s analogous to optical refraction, and the demonstrated control of the waves suggests the possibility of trapping and releasing wave signals.

Read more.

[eri-pl]

Silm reread 11: Men! And the Noldor again!

AKA the part where Fefe dies and Angrod is made by the narrative to look like a fool and Turgon needs a manual

So we apparently switch to another source or at least another editor, because it starts with "the Valar made the sun and stopped caring (except Ulmo) and the only thing protecting the land from Morgoth's rule was the courage of the Noldor". Which may be factual but doesn't sound like something we would get in the narration in one of the previous parts. Huh.

Ulmo tries to teach Men, Men are too dumb. :)

In the First Age Men and Elves do not differ in height or physical strength. Elves are more skilled and beautiful, and the Eldar are (taller? more powerful in another sense? translation unclear :( )

Elves do not die of diseases, but it seems like they may get sick, maybe. They do look like Men, but this will change as their spirits remodel their bodies. But Men are weaker (less buff?), die more easily (also from wounds etc), and heal less easily.

Earendil, Elwing and Elrond mentioned as having full effective-Elvenship, which confirms that all other half-elves (Dior, Nimloth, Dior's twins, also any hypothetical half-elves) do not. But unclear what this means.

Return of the Gnomes Noldor

Wait, does Fefe land his ships on the Morgoth-screamed-like-a-kid-because-spider Land? :D

Second Battle (First one was the Sindar), the Noldor are OP and awesome, light of Aman and what not. An army that has been besieging Cirdan is called back to attack them and Celegorm intercepts it and defeats it.

In ten days, Morgoth's army is reduced to almost zero.

Feanáro expects too see Morgoth just round the corner and chases the orcs laughing and congratulating himself on his courage and disregard of the Valar (it is in the text) and is very brave and strong, but mortally wounded anyway, by Gothmog himself.

Also: Balrogs > Ungoliant and SoF > Balrogs, which is pretty cool for the sons of Feanor. Ungoliant had fire vulnerability, but still, it does look cool.

Fefe dies looking at Thrangorodrim, because revenge > anything else, apparently. Realizes it is impossible for the Noldor to conquer it. And regardless he tells his sons to re-swear the Oath and to avange him. (Also, he curses Morgoth again, three times)

Sindar and Noldor have a language difference, and I've mentioned it with the Dwarves already, but Sindarin seems easy to learn.

The initial assumption (of the Sindar and Dark Elves) is that the Noldor came ordered by the Valar to help them.

Just as Fefe dies, an emissary comes to invite his sons to a parlay. Maedhros convinces his brothers to pretend to want to parlay. I totally forgot that part!!! It is his idea! And as we all know, both sides betray the agreement, but Morgoth side does it with more success. He ordered to capture Maedhros alive (I'm not sure what is the main reason for that).

The other 6 fortify and do not want further "negotiations", this sounds like it's all happening very fast, but then the timelines suggest it took years. Morgoth demands the Noldor get out, they do not because they know he won't let Mae go anyway. After it's clear the talking is over, Mae is hung at the cliff. Which suggests to me he hung there for most of his capture.

There's tension, Fingolfin thinks that all 8 burned the ships together, his host is numerous and angry. Doom of the Noldor starts acting and instead of cooperation, there are tensions. And the SoF are too ashamed of their treason to go talk with the newcomers openly. :(

Fingon and Maedhros are… it reads as they had more or less officially unfriended each other at some point in Valinor, because of all the stuff between their fathers. Fingolfin doesn't know Maedhros opposed the ship-burning. He thinks Maedhros sees him as an enemy or at elast a jerk. Still, he goes to save him. I love this.

The song-rescue!!!

Oh, the song-rescue. I am so insane about this trope. It's just so— I don't know how to even call it. Not only this one scene (or the other two), but this scheme in general, I do have a thing about it. Very much. But tbh it's one of the things where my love for it is in big part "non-canon, very niche connections I make about it". Same as with…. most things I like in the Silm, probably. Hmm.

Also, let's have a moment for Mae, seriously. The rescue scene is so … poor Mae. And it is not even the worst part of "fate awaited him with fell purpose" :(

Yea, Manwe still cares about the exiled Noldor no matter what Namo's intern said. :D (yes this is a hc, because I do not imagine Namo saying something that isn't literally true)

Mae survives only because he's supercharged after having spent a long time in Valinor. (I'll need a better mental model of how it works, but I'm pretty sure it's the same thing that made Luthien die faster on the Silmaril and makes mortals allegedly die faster in Valinor, it's just different for Elves. But I wouldn't be surprised if later the Eldar faded faster than the Dark Elves)

Meadhros apologizes for ship-burning and gives the crown to Fingolfin (I for some reason misremembered it as Fingon. Huh.)

Thingol is not entirely happy about guys wanting to establish their own kingdoms, does not open his borders to them (for this reason, I think) and does not open the Girdle (because Morgoth). This is probably still when he assumes that the Noldor were sent to Beleriand by the Valar. So, it is … not terrible, but probably not a fully nice behavior either. Especially including his friendship with Finwë. On the other hand, maybe Melian already does have a hunch that something shady is going on with the Noldor.

He invites Finarfin-s family, because their mom (Earwen) was Olwë's daughter??? I forgot that part. Oh. this must have been awkward.

Angrod talks with thingol and does not mention the kinslaying, Oath and all the jazz, because "he thought it was ok now"? Excuse me, narrative, what? I need this in English, I'm not sure what even it's saying exactly.

Fortunately, much text of the Silm is Googleable.

he spoke long with the King, telling him of the deeds of the Noldor in the north, and of their numbers, and of the ordering of their force; but being true, and wisehearted, and thinking all griefs now forgiven, he spoke no word concerning the kinslaying, nor of the manner of the exile of the Noldor and the oath of Fëanor.

It does not help. He thinks the grieves are forgiven by whom? The Valar? The Teleri? Iluvatar? (who was mentioned in the Oath, it turns out, just the Polish translation misses this).

Like, ok, Professor, I get that you want Angrod to not be a liar (because he's son of Finarfin and they're the good ones) but also Thingol to not know about the shady parts, but I don't think it works. It just makes Angrod look really stupid at best.

Thingol lats the Noldor settle in the free parts of the land, to protect the settlements of his subjects. Makes sense to me. Also reminds them that he's the king of Beleriand, which sounds rather too proud, but again, nothing more than being a bit of a jerk. The Feanorians are upset.

Maedhros calls him a fake king (affectionate) and Caranthir (who we are told is a jerk in general) gets angry and disses the Arafinweans. Maedhros puts him in his place (which is important to note, because it makes me assume he generally puts his brother in place, eg Celegorm after Luthien probably even if it's not said in the text)

Maedhros is cool, he is friends with cousins… ut he is oath-bound as we are ominously reminded.

Oh, so here it is about Caranthir and money. He disses Dwarves but as they both hate Morgoth, they decide to fight against him by… making Caranthir the sole sales representative of the Dwarves.

The feast of peace! We have M&M (no other brothers, maybe because they are less diplomatic), some Sindar, Cirdan&friends, less important Elves Green Elves, and from Doriath we get Mablung and Dearon.

So yes, Maglor and Daeron get to meet each other.

The Noldor are great at crafts and lore, but Maglor is the greatest minstrel among them. The Sindar wre great at music, but Daeron is the greatest scholar among them. Oh, the cultural exchange when they two get drunk and argue about what tuning is better invent modern music theory and what not. I don't care for the alliances and stuff, but give me a fic of those two just talking music theory and similar things.

Also, many oaths of firendship and alliance were made — I guess the idea of swearing oaths is not traumatic yet. Makes sense. We are early in the timeline, before lost battles and most mass murders.

Here we get the difference in language-learning between Noldor and Sindar.

Turgon and Finrod get visions from Ulmo, each one assumes he's the only one to get it. I like Silm more than LotR, and Silm characters more than LotR characters on average, but at least iirc Boromir and Faramir talked to each other. :D

Finrod visits Thingol, makes Nargothrond, the Dwarves help and in the published vevrsion there is no conflict at any point between them. Finrod gives them a lot of gems, the Dwarves give him Nauglamir, it's pretty and one-size-fits-all, and magically light.

Meanwhile, Galadriel gets married and becomes Melian's student.

Turgon is less effective at hidden-city-making than Finrod and Ulmo has to tell him what exactly to do. It's not really stupid or anything, but kind of funny and I will laugh at Turgon for needing a how-to. :)

Another won battle (third one). fingolfin says Morgoth will never be able to break the siege. Ironic how it is him to say that. Both because what happens later and because he's called "Wise Finwë".

Also, Morgoth does have some intel because he regularly captures some Eldar alive and asks them questions. So he isn't completely dumb yet. Years pass, we get baby Glaurung. It's like 400 years from coming of the Noldor? And still nobody told Thingol (and probably any other non-Elda) about the problematic parts. This is weird.

Here we get the comparision of Noldor and Sindar skills and preferences. Also, they do merge in some settlements into effectively one nation, speaking Sindarin.

Also, a note about the ban (which will come later): Sindarin was the common language at this point anyway, becase the Noldor learned it easily and the Sindar learned quanya with difficulty. So, Thingol's ban was more of a formality than a practical issue.

It was as if Thingol put a "I hate the kinslayers" decoration on his Facebook picture. This kind of gesture. At least that's how it seems to me from what I've already reread.