#I don't even know if I can ever draw him right

[floralscented]

ㅤ♡ㅤjust a little more, with [ doe!reader ] & [ clark kent ] ㅤ (18+!!)

you always beg him so pretty. tears pouring from your eyes, saliva pooled in the corners of your parted, panting lips, a glossy thin sheen of sweat coating every inch of your soft skin.

clark's thumb traces gingerly over your cheekbone, revenant touches over each part of your face that his large palms can get his fingers on. you've stilled in his lap, legs tired and going numb, pelvis sore.

"c'mon, pretty girl," he mumbles, his thumb trailing its way up to your lip, tracing across the kiss-swollen, pinkened skin. "you can take it," he leans up to nuzzle his cheek against your tearstained one, brushing your hair away from your face with his nose until his lips are against your earlobe.

your head shakes, and you sniffle softly, burying your face into the crook of his shoulder. his free hand finds its way to your thigh, tracing light, mindless shapes on the trembling muscle with his fingernail. "you can, sweet girl," clark insists, tongue tracing along the shell of your ear with his gentle words. "look at me. can you look at me when i'm talkin' to you, angel?"

his fingers trace along your jaw as he guides your head back toward him, forehead to forehead. "there she is," he whispers, just as reverent as his touch is. you're glass to him, even if you don't think it right now. he's terrified to shatter or crack you. "hi," he says with a small, breathless laugh.

"hi," you manage to choke out, your voice gone, your body spent, and clark has the audacity to look at you like he has no intention of stopping, like he'd done nothing at all so far, even though he'd brought you to a violent, trembling orgasm at least four times now. one more, he pressed earlier, when the tears prickling in the corners of your eyes had started to spill, just one more. five's lucky, isn't it?

five didn't feel lucky. five felt like overstimulation, trembling muscles, hot tears sliding down flushed cheeks.

"look how good you're doin' for me, angel," he says, his two fingers taking your chin between them and guiding your head downwards to watch as he shifted his hips, just enough to remind you that he was still buried deep in your swollen pussy. you were sore, and overwhelmed, and the feel of it is just enough to draw a whimper out of your lips. "i know it's a lot, i do, but i also know how strong my pretty girl is."

his praise is enough to relight the fire within you. a second wind, clark'd probably say; a fatal mistake, you'd probably correct.

clark's palm flattens on your thigh when you start to move again on him, slow drawn out circles of your hips, unable to lift yourself too much to properly ride him. still, even just like this, you could feel him stretching you open, even so deep within your wet heat.

his head falls back against the wood of his headboard with a hollow knock, eyes fluttering back open as he watches you through the thick black veil of his eyelashes.

"you're so good to me," he says, his words only slightly slurred through his haze of pleasure, compared to the whimpering, whining mess you were atop him, "jus' a little more, jus' like this, yeah?"

"mhm," you manage through your clenched teeth and pouted lips, letting his hand wrapped around your thigh guide you, support your weight, as your movements become more deliberate.

his lips quirk, dimples punctuating his smile in the soft skin of his cheeks. his hand on your face slips up, up, just enough to press his thumb on your bottom lip and tug it down, slipping the thick digit into your mouth. the pad of it presses ever so slightly down on your tongue, muffling every noise starting back up in the back of your throat.

clark's hips start to lift, meeting each downward grind of your pussy around him with an extra bit of gentleness that he only reserves for you. he could be rougher ─ had been rougher, earlier ─ but he never pushed more than he knew you could take. breaking you in any way was something that he'd never forgive himself for.

except... like this. when even just a couple of deep thrusts into your tight, soaked walls brought those soft sobs out of you again. "shh," he mumbles, his voice roughened with his grunts but still so, so soft for you, "just like this, baby, you're doing so good... just a little more..."

tags. @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @deansbite DO I. HAVE ANY OTHER SMALLVILLE MOOTS IDK PLSSS

doe!reader masterlist found here !

[kayla-and-the-moon]

baby, it's cold outside-! ᥫ᭡.

❄️plot: it's christmas eve and peter just really wants you stay, is that a crime?

❄️pairing: gn! reader x tasm!peter parker <3

❄️tw! : nothing just peter being a sweetpea/ best bf ever / darling dork. (dunno if minimal smooching counts as a tw-)

"god it's storming out there."

in your defense when you'd walked over here, the snow had been light, but now it seemed like the entirety of the world behind the window was a turbulent flurry of white. you'd come here to drop off some Christmas cookies your mom had baked, the problem was what was supposed to be a quick visit had turned into a couple hours.

of course you had one person to blame for that.

peter was practically engulfing you, his arms winding around your midriff and his face burying in your shoulder. you can feel the bastard's evil little grin against your sweater before he gives a hum of faux innocence.

"geez, that's really unfortunate", he tuts, his chin propping up to look at your unimpressed roll of the eyes in the window reflection, "I guess that means you'll have to stay huh?"

"pete, my dad would murder you."

"i think he'd murder me if I let you go out in this weather. so eitherway it's a death-death outcome, sweetheart."

it's honestly unfair how the nerd could turn you to all disarmed and smiley with a simple, dopey wisecrack of his. you have to stifle a snort of laughter before you turn to him with a brow raise. peter isn't deterred, but maybe even more motivated, and only just continues to look at you like you hung the moon itself.

"what? i'm just looking out for my girlfriend" he shrugs, but the stupid grin on his face belies those innocuous brown eyes of his.

you're almost persuaded to stay, but there's that niggling pinch of responsibility at the back of your mind, and you're once again looking outside as if your stared hard enough the sky would clear. no such luck, god, you wished the universe loved you enough to put its snowy tantrum on pause.

"it's not that bad, and my mom might get worried," you try reasoning, already picturing your mother's hysteria wondering if the multiple thugs lurking in new york's alleyways had taken you prisoner ,"really I should go-"

"you'll get pneumonia," he simply states with a pointed quirk of his brows, "plus we can always call."

"you know as well as I do that the cell service is unequivocally wrecked right now."

"then we'll call in the morning, your mom probably knows you're here," he counters, his fingertips drawing a path over your arms, "plus, I think she's caught on you're Spiderman's personal favorite civilian"

this brings a chuckle to slip from you, shaking your head at him.

"you're very pushy, peter parker" you roll your eyes, your arms crossing stubbornly over your chest.

peter can see right behind your facade though, and in all truth, he's feeling giddy as ever. he thinks he's the luckiest guy on earth when you grace him with that sweet smile rivaling sunshine.

"i'd just like to call it opportunistic," peter beams, the satisfaction evident in the glimmers of golden lamplight in his gaze.

"c'mon baby, don't make me beg here" he implores. lord, it should be forbidden for peter parker to call you that, since you have very little faith that your knees wouldn't buckle right that moment.

his hands find the curve of your waist and before you can even whisper the hint of another weak protest, he's dragged you to his bed, letting you fall on his chest with an unceremonious thump. you can't really bring yourself to tell him off, because peter has a way of making you all soft, and sticky with lovesickness. instead you just lean in to press a kiss of cinnamon sugar to his lips, and it's your turn to grin as he chases you after you pull away slightly.

your fingers toy with strands of his mousey brown hair at his nape as you give a theatrically defeated sigh, "okay fine, if you insist."

it's then you wish you could steal peter's camera just to capture the glow in his eyes, at your words, because truly you wanted to save that view forever. his palms rest on the apples of your cheeks, as he gives a low breathy laugh, his nose bumping to yours.

"that took a lot of convincing."

a/n: so this may be kinda rushed, so mind the quality, BUT i miss my tasm ! peter parker ,and i rlly rlly wanted to put out a christmas eve fic, and miss idina menzel and michael buble started this war (frank sinatra too, so blame them). eitherway, hope you liked this tiny lil fic, happy holidays ❄️🎅💕 !!

[catcze]

I see you miss writing for his grace wriothesley,

Maybe, you can try with, uh,

you who drop by his office everyday, literally everyday whenever the man is by the fortress?

Bringing lunch and always kiss him wherever, be it by the cheeks, temples, forehead, or lips before leaving him alone again to continue his work?

Making him always anticipated for the short moment of solace, making him looking forward to your kisses—?

Only for you suddenly just stopped kissing him and only drop the lunch box, and left him behind. Earning a sad puppy all alone by the office?

You can ignore/delete this if there's already a similar fic of yours with this prompt 🙌🏻

— anywho, have a great day! 💜

!! This is sooo cute? I can just imagine the sorta shocked/hurt puppy dog look he gets on his face when you skip the kiss one day lol TT

Wriothesley is pouting. The man is honest to archons pouting, and you have no idea why.

Ever since you had returned to the fortress from your daily toil at the palais mermonia, your beloved has been huffy and pouting, only giving you curt answers and all but sulking in his chair when you ask him what's wrong. He's wrapped himself up in his paper work rather than wrapping himself up with you, even going so far as to seclude himself in his office during the usual dinnertime.

"I don't know either," Sigewinne whispers to you as you both have dinner in the cafeteria. "He's been like this for the whole afternoon. When I walked into his office after lunch he was sulking in his chair, looking mopey, when he looked completely fine this morning."

The melusine's words scratch a part of your brain, the one that tells you that you forgot something today, but that you're not entirely sure what it is. You wouldn't be surprised if you did, honestly— the palais was jam-packed with things that needed doing, papers that needed moving, and people that needed talking to. In the hustle and bustle of today, it's inevitable for you to miss something.

it all comes to a head after dinner, when you're relaxing in your and Wriothesley's shared quarters. It's late in the evening at this point, and you're already relaxed in the warm bed, a book in your hand as you wait for Wriothesley's sulking to crack and for him to eventually come and tell you what's got him in such a funk.

And it doesn't take long, either— soon enough, the door to your quarters opens and shuts quietly, and your beloved is standing by the bedside, looming over you, still with that pouty expression that, too anyone else, might seem out of character.

He doesn't say anything at first, and neither do you. Instead, you bookmark the last page you were on and set it on your side table before pulling off the blanket and opening your arms— a clear invitation. One that Wriothesley takes immediately, all but dropping into your hold and wrapping his arms around you. He buries his face in your neck, his heavy weight pressing down on your person and pinning you to the bed, but you can't be bothered to really care about that.

With one hand running through his hair, petting him while he holds you, you ask— "Something happen?"

Wriothesley huffs a breath to your neck and the warm air dances on your skin. You can feel his cheeks warm in embarrassment, maybe, as he mumbles something incomprehensible.

"Hm?"

He does it again, and you tug on his hair in retribution, drawing him away from the crook of your neck enough that you hear what he says.

"...didn't kiss me during lunch," the fearsome duke mumbles, refusing to meet your eyes, scowling with embarrassment at his own childish admission.

You blink, turning the words over in your mind as you try to recall the events of today's lunch and— yeah. He's right. Your brain had been so muddled up with things you had to get done once you returned to the palais that you had left his office in a flurry after dropping his lunch off at his desk.

At the realization that that was why he had been pouting and sulky the whole day, you can't help but giggle.

Wriothesley, in turn, scowls at you, even as the flush on his cheeks darken considerably at the admission.

"Oh, I'm sorry my love," you coo once your giggles die down, your cheeks hurting from smiling at how sweet and funny and needy this big scary warden of yours is. "Let me make it up to you, hm?"

Wriothesley is still pouting as your hands weave in his hair and you tug him down, but the expression is quickly wiped off of his face as you make up for lunchtime— you pepper kisses on his forehead, his nose, his temples, his cheeks. Your lips seek out every inch of his face, layering it gently in your amused, endeared affections.

It's only when Wriothesley is smiling softly, melting bonelessly into your embrace and all but humming as you kiss him that you stop, pulling away to grin at him.

"There. I think my debt has been repaid, no?"

[skay-ali]

The Forgotten Daughter

well I finally did it.

first of all merry christmas and enjoy the chapter

Dear family

This may be sudden... I don't even know why I'm writing this letter anymore, it was supposed to be about the big decision I made that would change my life, but even so I don't know why I'm leaving explanations.

My plan was always to never see you again, each of you, I still feel very hurt by everything, although I know that these words will not make a big change in you.

But enough berating them, I'm not racking my brain to find the right words for a letter full of complaints.

I was always a girl who avoided problems or at least I like to think I was, Father, brothers and my dear confidant Alfred, despite getting into big trouble.

The lights were flashing brightly, the music at full volume filled the room, it was very hot due to the sweat that all the bodies were emanating, you watched all the visitors of the club go crazy with euphoria after a few drinks and continued with a long list of crazy things, you On the contrary, you decided that it was one of those depressive days, where you spent your time seeing the bad side of everything and being miserable.

You didn't follow your friends to any of their craziness; on the contrary, you stayed in a place at the bar away from everyone, along with a few glasses full of a low-grade cherry-flavored liquor.

You still taste the light cherry flavor on your palate. There were so many liquors on the shelf, many of different sizes, appearances, names, years and strengths, you wondered if anyone ever drank them all, if there was a person who in his miserable, boring, short life provokes every liquor on the restaurant's menu. bar.

You looked away when you heard the sound of a chair being moved, you saw a man taller than yours, with a somewhat abrupt but attractive appearance. You took another sip from your glass and returned to your thoughts as you watched the people on the dance floor doing stupid things.

Or so you tried, but by discreetly observing the actions of the man near your seat, it was enough to capture your full attention, to what that guy does in his notebook with his pencil.

“What an artist,” you addressed the subject sitting one seat away from you, “what are you doing in a place as crazy as this?” You turned your gaze to the man with blue-black hair, as you watched him take a sip of his drink and draw with his pencil.

Their eyes connected when the man decided to leave his world and pay attention to your beginning of interaction, he couldn't look away in time, although you didn't blame him, you did the same before because of the curiosity you felt when he saw him, you felt like everything was coming together.

He paused, just him and you, as if the two of you were the only ones in a large room of strangers.

A smile left your lips when you saw the man's dazed attitude, he was so lost in himself that it seems that he forgot about your beginning of conversation until a moment later.

Still, you were afraid that it wasn't nerves that the man was feeling but anger or annoyance at your interaction with him.

“Even if you don't believe it, inspiration can be found in unlikely places… Or even sometimes a muse” came those calm words from his thick but reassuring and animated voice.

You were relieved to hear him speak, but those words that had no sign of annoyance or complaints.

“uhh it's like that... I only saw this place as a garbage dump full of vices” you didn't know how you were still trying to maintain an interaction with that person, perhaps prolonging the feeling of company instead of the one of loneliness sounded more attractive.

“You should look at it from other perspectives, so you'll find things like this” you saw him tear a page out of his notebook without blinking and put it on your forehead.

You were surprised to see your drawing on the paper. Every feature of yours delicately captured with each stroke of the pencil on the paper.

“wow you left me speechless for a moment” you disconnected your gaze from the sheet you had in your hands.

“You are actually a great artist” the drawing was extremely beautiful, you never considered yourself a very beautiful woman, it was common for you to see all your flaws before your best qualities, seeing that paper where you felt that in that drawing you were perfect caused you a feeling emotion and a passing confidence.

However, you couldn't get it out of your head to see yourself drawn in other ways on paper, like a cartoon or Japanese version of yourself; before this moment, you never even had the chance to sit on a bench and wait for an artist to draw you. .

“What's wrong with that face, you look disappointed, maybe you're kidding me” you heard him joke.

“No no… no… on the contrary, I really like it” you quickly defended yourself, afraid of offending the man.

“It's just that..” you felt shy when explaining your reasons, especially when he had an attentive gaze on you.

You saw his eyes wait expectantly for your words.

“You know, the drawing is beautiful, but… even though it sounds silly, I wish I could see myself more in a cartoon or comic” you laughed nervously, after your babbling.

“ahh, are you a comic book lover or something?”

“Yes, well it's something like that” you liked to read some series in comic magazines from time to time, but you preferred mangas, you hid this preference, you weren't going to receive a few words of displeasure for that or start a debate about what genre it was.

Better, much less explain what they were if I didn't know what you were referring to.

“I think I can fix that,” the guy said with an animated and funny voice.

You watched him, fascinated, by how he held his book with enthusiasm, his hands moved quickly from one side to the other on the white sheet, the pencil was handled quickly, you could tell that he had a lot of experience with the ease with which he did it.

It was a long night, between different conversations and laughter with the new guy you met, the night became more tolerable with the man by your side.

Between drinks and meaningless talks, laughter on both sides, silly dances on the floor full of people, just two fools doing the most pathetic steps they had plus some little improvised old waltzes, it ended in a new day with two sleepless but falices talking in a viewpoint of a building that showed the entire city.

Oh, father, you don't know how enchanted I was with that man I met on one of my many outings to parties, I was stupid and childish, but I still allowed myself to dream and love.

You didn't expect to meet again with such a man with whom you managed to connect, but that's how it happened, destiny somehow led them to meet.

You liked having a new person in your circle, with whom you managed to get along so well.

From talking about his work as an artist, giving his opinion on different comics and mangas that they knew, talking about animation to becoming hoarse from speaking with so much emotion and passion with long monologues.

They visited many hidden places in the big city in their days of adventures, even if they were alleys that were not very crowded, now that you think about it, such a careless action was very crazy, but the beautiful places, with new views, like an alley full of colorful fabrics and with different designs that hung over the street, the walls of a neighborhood full of drawings with different artistic techniques, but with many bright colors, the tall buildings that showed views of the entire city.

The days of movies with crazy plots, but that had you glued to the screen to see what happened next.

The rare meals from the carts or street stalls, which they consumed without problems while they sat to observe the lights of the city or the dark sky, accompanied by silence, but the two of them together.

In that moment where the two were together and talking, you felt that they were exchanging many words of great importance to both of them, but seen from other perspectives they were nothing more than insignificant.

That's what love did, right?

And all for one crazy night where you hope to go crazy on alcohol, after sinking into a self-compose for your life.

You will never be able to forget when he gave you his name and you gave him yours... well, half of it, you admit to having lied to him, even if you regretted it, you already knew the problems they would bring you later.

Well at least that's what you thought, you had no idea of ​​the true consequences.

You only thought about the fear of telling him your real last name, that he would look for you and know who you really were, you were afraid that he would see you differently, no longer a strange girl he met in a bar, but the daughter of a millionaire with a history. questionable life, the mere thought of him using you was too much.

So you avoided him by mentioning the amazing last name “Wayne” and mentioning a fake one.

More specifically, that of your false identification, something crazy that you did in your wild adolescence was left to be useful in your future, that false identification that you made with your friends from school to visit different clubs, you used it when you became independent, so that no one It will bother you in your new life.

“_____ , _____ Jones” unsurely you stated your name, you still remember when you made the false identifications with your friends and among all of them you were looking for a new name and surname for the others, you kept your name and they gave you the last name of the protagonist of the book of fashionable at the time because of the film that adapted the story.

A mental chuckle caused you to remember this along with the taunts they threw at you about where your diary was.

“Kayle, Kyle Rayner,” the boy smiled as he introduced himself.

You followed his smile, something in his ended up infecting you. Just two fools in a bar telling each other their names and being ignorantly happy.

It's a shame that that happiness ended some time later, when you never saw Kyle again. Even with a card for him to contact you, you never heard from him.

You woke up happy, in his apartment, the day after spending a night together, alone, without any sign that the man was home, without any note or notice, you waited excitedly for him to return, but he never did, even when you left a message. letter and ways for me to contact you again if the ones they already had didn't work, you never knew anything.

Maybe it was all an adventure and you got carried away... they never clarified what they were, hell maybe he didn't even consider you a friend.

But you and I know, father, that all the fairy tales one creates end quickly, most of the time in the worst ways.

I ended up with a broken heart, still, I kept good memories... and her.

I know it is late, very late, as it has been for many years, but I must confess it, because no parents and siblings would want to know it in the worst possible ways….

Alice Wayne, my dear baby….

You leaned back in your chair as you wrote the last sentence, you did it, you wrote what was overwhelming you so much, the beginning of the letter.

Your eyes burned, a few treacherous tears running down your face.

Your family, your passing love and your beloved daughter always made you sensitive.

It wasn't something you could avoid.

You leaned your head on the headboard of the chair, letting all the blood flow to your head, something strange you used to do to clear your head, you looked at the ceiling and the walls around you upside down.

You noticed the crib on the side of the room near your desk where you were writing.

You saw your baby sleeping calmly, a peaceful face with no signs of discomfort, he was an angel.

Your little angel, and your light... you knew you would do anything for her, like you did right now.

I think if we are similar in some way father.

I ended up having a daughter through carelessness like you did to me.

I need to ask you a big favor father and not only of you but also of the whole family, the biggest and most important one I will do in my life.

If something happens to me... if I end up in big trouble or I no longer exist, any situation that prevents me from taking care of my beloved daughter.

Please watch over her.

Make sure she has the best future, a happy life with everything she needs, that she can grow up as a girl full of light, that she is always kind, wise and with a loving family.

If that's not something they can give you, find someone who can give it to you.

Take care of my treasure, my only happiness, my only family... I know I left a long time ago without saying anything and returned in a hurry to their lives.

Maybe one day they will call me selfish knowing the path I took to leave little Alice to them, the decision I decided to make was not easy, but I did it because I want the best for my little light.

We are all selfish and mean, I was all my life, since I knew that my happiness only depended on me, that I was alone in this world, that only oneself can save oneself.

I think I still am by thinking that I can force them to do something about my problem, I can't force them to take care of someone or take responsibility for a short period of time, turning their lives upside down.

But maybe... with all the love and affection that you could ever see felt for me, I can make you consider helping me and fulfilling my difficult request.

Father, brothers and Alfred... I never said it because of all the anger I felt, because of everything that happened in the mansion, which devastated my thoughts with a lot of anger, forgetting everything I had and made me have a comfortable and pampered life.

Thank you.

Well, he's the father and maybe a future yandere, it's a possibility.

after an exhaustive investigation into possible characters to occupy this role in the series.

although there may be other possibilities with other characters....

Like I tried with the penguin's son, if ___ had decided to hang out more with villains and they adopted her or became her godparents.

Tag list: @kore-of-the-underworld @vanessa-boo @jsprien213 @delias-stuff @vanilliona @bat1212 @yanrandom @Quiarst @palabra de niño salvaje @el termino @leo227 @sirenethblog @ masa para galletas @blueberry19000 @con seguridad

[pureshoney]

"well, i just think that isn't really my fault, is it? that comes down to you and your self-control… and if you don't have much, that's your problem," eyes widened with exaggerated innocence, the usual sharp glint of mischief replaced by an impossibly earnest gaze. dylan blinked slowly and deliberately like a cartoon deer while the corners of her mouth twitched with a grin. those typically calculating eyes were now comically round and sweet – a wolf in doe's clothing, regardless, as much as the blonde liked getting spanked until she couldn't sit on her ass for days, she wanted to get fucked a whole lot more so he was right in that sense, did want to turn the spanking into fucking a lot faster by positioning them in front of a mirror. "i'm sure, you fill me up so good, daddy," reaffirms with an emphatic nod of her head. "we can shove anything inside of me, whatever you want, sir …" aside from the feelings femme is so clearly developing for the male currently underneath her, one of the things she liked the most about their relationship was her ability to voice whatever nasty, depraved fantasies she had without ever feeling judged by him. "yeah baby … what?" queries as hips continue to slam down onto his, velvety walls spasming around his hard cock. "yeah? wanna take your fucking fist until i'm crying," throws her head back in pleasure. no longer able to tell where he ends and she begins, nor can she tell what part of him, fingers or cock, was stimulating that sweet gushy spot deep inside her cunt that has her squirming on top of him. doesn't even care either, all the blonde knows is that she doesn't want it to stop. the addition of her middle finger to her throbbing bud pushes her closer and closer to the edge, "it feels so fucking good, daddy." despite lids of blue hues becoming heavy, she forces her eyes to remain open and locked with his, wanting him to see the sexual gratification so clearly etched across pretty features. "yes! yes! yes!" is the only word that can leave her when answering his questions; she is so damn close, and she's holding off until keenan gives her permission to cum. a sharp needy moan bubbles out from her throat when thick digits begin scissoring inside of her, stretching her out even further. still, she could see in her man's face that he was just as close as she was. they're both too damn close for quivering knees to give up on her now. can't help but giggle when his hand pushes her own way, and instead using it for better balance when she wraps it against his thigh, aiding her in the way hips rise and drop. "i'm gonna c-cum, i can't hold it any longer," the second homme gives her approval, her cunt becomes more slippery, thighs convulsing as the most intense feeling washed over her, screaming as that earth shattering orgasm ripped through her and drawing out her orgasm even longer by still furiously pushing his cock deep inside her. can feel wetness stirring inside her, a muted gasp comes out as spurts of liquid gushed onto his stomach and no doubt creating a wet stain on the sheets underneath them.

"and would that be such a bad thing? i think we should give it a shot and see if it makes me ego bigger than yours", homme offers with a teasing grin. he could never call dylan a good girl constantly, considering how often she acted out and enjoyed being punished it simply wasn't the right label for her — she was a vixen with a twisted view on pleasure. good girls didn't soak themselves from being spanked until their cheeks turned raw. "but you'd get to see it afterwards, princess. i start spanking you in the mirror and all of a sudden it turns in to me fucking you against that mirror, it'd kind of ruin the whole punishment part of the punishment." which of course she was probably aiming for, that he'd speed up those harsh swats to her ass cheeks just so he could sink himself in to her dripping cunt or tight ass. "you sure about that, princess? cause it seems like you spent a lot of time practicing . . . does daddy's cock not fill you up enough?" hues darken as he stuffs that puffed up pussy with his fingers, entranced by the way she unravels on top of him. "the greediest fuckin' bitch, so hungry for a full cunt that you'll shove anything you can find inside yourself." gaze dips to her pussy, now she's bent back he can see the way his cock fills her tight body up, how much of a squeeze it is adding those fingers. "yeah baby . . . " it's too easy to get distracted by the filthy view he has, "we'll fist that puckered hole, i'll use my cum to lube it up and we'll train you to take my hand — nastiest little slut." if he was this turned on by the addition of his fingers alongside his cock keenan couldn't imagine how he'd feel when she got stretched enough to add an entire fucking toy too. the sounds were utterly disgusting, her slick cunt coming down on his length, his fingers pressing against his own cock as he pushes them into her spasming cunt. it was filthy and he fucking loved it. "that's it baby, rub that needy clit for daddy . . . " he could have done it himself, but he wants to savour how fucking tight his girl is around his digits, how he brushes his hand against his own cock in the process, only stimulating himself further. "gonna make a mess, huh?" he can feel his heart pounding in his chest, desperate to break free as his cock throbs and begs for release inside of her — but not yet. "gonna wet this fuckin' bed like the whore you are, dyl? gonna squirt all over daddy?" god it was such a tempting thought, his girl getting so much pleasure that she couldn't even control herself. "do it, baby. you can't promise and not deliver, can you?" hips tilt up toward her ever moving body, shoving his rock hard cock into her clamping heat. she needs it just as much as he does. so damn close to the edge, yet he'll wait for her. "nasty fuckin' bitch, so damn easy for sir aren't you? a high class corner slut." fingers forcefully scissor inside her, grunting from the way her arousal coats his hand and dribbles down to his balls. he can't hold on for much longer, so keenan impatiently pushes her own hand aside, thumb moving to stroke and circle that sensitive bundle of nerves. "scream for daddy, dyl. wreck that throat just like i'm ruining your cunt right now."

[afrsconp]

A little holiday gift for the Tumblr Nisaac ghosties, with extra thanks to @yourstrulyray, whose post partly inspired the ending.

Thanks everyone for being so welcoming to a latecomer like me. <3

Written for the prompt: Your fave ship had some troubles and broke up but they're getting back together during the holidays.

(Which is obviously a Nisaac prompt if ever there was one.)

He finds Nigel on the little stone bench outside, where they’d first decided to try just being friends. And by anyone's measure, they’ve succeeded–more than a year has gone by since, and it's been one of the best of Isaac's afterlife that he can recall.

It wasn't until they started spending time together again that Isaac really understood why he'd been so out of sorts before. Not just lingering upset over the failure of their nuptials, but just the simple fact that he missed Nigel. Missed walking with him, conversing with him, even arguing with him. Isaac hadn't realised how much time they'd come to spend together once they started dating, nor how much he'd come to rely on Nigel's advice, or wit, or comfort whenever he needed it.

And Nigel never failed to provide it. Never fails, Isaac corrects himself now, as Nigel is as thoughtful and considerate a friend as he was a romantic partner. Isaac hopes he's done as much for Nigel, but in truth, he's really not so sure.

“Isaac,” Nigel says in greeting, when he sees Isaac coming towards him.

The noise of the Christmas party is muffled out here, but they can still hear the laughter and the music spilling out of the windows, still feel the warmth of the happiness and joy of their friends–living and ghost alike–inside the house proper. Isaac isn't really a sentimental man but the thought makes him smile, as does the sight of a man that's occupied a great deal of his thoughts for the better part of 300 years now.

“Nigel,” he greets in return, and sits beside him on the bench. Nigel's uniform suits the surroundings, the red of his coat a festive flash of colour amidst the grey stone of the house and the pristine white of newly fallen snow. He looks like something out of a postcard, or a picture book, or a–

A dream, Isaac thinks. A dream he's held for a very, very long time.

“I was wondering where you'd gone,” Isaac adds. His voice is soft; for some reason, it doesn't feel right to speak too loudly out here.

“I just needed a moment,” Nigel replies. His voice, too, is quieter than it usually is.

“For?”

Nigel is silent for some time, looking into the darkness beyond the yard and towards the woods in the distance. Isaac can't see his face clearly; not only is it dark but he's also in profile, keeping his eyes from Isaac's view. It makes it difficult to guess what he's thinking as his eyes have always been the most expressive thing about him. Often even more so than his words, which is saying a lot considering how eloquent the man can be.

“To get my thoughts in order,” Nigel says eventually. He turns then, and gifts Isaac with a small smile of his own. “I'm sorry,” he adds. “I don't mean to bring the mood down. This time of year just tends to draw the melancholy out of me.”

Isaac sits back a little, surprised. “It does?” he asks. “You seemed quite happy when we–”

Too late, he remembers what happened the last–and only–Christmas they spent together. The mistletoe, the liaison, the long-awaited kiss in the shed. Nigel must know what thoughts cut off Isaac's words and he smiles again, but now that Isaac can see his eyes it's obvious that the expression isn't genuine. Indeed, if anything, it just makes Nigel look even more sad.

“I'm sorry,” Nigel repeats. “It's just… old memories, that's all. I promise you, Isaac, I value your friendship a great deal, and I'm very glad to have it.”

Isaac knows him well enough now to know that he's being sincere, but he can also tell that there are things Nigel is holding back, too. Kept locked away and secret behind his sad eyes and carefully worded answers; kept silent and unspoken for as long as Isaac refuses to hear them.

And there's the catch, really; there's the rub. Isaac does hear them, and perhaps always has. It's just taken a lot longer than any man should need to endure for Isaac to really understand what they mean. And by some miracle that Isaac is sure he doesn't deserve, Nigel did–and does–endure it, and likely always will.

“As I'm glad to have yours,” Isaac tells him, and gets another, sweeter smile in response. It warms Isaac down to his bones, and gives him the courage to do what he'd come out here to do in the first place.

He doesn't really know why it feels so much harder now than it did before; surely the second time should be easier, since he's already had something of a practice run. But the weight of everything that’s happened between them hangs heavy in the air, and the full knowledge of what he's admitting to, and accepting, is almost overwhelming.

I like you, he'd said the first time. A vague and somewhat childish statement, for a vague and somewhat childish feeling, made by a version of himself who, despite an existence that spanned centuries, was likewise rather childish and vague himself. Please don't make me say it again, he’d added, when Nigel looked equal parts confused and hopeful, unsure of what Isaac really meant.

But Isaac is not that man anymore, and neither is Nigel. Childish and vague are the opposite of what he wants this second time to be. Second and last, if he does this correctly. If he's right about the nature of the secrets Nigel keeps so close to his chest.

“Nigel,” he starts. He stares at his hands, unsure if he can look Nigel in the eye for this.

“Yes, Isaac?”

Isaac opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. His jaw works but his throat does not, closing up and choking off the words he'd planned so carefully to say. Nigel just looks at him, however, and doesn't rush him; patient in a way he wasn't before, when Isaac’s denials prompted him to walk away.

You're not that man anymore, Isaac reminds himself. And neither is he.

“I love you,” Isaac says. It's a simple statement, simply said, but what it conveys for both of them is immense.

Nigel stares blankly for a moment, before the words sink in and his eyes go wide. He looks more shocked than when Isaac proposed, and his voice is faint when he stutters, “W-what?”

“I love you, Nigel,” Isaac repeats. He takes a steadying breath, then says the rest of what he prepared to say. “I think perhaps I always have; I just didn’t really know it until now. Perhaps I wasn't ready to. But… after everything I've done, and how much I hurt you, I'll understand if you no longer feel the same wa–”

He's abruptly cut off when Nigel's lips crash into his, Nigel's hands cradling his face like he's holding something precious, palms shaking against Isaac's cheeks. Isaac kisses back, unable to stop himself even if he wanted to–and he doesn't want to, not now and not ever.

And that, really is the heart of the matter. Because for them, forever is not just a trite little phrase, to be uttered in the heat of the moment or woven into vows that only last a single lifetime. For them, it's a real and true commitment, with real and true consequences that both of them understand all too well.

And now, it's a promise made and accepted. Because when Nigel pulls back and meets Isaac's gaze, every secret he'd kept hidden away is revealed in full in those wide green eyes, as arresting now as when Isaac first saw them through a spyglass more than 250 years ago. More arresting, really, because now they look at Isaac with clear joy and love spilling from them unhindered, and Isaac can only hope his own eyes mirror even a fraction of the same emotion, because he certainly feels it, in every single part of himself. In his chest, tight with happiness; in his stomach, fluttering with relief; in his heart, swelled to bursting with–

“I love you, too, Isaac,” Nigel says. He strokes Isaac’s cheek and stares at him with something like wonder on his face. “Always.”

Isaac leans in and kisses him again, soft and gentle, taking his time. He doesn't need to say anything more; the look on Nigel's face confirms that he understands what Isaac is offering him now, as well as Nigel's own answer to it. But if this really is the last time he’ll do this–with Nigel, or with anyone–Isaac wants to make it count.

"Always, Nigel,” Isaac confirms. Promises. Vows. “And forever, too.”

[cosmereplay]

I finished my gift fic for @stormscience!

Good Grief (or, Five Times Shakadolin Grieved their Friendship and One Time they Started Something New)

Rated Mature, Shakadolin, 16K words, RoW spoilers, complete!

“Oh, she's outdone herself with these ones,” Adolin announced, and held out the sketchbook to show Kaladin, cocking an eyebrow. “Maybe we'll hang one of these.” “Do not,” Kaladin said, and grabbed it, flipping the pages slowly. It was a series of himself, drawn today as he'd been pacing. He stared. Shallan had started with a couple quick sketches, capturing his movement. Then a close-up of his face, tense with worry. Another, much more detailed, of him glancing back at her with a small smile. It had felt perfectly innocent at the time, but now his stomach twisted like he'd done something wrong. He watched Adolin's expression, but he seemed perfectly placid. Fond, even. “I'm glad you were here,” Adolin said. “She needs the company. Pailiah knows the other lighteyed women don't like her, and frankly I'm not sure about the other Lightweavers. But you're a good influence on her.” He smiled, the life returning to his eyes. Kaladin frowned, glancing around to make sure no shamespren appeared to give him away. “It doesn't feel like it,” he said. “I think she helps me more than I help her.” He flipped back through the sketchbook and found a sketch she'd done of herself. Shallan, looking up as if into a mirror, eyebrows creased. He met the eyes of the drawing and felt…off. Nothing that had happened tonight was improper, but suddenly he felt like he'd stepped into the wrong barracks. His lips tightened, and realized he was holding his breath. He forced himself to breathe and looked over at Adolin, who was scrutinizing the image. “There are things she doesn't remember, but there are also things she doesn't tell me. I can feel it sometimes, like she's close to saying it and then she disappears into Veil or Radiant.” Adolin looked up to meet Kaladin's eyes. “She trusts you, though. She told you about her past long before she ever told me. And the work you're doing with battle shock…maybe you can help her.” “You sure that's not…inappropriate?” Kaladin asked softly, breaking the eye contact. He looked at the drawing of Shallan instead, running his thumb along the edge of the page. “I mean, the chasms was a life or death situation. I've tried not to spend too much time with her if you're not around. I don't want to cause any problems—” “Kal,” Adolin said, and the fond exasperation in his tone made Kaladin look up again. Adolin’s smile was reassuring, offering a soft kindness Kaladin didn't feel he deserved. His insides squirmed. “You’re not causing any problems.” “But—” Adolin held up a hand. “I know Father thinks I don't listen to him anymore, but I've seen what he's been able to accomplish. The choices he's made. Sometimes you have to put the Codes first, but sometimes doing what's right for you matters more than the rules, even if it gets you excommunicated. He’s...better with Aunt Navani. And this isn’t even…Look, I don't care what people say if you spend more time with Shallan, if she feels better for it. If you feel better. Not by a faint breeze or a stormwind.” He couldn't know what that sounded like. “Adolin—”

Keep reading

[writemeverything]

I still haven't figured out when I'll play for him

I don't know if my drawings are decent enough, but I want to draw more and perhaps make some stickers.

[sirkendryan]

well since you asked so nicely...

(cw: alcohol, slight dubcon)

I press my body to the closed door like a barricade against it, overwhelmed with the reflex to shield my prince. he looks so vulnerable there on the bed, endless bare skin washed in amber candlelight, gazing over his shoulder at me with eyes bright creased by a grin. he's sprawled on his belly, knees bent and feet lazily kicking in the air, the draw and gather of his soft flesh offering peeks at his ass, arched up ever-so-slightly.

still buzzing under the possess of the wine from the feast, I think for a moment that I'm dreaming awake to see him there like that.

"took you long enough," he jests. "I've been waiting for you."

I look away and then look back, drawn by opposing manner and desire. my neck and cheeks are burning.

"oh, don't play so coy, knight. hardly a fresh sight to you."

I am suddenly very aware of my body in that most private of spaces, the heart of the prince's bedchamber. the room smells faintly of orange, cedar, and spice drifting in from the corridors like a wandering ghost. the air is chilled, but even entirely unclothed the prince doesn't seem bothered by it in the least.

he drops his legs to dangle his feet from the bed, peering keenly at me as he parts his knees just a touch. I could have guessed as much, but now there is no denying how wet he is, his cunt glistening and the hair there beaded with drips of slickness.

the rush of blood through my body leaves me dizzy. my tongue sits lame in my mouth.

"do you not think we deserve to celebrate amongst ourselves, something more intimate than the banquet?" he inquires, exaggerating an innocent tone.

he shifts again, rising up on his knees and pedestalling that perfect ass higher. I know now he must have been touching himself in my absence because I can smell him all over the bed even from paces away. as if reading my mind, he brings his right hand to his mouth and sucks his middle and ring fingers slowly, face still smushed to the bedspread as he angles his head to look back at me. he gives a light chuckle.

"say something, you dunce."

"I am... surprised," I manage to say. the only armour I have on is my chainmail, but the weight of it against my crotch is restriction enough to hurt. "sire, perhaps the festivities have gotten the better of you, I don't think..."

my words slip from my mouth when the prince slides a hand between his thighs and his fingers run against his swollen cock.

"you don't think what?"

"I... it's just... this is rather unbecoming," I protest, but I am already worrying at my gloves, distractedly tugging them off. "I would object none to closing the night with satisfying you, but I don't see how such a position—"

"you have done me good service the whole year through, gentle sir," insisted the prince, voice huskier. his fingertips trace his dripping hole. "it is the season of goodwill and giving. allow me to reward you for a job well done."

"your highness..."

"yes, sir knight?"

when his fingers dip inside of himself I flinch and my resolve slips.

I unclasp my cloak and let it fall to the floor. I move in a frenzy to kick out of my boots and shuck off my belt and breeches, brow drawn hard, watching my prince breathe a soft groan into the mattress. a moment later I am standing mid-stride and half-naked, still with my chainmail upon my torso veiling my released cock, hard and leaking against the chilled metal. I hesitate again a mere pace from the bed's border.

"my lord," I gasp out, "this isn't proper. to do this... to enter you like this would be..."

my hands hover at my sides. my palms ache for his hips. I want to dig my fingers into that giving flesh and hold him fast and fuck him like a devotee of pain worshipping their god in a brothel—but this is my prince I am lusting for so perversely.

"turn on your back, sire. let me please you with my mouth," I offer. my mouth waters as he draws his fingers from his well-slicked entrance.

"tonight is about your pleasure, knight. you can have me any way you want me. if that's truly what you desire, I will have no issue in obliging," coos the prince, smiling puckishly, "but something tells me that you'd like me to stay this way so you can ravish me just like this. am I wrong?"

he's eyeing my cock as it twitches, bouncing under my chainmail. the hunger on his face burns as bright as that in my guts, and the last of my resistance snaps.

I can't wait. I ruck up the bottom of the mail as I close in on him, grabbing at his ass and forcing his hips farther to the edge of the bed. he yelps but spreads himself diligently before me. I can feel his heat even before I position myself, priming with selfish strokes of my hard prick in my hand, grunting with my building anticipation.

"go on, my knight," huffs the prince, his hole twitching eagerly. "make me yours."

I want to draw it out, to savour him like this, to rub myself against his cunt until I can't stand it anymore, but impatience takes me. I slide bit by bit into him, pulling him in until flesh meets flesh and I am as deep as I can get.

he's moaning now, dreadfully loud, but I don't care about the risk of his voice carrying beyond the walls of his chambers. I am enveloped in pleasure and all I want is more. I try to grant mercy with a slow pace, but I need more of him, more of his slick cunt gripping me, and considerations of mercy are exceeding my reach.

I cannot help myself from slamming into him. my force knocks him back down his to belly and I follow, clambering atop my gasping prince, trapping him on the bed beneath me. he grabs at my arm when I plant a hand by his shoulder and the feel of his hands on my sleeve ground me a little. for a moment I slow.

"s-sire," I pant, my voice trembling. "you feel so good... you feel too good—"

"please, knight," he whimpers. from the pitiful sob in his voice I fear he may beg my halt. "please... don't stop, sir knight, please... ruin me."

like a struck pressure point, those words drive me back to relentless, wild rutting. the chainmail slaps between us and scrapes against the prince's back and ass, painting it a raw pink. I cover him with my body, dropping to my elbows and burying my face in the nape of his neck. I breathe in the scent of his hair and taste his skin with a stolen kiss as my ears fill with his beautiful cries.

"if I had known," I grunt, my voice tightening with each thrust, a harmony to the prince's choppy whines and sobs, "oh, your highness, if I had known what rapture it is to have you this way, to sink myself into you and keep you beneath me this way, by jesu, I would have taken you sooner." the words run together in a ramble as the tension in my gut tightens. "each time— each time you called upon me to kneel and please you, I would have laid you out and taken you like this, taken you and made you mine—my lord, my prince, oh god, mine, my own—!"

I do not ease my pace as I come inside my prince, lost to the pleasure. he is writhing beneath me and clawing at my arms, helpless and howling, chanting pleas of my name on strained breaths. for a moment I see stars and a ringing underlines the symphony of raw cries, striking flesh, and jingling mail.

I slow when the ringing fades. I can barely hold myself up but I do, lest I crush the prince entirely beneath me. gradually, my sense returns as my peak wanes.

"sire?" I huff. "are you... alright?"

a chuckle rumbles up against my ribcage between heavy breaths.

"don't tell me... you're bowing out now, knight... we have all night yet before christmas ends."

it's Christmas, don't forget to call your loyal knight to your chambers after the festivities to reward him for his good service all year long. get on your royal knees for him, get on all fours and let him take you from behind like a dog in heat, serve him. You've both been waiting all year for this. he will protest that it is beneath you, to allow him to debase you in this way, but he knows how badly you want it, how you yearn for any excuse to give yourself to him, and he'll forget any objections once he has you crying under him

[unproduciblesmackdown]

omgg lol [guy who won't stop going "more like scapeGOATED" voice] now hold! on!! lmao [same guy just saw encanto voice] Hold on!!!

[gem-tavvy]

damn

[earl-grey-crow]

✨pond theories✨

[kindacreepy-kindaugly]

N I guess it's cause of him bein how we try to make sense of whatever happened that thinkin about it makes me wanna run back to him

[buttercuparry]

So tumblr keeps on shadowbanning Siraj's accounts and he tries to remake of course, but right now, he is exhausted with  how targeted these bans have started to feel.  To be honest, Siraj is tired of a lot of things: the never ending atrocity, the hunger, the cold, and of course, he is tired of barely making any progress in the  campaign at all. He wanted to make a post today but since he doesn’t have the energy to travel all the way to Deir-al Balah for an Internet connection, I am writing this on behalf of him. Please read through this if possible; these are Siraj Abudayeh's own words:

A perception gained through hearing is merely a poor reflection of the actual, be it about events concerning Gaza, Ramallah, Paris or USA.

It can't ever be enough even if you diligently follow the news. Or if you read every single article or watch every video that maybe available online. For there are things present in the air of Gaza- rotten and burnt smell, metallic smoke that sticks to the mouth and coats the nostrils, poison that is inhaled with every breathe and chemicals taken into the lungs- that no video can capture.

So of course there is a difference! It is a difference between reading the phrase, “I waited seven hours for a bottle of water,” and actually being parched and having to wait hours for some semi-polluted water. There is a difference between reading about Gazan children losing their childhoods, and actually having to see your son despairingly cry out “BREAD!” There is a difference between hearing about a torn tent, and actually having to live in it, that too if you were lucky to afford one.

There is always a difference between reading/hearing it and LIVING it. For all this, I want to say that the one who is only hearing about it does not have the right to draw up conclusions about the needs of the person living the nightmare. They have no right to either question his relentless pursuit for his cause, nor expect that he can be steadfast and not feel exhaustion. There is a difference between what we know and what others have the privilege of not knowing: there is a difference, there is a DIFFERENCE. The meaning is simple, there is always a difference.

In the last 2 days, we have seen some disturbing comments being made about the genocide going on in Gaza. I don't actually have anything to say regarding such banal behavior but I do request you to read what Gazans have to say. Ultimately Palestine will be free, with or without us, but I hope that when we chanted "Free Palestine", there was some truth to it.

( $10 CAD= $7.19 USD)

Vetting #219

[shotmrmiller]

your superior finding out about the secret praise kink you didn't know had a name because you'd always been called an over achiever, a goody two shoes. never gave anyone any trouble, nose burrowed in a book since you had knobby knees and a library card.

you'd thought it normal that the apples of your cheeks burned when praised after giving your teacher the drawing you'd made for them the night before. that heat spread from the center of your chest up when your first boyfriend/girlfriend whistled at the sight of you outside of uniform. that warmth settles in your belly when you get a pat on the back from your platoon leader firm enough to force the air out of your lungs because you'd disassembled and cleaned a glock with the ease of a professional.

apparently it wasn't.

after weeks of training with the fabled task force, weeks of sharing elbow room with the team, weeks of soaking up the dizzying praise from the captain ("did real good out there, eh? can always count on you." you didn't question the throb betwixt your thighs, taking care of it with a cute little bullet like you've always done since joining the military)

you're confronted by the worst of the lot. ghost catches you in a break room, your back to him, hands clutching a cup of coffee that's more sludge than liquid, its warmth barely seeping through the styrofoam.

his figure fills the doorway, shoulders nearly brushing the frame. your first thought is that his brows aren't twisted together and he lacks that cold, blank look in his eyes so your death isn't in the nearest of futures. the second is that when he's not fully covering his face, the outline of his jaw is quite visible, looking sharp enough to cut.

then he crosses his sculpted arms over his chest, seams straining against the expanse of his muscles, head tipped to the side.

he moves with the keen curiosity of a predator sniffing around a newborn fawn, gaze intense yet inquisitive, assessing your every detail with a menacing interest.

"you ever gonna tell me you've a praise kink, bird?" the question sends a chill through your veins before turning into a fiery rush as it races at twice the normal speed.

praise kink? no. surely not. doesn't everyone like to receive compliments?

"sure. i don't mind gettin' told i've an impressive cock but that's bed talk. you look ready to bend over 'nd show us how slick tha' pretty cunt can get over a rufflin' of hair and a couple of empty words."

that has you positively reeling, fingertips cracking the cup in your hands, pulse on your neck fluttering. you feel a cornered, skittish animal, ready to flee lest your life come to an end in his maws.

but as usual, the cruel man more creature than person, twists the knife he's dug into you with a certain ruthlessness only he can muster.

"so be good for me, eh? love your praise? earn it."

you've always been an over achiever, proven once again by the way you take him to the root in one long, broad stroke with any complaints at the sheer size of him resting firmly behind your clenched teeth.

"tight little thing, spread open over me like you were meant for it. for me." he runs a gloved thumb over your swollen bottom lip. "there's tha' look. drivin' me bloody insane when you gave kyle tha' molten gaze. none o' tha' now, yeah?"

he creeps his ungloved hand down to circle your pearl with the spit-slick pads of his fingers, drawing in a sharp breath when your walls flutter and constrict around his cock at the feel of something other than your toy giving you the relief you need after a hard day's work.

"bloody fuckin' 'ell."

ghost claims a fistful of hair, pulling you closer to him, his breath warming the stinging, throbbing mark he bit onto the delicate skin of your neck. the shuffling of feet right outside the door snap you out of your daze, fingernails sinking into the bulging muscle of his chest but he has none of it.

he uses your hair to direct your focus back onto him and even though he'd only given you a leading tug you felt some strands of your hair come off with a pop.

"easy. can't see your pretty face when i'm fuckin' ya if your lookin' away."

your expression twists into what you hope is bliss when he bucks his hips, your whimper drowning out his groan when he hits on something new.

something you want him to keep hitting.

"exactly like i'd thought."

everything else blurs together after that, and only when you're back in your room using a warm cloth to clean yourself up do you remember the other things he'd rumbled.

(inside o' ya, make you mine-)

(-get 'bout bein' with anyone else-)

(-ll to myself-)

you touch your tender pussy with gentle fingers at what he'd said in the end.

(leave tha' f'me, he swipes your hand away, i'll get ya there, pet.)

if price's compliments take a nose dive off a cliff you don't notice because you're getting your daily fill of them and ghost after dinner every night. kyle keeps them to one word and soap likes to tempt fate as always.

[uravitypng]

big beefy number one pro hero deku is absolutely smitten with you, his chubby little girlfriend, and yeah you're a little bit of an airhead sometimes but that makes you all the more endearing to him.

prior to meeting you he used to feel embarrassed whenever he'd ramble too long about heroes or quirks. after some time people would drown him out after he started his disjointed babbling, not wanting to listen to him ramble. with you it's different, the first time it happened he went to apologise to you. jirou once told him he should try and apologise if he realised he did it to strangers afterwards- especially now that he's a pro hero.

so he goes to stammer out an apology after realising he spoke to you uninterrupted about all might's golden age for five minutes and you tilt your head and giggle at him. izuku draws in a breath. "why are you apologising deku? i really liked hearing you speak. what about his other ages?"

izuku felt like he was malfunctioning, "what?"

you bite your lip to stop yourself from giggling again. who knew pro hero deku is so cute? "like the silver age and the bronze age? are those all the ages or is there like a platinum age too?" izuku grins, you're so interested in what he has to say he can't help it. "wait was is all might's quirk again? he's like strong right? that's his quirk."

izuku pauses for a second before barking out a laugh. you pout and glare at him feigned annoyance. 'she's so adorable and ditzy. i need to speak to her again.'

you constantly praise him, not just for hero work either, and ever single time it makes his entire face red. it doesn't matter that you've been dating for four years now and izuku's brought an engagement ring, he still gets flustered with all the compliments.

people compliment him all the time, it comes with the job, but when you do it it means so much more. " 'zuku you're so brave!" "i don't understand this at all izuku, can you explain it too me? you're the smartest person i know." "you're so pretty." "your hair is so soft." "you're the best hero ever!"

a light sheen of sweat covers your forehead after being manhandled by your boyfriend into the cowgirl position, he loves holding onto your love handles and moving you up and down on his cock, with each bounce your body jiggles. you'll lay in bed with your face buried in his chest as you trace the scars on his arms with your fingertips lightly, "you're so strong izuku." you turn to face him and your chubby cheeks lift as you smile. "i'm so proud of you." his heart skips a beat. he's never loved anyone more than he loves you.

izuku gets possessive of you, he doesn't like people touching you. you're his. before you he never thought he would be jealous or possessive but then you came into his life and he nearly broke the glass of champagne he was holding when he saw todoroki talk to you. he knows todoroki doesn't like you like that, he's liked yaoyorozu since ua but he was too close to you and izuku hated it. his legs moved before he could think, walking up to you both with a forced smile on his face. he wraps his arm around your soft waist, tightly, and kisses your forehead. you smile sweetly at him and lean into his body. izuku brought you home earlier than you thought he would that night, holding onto your thick thigh with one hand while his other hand is on the steering wheel, driving you both home.

his jealous nature was cemented a week after when he saw kaminari talking to you. not just talking to you- flirting with you. if izuku was holding a glass like he was last time he most certainly would of smashed it in anger. you don't even realise what kaminari is doing and izuku knows you don't.

you listen to him talk intently and nod your head, you smile at him and laugh at his jokes. to some people they would think this would be you flirting back but you're not, you're just trying to be nice. kaminari has decided to talk to you and you want to be kind and listen to what he has to say and izuku has really admired that quality about you but right now he wishes you could pick up on the clear signs that kaminari is giving you.

izuku snaps when he sees kaminari look at your cleavage and glance at your body, his eyes lingering on your plush thighs. his voice is strained as he pulls you away from kaminari making some half-arsed, offhanded excuse as he takes you home immediately.

when he saves a small child and he gives them his award winning grin all he can think about afterwards is you. 'who are our kids going to look like? will they have my freckles? or maybe her hair? if they're half as cute as her they'll be the cutest kids ever.' he's already planning their bedrooms and his eyes drift to the baby clothes section at stores.

your boyfriend has the biggest breeding kink known to man and you get reminded of that as he folds your body into a mating press and groans deeply in your ear, "can't wait to see your soft body get softer puppy, promise i'll look after, you won't have to lift a finger." you loudly whine, grabbing hold of his large arms, every thrust causes a loud slapping sound with how wet you are. "you're gonna look so pretty puppy. i'm going to pump you full, make sure you don't spill any for me, just like the good girl you are."

izuku adores you and you feel exactly the same about him.