#IT SHOULDN'T BE DIFFICULT TO MAKE. I HAVE THE FABRIC I NEED

[seagullcharmer]

i feel like i own every conceivable pattern and then i go looking for something and it's not quite right

[idkyetxoxo]

Aegon Targaryen - Lessons

Summary - Aegon's High Valyrian lessons take a tempting turn when his wife, sensing his frustration, offers an irresistible incentive, for every correct answer, another piece of her clothing falls away, turning language practice into an enticing game of lust.

Pairing - Aegon Targaryen x reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!!), strong language

Word count - 2496

Masterlist for Aegon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"Aegon, focus," I gently chided, placing the book on the settee beside him. He was already seated, but his gaze had wandered far from the pages.

"I can't," he admitted with a sigh, the frustration clear in his voice. "It's so difficult. I don't think I can learn any more." 

There was a sadness in his tone that tugged at my heart. I immediately softened, guilt pricking at me for being too harsh.

"Of course you can, my love," I said, my voice tender now. 

He was already wrestling with his own insecurities, haunted by the fear that he might never live up to the expectations placed upon him. The last thing he needed was for his wife, his one true sanctuary, to add to that burden.

He looked up at me, curiosity flickering in his eyes as I reached for the book again. "You just need... an incentive," I suggested, a playful edge creeping into my voice.

His interest piqued, and he leaned in closer. 

"What does naejot mean?" I asked, watching him closely.

He hesitated, his brow furrowing in concentration. "Um... forward?" he answered, though it sounded more like a question than a statement.

I pursed my lips, considering whether or not to correct him. Instead, I decided to let it slide.

"Yes," I said, smiling warmly as his face lit up with relief, though a small part of me noted that he wasn't entirely confident.

I placed the book in my lap and slowly, deliberately, reached behind my head to untie the ribbon holding my hair. I took my time, letting the ribbon slide through my fingers before my hair finally cascaded around my shoulders. 

His eyes widened slightly, a mixture of curiosity and anticipation flickering across his features as he inhaled the faint scent of lavender from my loosened hair.

He gave me a questioning look, but I waved him off. "What does zaldrizes mean?" I asked next.

This time, a confident smirk curled his lips. "Dragon," he answered, and I nodded approvingly.

"Perhaps you don't need an incentive after all," I teased, but he shook his head eagerly, clearly unwilling to give up whatever reward he imagined.

"Fine," I mused, standing up slowly. His eyes followed my every movement, and I could see the anticipation growing in his expression. "But just in case..." 

I began to slowly pull off one stocking, inch by inch, watching as his breath hitched slightly. He leaned forward, his gaze fixed intently on me.

"For every word or phrase you get correct, I'll remove a piece of clothing," I explained, my voice low, almost a purr. His eyes darkened with desire, and I saw his throat bob as he swallowed, his focus unwavering.

He leaned back on the settee, smug satisfaction evident in his expression. 

"Well, your ribbon shouldn't have counted as a piece of clothing," he pointed out, a hint of mischief in his voice.

I clicked my tongue in admonishment. "Hush or I'll only remove one stocking and make this last much longer," I warned, and he immediately raised his hands in surrender, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Let's continue, then," I said, resuming my seat. "What does lentor mean?"

He bit his lip, thinking hard. "Maybe... slow?" he guessed, but there was uncertainty in his voice, as though he wasn't sure if he was recalling it correctly.

I shook my head slowly, watching as disappointment flashed across his face. 

"Not quite," I murmured, toying with the edge of my gown. His eyes darted down to the fabric, but I didn't make a move to remove it yet.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. "I thought that was it."

"Patience," I soothed, leaning forward just enough to let my hair brush against his arm. "You'll get there." He nodded, though he still seemed frustrated with himself. 

"Try again," I encouraged. "What about drīvose?"

This time, his brow furrowed deeply. "All?" he asked, but his tone was more hesitant than ever.

I gave him a sympathetic smile, shaking my head. "No, love. It means 'actually.'"

He let out a soft groan, slumping back against the settee with an air of resignation. "I'm never going to get this right," he muttered, his frustration evident.

"Yes, you will," I insisted, my tone firm but gentle. 

I stood up again, slowly beginning to unlace the front of my gown. His eyes snapped to the movement, and I saw a spark of determination light up in his gaze.

"One more try," I offered, my voice soft as I let the laces loosen just enough to hint at what lay beneath. "What is 'all men must serve'?"

He hesitated, his eyes flicking between my fingers and the partially unlaced gown. "Valar dohaeris?" he ventured, his voice tinged with doubt.

I smiled, pleased this time. "Yes," I purred, slipping one shoulder free of the gown, allowing it to hang tantalizingly. His breath caught, and I saw the tension in his shoulders ease slightly.

"See? You're getting there," I encouraged, sitting back down as the gown slipped off fully revealing the sparse clothing I had left. His eyes were locked on me now, the earlier frustration fading as he focused on the incentive.

"Maybe we should always practice this way," he suggested his voice husky with need.

I laughed softly, shaking my head. "Ñuho glaeso hūrus," I said, presenting him with a phrase that I knew had tripped him up before.

His brows knitted together in concentration. "Something of my life," he offered, but his uncertainty was evident.

I sighed softly, a playful hint of disappointment in my expression. "Close, but not quite," I teased, my fingers brushing against the hem of my slip, causing his eyes to darken further with desire.

"But I was close, wasn't I?" he pressed, clearly eager to move forward.

"Close, but close doesn't count," I replied with a smirk, leaving the slip where it was, not offering any further reward just yet.

He groaned, rubbing his temples. "This is impossible."

"It's not," I reassured him, leaning in just enough to let my lips brush against his ear. "You just need to focus a little more."

He closed his eyes as he tried to recall the words. "Star?" he guessed, then shook his head. "No, moon?"

I nodded encouragingly as the slip glided off my body, leaving me in nothing but my small clothes. His eyes were practically devouring me now, but I could see the satisfaction in his gaze as well, knowing he had earned each step forward.

"One last phrase," I said, my voice soft and inviting. "If you get this right, you'll have earned your full reward."

He nodded, his focus entirely on me now.

"North, east, south, and west," I prompted, knowing this set of words had always been a challenge for him.

His expression fell for a moment, the directions always causing him grief. But he took a deep breath, determination shining in his eyes. 

"Jelmor," he began, and I nodded eagerly. "Ñāqon, Vẽzor, and..." He trailed off, a look of panic crossing his face as he struggled to remember the last word.

"Come on, my love," I urged softly. "You know this."  My fingers slipped just beneath the waistband of my small clothes, teasing him further.

"Endia!" he suddenly exclaimed, a triumphant smile breaking across his face.

I glanced at the book to confirm, then smiled warmly, the last of my clothing slipping to the floor. He grinned, the excitement in his eyes mirroring my own.

I tossed the book aside and moved toward him, straddling his lap as I rested my hands on his shoulders. My fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer as his hands moved to undress himself.

But I stopped him, placing my hands over his, holding them in place as he looked up at me, puzzled. 

"Avy jorrāelan," I murmured, my voice soft and full of affection.

A slow grin spread across his face, his eyes warm as he replied, "I love you too."

Only then did I let go, allowing him to remove his pants as I quickly undid his tunic. The reward had been hard-earned, but it was worth every moment of the struggle.

He began kissing down the curve of my neck, his lips warm and insistent against my skin. A soft moan escaped me as I started to grind against his lap, teasing him with the promise of what was to come.

"Now, Ñuhor līr gūrēnna," he growled, his voice thick with desire as he grabbed me firmly under my thighs. I will take what is mine.

In one fluid motion, he flipped us over with surprising ease, a quiet squeal of delight escaping my lips as I found myself beneath him. 

"Yes, you shall," I murmured back, my voice breathless with anticipation as his hands began their exploratory journey across my body. 

He leaned back slightly, hoisting me up toward him, his hands still firmly gripping my thighs as he positioned me just above his hard, twitching cock. The anticipation in his eyes was almost unbearable.

"Feels so much better when you've earned it," he gasped out, his voice a mixture of triumph and raw desire. 

As he guided me down onto him, I let out a soft gasp, my body trembling with pleasure. I nodded eagerly, unable to form words, lost in the sensation of him filling me.

He dipped his head into the crook of my neck, his breath hot against my skin as he began to move. His composure was slipping, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through us both. 

He set a steady pace, his control evident, but I could feel the tension building within him, the struggle to maintain that control.

After a few intense minutes, I couldn't resist any longer. My fingers tangled in his hair, playing with the strands in a way I knew drove him wild. His breath hitched, and he faltered for just a moment, the rhythm of his thrusts growing more erratic.

"You feel so good," he whispered in my ear, his voice hoarse with need. 

His words sent a fresh wave of arousal coursing through me, and I clung to his shoulders for support. My walls squeezed around his cock, drawing a low chuckle from him. 

"Come on, my love," he groaned, his voice rough with desire. "Fuck me like I've earned it."

I met his gaze, my eyes dark with passion, and nodded as I began to move with him, matching his rhythm, giving him everything he had worked so hard for.

The room was filled with the raw, intimate sounds of our bodies coming together. 

Our moans and gasps mingled with the wet, rhythmic sounds of his cock driving in and out of me, the intensity of our passion echoing in every corner.

"Fuck, Aegon, yes... right there," I cried out, my voice trembling with need as he adjusted his angle. 

The head of his cock found that perfect spot deep inside me, and the pleasure was so intense it felt like stars were exploding behind my eyes. My body arched into him, desperate for more.

He gasped, his breathing ragged as his control began to slip. 

"I'm close," he managed to say, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. 

His hands tightened around my waist, gripping me like I was his lifeline as his thrusts grew increasingly desperate, the rhythm turning sloppy as he chased his release.

I could feel the tension building within him, his body trembling with the effort to hold on just a little longer. 

"Aegon, let go," I whispered, my voice soft but urgent as I encouraged him, my own body hurtling toward the edge. "I'm with you."

He groaned, the sound guttural and raw as he buried his face in my neck, his pace faltering. I moved with him, our bodies perfectly in sync as we rode the waves of pleasure together, the intensity overwhelming.

The heat between us reached its peak, and with one final, deep thrust, Aegon's body tensed, and I felt him shudder against me, his release spilling into me as he gasped my name. 

The sensation sent me spiralling over the edge, my climax crashing through me like a tidal wave. I cried out, my body trembling as the pleasure consumed me, every nerve alight with ecstasy.

For a moment, the world around us seemed to dissolve, leaving only the two of us entwined in the aftermath of our passion. I held him close, my fingers gently stroking his hair as we caught our breath.

After a while, I broke the comfortable silence, a playful glint in my eyes. "So, aren't I a good teacher?" I asked, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips as I teasingly ruffled his hair.

He laughed, the sound rich and warm, vibrating through both of our bodies. His fingers found mine, intertwining them with a gentle but firm grip. He lifted my hand to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my knuckles. 

"The best," he murmured, his eyes sparkling with affection as he looked at me. "Your methods are rather... motivating."

"Perhaps I should start teaching others, then," I teased, my tone light and mischievous as I watched his reaction.

His playful expression faltered for a moment, and he tutted, shaking his head in mock disapproval. A possessive glint flashed in his eyes as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. 

"Not with those methods, you aren't," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. "Those are strictly reserved for me."

I couldn't help but smile, feeling a rush of affection for him. 

"Oh, is that so?" I teased back, arching an eyebrow as I pretended to consider his words. He nodded, his expression serious despite the humour dancing in his eyes. 

"Absolutely," he confirmed, pulling me even closer, his hands sliding down to rest on my hips. "I'm not sharing this with anyone. You're mine."

His words, though spoken in jest, carried an undercurrent of sincerity that made my heart skip a beat. I could see the love and devotion in his gaze, the same feelings that mirrored in my own heart. 

"And you're mine," I whispered back, leaning in to brush my lips against his in a soft, lingering kiss.

The kiss deepened slow and tender, a gentle reminder of the connection we shared. When we finally pulled away, we were both smiling, the world outside our little cocoon fading further into the background.

I rested my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as his fingers continued to play with mine. 

"You know," I mused, "if this is how our lessons go, I think I'll need to give you a lot more of them."

He chuckled, the sound low and content. "I think I'll need them," he agreed, his voice a soft rumble in his chest. "After all, I'm a very eager student when you're the one teaching."

We lay there in comfortable silence, our bodies still intertwined. There was no need for words; the connection between us spoke volumes.

All that mattered was this moment, this closeness, and the knowledge that we belonged to each other, in every possible way.

A/n - Another fav, this was so fun to write asw (the idea came to me from a movie I seen years ago called 'Loser') 😭😭

[aviiarie]

˚ ₊ ‧ ♡ TIL DEATH DO WE PART — feat. kaveh event masterlist

synopsis. you were practicing your wedding vows near a grave, and accidentally brought a corpse back to life. trouble is, he now thinks you two are married. warnings. corpses. implied death. reader is arranged to be married. notes. request for @lowkeyren!! corpse bride au. gn!reader. 1.5k words.

The smell of fresh soil was thick in the air, rich and cloying, and filling your senses. It was only a few hours after the rain had tapered off, leaving the ground soft and moist beneath your shoes.

While the strong, slightly overwhelming scent managed to distract you from the anxiety thrumming beneath your skin, it came with an unfortunate side effect: mud. The further you walked, the more it stained the hem of your clothes, squelching uncomfortably under your feet. You tried to ignore the dirt that you knew must be caking the fabric, but every step into another puddle was yet another reminder of the mess you knew you looked.

Your wedding outfit, the one that your family had worked tirelessly to prepare, was near ruined.

Truthfully, you hadn't planned on running so far into the forest, only far enough that the ringing sound of wedding bells and nauseating scent of lilies were left fully behind you. Flowers and weeds alike were crushed underfoot in your haste, but by the time your frantic footsteps had slowed, you were already deep into the sprawling clusters of trees.

Emerging into a clearing, you finally halted in your tracks. Your lungs burned—from the chill of the night air, or from the exertion, you couldn't tell.

Your mind was still abuzz with anxiety and adrenaline clashing against each other in the back of your head. All you could think of was the horrified face of your fiance, soon-to-be husband, watching helplessly as you fled the alter.

He was a good man, a perfect gentleman; the kind of man you might have truly fallen in love with if you were given the chance. And with the way he had smiled at you when you met, he might have been able to fall for you too, but he wasn't given the chance either. Neither of you were given more than a few minutes alone, and a promise that you had a lifetime to properly become acquainted with each other.

The wedding rehearsal was supposed to be the practice, an opportunity for you to settle your nerves and make certain you could stumble your way though your vows without a mistake, but it ended in disaster.

Forgetting your vows was the first sign of trouble; dropping the ring was the second. Knocking over a candle onto the dress of your new mother-in-law was the final straw that broke away any hope of the day going smoothly. Before you could even process your mistake, the room was filled with shrieking as the woman tried to fan away the flames curling across her dress.

Humiliated, you had pushed past your shocked family, ignored the spluttering protests of your new in-laws, and left behind your soon-to-be husband behind.

It was a cowardly move, but you couldn't bear to stay any longer, when everyone was looking at you as if you had already failed as a spouse.

“It shouldn't be that difficult,” You murmur to yourself, pacing across the clearing. “Just a few simple vows...”

The vows themself were easy to memorize, but the moment you tried to voice the words, they would get tangled in your throat.

“With this hand... I...” You stopped walking, clearing your throat and holding your chin up. “With this hand, I will lift your wine—No, that's not right.”

A dejected sigh echoed through the space. There was no one around to see your frustration, but you knew you must make a rather pathetic sight, poorly reciting vows alone in a forest.

“Your wine will never be emp—Ugh, no! That's not right either!”

Between your attempts, you paced across the dirt, footprints sinking into the already soft ground. You needed to be better, you needed to get this right.

A hand fell to a hidden pocket at your side, holding the ring that you had failed to give to your soon-to-be husband. It was a simple silver band, glinting in the moonlight.

If not for your own pride, if not for your family, then you had to pull your act together for your fiance. You knew his stake in the marriage as much as you knew your own, and you knew he couldn't afford to search for a new spouse if you couldn't get it right.

You needed to get it right.

With a deep breath, you tried once more. “With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine.”

A chilling breeze swept through your hair, but you barely noticed it. You took a step forward, eyes locked on a curling root sticking out of the dirt. It almost looked like a hand, reaching out to you. “With this candle... I will light your way into the darkness.”

You knelt down on one knee, stretching out a hand to the root.

“With this ring—” Your hand closed around the root, slipping the ring over the 'finger' of the branch. “I ask you to be mine.”

As soon as the words left your lips, there was a shift in the air. It was subtle at first; the wind began to pick up, and the birds flocking in the trees flew away, as a shiver ran down your spine.

Before you could blink, the root started to move, twisting to wrap itself around your wrist. You cried out, trying desperately to tug your hand out of its grasp, but it held fast. As you looked closer, it appeared less like a root now, and more like a hand, gripping you tightly with gaunt fingers. As you pulled harder, it surfaced fully from the ground, revealing the skeleton of an arm connected at the wrist.

You let out a shriek at the grisly sight. In your panic, you jerked your arm hard enough to cause the skeletal limb to break away with a loud snap, the force of the movement sending you stumbling backwards. With a cry, you shook your wrist to get rid of the now-broken hand, hurling it against a tree.

You watched, frozen in fear, as the patch of dirt where the root—hand? skeleton?—had once stuck out shifted, like there was something pushing it from underneath. Another hand broke the surface, clawing at the ground to try and pull itself up.

The hand was followed by an arm, then a head, then a torso. What emerged was the lumbering figure of a man, his tailored suit in tatters and covered in dirt stains. The tears in his shirt showed an exposed rib-cage, the flesh already deteriorated and leaving his bones on display. Half of his body was skeletal—just like the arm that was now missing from his side—but the parts that still had skin clinging the bones were gray and colourless. The only part that wasn't rotted were the shiny hairclips pinned at the side of his blonde hair, although, they did nothing to disguise how dirty and matted it was.

The creature might have taken the rough shape of a person, but there wasn't a trace of light shining in his eyes. They were glossy and white and lifeless, as if he was nothing more than—

A corpse.

The wind began to howl, filling your ears. In between the noise, a chilling whisper broke through.

“I do.”

Your chest seized, heart pounding in your ears. The corpse's eyes were fixed on your form, his blueish lips pursed slightly. He lumbered towards you, each movement making your skin crawl.

You stumbled backwards, your back hitting the trunk of a tree. The bark dug sharply into the back of your clothes, scratching at your skin. Across the clearing, the corpse was still watching you, eyes lit up with a glint of... curiousity?

He moved forward again, and your breath quickened. You spun on your heel, pushing through the trees and past bushes and branches to run further into the forest. All you could hear was your own fractured breathing and pounding heartbeat.

The wind howled mournfully as you ran, ruffling your already tattered clothes. Behind you, you could sense the corpse slowly growing closer and closer.

You came to a bridge, almost stumbling and falling into the river below. Leaning heavily against the railing, you tried to catch your breath, even as your lungs burned. Your feet were aching, your chest pained, but you couldn't stop.

As you desperately tried to steady your breathing, the moment of pause made you notice how still the night had become. The wind had died down, the birds had dispersed, and the corpse was nowhere to be seen.

You let out a shaky sigh, scanning your surroundings, but your relief was cut short as soon as you turned around.

With a gasp, you found the corpse right in front of you, a dark expression shadowing his face. Up this close, he looked almost pretty, with delicate features and piercing eyes that softened as they fell on you. You could imagine him alive, with a reddish blush in his cheeks instead of the sickly pallour that his skin had taken on; a beautiful young man, instead of a walking corpse.

He reached out, gently placing his ice-cold hands onto your shoulders. With a thin smile, he leaned closer until you could feel his words on your skin.

“You may now kiss the groom.”

🏷️ taglist: @tragedy-of-commons, @mollzaj, @wystiix, @mikashisus.

© aviiarie 2024. do not copy, repost, translate or use my work to train ai

[20dollarlolita]

Stop putting thick thread in your freaking sewing machine.

If you have a home machine, it's not ready for it. If you have a drop in bobbin, it's really not ready for it. If it's bonded nylon then it's SUPER not ready for it.

Your Viking Emerald 118 is not a commercial machine. It's got a powerful engine, but it does not have a mechanical system that can handle the thickness and inflexibility of heavy weight thread. You're going to yank it out of time and that's not a warranty issue because the warranty doesn't cover you breaking it yourself with bad thread. The warranty also doesn't cover you trying to sew through a sterilite bin lid or getting sliced ham in your feed teeth, despite the warranty not specifically saying that you can't do that. It's not unreasonable for a machine to expect you to check your supplies for compatibility before using them.

If you want to sew with really heavy thread, you need a machine set up for that thread. This is like how if you want to put diesel in your car, you need a diesel engine.

You need a different threading set up for heavy thread, and you need the kind of bobbin case that can handle it as well. This is the Janome HD9 Professional, which is a home sewing machine that can sew with thick thread. You can see that the thread has to be wound in a different way to use the thick thread. If your machine doesn't have this, it probably shouldn't be using tex70. And by "probably," I mean "definitely."

The Janome HD9 is a sort of semi-commercial machine, where you sacrifice a bit of foot clearance, a bit of thread thickness, and some bobbin size in exchange for getting a machine that fits on your table top.

If you only want to work on thick thread, you probably need a commercial machine.

Quick flow chart on how people buy commercial sewing machines:

Step 1) Be aware that you're buying a piece of furniture. The table is part of the machine.

Step 2) What kind of foot do you want? If you're getting a machine for sewing, you need to pick if you want a straight stitch foot or a walking foot. On commercial machines, the walking foot is built into the machine, and a walking foot machine cannot be made to not walk. However, walking foot machines are a lot better than a walking foot attachment for a home machine.

Step 3) How thick are you going to put in it. Please note that I don't mean thick in how difficult it is for the machine to penetrate. The motor is a different part of the machine from the head, and you can stick a more powerful motor in there if you want. What we're talking about is how high of clearance the presser foot can give you. If you've sewn with really thick fabric on a home machine, you might have run into a situation where your fabric is so thick that it physically pushes the presser foot up so high that your tension disengages. All machines can do the same thing, so check on your machine that the physical dimensions of what you want to put in will fit under the foot.

Step 4) How thick of thread are you going to put into that thing? Tex90? Tex 180? You might need a lighter weight thread if you're making bags or clothing, but if you want that big, chunky decorative stitching you see on car upholstery, you need a machine that can handle that thread.

So, as you can see, dear home machine owners, people will buy commercial machines specifically to run heavy thread in them. If you want to run thick thread, you have two options.

The first option is to get the right tool for the job. Commercial machines aren't anywhere near as pricey as high end home machines. If you come to me and say that the only thing you want to sew is heavy thread, you're going to do better to get a Juki DDL8700 than to buy a new Emerald 118 every year when you run yours into the ground. You're only really paying about 2.5x the cost of an Emerald when you get the Juki with a full set up, and that's not bad when you take into account that you are going to be either servicing or replacing your 118 pretty frequently if you're still sticking that thread in it.

The second option is to get an old and broken sad fuck of a machine and mess up all the tensions yourself. Hang around junk shops long enough and someone's going to get rid of some kind of 1910's cast iron monstrosity that was converted to electric in the 1930's by someone who may have had no idea what they were doing. Get yourself something that you're mildly afraid of. If that maching has survived from 1914 to 2024, you're probably not going to break it by messing around with the stitch tension. If the head of the machine was made before we were capable of precision manufacturing thin, strong thread, it can probably adapt to the nightmare that is Coats Outdoor Upholstery thread or whatever that thread thing you bought on Amazon is.

Anyway, you're not going to buy the As Seen on TV Keyboard Vacuum and try to vacuum the front office of a dirt and rock emporium and then get upset when it doesn't work. Not every vacuum is interchangeable and not every sewing machine can handle carpet thread. Not every bad decision you make is covered by your warranty. Sometimes you break things and then it's your problem to fix it.

Thank you for coming to my TexX talk.

[imloyaltoscoups]

naughty temptation | yoon jeonghan

You sit in biology class, as you glance over at your boyfriend, Jeonghan, who seems to be lost in his own world. With a gentle nudge, you whisper, "Hey, pay attention to the professor."

Jeonghan looks at you with a mischievous grin. "But babe, I've got more interesting things to focus on," he replies playfully.

You raise an eyebrow, not quite sure what he means. But as the discussion shifts to the reproductive system, you suddenly feel his hand creeping up your exposed legs.

"Jeonghan!" you hiss, trying to suppress a giggle as you swat his hand away. "Not now, we're in class!"

He chuckles softly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Can't help it," he whispers back, leaning in closer. "You're just too distracting."

"Stop it," you say firmly, squeezing his hand as it inches dangerously close to your underwear. He just smiles, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You know we shouldn't..."

His smile widens, and he leans in closer. "But it's so tempting, isn't it? Just think of all the naughty things we could do..."

You can't help but feel a rush of arousal at his sudden boldness, your breath hitching slightly. "I know, but... we really shouldn't..."

He chuckles softly, his fingers tracing tantalizing patterns along your skin. "Maybe we shouldn't, but that doesn't mean we can't have a little fun, does it?"

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart, and glance at Jeonghan, who seems to be thoroughly enjoying himself. With a quick scan around the classroom, you realize that you both are sitting at the back, with no other students beside you.

"Yoon Jeonghan, seriously," you whisper urgently, trying to keep your voice low. "Not here, okay? We'll get in trouble."

But Jeonghan just chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Come on, babe," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

You bite your lip, torn between the thrill of his touch and the fear of getting caught. But as his hand continues its tantalizing exploration, you can't help but feel a surge of arousal coursing through you. Despite your best efforts to resist, the temptation of his touch is simply too strong to ignore.

As Jeonghan's fingers traced small circles on your skin, you found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the lecture. "Jeonghan," you whisper, trying to sound stern despite the shiver his touch sends down your spine, "We really shouldn't be doing this in class."

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "But you're not stopping me," he murmurs playfully, his fingers continuing their tantalizing movements.

Your cheeks flush as Jeonghan's teasing words send a jolt of arousal through you. "Jeonghan, stop," you whisper urgently, feeling the heat pooling between your thighs.

But he only smirks, his fingers continuing to brush against the fabric, making you squirm uncomfortably. "You're really getting wet, aren't you?" he taunts, his voice low and husky.

You bite your lip, trying to stifle a moan, and instinctively close your thighs in a feeble attempt to regain control. But he's having none of it. "Open them up," he demands softly, his gaze intense as he meets your eyes.

Your breath catches in your throat as you reluctantly obey his command, feeling a rush of excitement mingled with apprehension at the thought of being so exposed in public. You slide your thighs apart, giving him easier access, your heart pounding in your chest.

As his fingers slip inside your underwear, you can't help but gasp, your hand instinctively flying to cover your mouth to stifle any sounds of pleasure that might escape. His touch sends shockwaves of sensation coursing through you, and you struggle to maintain your composure, torn between the need for discretion and the overwhelming desire building inside you.

You try to focus on the lecture, but Jeonghan's fingers persistently tease and tantalize, making it increasingly difficult to concentrate. Every subtle movement sends a wave of pleasure coursing through you, and you struggle to keep your composure.

Glancing back, you see Jeonghan's other hand casually resting on his chin, his gaze fixed on the projector screen where the professor is talking. It's as if he's completely absorbed in the lecture, his expression unreadable, while his fingers continue their illicit exploration beneath the desk.

You bite your lip, feeling a flush of heat rise to your cheeks as you realize the audacity of his actions.

Unconsciously, your hips begin to move in rhythm with Jeonghan's teasing fingers, betraying the growing arousal coursing through your body. You know you should stop, but the pleasure is too intense to resist.

You hear him chuckle softly, leaning forward to whisper in your ear, his voice low and suggestive. "Enjoying yourself, aren't you?" he murmurs, the hint of a smirk evident in his tone. "You can't resist me, can you?"

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan, acutely aware of the risk of being caught.

As Jeonghan skillfully inserts a third finger inside you, your head lowers instinctively, a mix of embarrassment and pleasure flooding your senses. His movements become faster, more urgent, driving you to the brink of ecstasy.

Suddenly, the professor's voice cuts through the haze of arousal. "Is everything alright?" he asks, concern evident in his tone.

Before you can even respond, Jeonghan smoothly interjects on your behalf. "Oh, she's just feeling a bit under the weather, but she'll be fine," he says, his voice calm and collected, as if discussing the weather.

The professor accepts Jeonghan's explanation with a nod, returning to his lecture without further inquiry, unaware of the illicit activity happening right under his nose. You exhale a shaky breath of relief, grateful for Jeonghan's quick thinking, though you can't help but marvel at his audacity. Despite the close call, the forbidden thrill of the moment only serves to heighten the intensity of your shared desire.

Jeonghan's whispered words draw you back to reality, the gravity of the situation sinking in. "We almost got caught because of you," he teases softly, his breath warm against your ear.

You're about to shoot him a glare in response when his fingers start moving again, igniting a surge of pleasure that makes coherent thought difficult. Your grip on his arm tightens instinctively, a silent plea for him to stop, but also an admission of your own inability to resist.

"You're such a menace," you mutter under your breath, a mixture of frustration and arousal lacing your words.

Jeonghan chuckles softly at your remark, taking it as a compliment rather than a reproach. "I'll take that as a compliment," he says with a smirk, his fingers moving even faster now, driving you closer to the edge.

You can feel your climax building, a tidal wave of pleasure threatening to consume you. "Jeonghan," you gasp, your voice barely a whisper, "I'm... I'm going to..."

But he interrupts you with a mischievous grin. "Let go," he murmurs, his voice filled with desire and command, pushing you over the edge into ecstasy.

As you reach your climax, you lower your head again, biting down on both hands to stifle any sound of pleasure that might escape. You feel the intensity of the moment wash over you, leaving you breathless and trembling with ecstasy.

Jeonghan withdraws his fingers from inside you, and before you can even process what's happening, he brings them to his lips, licking the remaining juices with a satisfied expression. "You taste delicious, babe," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire.

You blush furiously at his bold actions, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and arousal at the intimate exchange. Despite your protestations, a part of you can't help but be thrilled by his uninhibited desire.

Afterwards, Jeonghan acts as if nothing out of the ordinary happened, returning to his normal demeanor as if he hadn't just sent you spiraling into ecstasy. You can't help but marvel at his ability to switch between playful seduction and casual nonchalance, leaving you both exhilarated and utterly captivated by his charms.

As the bell rings, signaling the end of the lecture, Jeonghan leans in to whisper, "Thank you for making this class bearable."

You roll your eyes playfully. "I didn't learn anything, thanks to you," you retort with a smirk.

He grins back at you. "Well, who needs lectures when you can learn so much more interesting things with me?" he replies with a wink.

You playfully smack his arm. "You're just horny 24/7," you tease, unable to suppress a giggle.

He chuckles, unfazed by your comment. "Guilty as charged," he admits with a smirk. "Since we don't have any classes for today, why don't we head to my dorm and continue where we left off?"

You raise an eyebrow, considering his suggestion. "Hmm, tempting," you say with a grin, already imagining the possibilities. "Lead the way."

....... ≿━━━━༺JEONGHAN༻━━━━≾ .......

[lookmomitsmytmblr]

OKAY so I am re-listening to "Death and The Queen" again and I am having Thoughts™.

I can't find any info about when this drama takes place continuity-wise, but my personal placement would be after "Planet of The Ood" (4x3) and before "The Sontaran Stratagem" (4x4) because 4x4-4x6 take place directly following each other with Donna stating at the end of 4x6 that she plans to travel with the Doctor forever. Donna's determination to continue traveling w him is in keeping with the conclusion of Death and The Queen, where she comes to the decision that the Doctor IS her "happily ever after," as it were. Placing the drama after "Fires of Pompeii" and "Planet of The Ood" also makes sense with Donna's desire in the audio drama to have a break from "the extraordinary" of traveling with the Doctor (specifically, horrific death and destruction,) which adds understandable context to her seemingly being so willing to leave the Doctor after searching for him for so long.

 (Don't talk to me about the ending of Forest of The Dead. It's unlikely Donna would have left the Doctor even if she found Lee. Donna's desire to confirm whether Lee was real could be easily contextualized by her wanting to know how much of her experiences inside CAL were a fabrication, and what the supposed "perfect husband" persona would have said about her if it was drawn from her own mind. Also it was written by Moffatt so it shouldn't count anyway.)

ANyway, what I actually wanted to talk about. Notably, considerable emphasis is placed on Donna enjoying her role as Queen and especially caring for her subjects and having power to help people. A greater amount of text is dedicated to her talking about how as Queen she can care for her subjects than her love for Rudolph, even before the reveal that he is human(?) trash. Her attachment to the role of Queen that marrying Rudolph will grant her is established to be largely based upon her passion for helping people rather than luxuries associated with rank, especially in view of the montage of how royal life on Gorotainia is not as glamorous as she hoped but is still enthralled by being Queen. Later in the story, when danger has appeared, her main role in the story is sacrificing and taking the lead to protect her subjects.

Notably, when things start going downhill and Rudolph starts talking to her about the difficult choices that he must make as royalty she comments that Rudolph is “just like HIM” (the Doctor) and that she went with Rudolph to escape these darker aspects of her travels with the Doctor, specifically the hard choices that go with the role the Doctor plays in the universe (while she doesn’t connect these concepts directly, these two statements are placed very close to one another textually.)

Only when her relationship with Rudolph and role as Queen seems like it will involve some of the same dark choices that her travels with Doctor did does Donna decide she doesn’t want to be involved anymore, which is quickly reversed when she finds out she needs to become Queen in order to protect her people. (I love Donna. In case you can’t tell.)

The narrative has established that a large part of Donna’s attachment to her relationship with Rudolph is potential authority to help and guide people, and that her main interest in pursuing a life with Rudolph rather than her travels with the Doctor was her perception that her role as Queen of Gorotainia would not involve the same death and destruction she has seen with the Doctor. Perfectly understandable after experiencing something like Pompeii.

Donna’s compassion and empathy have been essential components of her character since her introduction, with her wanting to protect the Doctor despite being irritated with him and feeling sorrow for the children of a Rancoss that wanted her to be eaten in “The Runaway Bride”, her taking the time to mention Stacy in “Partners In Crime,” and literally everything in “Fires of Pompeii” and “Planet of The Ood’. Donna has always taken the time and the energy to think of others and work to protect them, even this early in her run. In view of how deeply she feels the pain of others, it is understandable that she would find the idea of a world where she could help others from a position of power without all of the death and chaos and destruction appealing, and her outrage at Rudolph for once again putting her in a position where she has to witness (and potentially be responsible for) terrible things happening to innocent people is believable. He proves that being a Gorotainian royal is like being the Last of The Time Lords. On a smaller scale, sure, but still. 

So the text (and Donna) have set up the idea of Rudolph being similar to the Doctor in role, so what is the difference? Rudolph doesn’t much care about people. He is willing to sacrifice his own people quite coldly.

The Doctor does care about people. How good of a person he is, or how good of a job he does caring for people is up for debate, but he cares.

Which all leads me to this quote from “Beautiful Chaos,” that I cannot believe is cannon and real and published.

Why does Donna love the Doctor?

"I wish you could see what I see. We've been to places, to worlds, to futures and pasts you could only dream about. I think half of them I dreamed up because they can't be real. But they are. And everywhere we go, we make a difference. We put things right, we make people happier. That's what the Doctor is all about. He finds a way for the universe to make sense. And I love him for it.”

Donna Noble wants to make a difference. No matter where she goes, she cannot escape the death and pain and suffering and chaos and nonsense that is the universe, and she can’t help but want to help. And right there beside her, the Doctor is working to put things right too. And she loves him for it.

We have this entire drama dedicated to Donna wanting to make a difference, while also escaping the darkness of the universe, and she learns she can’t. There are no happily ever afters.

Except with the Doctor.

I have so many feelings guys.

[scribble-dribble-writes]

I have a request!! Y/N being sent on a mission by Miguel, them being gone for hours and not getting back at him makes Miguel check in on u over Layla & she has to him that they got hurt. A feral/worried Miguel going in for the rescue of a badly injured Y/N, taking care of their wounds and staying by their side. Once they regain consciousness -> lots of apologies and fluff/tenderness would be awesome!!

Thank u for reading this request of madness 🙈 x

Hi anon! Thanks for the request, I had to write it the moment I read it. GAH SOFT FERAL MIGUEL HAS ME IN A HOLD.

I hope you like this 💖💖💖

---

Unsaid words

"LYLA", he called for his assistant.

His eyes glued to the monitor, looking through street footage and maps. His eyes now awake with the thirst of knowing where you were. Your location marker turned offline and he drew a sharp breath. Something was wrong, his mind coming up scenarios that he wasn't very fond of.

"Where is she?", he asked next. His fingers turning into claws that bit into the top of his table.

He was impatient. No. He was worried.

He had stayed numb, not getting close enough to miss anyone but you, his heart began to race, you were special.

"I can't find here active data but it's certain that she's hurt.", LYLA responded. Instantly, he pushed away from his desk, he had to find you.

His suit covered his head with his mask, his claws now fully out as he had only one goal in his mind.

He turned his gadget to the universe you were sent to and jumped into the portal, he couldn't wait for it to open, he shouldn't have sent you alone, thoughts and feelings he had kept hidden were now rising to the surface. He struck his blade into the time fabric tearing it open.

Cold rain greeted him, covering the world he entered in a goulish green. A sign that the anomaly here would be one of the Doc Oc variants. And just as he had though it, he saw a silhouette with tentacled arms climb up a building. In one of its arms, he caught sight of the colour of your suit.

Anger rushed into his system, one mixed with the overwhelming need to protect you. He hadn't felt that in a long time, since he lost his universe. The tip of his tongue felt the sharp end of his fangs bearing out at the thought of losing you.

He didn't waste a second, his eyes were locked on his target.

You grappled against the cold metal that wrapped around your throat. Your feet dangling over the dark city. It was getting hard to breathe and in the state you were in, you were certain that if you were dropped from this height, it would be fatal.

The mask you wore was torn in half, allowing you to witness the sheer force of an object that slammed into the anomaly. Red blades gleamed against the eerie moon as clawed hands tore away a couple metal arms. You could recognize him anywhere. His large back over powering the anomaly as he slammed Doc Oc's face into the glass facade of the building. Over and over, he wasn't like himself, you had never seen him this triggered.

The anomaly lost consciousness and the red eyes in the tentacles flickered out, the grip around your neck easing. Fear filled your system, your eyes widening at what this meant, you clawed against the metal now to hold on, to not slip. But the rain made it difficult, the glass panes were too smooth, it made it impossible for you to catch onto any surface. You pressed into your web shooters only to for it to confirm with a hiss that it was broken.

It was all in slow motion, your body feeling the pull of gravity, the anomaly tilting head back into a fall and the red slits on his mask turning to you, widening as he watched you fall.

Capturing the anomaly was what was important, that was the mission, not one could be killed in action as they had to be returned into their respective universe. Whereas, you, you were expendable, fallen soldiers in this war no one knew about.

So who was he going to save?

Was this another one of his canon events?

But something within you caused you to scream out his name, some stupid want to feel his arms around you again, one last time. And that was what changed everything.

With inhuman speed he secured the anomaly to a broken steel column and dove towards you. He looked like he owned the skies, his blades stretching out against him like his wings, a streak of black, red and blue.

He didn't use his web to catch you, afraid that it would end like a few Gwen Stacy deaths. He retracted his claws, and reached out for you.

His weight enabled him to reach you faster in mid air. You felt his arms circle you, press you deep into his chest as he braced for impact. He held you tight as you felt the smell of tarmac beneath you. He had saved you, even though it wasn't a part of the mission.

With your ear pressed into his suit, you could hear the ferocity with which his heart was beating. He pushed away quicking to inspect you, his thumb tracing over a scratch across your cheek making him grumble. As though you were his priced work of art and someone had defied him to hurt you.

"You came.", was all you could muster to say.

"Of course I would.", he spoke softly as he carried you in his arms.

Now this made you feel like you were untouchable by any force that ever existed. Nothing could be strong enough to pull you away from him.

"lo siento llegué tarde.", he drew closer to you as help arrived to clean up the scene.

"You were right on time.", you responded to ease his worry, which surprised you. He never worried about anyone in this way.

"Oh you've found her!", LYLA popped up next to him.

"He was losing his senses over at HQ.", she laughed.

"LYLA", he warned her.

"What?", she winked at you as she acted innocent.

"Leave us.", he ordered and she disappeared.

His gaze was on you, you could tell with how the eyes on his mask softened.

"I was afraid I might lose you.", he said quietly as he stroked your exposed jaw. His warm touch eradicated the biting cold sting of the rain.

"Where you?", you asked watching his mask unravel, exposing his nose and lips.

You could feel where this was heading, you craved it. But to see him nod to your question in a way that it was the absolute truth set your heart on fire. He had saved you, there was no grander gesture than that. It spoke more loudly than what he could put into words. He held the side of your face that your mask didn't cover, your left cheek, the tip of your nose and your lips.

He leaned down, his hot breath over your cheek sent your mind into an overdrive as he softly kissed you, a cliche. Maybe it was his canon event, the usual spidey kiss.

The pain in your body evaporated just for this second as you kissed him back. Your reaction causing him to pull you closer, as though it was a confirmation. Your intuition in tune with what he was feeling, unsaid words could remain unsaid. Instead he spoke with his hands and a racing pulse in his throat.

He pulled away, his lips now spread out in a smile as the suit engulfed his face again.

"Let's get you cleaned up first and then continue this later.", he chuckled as he opened the portal.

Now that was a command you didn't mind obeying.

[sourbites]

Bruise

"Stop messing with it," Lars smacked your hand away, giving you a glare out of the corner of his eye. Your brows furrowed defensively.

The atmosphere in the recording studio is wirily tense. It's late at night, quiet, and so overwhelmingly empty. There's so much tension weighing down on your temples. Your jaw clenches, a tightness of agitation against your teeth. Stubbornly, you keep your hand fixed to the mixer.

"Is that how you ask?" You sneer, shoving his hand away with your own.

Lars turned to you, "Wasn't asking." He gives your hand another shove with the side of his palm.

This back-and-forth has been going on for months now. Since you came onto the producing team, Lars has fought you (literally and figuratively) every step of the way. It's infuriating. Tonight taps a gun to your skull and demands you be everything you're not.

"How about this," You clear your throat, hoping that sense of clarity will go to your scrambled, over-cooked brain. "You let me do my job?"

"I would if you could do it right," Lars immediately huffs out, his pink lips forming a little frown. He's not sad, though. Just smug. So stupidly smug.

This nasty bitterness in your stomach isn't from sleep deprivation or stress. "I guess we both need to work on stuff. My producing, your drumming." You say, bitingly. You know you're being snarky. And justifiably so— Lars deserves to be knocked down a peg or two.

"You don't appreciate good sound. That's obvious by the mess you've turned this song into."

You physically turn in your seat to actually, properly stare holes through Lars. Defensively, you wring your hands. "Ride The Lightning is the title track, dumbass, it needs to be memorable. And right now, there's nothing real about it to make it stick." You point out. Maybe you're being a bit blunt about it. But, like... are you wrong? No. No, you're not. Lars probably knows that. Deep down. That's probably why he's being so snooty with you right now. He's just looking for a fight. Like always.

"Real?" He echoes mockingly. Incredulously, Lars continues to run his stupid mouth. "You wouldn't know real sound if it hit you in that pretty face of yours. That's why you're stuck as a producer instead of actually making the song. Stop trying to commercialise what we stand for. Just do your job."

"Yeah? Well, I fucking quit."

You're not sure why you said it. As soon as the words left your mouth, you wanted to pluck them from the atmosphere and shred them up. It's just... it's late, and you're so, so tired. You're sick of fighting with Lars— not to be confused with intending to make peace with him. You loathe him with every drumstick flick. You loathe him with every breath you draw in your body. But constantly squabbling is certainly draining. Especially when it's so late at night, and all you truly want to do is wrap up in your cosy bed at home. Regardless of whether you meant it or not, you're too stubborn (and unwilling to be embarrassed) to take it back.

Hesitantly, like you're being controlled by someone else, you rise from your seat. You hear Lars scoff in disbelief behind you. The sight of the door gets closer and closer.

"What do you think you're doing?" Metal chair legs scrape against the floor. Lars catches you, barely quick enough to latch onto the side of your shirt.

"Leaving." You mutter, rendered monosyllabic from just how fast your heart writhes in your chest. Quitting shouldn't be this intimidating, should it? You'd find another job somewhere.

"You're such a fucking coward." He hisses, hooking his fingers into your shirt; the fabric pulled taut from the tension.

You twist around to face him, supercharged with irritation and frustration. And hatred. Mostly hatred. "You are the most difficult, stuck-up brat that I have ever worked with. You listen to nothing, absolutely nothing that I suggest to you. Why'd I stick around? For sleepless nights and insults? Fuck you, Lars. Fuck you!" You draw in a deep breath that goes smoothly down your chest. "You don't get to talk to me like that." You add, your voice a little more even, less manic than that episode of pure fury needling down your spine. Although, it still sounds like you're snarling.

Lars is still for a few moments. He blinks. Once, twice. A sick, sweet feeling of pride blooms within you. Finally, he listens. Finally, he shuts his mouth. Finally, he takes you seriously. In this strange purgatory of wordlessness, you get a good look at him. Your eyes search his. Are they blue or green? He looks tired. Maybe that's just because he's under the gory yellow lighting of the studio. Lars' mouth forms a line. He looks almost shell-shocked — is that because of you? What, never been yelled at before?

You give him a look.

"You want me to give you something real? Fine. Just don't fucking ruin it this time." He rasps, huffing, his tone biting.

At full tilt, Lars bee-lines into you, half dragging you into him and half scuffling his shoes on the floor to meet you. He rips you through the air towards him by your wrists. If your head wasn't spinning, maybe you'd realise that his hands tremble around you, his mouth watering. Your lips smack together, matching in a twistedly tender overlap of his top lip between yours, your bottom lip between his. Your hands fist into the collar of his dumb shirt, one of those ones where the neckline's gone in some botched DIY job. His nose bumps yours, teeth clashing in your mouth, and you find yourself allowing the kiss, letting your eyes close. Although he still makes you steam with rage.

You swallow awkwardly when the kiss is broken. You stare at him. "Well," You take in a breath, still feeling the warmth of him on your lips, "I suppose you think that makes up for your attitude?"

Lars scoffs again, glaring down his straight nose bridge at you. "Yeah, I wasn't apologising. Did nothing wrong." His hands slide up your wrists, up your arms, then slope down your sides, cupping you by the hips.

You don't like Lars. You truly don't. He's stubborn and blunt and argumentative and crass. You glare at him through your brows. But you'd be a fool to deny that he's pretty. "Yeah, you did," You laugh humourlessly. "You're always whining."

"Because you always ruin the songs." He snaps back, his hands tightening on your hips. He looks like a parent telling off a little kid: that condescending, patronising tone of voice. He's so fucking patronising. God, you want to strangle him.

You roll your eyes. Lars taps your cheek a few times, enough to feel it tingle on your skin. "Don't you give me that." His eyes burn like cigarettes, smoking with pure heat. His voice — his glare, hits something deep inside you, nothing but nerves. You've never seen him like this before. You chew your lower lip nervously. It excites you. It shouldn't excite you.

Stupefied, the only thing you manage is: "You're such a fucking dick." You meant it as some snarky zinger, but it comes out so breathless, so caramel, and so velvety.

God, you want him. You don't want to want him. It's been so long since someone's kissed you moon-struck, traced their palms down your sides, held you close...

You're staring. He's staring. Grinning, actually. You shift from foot to anxious foot. A quiet, dirty-minded smile softens up his pink lips. "Play nice, sweetheart." Lars hums, thumbing your hip through your shirt. Um.

Screw it. You shove both hands into Lars' shirt, twisting and tugging. He lands in a chair with a whoosh, gazing up at you wordlessly. Just a stupidly pleased grin and those perfect eyes. His hands squeeze you at the waist, yanking you into his lap, the air whuffed out of you.

"I can't fucking stand you," You mutter, yanking up his shirt. You hear the fabric crackle as it's stretched. You don't care. Lars dips his head down to your neck, kissing and mouthing at the delicate skin, unrelentless, your throat glosses with hickeys, spackled red and blooming blue. He bites, licks, sucks, mouthing at your pulse until it hurts, as if he's got you by the neck and he's desperate to bite until your pulse fizzes out.

"Shut the fuck up," Lars hisses into your neck, his fingers gauging into your sides, rattling your clothes around you as you're fighting to stay steady on his lap. God, can't he ever let anything be gentle? He forces his words out in choppy pieces, biting at your skin with his teeth, grazing over your thumping pulse, developing a taste for your flesh. You laugh dryly, winding your fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck, yanking it back, tugging his insatiable, watering mouth from your throat.

"What did you say to me earlier? Play nice, sweetheart. I could easily walk away from this right now." You threaten, your eyes glowering like steel into his ocean of irises. Lars' hand tugs at your jeans again, his knuckles prodding into the softness of your belly as his hand is half-shoved down into the waistband. All while you're staring at each other with so much intensity, so much heat, that your skin feels like it's on backwards. You think you've been gulping down his hate potion by the gallon. He controls your very mind, twisting in the lust-fog daze of your brain, swirling and coaxing you to be just as hard-edged, just as snappy.

His hands slowly, almost cautiously, undo you. If I'm going down, you're coming with me. You lean in, transfixed, and graze your own teeth over his lip. His jaw. Earlobe. You taste the good and the bad in his mouth, and you want both. Insatiably, you want him. He sighs quietly into your hair, straining and wrestling your jeans down. The petal-soft skin of your inner thighs grate against the denim of his own jeans. Your panties are rearranged across your hips awkwardly, thanks to the way Lars fleeced your jeans from you so aggressively. You eye the growing bulge nestled almost uncomfortably snugly between his legs. Fucking pervert.

"How do you want it?" Lars asks as he undoes his belt, with only a little meddling from you. He leans back in his seat. On your throne (his lap), you're pulled into him of your own accord this time, following him like a magnet, scraping your hands along the sharp angles of his shoulders. You feel your slit gush in your panties. It was like leaning into the sun with him. Just heat everywhere, fire licking at your tenderised flesh, stripping you down to the bone. Rational thoughts rise like steam, abandoning you.

You're manoeuvred around for a few moments while Lars pushes down his jeans just to reveal that perfectly tented bulge. He cups your thighs in gulpfulls, shoves your legs apart, and presses you down, so your hips carve against his, groping you into grinding on his hard cock. The weight in your chest intensifies. You stab your hooked fingers into the enragingly perfect sharp cut of his shoulders, anchoring yourself as he rocks you against him. Now you know how the Titanic felt. You're going down, deep into his cold ocean.

All fucking month Lars has been chipping away at you. Days of quips and jabs and nudges. You're half surprised he didn't try putting gum in your hair or something. Childish little fuck. "Just like this is fine," You say, maybe with too much teeth, gritting out the words as if you don't want to give him the satisfaction of a somewhat peaceful conversation. This earns a deep, rumbling chuckle from within his chest.

"Fine," He echoes, rolling the word around in his mouth. "Not for long. You'll be singing my praises soon."

God, you wish you could take him down a peg or two. The vicious volcanic lava bubbling with hate in your gut quickly swaps with this aching emptiness, this vacuum of space that's yearning to be filled with heat again. Lars presses a tingling-with-heat palm flat to your belly, slowly sliding down, plucking the waistband of your panties as if it's a string, before releasing. He's smirking. You flinch, and those whittled-down shards of loathing come back tenfold. To break even, you shove a hand into his boxers and tug, his blushing cockhead springing out to smack against his happy trail.

The pair of you sit there, watching his cock stand proudly, leaky and snug between your pelvises. Your chest heaves. Lars peels your panties off to the side, tracing the pad of his thumb along your slicked, puffy slit. The breaths in your belly ripples. Your head is spinning. You fist Lars' dick, white-knuckled, handling him with all the bruising tenderness you need just to get it out of your system. His big eyes glisten over with lust. You squirm in your seat on his thighs. He scrapes you up closer, steering you by the hips. His palms smother into your hipbones until it hurts. Everything within you tightens at his touch, your breath hitching.

Lars' whispering is whiskey-warm as you swing your hips forward, pelvis-first, impaling yourself on his thick cock. It pushes a noise out of you. Eyelids drooping, lashes fluttering, you look almost drunk. Your arousal rolls down his shaft, slow and molasses-thick. You take a fistful of Lars' hair, ruining how he styled it in that seventies-esque look. Your sopping wet slit engulfs him, choking him down. Through his despising you, his hands settle on the small of your back and splay at the angled juncture where hip meets thigh, encouraging you — more eager to bottom out in your cunt more than anything else.

Your hole splits raw on him, a cry rippling through you. Embarrassed, you quickly hiss out: "Fuckin' hate you." Just for good measure. Just to remind him. Your flesh burns, sticky with sweat. The rippling squeeze of you around him is too close to paradise to be real. The gnawing in your head never ceases. As he entered you, he became your intense hunger. Lars rocks you across his lap at a vicious pace, in an animal tempo that makes you suspect he's bringing you to the slaughter. You almost want to close your legs as his tip bites into your cervix again and again and again, rolling and rippling as your cunt squelches in cries around him, slick bleeding out between you.

He sinks between your legs again and again, your tits bouncing in your shirt with each salacious stroke and hip bump upwards. Cries and insults die on your tongue, thoughts fuzzing away like angry bees trapped in their sticky beehives. "Spoilt," Lars hisses, the bluntness of his nails digging into the swell of your hips. He shoves his head into your neck and loses it. "Getting the best fuck of your life and you're still complaining." His breath scalds your clammy skin. You squirm. His hair rasps against the underside of your chin.

Lars leans back to fuck you in powerfully furious strokes, your skin hot and tingling with every slapping-sounding impact. He gathers you up in gently bulging biceps and veined forearms. You're folded into his chest, his breaths coming out in frantic puffs that warm you through your shirt. You absorb every pump helplessly, clinging to his shoulders and clawing at his skin until your nails leave red-hot roadmaps over every dip of muscle and bone.

"God," You cry hoarsely, curling your back into him and shuddering as the heavy, coiled knots in your guts settle and rattle against your slit. "Do you ever shut up?" You smoosh a flushed cheek into his soft hair, leaning on him for support. Your skin is beaded in sweat. You jolt, pelvis cramping as he finds your poor, swollen clit, and presses a burning fingertip into it. You feel the brush of his lips in a smirk against your throat. Your hair sticks to the back of your neck.

You want to tear him apart. He wants to split you open. He stuffs you with bullets. You burn with gunsmoke. Lars prods his knuckles into your arched back, keeping you there. He kisses your pulse surprisingly tenderly. Then, he remedies it with a bite. Does that hurt, too?

"Could ask you the same thing," Lars grunts, pawing and palming at your flesh until it aches. He is a fever you are learning to coexist with. He stains you with every touch. He drives his hips forward, feeling your slicked sex tear apart and split open on his hilt. He licks his lips, hungry — remembering how sweet your mouth tasted when it was too busy spilling out insults.

"Shut up shut up shut up." You hiss, squeezing your eyes shut. You can feel your cunt stretched around him, your flesh sizzling. The tissue in your body pulls taut. Lars plants sloppy, wet kisses down your neck. It's delicious agony. Who knew heaven was a place for sinners — because you're certain that the flashes of white behind your eyes are salvation. You brace yourself, shoes creased as you push the tip-toed soles into the floor. Lars smooshes a groan between his lips and your collarbone, soaking up every sharp, wild clamp of your pussy as he drags his cock deep and slows within your battered, tender walls.

Your orgasm comes jagged and spiked, pouring out and squelching between the both of you, skin slick with you. When does a war end? When the spoils are irrelevant? Lars, the evil fucker he is, fucks you through your orgasm. He steers you to sink onto him in long strokes. He rolls his hips and coos condescendingly, "That feel good?"

In frenzied sobs and manic pulses of your cunt, wet heat pools and lingers and feels so disgustingly good that you shudder, your spine still forced into that deep arch. Lars' knuckles have just enough room to fit against the shape of your vertebrae that lie beneath your singeing skin. The dull, happy throb of your orgasm hasn't died down yet, and Lars is spilling into you with vicious, vehement whacks of his hips that even manage to rip a shaky groan from his own throat.

Then, you're smooshed to his chest, your skin sticking together like wet sugar that caramelises in the grooves of your fingertips.

"Two stars," You mutter pridefully, breathless, as if that wasn't the best lay of your life. Lars gives a warning smack to the globe of your ass.

"Then I suppose we'll have to keep practising."

[babeilovemonsters]

You can't remember when they appeared. Everything around that day is a blur. Did they do that? You can't remember. The demon in your mindscape makes a point to distance you from your problems, and that day certainly was one they don't want you to think about, even possessing you at times to take you away from something they don't like. Sure, their presence can be useful, as they play with your memories and emotions in attempts to keep you thriving, but it gets kind of... condescending. Besides, how were you supposed to learn things if they made you forget your experiences?

One particularly bad day, you can feel them toying with you yet again. They don't say anything about it, but you can practically feel their claws scraping the day's events off of your brain. You stop what you're doing, finally frustrated enough to have a word. You tell them to stop, questioning what it is they actually want. Why they're still sticking around. Don't they have anything better to do? The demon argues right back, still not clarifying what it is they're after. The two of you bicker back and forth, barely getting anywhere, until the demon suddenly takes over the wheel, forcing you out of the driver's seat as they possess you, getting up and standing in front of a mirror, where their reflection shows their inhuman eyes in your skull.

They compliment you. Saying they want what's best for you. Easing their way into your forgiveness with praise, and reassurance. You try so hard to not be flattered, but... it's kind of nice, isn't it? Actually, yes. You are lucky. Not everyone has something so powerful looking after them. You can relax, it's okay, the demon knows what they're doing. No need to worry-- wait, are they doing it again? That clever charmer is doing something to you, aren't they?! Ah, but it's so much effort to try fighting it. Besides, it DOES feel really nice... Maybe you should just let it happen. Yeah... That's probably for the best.

The demon praises you softly, while still not giving up control over your body. You ask them if you can have the wheel again, but they make a very convincing argument, saying you surely deserve something nice for being so compliant. You do deserve something nice, they're right. You're being so mature and accepting about their kindness, you deserve to feel good. That's all they want for you, after all! All they've ever wanted. So you give in, trusting them with your body, dizzily wondering what it is they'll reward you with.

Your demon continues to praise your obedience while they slowly and gently remove your clothing. You look so good, you know. You shouldn't have to hide your gorgeous body with these tacky bits of fabric, should you? You feel so relieved once they've stripped you down fully, feeling so comfortable now you're free and in the open. They point out how hot you are as they trace soft circles on your chest with one finger, making sure you can still feel things even if you can't control them.

You moan out, but your voice only echoes inside your own head, for only your demon to hear. They chuckle, teasing you. Maybe you are being a bit pathetic, they're right. I mean, it doesn't feel THAT good, does it? They're just... No, it does. You don't really care if you're being a bit pathetic. It's charming, right? How easy it is to make you feel so nice and tender. They praise your acceptance, and it feels great to know they're so pleased with you! They even up their reward for you, how kind!

They stop their circling, slowly gliding their hand down your body. Or- your hand down your body? Ah, who cares. That's too difficult to figure out right now, you just want to focus on the feel, watching through the demon's eyes as they do everything in front of the mirror, so you get a full view of what they're doing to you. After an agonisingly long wait, they finally reach the place you've been wanting them to touch for what feels like an eternity. They simply trace over your genitals once, with one finger, making you cry out in frustration and pleasure. It feels so, so good, what's taking them so long?!

Finally, they take pity on their poor, whimpering human, praising your patience as they begin properly, giving you the most beautiful and amazing gift of your life. How could you ever imply they treat you badly? Nothing is bad about the way they're touching you now. You really should just put more trust in them, because then you get to feel their touch against your heated genitals, feeling their fingers in your poor throbbing hole. It's so good. You need them, you know that, don't you? You'd never be able to deal without them here with you, making you feel so nice.

Just relax and trust them. They're so good at making you forget your pain, you can barely even remember what started this. But really, who cares? That's not why you're here now.

What happened yesterday? You ask yourself as you wake up in the morning, wearing your most comfortable pyjamas. Oh, it was that goddamn demon again! Erasing all your bad memories of the day before! You really should have a word with them about that at some point, it's getting kinda frustrating.

[aravas-writing]

(Secret Star AU)

"Naughty School girl gets punished"

Emerald wasn't one for taking jobs like these, but she had to admit, it was kinda nice being "scouted" by a producer on the street. She never saw herself as pretty or even hot, but she had been assured she was perfect for the scrip she was currently reading through.

Playing naughty wasn't difficult, but taking the blonde Teacher's punishment, was both hard and hot as hell.

To say that Emerald was nervous as hell would be...correct. There was no joke here; this was reality.

After signing up for the pornstar gig, she had actually hoped for a lesbian piece with Cinder. The girl's adoration for her saviour was almost concerning. It was unfortunate that the greenette was not allowed to star with her crush.

What she got was a different scene and a rather...excited Cinder. Of course she would not openly show it, but the way the seductress fidgeted from time to time gave it away. The final piece of evidence for that was when the guy Emerald was supposed to star with came onto the set.

"Jamie, there you are," Cinder cooed at him, nearly jumping out of her chair to greet him properly. It was a jarring sight for a girl who saw her mistress as someone always in control.

He laughed. "Hi, Cin! How are you? And its still Jau-" Pleasantries were exchanged as the thief struggled to reconcile the image of her mistress with the young woman before her now. Sure, Blondie boy was not too shabby to look at, if a bit scraggly. Still, him?

"Upupupup." Cinder shushed him. "We are still on the set. It's Jamie for you and Cinnamon for me. Speaking of spices..." Cinder brushed off invisible dust here and there, pulling the fabric around. "This jacket is the exact opposite of 'spicy'. What was the costume department thinking?"

Jamie laughed about it. "I'm thinking you're too much of a perfectionist. They fit my role as 'hardass teacher who ends up snapping'."

Teacher? Emerald looked down at her own clothing, suddenly reminded that she was to fill the role of an unruly schoolgirl getting punished. She had to clean herself thoroughly for that role and wear clothes she would never ever wear outdoors. That skirt was too skimpy!

"There is such a thing as too much." She gave him one last critical look before nodding. "I suppose that will have to do. Oh, and Jamie?"

Cinder leaned towards his ear, standing on her toes to reach it and whispered something. What exactly, Emerald couldn't tell, but it got him blushing like a cherry boy.

Seriously, he was the star of this show?! Sure, the thief never saw anything of his, but she didn't need to to get a picture of him as a virgin.

Well, not one anymore. Lucky dick.

Chocolate skin, deep cleavage and a real badonkadonk were crammed into a schoolgirl uniform one size too small, emphasizing the curves and conjuring fantasies. With barely audible claps, those cheeks moved to the office of her teacher. A real sweetheart, but way too uptight for some tastes. His morals were actually the reason she was there in the first place.

Well, that and-

"Come in."

His strict visage just barely managed to not make Emerald laugh. Yeah, blondie- Mr Darc wasn't suited for doling out discipline.

"You wanted to see me?" She played coy, pretending not to know that she was here because of-

"That outfit of yours." Right to the meat, huh? "Its way too small!"

She tittered like a brainless bimbo. "Aww, scared you will see things you shouldn't?"

"Do you want to catch a cold?"

What.

Emerald blinked, just barely catching the director making a throwing motion. "Huh? A cold?"

Blondie stood up harshly, his eyes narrow. "Do you have any idea how easy it is to get sick because you barely dress?"

"I have aura."

"Not an excuse!" His palm slammed onto the table as his voice turned into one more authoritative. "It will stifle your growth, your health and your grades as well! Or do you think that a lack of oxygen can help your failing classes?"

The student stood up, fury marring her face. "What the fuck do my grades have to do with this?! Are you just looking for some excuse to not have me dressed up like that so you don't feel guilty jerking it to schoolgirls?" She raised a finger and tapped it against his chest. "Fucking virgin."

That seemed to make his blood boil, judging by Blondie's expression. "You little..." he snarled. Then he rounded the table and Emerald's view turned very suddenly towards the floor. When her brain caught up to what happened, the unruly student realized that she was currently lying on his lap.

"That does it!"

SLAP

Emerald gasped at the stinging sensation against her ass. She knew that it was part of her role, but actually doing it was different.

SLAP

Her butt jiggled after each hit, something she knew the perverts watching this would love to see.

"Every time with you!"

SLAP

She was not going to moan.

"Do you know how many problems you're causing?!"

SLAP

She was not getting wet...

"Do you have any idea what some of less scrupulous would do to you?!"

SLAP

She was not actually getting off to this, no way-

SLAP

"Tell me!" He demanded. "What do you think would happen?!"

SLAP

Fuck it.

"I'd get fucked like the bitch I am!" She confessed, her legs clenching as she held herself back from climax. She was moaning, was getting off to being spanked by her betters...it just felt too good!

"Exactly," he said, rubbing her sore butt. "Now you know why I was angry, right?"

She had no idea what to say next. The slutty schoolgirl looked for help, blanking on her lines. She was supposed to say something here...

That was when her crimson eyes met Cinder's golden ones. She showed her subordinate an approving smirk and made a gesture at her. It was clear as day.

Go on.

"N-no," she lied. "I need more discipline."

SLAP

"Guess you need an intense crash course, then," Mr Darc grumbled in faked dissatisfaction before pulling down her thong.

That was when the real fun began. Emerald was getting spanked hard, then fingered even harder until she came, shrieking in joy. But he wasn't done with his slutty student. He made her strip in front of him, opening her jacket and losing everything beyond that. The only thing allowed to stay below the belt were her stockings.

He pinched her nipples and led her to his chair by pulling them. Already, Emerald was was acting like a dog- no, a bitch. A real bitch, loyal to master and mistress. She got to suck on master's fingers, cleaning them of her slutty juices.

Every look Emerald could steal towards Cinder, she saw her approval. Every command she followed from Mr Darc was met with approval. She happily looked at two dildos he showed her - both of them confiscated. She lubed them up for him before feeling one of them getting shoved in her ass.

The bitch couldn't help herself and came, screaming her sorry over and over as more of her juices stained the floor. She had no idea her asshole was such a good spot!

Finally, one last time, she was allowed to present herself. It was a treat for master; she could see it from the way his cock bulged out from inside his pants and how she showed her teeth. Sweaty from the exertion and exhilaration, her pussy leaking like a broken faucet, the bitch crouched and spread her legs, making sure her arms were behind her head so he could see it all. She should be allowed to behold this slut, his slut...

"I'm a bitch," she slurred. "I'm your bitch."

Her gaze wandered up to his blue eyes - weren't master's eyes yellow? And she saw approval.

His hand gently rested around her neck, squeezing it slightly. "Do you want to be a good girl?" He asked, earning a puzzled look from her. She didn't understand; was she not his slut, her plaything? Why would she be Cinder's good girl if she could be Mr Darc's slut?

"Good girls get rewards," he murmured, letting his hand travel from her neck to her breast and squeezing it.

The stupid bitch understood and shivered in delight. Her head was empty, there was only pleasure.

"Make me a good girl," she purred.

"Holy hell!" Jaune exclaimed. He was breathing a bit heavier after the shoot had ended, peering over to the near comatose Emerald. She had been wrapped in a bathrobe and the set people were fanning her flushed face. "I am not used to that."

He heard Cinder tittering. "For someone not used to being a dom, you conducted yourself very well." Her hand traced his shoulder as she came up behind Jaune, looking at a well fucked Emerald. "You really killed it."

Emerald would agree, were she still conscious. When she came to, she admitted it only to herself as she was allowed a copy of the newest short film of Jamie Darc.

It was the first time she ever watched porn, and the first time she masturbated so furiously.

[mythosidhesdollhouse]

Rainbow High Littles: Indigo Bailey, Pt. 1

All right y'all, I said we'd do this so let's go. I was originally going to make this all one entry, but I decided to break off the hair discussion as a separate post, since this one was already way too long before I even got to that point XD Will link Pt. 2 once it's published.

Krystal Jr.: What the heck are we doing all the way over here? Krystal Sr.: We need to collect a delivery to take back to Rainbow Heights--a sister! KJ: I thought I was your sister? KS: No, you're a younger version of me from an alternate point in our shared timeline. We just say you're my sister so it's less confusing for everyone else. KJ: If I'm you from the past and we're both in the same place, shouldn't that create some sort of temporal paradox where you cease to exist? KS: The normal laws of physics don't apply in the doll universe, dear. It's best not to think on it too much. KJ: Okaaaaaaaaaay. But this one is NOT us, right? KS: …Probably not? Indigo: ((Maybe stop talking and let me out, please?))

Sooooooooo yeah, Indigo. Where to begin? For starters, I think the vitriol that's being dumped on these poor Littles is completely out of proportion to what they actually are--tiny dolls meant for small hands to play with. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that. I can see how they would be less appealing to adult collectors used to a more sophisticated product from this brand, but I personally will do my best to judge her by her own merits.

First impressions: I think she's cute! I pulled a few of her braids back with a rubber band to make her face more visible, but otherwise straight out of the box she's good to go.

Krystal Jr.: Are we a family? Are we clones? Honestly folks, it's anyone's guess. Indigo: Is she always this snarky? Krystal Sr.: Don't worry sweetie, it's just her being a tween, we grow out of it eventually. I: We? KS: It's complicated.

More detailed discussion of clothes & accessories under the cut--

Let's talk about the dress and that reviled plastic bodice. Honestly? I don't mind it! I can't speak for the rest of the line, but in Indigo's case at least it's clear there was some effort put into her overall design. I was especially delighted by the skirt portion of her dress, which is made of a lovely little textured woven fabric featuring a butterfly design, with a coordinating tulle ruffle trim. There's even an underskirt made from a plasticy fine-weave fabric. Both the main skirt and underskirt are sewn (that's right, not glued--there are STITCHES) to the base of the plastic top portion of the dress.

Ok so, no one loves plastic doll clothes. I get it. Not a fan myself. But for what this is, considering it's all one piece, I'm impressed by the amount of detail, and how well it reads as 'normal' clothing. The midsection has a sculpted raised texture that closely mirrors the design of the skirt fabric. The collar section is painted a lighter contrasting shade of purple that compliments her shoes (all the adult collectors who whine about lack of painted detail on molded plastic pieces, here you go), and the ruffle around the armholes compliments the trim on the skirt. Everything is held together neatly at the back with a piece of velcro at the top of the skirt.

Given how difficult it can be to sew fabric doll clothing in this scale that actually looks good, I think the plastic top is a fair compromise to increase ease of use for smaller hands.

The shoes! I was pleasantly surprised by the level of detail on these. The butterfly motif from the dress is carried on here, with sculpted decoration all the way around the tops and even on the soles. This was absolutely unnecessary, but I'm so happy they did it.

Indigo's official height is listed as 5.5 inches, which lands her somewhere between an old school Kelly doll and the closest MGA equivalent in my collection, a Dream Ella Extra Iconic Mini. I believe Magic Mixies Pixlings are also of a similar size, but I don't have one to include in this comparison.

Indigo's pet is...a thing that exists. Her product description says it's a 'magical fox'. Sure.

Ok folks, that's it for pt. 1. We're going to take a closer look at those braids in pt.2

[playdoughtiny]

Nap time, Leon 💤

caregiver!Luis Serra & little!Leon Kennedy

Rate: Teen up audiences

Characters: Luis Serra Navarro & Leon Kennedy (Resident Evil 4 Remake - 2023)

Warnings: PTSD (?), Anxiety, Light Swearing.

Tags: Fluff, Hurrt/Comfort, Coping, Leon Kennedy has PTSD, Protective Luis Serra, AU — Canon Divergence, Babytalk, Pacifiers, Cuddling, Sleeping.

Reblogs are appreciated!

...

Finger fidgets on the ocean blue blanket, pinching at it's soft fabric. A dim soft light stand is the only source of light in the room. The digital alarm flashes red with pairs of numbers, separated by just a colon.

00:10

Agonized with so much fatigue, Leon lies on his stomach, huffing and mumbling incomprehensible murmurs into his pillow. How many nights would he need to stay awake before he could finally sleep? The hours passed torturously slowly, the minutes lasted months. Leon stared into the darkness of the room, his eyes filled with slumber.

His wrist rests upon his forehead, voice low like a whisper. "What I've done to deserve this..."

That was the question that tormented him. What had he done to be... Like this? How many lives could he have saved, how many people would have been spared if Leon just did the right thing?

Did he actually did what was the best option? Or he's just selfish? His heart pumped in his chest faster. Could he be so egoistic to let people die just to stand by his reasons? Fingers twitched and spammed.

"Damnit!" He hiss under his hands that covers his face. Nobody sees Leon crying. Not even close ones. No, he doesn't give them the luxury of seeing his "weaker" side. It's just a passing thing, bullshit. Why does someone need to see someone sobbing? That's futile. At least, in his mind, that's how the world goes.

Knees draw into your belly, elbows above them. Why was he crying so much? Come on, Leon was a man! He's been through absurd and chaotic things, and come out of them with just a few cuts or scratches! Now's he's crying like a damn child!

His thumb nail slips to his front teeth, wearing away the surface. Eyebrows wrinkle. He feels his eyes burning. Are those... Tears?

"Please make this stop!"

He rocks himself back and forth, failing miserably to sooth himself.

"Please

Please

Please—"

A thic accent voice surprises Leon. "Cabron?"

Luis. Oh yes, he forgot he was here. After the events in Spain, Leon opens the doors of his home for him. He basically saved his life so it's some sort of repay.

Leon gasps stupidly loud for a grown man. He turns his back at the spaniard, considering that he already knows he's awake. The blonde plays dumb and closes his eyes.

Luis chuckles at the sight of Leon, shaking his head and making his way into the bedroom. "Ay no need to play dead mi amigo." He sits at the edge of the bed, hands laced, voice incredibly calm. "What's wrong cowboy?"

Leon hasn't gained too much intimacy. He considered Luis as a... Colleague. A roomate. He was a nice person, weird most of the time and annoying, but nice. Luis is the type of person that you can trust just by looking in his eyes. Like a random stranger that you suddenly meet in your life and feels that you can trust your darkest secrets to him.

"Can't sleep. That's all." He says. Technically true, but that's not all.

"Shouldn't be up this time." Luis convenently sighs.

"But you're too." True.

"Unforeseen. I had to use the bathroom." He chuckles. Leon mirrors his smile.

"Y'know," Leon sighs, sits up straight, hand in his hair. "M'just... Tired of all of this... Can't remember the last time I slept well."

Luis observers the soldier, like an owl. Baggy eyes, fuzzy blonde hair. Leon looks lost and hopeless. He has see this look before. The same when he dismissed Ada. The same when he thought that Luis was dead. The same when the Illuminados captured Ashley. He knows what Leon has been through. He feels it.

"It must be very difficult for you Leon," Luis looks down for a second and immediately turns his eyes back on the agent. "But that's all over. You, me, we are all safe now."

Blue eyes flush with realization. Safe. He repeats that out loud. Luis affirms. Leon is safe. There were times that he thought he wouldn't last, he would let his companions down, fail his purpose. But no. He did it. He's safe now.

"Leon." He calls.

Luis tucks the golden hair behind his ear. How did he got so close to Leon? Not that it was bothering him, quite the opposite. Leon looked back at Luis, as if he had all the answers in the world. Luis was kind. A shelter for all the cruelty and horrors of the world. He opens a smile. What a beautiful smile, Leon thinks. There is no malice, no playfulness here. Luis actually seems to be worried about the state of Leon.

"If there's anything you want to tell me, or if you just want a friendly shoulder to cry on, I'm here." He cups the side of his face. "I'm here for you Leon."

Lips quiver. There's no turning back now. Leon throws his arms around the spaniard, who welcomes him in his arms. He breathes in and sobs. Sobs loudly. Muffling against his chest. Luis pats his back, a calming hand runs on his hair, lips giving him small kiss on top of his head.

"There there," Luis coos. He can feels his nose on his scalp. "Cálmate, está bien. Estás bien." His voice as relaxing as a lullaby.

...

Leon finally composes himself, backing away from his chest as he wipes away his tears. Never does anyone look as serene as he's right now. "Thanks." He nods.

Luis smiles, as if he has nothing to be thankful for. "Feeling better?"

Leon hums a "Mm-hm."

Both remained in a comfortable silence, just the sound of his breaths hanging in the air.

"Do you think you can sleep now?" Luis asks.

"Mmm..." Leon bites his nail, shrugging while responding "Dunno" behind his teeth.

"Do you want me to stay here? I can... Tuck you in." He grins.

Leon spots him suspiciously, a light pink shade forming on his cheeks. "Tuck me in?" He scoffs. "What you think I am, five?"

"That's not what I said." Luis answers teasingly. "But you expect me to leave you awake? At this time?"

"I'm fine Luis..." Leon shakes his head. "Nonsense!" Luis spits. He extends his arms, fingers calling him. "C'mon." Leon raises his brow.

He whistles in, tapping one of his thighs. "Come here!" Leon never looked so confused. Why is he— did he actually just whistled?

"Absolutely not." Luis smirks with a cocky look. "Look you gotta sleep now, so you either sit here or I'll drag you myself."

At this point he got it. Leon felt himself slipping. It wasn't the first time he felt like this either. Something in his past made him feel this way. Sometimes he felt small. As if his clothes were too big for him. He didn't want to work or act like an adult. He wanted to hide under the covers and read a book. She wanted to take her teddy bears that she got as a gift and play with them. But it's okay because everyone wants to be child again!

Right?

"C'mon Leon. Let Tío Luis put you to sleep." He calls him one more time, in a husky voice.

Leon curl up in his shoulders, knees navigating to the man's lap. He clungs on him like a koala. "Muyyy bien..." He whispers. Leg bounces Leon, while he melts in Luis' arms. He doesn't want to admit this is actually working. He can't slip. He's not a child! Eyes widened with this thought. This should end.

"Are you sure this is-"

"Shh..." Luis get back to run his hands on his blonde hair. "Quiet. Close your eyes."

Leon is in no space to complain. He would but- well he's too exhausted. He will talk to him in the morning.

He clears his throat. "Luis..."

"What now, mi vida."

"Can you uh..." Nails dig into the man's shirt. He feels his face warming, so he tries to hide in his chest. "Take... My paci?"

He chuckles. "Your what? Your paci?" Luis stares at Leon amusedly. The blonde snorts, turning his eyes away. The other man laughs and forgives himself. "Aww I'm sorry mi amor! Sure I'll get your binky!" Leon gets surprised at how easily he accepted.

Carefully holding the boy in his arms, Luis pulls the drawer of his nightstand and finds a adult pacifier, blue shield with a paw print on the middle. Leon lightly parted his lips so that the plastic nipple could enter his mouth. Luis smiles proudly at how adorable Leon looked.

"There we go. Feeling good buddy?" He asks. Leon nods.

Luis gently wraps his arm under the boy's shoulder, other holds his knees while slowly rocking the already sleepy baby in his chest. "Good boy."

His head rests on top of his clavicle, secure chest keeps his torso close to him. Luis adjuts himself against the pillows, his back resting on them. He rocks the baby in his arms, slowly. He looks down at the boy. So calm in his sleep. Chest rising and falling with each breath, paci pecked in his lips bouncing. Eyelashes kissing his cheeks. What could possibly Luis ask more than this. He couldn't be more grateful.

Finally, comfort. All the solution for his problems were right here. Luis would look after Leon, like he always did. Keeping him safe in his arms scaring away all the bad stuff in the world. His eyes fluster until there was no left strength, and they eventually close. Luis smiles proudly of his boy. His sweet and lovely boy.

Luis brushes a strand of hair from his face, leaning down to leave one last kiss on his crown.

"Sweet dreams mi angelito."

...

[devox2564]

In Your Heart: Chapter 9- Be With Me

Jake Kizka x fem reader

Warnings: oral sex (m receiving), penetrative sex, dirty talk

Authors Note: I wrote 75% of this drunk off my ass so enjoy ;)

Chapter 9: Be With Me

The haze of your orgasm clouds your thoughts as he retreats to remove the rest of his clothing. You study his body inch by inch. His arms are lean and strong, forearms toned from years of playing. The plane of his tanned stomach slopes down gracefully to the waistband of his dark jeans. In the dim light of the city emanating from the window you watch his fingers work the belt, then the button, the fly, and finally slide them down. It's as though the two of you are existing only in the vacuum of space and time. Each second passing that his lips aren't on yours are torture. Standing above you, his erection strains against the fabric of his boxers. Jake's eyes are nothing less than predatory, and while they still contain a hint of the mischief you are so familiar with, the way he looks at you sends a shiver down your spine.

"Come here." He says quietly, still standing at the edge of the bed.

You comply without a word, shakily getting to your feet. He grips the back of your neck and pulls you into a rough kiss. The urgency in his kiss gives away his desire. You smirk a bit into him.

"What's funny?" He holds your face in his hand firmly while the other resumes its slow stroking of your breast.

"I think you're barely containing yourself Jakey." You taunt him a bit. He's too easy.

"Just stop talking baby, or I'll have to make you." He grins darkly.

"Make me then." Your eyes hold a challenge.

"Get on your knees."

You obey, eager to please despite your inherent need to be difficult. Your hand strokes him through his boxers and he lets out a sharp breath through his teeth. Hooking your fingers into the band around his hips, you slide them down his legs. The taste of him is intoxicating as you take a long slow lick up his shaft. You have no intentions to get this over quickly. In the past, sexual encounters were about chasing your own end. A man is interested in himself, so why shouldn't you be interested in your own need? Now, with Jake standing over you, all you want is to make this moment last as long as possible. Gripping him, you take his velvety tip into your mouth fully. You move slowly. Painfully slow for him in this case.

"Fuck baby" His quiet groans flutter around in your chest and waken you again fully to your own arousal. The pace quickens as his bucking hips drive him further into your mouth. You feel his muscles pulsing in your mouth, twitching towards his own release. Your saliva floods him, dripping down off of your chin and onto the soft curve of your chest. His hand travels down to clutch gently at your hair. You’re kept firmly in time with his rhythm; letting him fuck your mouth is enough to bring on another orgasm. You moan deeply onto him as he slips in and out of. But you need him. Not like this the first time. You need to be filled, to feel him fill you. Just as this thought crosses your mind, his hand grips your hair roughly and pulls you away. A string of saliva drips from your mouth as you look into his eyes.

"Do you want me to fuck you baby?" His hand in your hair is holding you firm, craning your neck back. You nod stiffly.

"Out loud." He orders. You raise an eyebrow.

"I said." He yanks you up "out loud. What do you need?"

"I need you to fuck me Jake."  If your underwear weren't crumpled up on the floor, they would be soaked through again. "Please." At this, his grip loosens and he lowers you down onto the bed again.

All at once, he's on you again, kissing you deeply. His tongue runs along your lips and he catches your bottom lip between his teeth and tugs gently. You feel the tip of his length press against your clit and you writhe beneath him. Positioning himself at your entrance, he pushes forward. He takes his time allowing you to stretch and relax around him. The fullness is so so sweet. You can feel the two of you meld together into one at the same time he reaches your deepest depths.

"Slow and sweet baby?" He strokes in and out of you gently. Your quiet moans are perfectly in time with his rhythm. You aren't sure that you can find the words to answer him as you feel the familiar warmth in your belly that precedes another orgasm. His fingers slide down to rub slow circles around your clit. Your pussy throbs around him, clenching in time with each expert thrust of his hips.

"Jake.." is the only word that comes to you through the fog. His name. The only syllable that you're capable of conjuring.

"That's right honey. God you're so perfect." His pace quickens almost imperceptibly, breathing growing more and more ragged.

You need more of him. More of him. Harder. Faster. "Please Jake." You cry out.

"What is it baby? You can tell me." That shit eating grin creeping back up on his face. He really does enjoy playing with you.

"God Jake... Just.. Please.." he seems to understand by the desperation in your voice what you need. You feel your muscles contract around him, pushing you closer and closer towards the edge.

"Ohh you want this?" He changes his pace abruptly, thrusting into you so hard that you gasp.

This noice releases him, distracting him from the game he's playing. He can't hold on anymore to the control he's been exacting. Each stroke is harder and faster than the last, hitting that sweet spot over and over and over. Your moans transform into screams of pleasure and you don't fucking care who hears you. "Eyes baby" he orders, a little shakier than before "I want to see you cum with me buried in that pretty cunt."

This is all you need to go crashing over the edge. Your orgasm slams into you, blurring your vision and bringing tears to your eyes. Every cell in your body is on fire, burning against him.  You don't allow your gaze to break, seeing in his own eyes how close he is. You pull him down into a kiss just as he falls apart inside you. The feeling of his release filling you up coincides with a string of curses and moans. His hair is wild and sweaty. Each movement inside pulls wave after wave from your body. He finally stills above you, resting inside for a moment longer and pushing deeper one last time.

As the two of you hover there, still connecting, breath slowing, you look into his face. All you are capable of feeling in this moment is pure bliss. Never in your life has sex felt this good. Never in your life has sex meant something to you like this. All the emotion swimming in your mind and behind your eyes is channeled into your smile. You feel radiant, as though the sun and the moon are shining down on you all at once. His hair hangs down in curtains to frame your face. He leans down to kiss the tip of your nose gently and slowly retreats from you. The absence of him inside you is disheartening. One has become two again.

He flops down onto the bed next to you, his fingertips tracing slow circles over the slope of your shoulder. You look over to find him staring intently at you.

“What is it?” You ask him with a small giggle. You’re still reeling.

“You’re so beautiful.” He says, eyes traveling up and down your body.

You can’t begin to describe the kind of contentment that you feel laying next to him. It’s still a bit alarming if you’re honest. You know that you’re attracted to him obviously. You know that he’s your best friend in the whole world. You know that you’ve been falling for him for months now. Despite all that you know, it’s still hard for your mind to adjust to the fact that this is really happening. All those nights lusting after each other were not in vain.

“Be with me.” He says.

“What?” You ask, absorbed in your own thoughts.

“Get out of your head. Be here with me, now.” He smiles knowingly at you. “You’re thinking too much. I want to be with you. Really.”

“You’re sure?” You ask him, now really paying attention.

“The most sure I’ve ever been.” His fingers brush your cheek, sliding your hair back behind your ear.

“I’m just-“

“Just trust me y/n, if this goes sour I’ll take full responsibility. We can go back to being friends I promise. Be with me.” He cuts you off.

You’ve been his from the moment he first kissed you, maybe even before then. And although your reservations have kept you guarded, your body has known all along that this was inevitable. The two of you were inevitable. Seeing him at the bar. Mourning in Savannah. The first show. That first night on the bus. You close your eyes and lean into him, resting your forehead against his. He pulls you closer and you can hear his heart beating slowly.

“I’m yours Jake, I’ve been yours for a long time.” Your voice is thick and heady, unexpected tears pricking behind your closed eyelids.

There’s no snarky comment in response, just the soft touch of his hand in your hair. His fingertips draw patterns on your scalp. The gentle movement lulling you to sleep second by slow second.

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A good little continuation this week for you all. I’m really looking forward to the next few chapters. I’ve got a lot of fun stuff planned for Jake and y/n. Please excuse any minor grammatical errors. I’m working on a Spotify playlist for this fic so keep an eye out for that soon as well! See you all next week, and have a Merry Christmas!

- E

[hanilessa]

Can I request a cute but wholesome heizou taking care of an overworked reader

` Author’s notes: hello dear anon!! thank u for your request. enjoy reading! and don't forget to rest and drink plenty of water, because taking care of your health is very important <3

` Heizou x GN!Reader

` Genre: fluff, romance

This was starting to get annoying. A feeling of exhaustion, sadness and fatigue spread through your body, making it difficult to think and work sensibly. For the past few days, your whole body has been aching with pain, your muscles have been aching, fatigue, like lead, has made your body so helpless and miserable.

Exhaustion pressed on you like a huge stone, and it would seem that you will be completely crushed by this terrible feeling of fatigue. But you couldn't give up, because your work has always required attentiveness, concentration and a sober mind.

So you continued to work at such a terrible pace, practically without stopping your work, eating little and exhausting your body. Your dear boyfriend Heizou has repeatedly suggested that you take a break and relax a little with him.

But you almost always refused, constantly reminding him that you need to hand in work reports this week, and you simply didn't have time for rest and your personal life. Heizou understood that you were ruining your health, and he urgently needed to do something about it.

And now you were sitting at your desk again and continued to work with the reports that your boss provided you. He strictly ordered you to complete your work in the shortest possible time, so you had to be focused and shouldn't have allowed yourself to be distracted by anything else.

You took a small, weary sigh and stretched to stretch your stiff muscles. There was a crunch of stiff joints, and an unpleasant pain spread through your body, reminding you that you haven't had a normal rest for a whole week.

You sighed sadly as you glanced at the stack of documents that lay threateningly on your desk. It was like a reminder that you weren't supposed to relax, otherwise you will get a reprimand from your boss. So you let out a heavy sigh and started filling out the paperwork again despite the nagging pain all over your body.

But suddenly you feel your whole body relax as familiar hands are on your shoulders. You whimper in pleasure as Heizou's strong arms knead your stiff shoulders, sending waves of pleasure and relief through your body.

This was very helpful, because it seemed to you that if even a few more minutes passed, your muscles would explode from overwork.

"Honey, you need to get some rest." A light whisper in your ear relaxed you for a moment, but in the same second you were brought back to reality, realizing that you couldn't be distracted from work.

"Please, I must to keep working…" You pleaded languidly, and Heizou smiled contentedly, realizing that right now you had no desire to resist him despite your unfinished work. "I must…"

"Please, dear, rest a little." The man continued to knead your shoulders, gradually moving his hands to your back, gently stroking your skin through the fabric of your home clothes. "It's hard for me to see how you harm your health. Please, at least today, allow yourself to rest."

You remain silent for a while, but after a few seconds you nod doomedly, realizing that if you continue to do your job, you will simply pass out from exhaustion. Heizou lets out a relaxed sigh, relieved that you've finally agreed to rest. The man gently lifts you from your chair and carries you towards the bed.

The feel of the soft bed makes you let out a labored moan, and you relax a bit as you feel your head sink into the soft pillow. You look at Heizou, who smiles at you and comes a little closer to give you a kiss on the forehead. You smile, nodding gratefully at him.

"I'll prepare a warm bath for you." Heizou said as he stroked your body with his hands in an attempt to relax you. "Please tell me if you need anything else."

You looked thoughtful and then smiled relaxed, "I wouldn't mind if you took a bath with me."

Heizou smiles affectionately as he watches you gradually relax.

"As you wish, my love."

[sugawhaaa]

Keeho x reader

Lingerie~

(Need I say more about this fanfic?)

Warnings:smut. If it wasn't obvious

Genre:Just smut okay 😭

Pairing:dom!Keeho x sub!fem!reader

Themes:public sex, fingering

A/N:oh God I wrote this on the bus and things went way worse than I could of ever imagined. I'm not gonna share my embarrassment so just read Keeho finger fucking you instead 😃

Your cheeks flushed as you looked at yourself in the mirror. Today was the day that you and Keeho decided to shop for basically sex toys and lingerie. You knew you shouldn't be embarrassed or nervous because come on it's Keeho and you've been dating for like 3 years. Right now you were trying on a pink lingerie set that Keeho picked out and you had no idea what to think. You stood in the fitting room analyzing your body and the fabric that held on tightly to your body.

"What do you think?" Keeho called out from outside the dressing room.

"I don't know, come in here and tell me what you think," you said, unlatching the door so he could get in. He did as you suggested and swiftly went into the fitting room. He took a look at you up and down and told you to "do a little spin," you awkwardly did as he asked. "I think this is kinda plain and we can find something more interesting. But! If you like it that's totally okay we can get this one,"he said as he kept looking you up and down.

"No I don't like it," you laughed. You explained to him that you have one more to try on and if you don't like it you'll try another store. He nodded in agreement to your plan. You then guided him out of the small room and watched as his feet moved to the left and stood there waiting.

You took the pink set off before taking this really nice black one off the hanger. Keeho picked this one out with a big grin earlier but you don't really know how to feel about it. You tried your best to put it on properly but that was a difficult task. Keeho then knocked on the door gently.

"Need help?" He said softly.

"Nope I'm good," You said as you moved the strings around your body.

"Alright," He said with a slight worry still in his voice.

You finally got it all on properly and you let Keeho in again to take a look. As soon as his eyes fell upon you they transformed.

"So what do you think," you said with a smile as you spun the thin lace layer around. His eyes said it all, looking you up and down looking deep into every detail of your body. He started getting closer to you, his empty hands wishing to be filled with your soft skin. "Keeho?" You said innocently looking up at him.

"You're so hot," he stated as he slammed his hands against the cold wall behind you. Your jaw hung open as he started leaning down to your neck. His lips gently grazing over your bare shoulders. His hot breath present on your neck. You flustered at his comment and your cheeks heated up as your hands rested around Keeho's body. It didn't take long for his to rest on your hips kneading at your skin. That's when reality sorta hit you.

"Keeho wait, were in public," you murmured.

"And I'm horny," he stated as he started licking up your shoulder. You let out a little squeal at the sudden texture of his tongue. Your hands went to his shoulders pushing them gently. His right hand started going down your body, down, down, down when…

You let out a moan as he pressed his plam against your sensitive clit. Keeho grabbed your crotch harshly and for some reason it turned you on more than you'd like to admit. You slapped your palm against your wet lips trying to muffle your moans so no one would hear.

Keeho placed one of his wide hands between your thighs and guided them open. You slowly did as his actions suggested. Keeho moved the fabric around his fingers as his hot breath moved to your lips. Sloppily exploring each other's mouths as he moved his fingers up and down your sensitive clit. It got you frolicking around at his every movement. He slowly inserted two fingers making you gasp and claw his shoulders. Your head hung low as he slowly moved his fingers around inside you. You didn't know where to put your hands, or to throw your head back or hang it low. He had you seeing stars with only two fingers.

That's when he hit that gummy spot so deep inside you and you couldn't help but moan out his name. You shut your eyes tight as he moved his fingers in and out of you to hit that one spot continuously. That's when you felt warm, cloudy colored liquid dripped down between your legs. Keehos fingers stayed inside you gently and slowly moving around. Once your body relaxed he slipped his fingers out and stuck them in his mouth before moaning in satisfaction.

"Only two fingers," he smirked as you blushed and looked at the floor.

"Oh my God Keeho it's all over the floor and my clothes and this lingerie set that isn't even mine!" You said as you gestured to everything covered in your cum.

"At least everyone will know how good I can make you feel," he said with a smile that was too cute for what he just said.

"Great then you'll be the one explaining to the workers here what just happened in their fitting room," you said with a smile as you pushed him out of the room.

[eolewyn1010]

As the pirate / poet shirt is very simple in theory, you'd think I shouldn't be able to mess this up. And yet here we are, and I have to find out and write down a sensible order to tackle what I have yet to do so I can stop jumping from one unfinished seam to another.

Close the second side. This includes trimming it down a bit as I've originally cut the body part of the shirt too wide, and have already taken the other side in a few centimeters when sewing that shut.

Also, hem the side seams on the inside. I've started this on one side but never finished it, and with the second side shut, it's time to find out how far up that closes, aka how big those goddamn armscyes actually need to be. What with the gussets, I suspect it's Not That Big Actually.

With the second side shut, I can forget about the upper half for a while and go about the lower hem instead, finishing that from one side slit to the other. And then reinforce both slit openings with a little patch (and hopefully do a cleaner job with that than with the cleavage patch).

Sleeve no 1: is a work of beauty, gusset set in, all seams hemmed, the lower opening gathered. So: set it into the cuff; send a prayer to the sewing gods while I'm at it.

Sleeve no 2: what is that thing. Set in the gusset, close down the side seam, hem it all. Gathering seam into the lower opening, then set it into the cuff.

Gathering seams into the tops of both sleeves. Then change the subject because sleeves are scary.

Reinforcement patches into the (blissfully completely-hemmed) collar opening.

Seam and turn the collar, set in the buttonholes while I'm at it, maybe a little placket for the buttons if it turns out I did cut the thing too short. I already re-cut the cuffs; I will not do that again with the collar. It will have a little placket for closure and like it.

Sew the collar to the shirt.

Seam three very narrow strips of fabric (because I don't own bias tape because I'm a garbage seamstress), two short ones for either side of the cleavage cut, a longer one to serve for tying said cut shut. Yes, I am aware that I'm making my life more difficult than it needs to be.

Sew in the two shorter strips on the inside of the cleavage cut. This whole enterprise only makes sense if I leave the gaps necessary to thread the tie strip through. I may yet decide to skip this whole endeavor and go for the much more visible eyelets, but I somehow think that'll take the same amount of time, especially since I'd have to back those up with a bit of facing.

Since I'm at the cleavage opening anyway, may as well hem and gather the ruffles and set them in.

With collar, ruffles, and potentially closing tie in place, it's back to the dreaded sleeves. I'll set them in and I may have to cover the seams on the inside of the shirt with additional reinforcement strips since I don't know how well-behaved the fabric is, or how many sensory issues the edge will cause me otherwise.

I have reinforcement strips for the shoulders lying around somewhere. If I find them again, I should put them in.

With the shirt itself finished, it's cravat time babey. Which means, a long, long strip of fabric that needs to be hemmed. But at least I'll get to add some fancy lace at the end of it.

This looks like a lot when I write it down like that, but it'll help me to keep an overview of the separate steps.