#PinkieRing

[autisminfinite]

WASTEISOLATION

2021 version under read more

[mpregspn]

new dress who this

[elibeeline]

Im not saying that finally finding my lipstick shade has instantly boosted my confidence, but,,,

[artistfaery]

What is your favourite time of the day?

[meowizard]

they TOTES go with my pfp too.....kinda

[luxar92]

Catsthetics

Normally you can tell the age of a big cat by looking at their nose. The brighter the pink, the younger the cat is. So I figured if there is a world of cat people, then they would use cosmetics to make their noses pinkier to look younger, just like lipsticks.

Posted using PostyBirb

[oreo-creampie]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 💭 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Virgin!gojo, blowjob

We all have heard and love cocky gojo but the hay about shy, Virgin gojo who turns pink and shutter the give him any attention cause he is so used to suguru getting the most

He is all quiet around you for the longest, turning pinkier until one day when things go far with shy blushy virgin gojo and you suck him off for the first time and he became so mouthy gushing about how good you feel during, cums too fast and wants you to keep going. You find out he loves being overstimulated

[talesofesther]

sweet calamity | ch 9

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Series Summary: It was something people described as the sweetest pain, the feeling of when the soul that’s destined to find yours is closer to you. Wednesday saw it as a curse, promised herself she would hate whoever was chosen for her; but it’s easier said than done.

A/N: Softest Wednesday ever and I hope she's not too out of character lol (but cut her some slack, girl's in love c'mon). Was listening to this while writing. <3

Masterlist | Read ch 8 here

"So here's something interesting that happened last night," Enid started, teasing hinting at her tone.

You gripped a little tighter onto the straps of your backpack.

"I get back from my date with Ajax, and Wednesday greets me with a goodnight, even asking if my date was enjoyable."

You hummed at her words, kicking a pebble from the stone path you were walking on. Last night's snowfall left its mark on the gardens, white snowflakes were still clinging to some of the trees around you; there was frost on the grass; mist in the air. The scenery was worthy of a painting.

"Why is that interesting?" You eventually asked.

"She never asks me about my dates," Enid exclaimed, "like ever." Taking hold of both your arms, the werewolf stopped you in your tracks and came to stand before you, forcing you to look up at her.

"She looked happy. Unusually happy," Enid narrowed her eyes at you, wolfish grin on her lips, "did something happen while I was out?"

Sometimes, Enid was too smart for her own good. You wanted to share her enthusiasm, tell her all about last night — how hearing Wednesday play gave you goosebumps, how her lips left you breathless — yet you found yourself hesitating. Everything felt too fragile.

You chuckled humourlessly, squirming under her hold. You could feel your face heating up, "nothing happened, we just hung out for a while."

Enid audibly groaned as she rolled her eyes, "come on, I saw you two dancing at the Rave'n, didn't you finally admit your obvious love for each other?"

You frowned, lips hovering open as you connected the dots, feeling your stomach lurch with apprehension. You answered her question with another, that you felt you already knew the answer to; "was that your doing by any chance?"

"Of course," Enid told you animatedly, "Wednesday was giving me her usual 'I don't do feelings' speech and hurting both you and herself in the process, I had to talk some sense into her," she scrunched her brows, taking on a serious tone, "don't tell her I said that though."

"Oh," you breathed. You're not sure why it bothers you. To think Wednesday would do something against her will was foolish, at best; but the last thing you wanted was for her to feel like she has to be with you.

"So," Enid dragged the word, pink cheeks molded by her pinkier snood, "no special moments last night?"

"W-well, we-" you stumbled, "I mean, she-"

"Enid!"

You closed your eyes and breathed out a sigh of relief upon hearing Wednesday's voice. She walked up to you and Enid with haste, backpack held by one shoulder, scarf snug around her neck, and her black beanie pushing down her bangs. She looked worthy of a painting too.

"Wednesday," Enid turned to her best friend, bouncing on her heels with glee, "we were just talking about you."

"Thrilling," the Addams girl deadpanned, glancing between you and Enid before settling on the latter, "I'll need my partner back now."

To say Enid lit up like a damn Christmas tree would be an understatement. Your heartbeat skyrocketed at the words too, before you remembered what exactly she was talking about.

Enid emitted some kind of excited noise — undoubtedly already planning your wedding; "your partn-"

"We're partners in fencing," you cut her off before she could create a scene you probably wouldn't be able to escape too soon. After your little incident with Bianca, Wednesday made sure no one but she was partnered up with you in fencing. How she accomplished that, you preferred not to know. And if anyone as much as whispered about her going easy on you when sparring, they'd receive the complete opposite treatment.

"Yes, and class started two minutes ago," Wednesday said, pointedly raising an eyebrow at you and your lack of time management.

You mouthed a sorry to her, offering a soft smile.

"You guys are no fun," Enid mumbled to herself, hugging her sweater closer to her body.

Cold air bit at your fingertips and you stuffed your hands in your pockets. Part of you could sympathize with Enid's frustration, you and Wednesday have been dancing around each other for a while, and then she finally kisses you and… and now you find yourself holding back, afraid to let your guard down.

You're still not sure what to call what she is to you. It's not like you and Wednesday are the epitome of healthy communication.

It's almost like she feels your discomfort, "let's go, I don't like waiting," Wednesday grumbled, half extending her hand out for you, giving you the chance to choose whether to take it or not.

The way you were so quick to reach for her was second nature, softly taking her hand in yours. "See you later, Enid."

"Bye lovebirds," the werewolf sweetly said, starting to walk in the opposite direction, "don't forget what we talked about yesterday, Wednesday."

"How could I? You've hammered the idea into my brain," Wednesday huffed, but Enid was already out of earshot, which left only you to grin at her words.

It was new and fragile, but maybe also just the way it was supposed to be. Maybe it was simpler than your overthinking self made it out to be — you were focused on your feet, trusting Wednesday to lead your way with her hand securely around yours.

The comfortable silence stretched for a few moments, until you reached the end of the gardens and walked inside Nevermore's walls. It felt nice to feel normal for a change; two normal girls too shy and too in love to meet each other's eyes.

"Your hands are frigid," Wednesday broke the silence, absentmindedly brushing her thumb along your skin.

You chuckled under your breath, feeling the familiar swelling of your heart, "I keep forgetting my gloves."

You refrained from groaning when the doors to the fencing arena came into sight. Before you could push them open, Wednesday pulled you to a stop. You glanced up at her curiously; only to see her cheeks an unusual shade of pink, her jaw set tightly in place, eyes strangely a tad too wide. It's rare the times that you can visibly tell what she's feeling.

You curse the way your heart automatically expects the worst, and hold your breath.

"I was-" Wednesday tried, before averting her gaze from yours and inhaling deeply, "I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me this evening."

She spoke so quickly you almost didn't catch the words fully, but you did; and it sure felt that simple. "I'd love to."

Wednesday nodded stiffly at your answer and all but burst through the doors.

———

It takes some getting used to. Sometimes the turmoil of emotions that you make Wednesday feel gets her nauseous; she thinks she resembles a babbling idiot whenever she tries to mimic what she sees the other couples do — to say she's inexperienced in the area is a huge understatement; she's trying though, in her own way, but she is.

After a day of classes that kept her mostly away from you, Wednesday was making her way to the greenhouse, the place where she knows she'll find you. And she could feel that sensation — pumping through her body with each frantic beat of her heart the closer she gets to you — the tightness on her chest, the turning of her stomach. It's nearly painful. Dangerously addicting.

The evening sun had made its appearance, soft rays seeping through the glass walls as Wednesday pushed open the door. It was quiet, eerily so. No students were around, thankfully. She realized you liked your own dose of solitude too, it's not the first time she's found you hidden away all by yourself in the greenhouse.

Wednesday was quiet as she made her way inside, preserving your space.

You were standing in front of one of the tables when she found you, eyes focused solemnly on the flower pot in front of you as you hummed a song unknown to Wednesday. Blissfully unaware of her watchful gaze on you.

Your hands were delicate with their movements, making life bloom from your fingertips; there was a ray of sun casting over your cheek and lips — Wednesday envied the pesky thing.

You pushed back a strand of loose hair, smiling faintly when you got on your tip toes to put the flower back up on the shelf, a sea of green and gold around you.

Wednesday suddenly felt the back of her eyes burning faintly; because she refused to blink or something else, she was not sure.

But she's looking at you as if she just realized what love is.

And she could love you if she wanted to. If you allowed her to.

She thinks she already does anyway.

It's unlike anything she ever expected or wanted to feel — it's pain and bliss altogether — because she had the sudden need to be closer, to hold you, touch you; otherwise she'd spiral into madness.

And so she did.

You jumped when you felt two hands grasping at your waist, sharply turning around to see whoever thought had the right to touch you like that; yet any unkind words that were ready to leave your tongue disappeared when you were met with a pair of twin black braids you were all too familiar with.

Your skin is instantly littered with goosebumps. Wednesday's hands were firm on your waist, her thumbs barely sneaking under your shirt and grazing the skin there.

Before you could even try to speak, she was shutting you up with a searing kiss. It was different from last night; she pushed herself to you, desperate in the way her lips moved with yours — as if you hadn't seen each other in six years instead of six hours.

You took only a moment to recover, grasping at her blazer with your hands and embracing anything she'd be willing to give you.

Her lips were still as plush and warm as you remembered them, as you knew you'd never be able to forget.

Wednesday pulled back when air became an annoying necessity, all soft eyes and swollen lips. Her hands still gripping your waist, gaze darting to the mouth she'd just kissed only to see you gulp and look at your feet; away from her.

"Is this acceptable?" Wednesday found herself asking, voice raspier than usual, puffs of air coming out shallow and ragged as she regarded you with worry.

"Yeah," you were quick to breathe out, bringing one hand up and hesitating only a second before gingerly touching Wednesday's cheek, your thumb tracing the lines of her bottom lip. "More than acceptable."

"But?" The raven-haired girl raised a brow.

"I just-" you could feel your heartbeat, and wondered if she could feel it too, "I don't want to force you into anything, Wednesday." You gave her a melancholic smile, "I want to make sure you don't feel like you have to be doing this," you motioned with your hand between you and her, and she was so close you could barely breathe at all.

Wednesday's eyes shuttered with a sudden blankness and nothing could prepare you for the utterly adorable look of confusion on her face that followed; eyebrows pinching together and lips turned down at the corners as she pulled back only to look at you better.

"Never in my life would I do something I do not want to do," she said matter of factly.

You bit into your lip, one hand taking hold of Wednesday's braid so you had something to fidget with.

Straightening her posture, Wednesday gulped back her pride; "I'm not… good at this," she shook her head softly, her sudden fragility surprising you, "any of it."

And you finally see it; you see it in the way her eyes lose their sharp edges, how impossibly darker they are, shining under the fading sun; you see it in the way she insisted on holding your hand even when curious glances were thrown at you; you see it in the way she doesn't let anyone else spar with you in fencing or the way she always has an extra set of notes whenever you miss a class; you see it in the way she came after you and didn't give up even after you pushed her away. You see the way she's been loving you from day one, even if both of you didn't admit it.

"And I hate the fact that you make me want to try it anyway," Wednesday whispered, bringing you back to reality.

You huffed a chuckle, sliding your hands behind her neck to pull her closer, "you hate it?"

She rolled her eyes endearingly, "take the win," she said, before stealing another kiss from your lips.

Wednesday lingered close to you, her nose bumping yours. She didn't dare open her eyes when she asked the one thing she needed to hear you say; "so can I call you mine?" She choked out, upper lip grazing yours as she spoke.

There was a beat of silence and the Addams girl was almost already considering her early grave when you didn't answer right away.

Until you did, and she could feel your cheeky smile, "only if I can call you mine too."

Wednesday's lips twitched with the treat of a smile. It was an easy bargain.

With her hand in yours, Wednesday walked out of the greenhouse; her destination being the Weathervane, where she'd buy you a hot chocolate, and a coffee for herself and do whatever couples do together.

You wanted to stop by the quad first though.

The weight of Wednesday's hand was pleasant in yours. You took her to the middle of the quad, to where stood your finished project, at last; the big maple tree was the star in the center, surrounded by countless flowers with colors that complemented each other beautifully. Two stood out amongst them, a couple of black dahlias just by the foot of the tree, their dark color unmistakable.

"You remember I was renovating this flowerbed, right?" You asked softly, stealing a glance at your girl.

Wednesday hummed, "yes, I recall."

"I think it's finally done, what do you think?"

You watched as Wednesday's dark eyes skimmed over your work, they lingered a little longer on the black-colored flowers and your lips twitched with a smirk.

"It's nice, I'm sure Enid loved the multitude of colors," Wednesday commented, "the dahlias are a nice touch," she timidly admitted eventually.

"I thought you'd like them," your cheeks warmed up you raised both your joined hands to your lips, planting a kiss on the back of her hand before pulling her along to the main gates.

Before, you didn't understand why soulmates bring each other pain whenever they're near. But now, you can see there's something magical to it — it's the fact that, even with the pain, you won't abandon the one you love, and it's a kind of love that comes without warning, burns itself into your soul and marks your heart in the best possible way.

You admire the boldness of the universe; to create something so potentially tragic yet so delightful, so blissful.

Wednesday's shoulder bumped yours as you two walked, personal space forgotten. You could feel your heartbeats mingling.

Her hand warmed up yours.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 10 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @simp4wanda26 @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @user284747 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @maria-403 @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova @marveloussimp @rainbow-hedgehog @left-and-right-up-and-down @get-the-fuck-outta-here @awolfcsworld @elduster @alexkolax @georgi-salva @imdumbhi @youralphawolf72 @reginassweetheart @justyourwritter69 @yangsroboarmm @8e-h-e8 @irish-piece-of-trash @femalehomosexual666 @wol-fica @wednesdays-woes

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Promptober: Day Nineteen

Steve Harrington x fem!reader 900 words.

“Christ, you’re-”

A gasp, a curse, a groan. 

“Baby,” Steve breathed out, eyes closed, head thrown back as you planted kisses along his throat with an urgency he’d never seen from you before. “Baby.”

The bathroom door had barely closed before you’d locked it and backed your boyfriend up against it, hands pulling at the zip of his costume, a Top Gun-esque flight suit covered in patches. You’d long stolen his sunglasses, forgotten somewhere on the kitchen counter, hidden by empty beer bottles and sticky solo cups. 

“What?” You panted, pulling away long enough from the boy to stare up at him, lips pink and glossy, eyes blown wide. 

Your ‘dead’ cheerleader outfit was leaning more sexy than scary, the fake blood you’d smeared on the pleats doing nothing to deter from how short the skirt was. And when you’d turned and flashed him the ruby red spankies underneath before you’d left for Heather West’s party, Steve had bit down on his cheek and prayed. 

He felt the same way as you stood before him then, hands clutching at his shoulders, tits ready to burst out of the crop top you’d cut slashes into, the stain of his own smeared handprint on your midriff, painted in the same red as the blood on your skirt. 

You’d told him it was for the outfit, but Steve just saw it as another way to mark you up as his. 

You were still staring up at him, waiting, the sounds of the party a dull thump from behind the bathroom door and suddenly, Steve couldn’t remember what he was going to say. 

So instead, he managed, “c’mere.”

You moved back into him with a renewed need, curling your fingers into his hair as his hands cupped your jaw, titling you the way he liked as he licked into you, kisses greedy and fast, both of you well aware that it would only be a matter of time before someone would be hammering at the door. 

Steve turned you, pushed you back against the wood and you could feel the thumpthumpthump of the bass against your bones, the vibrations of the music that played downstairs on your skin. 

The boy made quick work of kissing you breathless, swallowing your sighs and gasps, teeth tugging at your bottom lip before sucking a bruise to the slope of your neck. His fingers tucked themselves into your spandex shorts, took them down with him as he dropped to his knees. 

You were certain you’d never fucking forget the sight of Steve Harrington on his knees before you, tucking your underwear into his pocket as he raised a finger to his lips, telling you to keep quiet. His hair was wild, eyes blown, lips pinkier from your gloss and Jesus Christ, he was a pretty picture. 

His fingers curled themselves behind the crook of your knee, lifting your leg to hook over his shoulder as he moved into the space between your thighs. 

Steve pressed his nose to the space under your belly button, kissed the soft skin before moving lower, mouthing at the crease of your thighs. He groaned when you whined, threading your fingers into his messy curls, pulling his lips to where you wanted them most. 

He wasted no more time licking into you, hitching your leg higher to spread you wider, brown eyes looking up at you as you gasped and twitched your hips with every pass of his tongue. 

Outside, there was a smash of broken glass, the glittering sounds of the shards scattering across the floor and then cheers. You were breathing heavily, pulling almost meanly at your boyfriend's hair, whimpering at the moans he pressed to your clit, his palm squeezing roughly at the thigh he held over his shoulder. 

“Steve,” you stuttered out, “baby, fuck, I—”

“Close?” He hummed, barely pulling his mouth from you, the word ghosting over the wet between your legs and it made you shiver. “C’mon sweet thing, give it to me, lemme see you come.”

His free hand that had been pulling at your hip, urging you to rut down onto his mouth moved to circle a digit around your entrance, one finger, two fingers, a white hot stretch that made you bow over Steve’s head, pushing his face into you and it only made him suck harder. 

“That’s it, there you go, huh?”

He ran his mouth between licks and kisses, soft sweet touches of his lips despite the filthy things that came out of them and he didn’t stop until you were crying, pushing at his forehead as he overwhelmed you, fucking his fingers into you as you came. 

You tasted yourself and the bourbon he’d been drinking when he stood back up and kissed you, sloven and urgent, thumb pushing at your cheek as he tried to touch you everywhere at once. 

And then, like clockwork, as you tugged at the zipper on his suit, someone outside started thumping on the door. 

It was barely eleven o’clock but neither of you tried to hide your neediness as Steve squeezed his eyes shut and blinked at you, pupils blown.  

“Wanna go home?” He asked, pushing his hips into your palm. 

You were still nodding as he led you out the bathroom, your free hand holding your too short skirt against your ass, your underwear peeking out of Steve’s pocket like a scarlet letter.  

[lovebillyhargrove]

***

"I got uh .. I got a gift for you, pretty boy."

Steve thought he'd heard Billy's steps. He was right.

Steve's turning around and there he is, fiery and electric, wrapped in the gold of his hair, tanned cheeks a bit pinkish as if he's .. embarrassed?

Billy's holding something behind his back, eyes cast down.

"Do you want me to guess what it is?"

Billy scoffs

"Never thought that autumn would be so dorky, wishing to play silly games and all."

Billy's drawing lines (or are they hearts?) in the warm dust on the road with his big toe.

"Here. It's the last summer flowers. They'll stop blooming soon."

He's holding out an enormous flower crown made of simple white daisies and little yellow buttercups, timid sky blue, pink and indigo cornflowers, tiny field carnations bringing splashes of bright fuchsia colour into the mix, baby blue eyes shyly peeking through the lush green of leaves and stems and stalks, carefully and neatly interwoven into a summer work of art. Soft and elegant red anemones. A couple of scarlet poppies, bigger than any other flower in size but petals still so tender and fragile. Delicate wild pansies in a palette of colours, sweet heavy clover heads, gentle melancholic bluebells, light-pink cuckoo-flowers, bright blue sprinkles of meadow gentians .. all exuding the subtly intoxicating aroma of hot and sultry summer meadows,

Glowing, as if entwined with the dreamy rays of sunshine.

Bumblebees busily buzzing and humming all around it.

Billy waves his hand a couple of times

"Shoo!"

Bumblebees remain undisturbed.

"Thought you'd look even prettier in it."

Steve's still looking at the heap of flowers, noticing some fragrant white china roses among the other flowers

"Are these also from the meadow?"

Billy's cheeks become even pinkier.

"I uh .. I might've raided that old lady's garden where you always hang out with the birds at the back fence?"

Billy's pausing

"So .. you want it or not?"

"I would love to have it. It is beautiful and such skillful work."

Billy's cheeks are definitely red now, mixed with that tan.

He shoves the flower crown to Steve's hollowed-out chest and runs away.

***

Some time later

Steve grew a small flowerbed of billy buttons.

He invited the summer to come take a look.

"It's nothing fancy. But they look like little suns and remind me of you. And they've got your name."

Harringrove seasons au by the amazingly talented @akioukun which remains the source of inspiration 💖

@dragonflylady77 thank you for your kind help ❤️

[riverf1sh]

Day 15 - chapter cover redraw

Reimi is so pink! I used pink palette to make her pinkier 😊

[inverswayart]

i'm still on the trip so here's another sketchbook sketch of Ino, this time in her post-game glory (a few years into ruling New Vegas)

As a ruler she's basically Mr. House 2.0 but slightly more self-aware (and waaay pinkier). The fact that she manages to lose/alienate most of her inner circle save for Rex and Yes-Man in following years doesn't help

[artistfaery]

Did I post this here? I think I haven't.

Have the prettiest demon in the devildom! Had been wanting to do a redesign of Asmo's demon form for a bit. Simply wanted to make him pinkier. And give him a scorpion-esque tail.

[imreadydollparts]

Even though both of these So Soft Hippity Hops could benefit from a deflocking, their owner didn't need them deflocked so I didn't have to do it! They got cleaned up nicely, though.

Sometimes I forget that ponies come to the salon as much to go home looking pretty with shiny hair as they do just to go home clean.

The pinkier tail has been harvested for another pony that's on their way in later. I hope it matches.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Crossing my fingers this goes through. I was waiting for a week for it to be anwered, only to find out it didn't go through.

What if Bucky body mods/med kinks big!serumed!sub!Steve into an alpha? Gives him big, sensitive glands, a knot, and increases the (already high) sensitivity in his dick and balls? Gets him to knot the first time so he knows how good it is, and then tells him he only gets to do that when he's told he can? And later, he tells Steve what to expect from a rut, but when it finally starts, Steve is too horny to figure out what's going on until Bucky spells it out for him, and that makes the rut even stronger.

-🐍

It went through! Sorry about that, whether it was me, Tumblr, or something on your end 🤷🏻‍♂️ either way, it sucks

Hmm 👀 that'd be really interesting and would definitely require Marvel's advanced medicine and science, but I like the idea. For whatever reason, I imagine in this AU, Bucky would take beta big-sub!Steve and make him into an alpha.

Of course, you could, theoretically, make big, subby omega Steve into an alpha, but there's just something about the idea of him being a beta first that appeals to me. I suspect the part of it that I am drawn to is how if he were a beta, it'd mean that he's never experienced a mating cycle before, translating into one hell of a situation once his first rut does hit. Like, teenage presentation of rut, but on steroids. Nothing he's ever felt before.

(That or perhaps this is a "normal" AU, not omegaverse, and so Bucky is modeling all his work off of this shared fantasy they have about omegaverse, kind of like this collections of roleplay fics on AO3--"bucky loves his 'alpha'" by hey_you_with_the_face)

*slight dub-con vibes throughout this drabble since Steve doesn't actually know what's going on. He's just trusting Bucky to make mods to his body. BUT, he very much wants all of it once he knows what's happening.

Sensitive glands

*it occurred to me after I wrote the first part of this that you meant scent glands. Listen... I have no actual excuses, I just dive into things, and the only thing I think about is dick so... 🤷🏻‍♂️

I would like to imagine this happens before Bucky gives him a knot.

His glands suddenly swell, getting bigger, barely bigger, but there's still a change. His glands tint pinkier and become even more sensitive to the touch than ever before. It's different.

Just the slide of foreskin against his glands makes his knees feel wobbly with sudden jolts of sensation. Moving back to expose his sensitive head or moving forward to hide it again. Either way, it's sharp. It's almost painful. So, so sensitive. His skin feels too tight just from that tiny change! These helpless little shocked noises fall out of him, especially when it happens by accident--his dick getting caught on the zip of his jeans, his dick bunching in his underwear, his own clumsiness when washing in the shower, leaning too hard against a counter, etc. The drag of his foreskin against himself is suddenly unbearable.

Like, curl-your-toes-where-you-stand unbearable.

Like, unbearable [outrageously sexy].

Also, I'd like to imagine that the change to his glands is one of the first changes that Steve notices in this transformation. It's the sudden unbearable sensitivity, the way the head of his cock swells ever so slightly, changing in shape, and the overnight change in shade is also noticeable, flushed.

Steve even notices it when he's hard enough to start dripping pre-cum from the slit of his cock, the sizzling, hot-feeling liquid seeps down the head of his dick and gets between his foreskin and the glands and... there's something he can't identify exactly. It, it feels different. It feels like he's never felt it before! Like he's back in puberty experiencing erections for the first time.

The change really, really sinks in, though, when Bucky insists, one evening, on stripping him bare, laying him out, tying him up, spread eagle, and doing the unthinkable--

All Bucky is doing is just jerking him off.

God.

Steve wants to wriggle and scream and cry.

Bucky's doing nothing else! Nothing else to him! He needs more! He needs to never fucking be touched again! He wants to crawl out of his skin, he wants to sink into the sensation and never move ever again.

It's wild.

Lungs heaving. Neck twisting side to side. Abs clenching. Hips siezing up. Eyes squeezed shut but not stopping a few tears from escaping.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Bucky has restrained Steve so that he can't touch anything--each arm and each leg to one bed post. Steve can't touch Bucky or himself. His legs aren't even rubbing together. He's spread so wide that his balls aren't touching his upper inner thighs. His arms don't brush past his head, held above his shoulders. Nothing. There is nothing.

Nothing but the sensation of Bucky jerking him off. It is the only point of focus he has. The only connection. The only torture. Sweet, sweet torture. And, fuck, jerking off isn't even the right way to say it because that implies he's using his whole hand and that he's moving his wrist, stroking him. He isn't.

Bucky is using this new weakness against him mercilessly.

His fingers--the fingers of his flesh-and-blood hand are folded into a tight ring, specifically just his index finger and thumb. Bucky is using that ring to move Steve's foreskin, pulling it up the head of his dick, stimulating his glands, and then pulling it back down again, also stimulating his glands. Playing with him. Milking him. The ring of his fingers feels like it pops over the ridge that separates the head of his dick from the shaft with each slide.

It hurts.

It feels so good.

Tight and sensitive and everything.

He's burning alive; he's melting; he's never been wetter. So wet. Dripping--dripping down the throbbing, hot shaft of his cock, and dripping down the tight, unforgiving hold Bucky's hand has on him.

Steve's crying.

Steve's screaming--

Because, because, fuck, Bucky has finally moved his other hand from where he positioned himself neatly between Steve's shaking thighs so their skin doesn't touch, and he uses that other fucking hand to fucking rub one finger against his slit, too, using his fingernail to scrape against it just so.

Steve's vision goes black for a moment.

Oh, oh, oh.

He's not sure he can even make a sound. Nothing comes out. His neck goes limp.

Still. Bucky keeps torturing him. Wringing sensations from him that feel like electricity. Shooting through him. It's almost too much to think about cumming. Overstimulated.

Help, Steve wants to cry for help, he can't--

He can't!

Everything in him gives up at once, fully boneless, and just when he does, Bucky feels it. And Bucky rewards him for it.

Bucky changes Steve's thoughts about cumming because he tells him to. He squeezes the crown of his cock so hard that Steve squeals and tugs hard enough on the restraints trying to curl up in a ball and protect his poor, poor cock that the shock radiates down his limbs. It's his voice, rough and in arguable, that pushes Steve over the edge. He feels his cock flex and twitch and pull the orgasm up from his balls.

GodfuckingJesusGOD.

There's too much pleasure to register all of it. It shatters him.

Scent glands, though...

Bucky would have Steve squirming with just the lightest brush of his fingers against the new, raised, sensitive patches of skin. Extra pink compared to the rest of his pale, freckled body. Those new additions are practically begging for Bucky's attention, standing out in such a way.

Anyway--

Just the pads of Bucky's fingers barely gliding over the glands now on the sides of the base of Steve's neck, under his arms, and high on the insides of his thighs as well as near the base of his dick is enough to make shivers race up Steve's spine. Ticklish. Yet, also, panting from it. Mouth hanging open. His dick twitching and swelling until he's desperately hard.

And Steve will be hard so long as Bucky keeps the touches up--no matter if the touches don't get harder or not. Soft and gentle keeps him throbbing when he's so reactive.

Electric.

He can't help it!

When Bucky touches him there, Steve can't think. He doesn't even know how to ask Bucky what he's done to him. It shuts his brain off like a switch. He looks dumb like that. So turned on that his brain has been turned off.

Empty headed.

When Steve has an influx of hormones as a result of Bucky's playing with him--injections, pills, and other medical play that Steve enjoys with his eyes closed and head lulling back from the impersonal and examining touches and clinical, dettached speak--those glands get inflamed. They're tender. Painful, almost, just barely on the edge of not.

As a result, Bucky decides to rub some ice cubes across those sensitive patches of skin. Watching the chilly cubes melt against his pale, gorgeous skin. The chilly water makes alluring rivers across his goosebumps.

Steve shudders--he can't stop shivering.

The whole time, he's gasping, whimpering, and shivering, trying to get away from it. It feels like it's inside his body. Like the ice is in his veins. Traveling from his new scent glands to his heart and back around his body.

Afterward, when his new, shiny glands are somewhat numb, Bucky massages them. Pressing his thumbs into his skin, trying to make sure they don't remain inflamed. Soothing. Or, it would be soothing if it weren't still sending waves and waves of hormones through Steve's body. Leaving him a husk of a man. All he is is sparks of muted pleasure. It's like being touched through his clothes because he's mostly numb.

Fuck.

Steve is only a puddle.

A knot

Steve is going to town between Bucky's plush thighs, fucking them, begging Bucky to hold his legs together tighter, needing the slick, hot friction and clawing at him, so, so close to tears, when Bucky tells him, beautifully deadpan, that he doesn't know... his legs are starting to hurt. It's hard to hold them together like that...

No, no, no!

He can't!

Steve is so close! He needs something hot and tight to fuck.

Bucky threatens with a teeth heavy smile that's mascarading as being sweet, that, oh, well, if he just needs something tight than Bucky can go and get him a fleshlight. That should do the job, right? Especially with some nice warming lube to make it reeeeal sloppy and wet.

Steve collapses on top of Bucky, crying with real tears all of a sudden, spilling onto Bucky's hard chest, that he can't do that! Anything but that! He needs Bucky. Bucky. He needs Bucky.

Any part of him he's willing to let Steve use!

Fine.

Bucky agrees to let Steve keep fucking his thighs as if his own cock isn't hard and drooling a puddle onto his twitching abs--as if it's a fucking hardship.

Fine.

Steve cries his thank you out of quivering lips. Breaking down.

His crumbling doesn't prevent him from getting back. to. it. Fucking Bucky's thighs. Hard. Deep. Making the worst kind of obscene sounds with every weight-honed thrust. Sucking and wet. All that lube smeared indecently across the soft, fatty flesh of Bucky's inner thighs. He's going and going and whining, and suddenly--

He doesn't know what's happening.

There's, oh, God, there's this pressure!

He doesn't know where it's coming from because surely Bucky's just clamping his thighs together tighter, finally giving Steve some mercy, but then why does it feel like it's coming from inside Steve? Why does it feel like a balloon expanding that's about to pop. Overfilled. Pressure and pressure and--

OH!

Through gritted teeth, Steve screams, his orgasm smashing into him like a freight train. Destroying him.

All the pressure, all that pleasure--it feels so good that it hurts. Like fire. It feels like fire! Like he's been ripped open and filled with lava. His vision gets black spots before going completely blank, eyes rolling back, jaw clenching until the joint creaks from the stress.

He's never felt--

He's never felt anything like it.

He's never cum so hard.

OhfuckingGod.

His mind is still spinning faster than he can keep up with when suddenly Bucky is surging up, flipping their positions so he's on top of Steve, straddling his trim waist, and is wrapping his fingers around Steve's wrist to pull his hand down to his cock and placing it on--

What?

Steve's mind isn't just spinning anymore, it's spinning so fast that it's being pulled apart by gravity, spread thin. He has no concept of gravity himself. What's up and what's down? What is fucking happening?

Huh?

He's struck dumb.

Bucky has him grabbing his cock but it doesn't feel like his cock because he's fisting the base and it's, it's thick.

The base of his dick is swollen and so fucking hard, taut, Steve can feel his pulse thudding through him like a fist banging on a drum with the furious intent to break the instrument. It feels like there's a ball that's been shoved down his slit all the way to the base of his cock. Impossibly large. So tight.

Steve is whimpering in a way that's hilariously pathetic. Tiny. Thin. High. Tears streaming out of his tightly shut eyes.

What?

Bucky puts both of his hands around Steve's and makes him squeeze his cock hard.

AH!

Steve screams again even though he doesn't have enough air for it. Suffocating. He sees God. It feels so unbelievable that it's killing him.

What. is. that?

Steve thrashes as Bucky keeps making Steve grope himself. It almost feels better now than it did before his cock did... that. Whatever is happening to him. How? How can it feel better?

How can he cum again when he's just, just been destroyed by the best orgasm of his life?

What?

When Steve is finally not still cumming and his dick is still swollen but throbbing somewhat less, Bucky cautiously lets him touch himself more. Shift his hand around. Get both hands on it. It doesn't feel too good to keep his hands off of it, the lack of pressure hurts under his skin in a way that's just wrong, so Steve holds it like he's got the desperate urge to piss. Both hands tight around the base of his cock. It's humiliating. It's fucking great.

Steve can't believe Bucky when he tells him that this is his knot.

He stares open mouthed at Bucky.

Is this gonna happen every time he orgasms? How long does it last? It's not permanent, right!? He flicks his eyes down to his cock weary of his body in a way that he hasn't been since he first got the serum.

Bucky just smirks and kisses him on the forehead, pretending he's not an evil mastermind fulfilling Steve's deepest sexual desires--so deep that he wasn't even aware they existed before.

"Dunno, guess you'll have to figure that out yourself, huh?"

Steve wants to groan in complaint, but all that will come out is a complaining whimper...

Overall sensitivity

Poor Steve, overall, his body has gone h a y w i r e

It's almost like a repeat of getting the serum. The symptoms aren't the same, but that confusion of what is happening to him and how different everything feels all at once are the same. Steve thinks it might be better the second time around. Maybe it's because he's able to enjoy it this time around (re: Bucky can take advantage of said new sensitivities whenever he likes, no war, overt homophobia, or anything else to distract them). Or maybe it's because Bucky is doing it to him.

It's probably because it's Bucky doing it to him--no matter how often they roleplay with Bucky as the doctor and Steve the patient, Steve knows Bucky is doing this to him.

Bucky is making his body so sensitive to even the slightest touch that he's nearly fainting, knees weak. Even when doing something as normal as zipping up his jeans, he can't help but fall apart. Steve stays in sweatpants for weeks.

And, God, Bucky just brushes a hand over his crotch and Steve's whining, shrill, and getting hard so fast that his vision swims, lightheaded.

It feels like not even a single hour can pass without Steve needing to be scraped off of the floor, couch, or bed, depending on what he was doing when his sensitivity finally wore through him. Unable to take it. Needing. Now. Needing something, anything right now--humping the floor, sliding a hand into his own pants, getting off against a stray pillow, pressing a hand against himself over his clothes, fondling his own junk or his own chest, gasping, begging Bucky for help, anything.

Anything.

And to think that Steve thought he had a hair trigger before...

Compared to now, like this, adjusting to his alpha-body, it seems like he had unbelievable stamina then. He's so weak.

Rut

The first rut that Steve goes into is a surprise to Steve, of course, but it's also a shock to Bucky. If Bucky knew it was coming, he wouldn't've left the house, but... because it isn't a sure science and it comes when it wants to... Bucky isn't home.

And Steve is left to sink slowly into insanity by himself.

At first, he thinks the thermostat has turned itself up or the AC isn't working, and so that's why he's feeling hot and sweaty. No problem, he turns it down. When Steve's body starts telling him to pay less attention to his book and more to his cock, Steve assumes that, well, nothings wrong. This is his life right now. He's always ready for it. Although, usually not so ready as to need to strip out of all his clothes, save for his underwear, and lie back on the sofa, feeling wound up for... no apparent reason. His sweats weren't even rubbing against his dick. He's not reading anything particularly stimulating. He's not thinking about Bucky.

He's just hard and sweaty and... kinda itchy and achy. His neck itches, especially around his scent glands, and his jaw aches. He's not hungry, but he's feeling like he needs to bite something. Not chew. Bite.

The seemingly random urges only grow and grow as Steve continues to be left alone.

Time drags out unbearably. So. fucking. slow.

However, Steve refuses to stop reading. Mostly because he's stubborn--it's not that good of a book. But, also because, damnnit, he gets off so fucking often (especially when Bucky isn't home and he's getting off alone, it's nowhere near as satisfying, so he needs more). But, it's fine. He'll be fine until Bucky comes home. He can wait.

He's not fine until Bucky comes home.

By the time Bucky is coming through their front door, Steve is not good. He's sweaty as fuck. His chest is heaving. His skin feels like it's paper thin and too tight at the same time, sensitive and uncomfortable. He's burning with a fever. He's obsessed with the thought of grabbing Bucky--he wants to feel him under his hands, under his jaws, he wants to have him. He needs to have him. It's the only thing he can think about--

BuckyBuckyBuckyBuckyBucky.

So, immediately, Steve is all over Bucky before the other man can even shut the fucking door. Steve is panting, and so, so hard. He's been hard all fucking day. It won't go away! He's vibrating.

He needs.

Before Steve even registers the thought of speaking, he's begging Bucky. Begging so fucking hard that he's sliding down onto his knees and wrapping himself around Bucky's legs, pressing his face as close to him as he can get. Nose smushed against his thigh. Smelling him. Kissing him. Licking him. Dragging his teeth against him. Begging him.

Caught off guard, but very pleased with this delicious development, Bucky hauls Steve by the back of the neck toward their bed. Steve whimpers the entire time, stumbling, twisting, trying to reach out and touch Bucky. He's so fucking hard. He's so close to getting what he needs. But this isn't it! Why can't they fucking fuck in the doorway! What's so wrong with that!? It's their fucking home! So, Steve's upset. But, he's also thrilled--this crazed state is going to stop! And it's going to be sweet, sweet release.

Please.

Or, Steve thinks it's going to end. But, with Bucky-?

C'mon.

He should know better after so many years--after so many lifetimes.

Once they're in the bedroom, Bucky is throwing him down onto the matress and getting on top of him, normally, Steve is more than fine with being ridden into oblivian, but the ache deep inside him says no. No. Just this once, he can't have that. He can't! He wants to fuck Bucky so hard that he puts him through the mattress.

He needs to.

He needs to take him.

Bucky doesn't give him a chance to think about it, though. Instead, he interrupts him with a demand, "how horny are you?"

Steve whines. He can't rub two brain cells together to form words! And he can't move either, no matter how much he craves mounting Bucky and making him take it, this is his dom. He can't disobey him. So he suffers. He lets Bucky sit on top of him without having the fucking decency to fucking do anything when he's in such a state. Suffering.

What does it feel like? Are you close? Does it hurt? Does it feel good? What do you want to do to me?

Bucky asks him question after question.

Unrelenting.

But Steve is just too goddamn dumb to answer, whimpering and humping up, trying to grind against nothing but empty air.

Please!!

It's unspeakably frustrating.

Steve grits his teeth until they feel like they're going to break. His fists clench the sheets so hard that he rips them. His skin is slick with bullet after bullet of sweat--its practically a firing squad. Hell, facing a firing squad would be easier than this.

He's dying.

And Bucky's questions only get more and more filthy. His fucking mouth, doing all the heavy lifting when he's not even touching Steve other than where he's sitting low on his thighs, weighing him down.

This is hell.

Steve has already died, and this is hell.

Do you need to knot? Do you need to fuck something? Do you wanna fill something up with cum from those big, heavy alpha balls? Do you need to breed something? Do you need to knock something up? Rut it out?

Steve sobs and sobs, humping fucking NOTHING even though he's shaking from the strain of lying immobile.

He breaks.

Shatters.

He admits yes. His tongue only working after what feels like hours of his mind begging for it.

Are you a slut for having that hot cock squeezed? Are you a slut for having anything around your cock? Do you need a nice little cocksleeve?

Yes.

YES.

Y-E-S.

Steve's incoherent now, blubbering affirming sounds and hoping that Bucky takes at least one to be good enough. If he could make his body work, he'd admit to anything at the moment. Anything. Just for a chance at fucking Bucky.

PLEASE.

Finally--

Finally, Bucky takes pity on him. Flipping them and letting Steve fuck him. Steve wants to mount him, get Bucky actually on all fours and take him from behind like the primal urges demand, but Steve cannot wait that long. Even if he wants it more than he wants air, he can't fucking wait one more fucking minute.

Bucky flips them, and Steve is taking the gilded opportunity.

In no time at all, his face is planted in the center of Bucky's pecs, whimpering and whining and crying. Humping him. Fucking him. Mating him. Defiling him.

Steve knots him and ends up passing out. It's so intense. Too much for his body.

He wakes up when Bucky knows his knot has gone down enough to slip out of him and Bucky does just that. Just to see what's happen. Steve wakes up with a pathetic cry. He's hard again. His knot has deflated, but he's still jaw-achingly hard. And, well, they have to do something about that, don't they?

This time Steve fucks Bucky doggy style, blubbering, promising to breed him good, knock him up nice and heavy and give him big, heavy babies, gonna pump more cum into him, and he's gonna do it until Bucky's pleased. Until Bucky passes out. Anything he wants.

Anything he wants.

Steve passes out again after another helplessly frantic round, waking up later to have Bucky feed and water him by hand as Bucky explains that this is rut.

Steve moans, thinking about this happening every month. Every few months? Every six months? They won't know until his body settles. Either way, whatever the time frame, fuck, he's never going to get anything done!

I hope this was worth the wait!

[briskalishous]

FINAL ONE BEFORE MOVING ON TO THE NEXT CHARACTERS

This one, I feel so proud you guys. I experimented a bit with the pens I was using and found this much more cleaner than the last two redesigns I did.

I'm a little disappointed with how I did the hair but I'm sure after some time I can get it to look "right". I was going for a disheveled, overgrown type of hair while still staying true to his original design and keeping the bob he has :ooo

I got lazy with his mic staff thing, but I think it was better to keep it consistent and change it in my doodles soon.

Here we see Alastor as we see current, out of hibernation, and pent up as his power cumulated over the years. His appearance has also changed drastically: a more prominent deer nose, more fur growing alongside his cheek, teeth grown semi sharper, broader hooves and more bulked out calves (not muscle yet, especially since all he done is SLEEP and not hit the gym). His skin color complexion has also become more muted as well as his hair/fur becomes more of hell's theme with dark highlights.

With the dressing, I had him in corset and suspenders as hibernation does burn away fat and with no movement really does shit to your spine. So just a silly thing to help with his posture and give the illusion that he's just trying out something new (and definitely not to hide that he's emaciated). Either way, it looks good, so why bother with buttoning his coat. I also did a neck corset as the fur there has also grown out, and I just have this hc that Alastor doesn't bother with tidying himself up as long as he doesn't lose his scary image. Still, he likes to keep his clothing nice and presentable. Especially after the disaster of his first clothing when Alastor landed in hell. Instead, he has a nice layout and vest along with the colors being more darker than the pinkier version.

Also PLEASE ignore the hands I'm so mad about that. I did like 5 poses and adjustments and decided to leave it like that. And the left arm is wonky looking but I was just testing out point of view 👁

Anyways here's the process :D