#Thank you for blessing me K

[twiiggg]

HOLY KANADE

rly swlf indulgent robot x angel yuri for #25jishipweek knmf day

[flovoid]

‘Just Pretend’

collab with @dejasenti99 !!! RWAGHHH

[benevolenterrancy]

I just finished reading bk6 and I have to be honest, this was not the dynamic I was expecting between Xie Lian and White No-Face

[spaceymarz]

me: omg i'm so busy

the busy:

Play From Beginning Eye Love You

Wedding Impossible Ep.12 available in 1 day

Everyone Loves Me Ep. 9 Available April 5

Queen of Tears Ep. 9 available April 6

[deus-ex-mona]

i just think she would

[woeismywaffle]

[targaryen-dynasty]

REDAMANCY.

Cregan Stark x female Targaryen!Reader (Part 4 here)

From the very beginning on you’ve been hesitant to accept your younger brother’s offer to return to the capital for your child to receive his blessings. And when you‘re finally on the way, it’s your husband‘s duty to take care of you.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MDNI; p in v, lactation kink, lactating, pregnant sex, pregnancy, slight breeding kink, praise kink, slight degrading, angst, fluff

WORDS: 3.3 K

NOTES: Redamancy means A love returned in full; an act of loving the one who loves you, and let me tell you: these two are in love. Thanks to @sylasthegrim, it‘s always good to know you help me with my zero grasp on English!

✖️ 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

Ravens from Winterfell flying all the way down to King’s Landing has always taken quite some time. And therefore it was no wonder you were surprised that one of your younger brother’s ravens reached the castle not long after you'd informed him you were with child, inviting you to birth it in the Red Keep for it to receive the young king’s blessings.

Being the ever dutiful Lord of House Stark, there was no way your husband would refuse the offer, and once your pregnancy had crossed the seventh moon mark, a carriage and your husband’s entourage were sent south.

From the very beginning on you’ve been hesitant to accept the offer. Westeros’ capital has brought nothing but pain and grief to you, and you’re afraid coming back ruins the comfort and peace you’ve found far, far away from the castle in the North, in Winterfell. But a part of you misses and longs for your siblings and the part of your family that’s still left, hence it didn’t take too much convincing from your husband.

You’ve lost count of the days you spent in that damned carriage by now, solely accompanied by your maids as your dear husband rides at the front of his entourage, joining his men on horseback. But there’s one thing all days have in common: it’s you being exhausted beyond relief once night comes.

For the longest time you thought your unborn babe to be no-fussy and calm, which proved to be false just one week into the travel. It’s restless, kicking and moving especially when you finally find rest in the bed of the receptive inn you stay in for the night. Your feet are swollen, just like your breasts, and your body provides milk as though the babe has been long born already, and all you crave at this point is for the pregnancy to be over already.

As the wheelhouse comes to a stop, you rub your swollen bump with a sigh, looking toward the door with heavy footsteps approaching. Your beloved husband opens the door, and even though he won’t admit it, he looks just as exhausted as you do.

“Is it time?” you ask, slowly rising to your feet with another sigh. You place your small hand in his large one, allowing him to help you out.

He nods, bringing a hand to the small of your back. “Indeed. We have reached the crossroads. From here we are only ten days away from King’s Landing, which means the end of our journey is in sight,” he replies. “How are you and our son feeling?”

Cregan guides you away from the wheelhouse, escorting you through the crowd of his men towards a large inn sitting right where the river road crosses the kingsroad. And from old tales of your uncle you know it has to be the Bellringer Inn, a place where even your great-grandfather and great-grandmother have stayed at before.

“We do not yet know if this babe will be a boy or a girl, husband,” you chastise him in a teasing manner.

“You are right, we do not,” he says. “But I feel it in my bones. Just call it a father’s intuition.”

You roll your eyes at his words and nudge his ribs with your elbow, yet there also pulls a smile at the corners of your lips. He chuckles at that. “Careful, my love, I am not as nimble as I used to be.”

Shaking your head, you giggle softly. “Do not tell me that you are an old man now, Lord Stark.”

As you make your way through the courtyard and towards the inn, you can feel the curious glances of the passerby; a man of Cregan’s caliber always drew the attention toward him, just like your hair did. But you’re unbothered by it all. You carry a piece of your husband within you, and that thought fills you with a sense of fulfillment and pride.

He looks for the innkeeper as you reach for his hand, pulling it from your back around your frame, squeezing it softly. “Might you join me tonight? I know that you can not leave your men alone, but one night will surely do no harm. I must admit that I have hardly found sleep without your warmth for the past weeks.”

With a gentle, intimate gesture, Cregan brushes his fingers over your swollen bump, before pulling you against his side. “How can I ever be expected to refuse anything my beautiful wife asks of me? Of course I will join you tonight.” Leaning a bit closer toward you, he adds with a quiet whisper: “Your presence has been missed in my bed as well. The nights feel cold and lonely without you by my side.”

Heat crawls onto your cheeks at the proximity and the slight implication that comes with his words, solely interrupted when a stout man with a bushy beard but otherwise pleasant demeanor walks around the corner and welcomes you two.

Upon Cregan’s inquiry about the availability of a room, he hands over the keys and leads you toward your place of retreat for the night. More than once have you told Cregan you’re perfectly fine with sleeping in a tent with him, yet he always came back to your delicate condition, stating he only wants the best for you and his unborn child, and you eventually have given up and accepted it.

The room is decent. Not as big as your chambers at home, but still larger than what you’ve slept in for the last few weeks. Your maids already scurry into the room to bring some of your belongings and clothes to get you ready for the night, while Cregan leans in to kiss your temple. “Let me arrange for my man to sleep outside the inn for the night,” he mutters against your skin. “And then we shall spend the night in warm beds.”

Even with your maids bustling around you, you can’t help but feel a flicker of excitement at his words. The prospect of sharing the night with him is enough to make you forget the soreness of your swollen curves that has become a constant companion over the past few moons.

“I will freshen up in the meantime,” you say, leaning into his touch before he pulls away to take care of his men’s sleeping arrangements for the night. Once everything was adjusted in the chambers, your maids moved to help you out of your clothes, but you refused them, having planned something very special.

Standing in front of the small window, overlooking a stable with a thatch roof and a bell tower, you all but admire how quietly Cregan opens the door, and with the lock falling right into place behind him, the room grows even quieter and the atmosphere becomes charged with anticipation.

“Is everything sorted?” you ask, looking at him from over your shoulder.

“All set,” your husband replies with a low voice as he approaches you.

He comes to tower over your frame from behind, moving his hands over your hips up to your waist. Lifting your head, your eyes lock with his. “Alone at last, hm?” There’s a sultry smile on your lips now, and you gently reach behind you to cup his cheek with one hand. “Now you’re all mine for the night.”

You lean against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breaths against your back. Cregan seizes the opportunity and brushes your hair over one shoulder before he presses his lips to the crook of your neck. The touch makes you sigh, stirring something inside of you you have had to keep at bay for quite some time. When he brings his large hands to your swollen breasts, fondling them through the thick fabric of your dress, you can’t help but moan, the slight squeezing aiding against the heaviness.

But then his hands and lips leave your body, and he slightly leans around you to look at you – or rather your breasts – and you immediately know the reason why.

The gray fabric has become damp under his touch, two dark spots prominent in the front of it. While it brings a bit of shame to your cheeks, the low rumble that escapes his chest sends a fire straight down between your legs. “I should have warned you I started leaking a fortnight ago,” you admit ashamedly, biting your bottom lip.

“I quite enjoy the sight of it, you know,” he says, voice laced with a combination of awe, adoration and burning need. His hands shift to the lace in the back of your dress. “But let us put this to good use.”

The dress comes undone with ease, falling to the floor in a puddle around your feet. Damp spots are decorating your smallclothes, but this time you don’t mind the sight. Cregan’s hands now roam over your body, tracing the curve of your waist and your growing bump.

Although you know exactly what it is his words are meant to imply, you choose to tease him. “And what is it you have in mind right now, hm?”

His gray eyes briefly flicker to the bed close to you, before meeting yours again. “I have a few things in mind. But for now…” He cups your chin, tilting your head up so he can claim your lips in a slow, deep kiss that’s full of desire and passion. It makes you feel as though the air is sucked right out of your lungs by him, as if you can’t survive without his lips on yours. “How about we make the most of this night, my love?”

“I’m all yours,” you breathe against his lips.

His large hands roam your curves, helping you out of your undergarments, until they settle at your thighs, wrapping around them to effortlessly hoist you up. Although Cregan is quite the bull of a man and appears to be a brute, he possesses a tenderness you wouldn’t expect from him, gently keeping your body against his and lying you down on the bed not far away just as carefully.

Soft, gentle kisses are pressed to your collarbones, igniting a fire within you that has been smoldering for too long. As his fingers glide over your skin with featherlight touches, leaving a burning trail behind, he finds his hands drawn to your full breasts, cupping and holding them, and eventually squeezing them.

More droplets of your milk trickle into his calloused palms, wetting his skin, but he does not care–not when he has you writhing and whimpering beneath him at just the faintest of touches.

Your husband’s eagerness would have almost made you chuckle, watching him rise from the bed to rid himself off his clothes hastily, if it wouldn’t match your own desire and greediness. With his breeches falling to the ground, his cock stands to full attention, hard enough for it to almost seem painful.

His hungry gazes devours your bare form, tall frame slightly hunched forwards as his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths.

“Will you just stand there and watch, my wolf?” you tease, propping yourself up on your elbows. “What happened to ‘let us put this to good use’?”

It’s the teasing lilt in your voice that pulls him out of his stupor like a wave, the chuckle he releases low and throaty. “You are a temptress, my love,” he replies. “You are lucky I am a man of my word.”

“Then touch me,” you whine, words coming out more desperate than actually intended.

He doesn’t need any more encouragement. Slowly approaching the bed, Cregan bows forwards and grabs one of your feet. He lifts your leg and starts to trail sloppy, open mouthed kisses along the inside of your leg, occasionally nibbling on the skin of your inner thigh.

Your back slightly arches off the mattress, body thrumming with desire. Entangling your hands in his dark curls, you use the grip as reigns to where you want him most, but your husband acts completely unfazed, not allowing you to tug him higher up.

He takes his time, kissing and nibbling your thighs, before he boldly presses a kiss to the apex of your legs, tongue briefly dragging through your folds. It elicits a shudder in its wake, and you can’t stifle a moan.

Making his way up, he licks your navel, and eventually traces the curve of your full breast, circling your hardened bud. Cregan laps up every drop of milk that oozes out of your bud like nothing else than a starved wolf, the edge of his teeth applying just a faint pressure to the sensitive skin to stimulate the flow.

But when his other hand comes up to fondle and squeeze your other breast, that’s the moment you lose your composure, shamelessly smothering him with your breasts. “Gods, Cregan…” you whimper, immediately bringing you relief. There isn’t even time to waste a thought about the indecency of it all, not when it feels just so right.

It’s your mewls, your whispered whines and moans, the sound of you saying his name in such a desperate manner that drives him to continue. “You make me ache for you,” he rasps against your skin, voice thick with desire. Your husband never falters to ignite a fire inside of you with his words, especially when there’s an innuendo hidden between his praises.

Bringing his hand from your breast down between your bodies, he aligns himself with you, dragging the tip of his cock through your folds in a way that makes you bite back a moan and grind against him. You grip his dark curls harshly as he finally eases inside, pushing into you inch by inch, agonizingly slow to make sure you feel him enter you.

His suckling falters with the tightness of your walls embracing him, overwhelmed by pure bliss and a feeling he’s missed for the past few weeks.

Every gasp and whine that escapes you only serves to embolden him further, continuing to tease and taste your breast with unrivaled enthusiasm. It juxtaposes the slow, sloppy thrusts of his hips, and brings you two different kinds of sensations at once.

Cregan has made himself home between your legs, rocking his hips leisurely back and forth. He has dropped his weight on one elbow and leant his upper body to the side, determined to not put any weight on your swollen bump. His lips are firmly wrapped around your bud while his hand teases the other, pinching and squeezing it between his fingers. The proximity is unmatchable, feeding into your constant desire to be as close to him as possible.

You can practically watch him lose every ounce of self control, his suckling becoming more intense and the thrusts growing in determination. His groans and grunts are muffled, and droplets of your milk trickle idly down his chin, getting lost in the dark, coarse hairs.

You fully expect him to say something when he releases your bud, but he’s far too eager to get his fill again. Pinching the perky bud of your other breast harshly, droplets of milk run down the curve of it, only to be traced by his tongue, liking a flat stripe over your skin. He chokes on a groan as the sight has you clenching tightly around his hard cock.

“Please– do not stop,” you whimper, applying a bit of pressure to his head to urge him towards your breast again. “... not yet.”

Dark-blown eyes suddenly flicker up to meet yours, and a shuddered breath leaves your lips. “My my, what a greedy wench I have for a wife,” he chuckles to himself. You don’t take offense, but the statement does make you duck your head and bite your bottom lip sheepishly. “I do not intend to.”

Despite the teasing, it’s obvious your pleas fall upon eager ears as he heeds your command and closes his lips around your bud again. Every hungry pull of his lips draws more and more milk from you, and while relief makes itself known in your breasts, a different kind of pressure starts to settle in the pit of your belly.

Squeezing him so well, you make it impossible for Cregan to move on his own accord, and quickly take over, rolling your hips against his. It’s a race for completion, making your pearl throb with anticipation.

The coarse hairs of your husband’s beard drag over your sensitive skin with his eager suckling, tickling you and causing you to arch against him even more. You have your arms wrapped around his neck at this point, keeping him tightly against you.

A string of yesses falls past your lips like a chant, and the pace of your hips increases as far as your bump allows you to. Your mind grows hazy with pleasure, until your peak washes over you with a loud gasp.

You haven’t noticed Cregan watching you through it all, too focused on the sensations coursing through your body. His gaze is mesmerized, clearly relishing in the relief that’s etched onto your features and the way your walls flutter around his cock.

He pulls back, droplets of milk resting in the corners of his lips, and lifts his body to tower over you. The thrusting of his hips grows sharper now, determined to help you through your pleasure.

“That’s it,” he rasps, one hand resting on the mattress next to your head while the other gropes at your now relieved breasts.

“Once this pup is born,” he emphasized the words by rolling your sore bud between his index finger and thumb, drawing out just a few more droplets of milk. “I shall put another in you to keep you round with my seed.”

Your head grows dizzy, lightheaded even, and you can’t do more than whimper and whine through your peak, not fully comprehending what he’s said.

Cregan snaps his hips into yours once, twice before he topples over the edge with a loud groan, his throbbing cock spending itself deep inside of you. Cupping your breast, his fingers dig harshly into your flesh.

You continue to roll your hips against his, prolonging his pleasure. Switching roles, it’s now your turn to milk him for every drop, taking everything his cock spills inside of you. Every muscle in his body tenses, until eventually, he collapses to the side, careful not to put his weight on your swollen bump.

With his cock slowly becoming flaccid again, the sensation of his seed leaking out of your cunt is more apparent, causing heat to spread throughout your body. If it wasn’t for you carrying his child already, you would have mounted him to make sure his seed would bear fruit.

Cregan eventually lies down on his back, and you seize the chance to rest your head on his chest. It’s hard to keep your eyes open as his hand softly entangles into your hair, scratching your scalp in the manner that usually lulls you to sleep. His breath is slower now, his chest rising and lowering your head.

“I can not bear to spend another night without you by my side,” you all but whisper, bringing a hand to his stomach.

Your finger trails the contours of his muscles, before following the dark trail of coarse hairs down.

“You needn‘t worry about that,” he says. “We shall not stay in King’s Landing for too long. And I highly doubt that anyone could get me out of your chambers during the time we stay there. Once we arrive, we shall stay together.”

Nodding your head slowly, you hum a ‘mh-mh‘, too engrossed in the feeling of his hand in your hair and the other rubbing soothing circles over your back. Having trouble staying awake, you’re hardly able to process his next words, already drifting off to sleep.

“Let us sleep now, my love. We have another tiresome day ahead of us.“

Cregan Taglist: @nats-whore @aemondsbabe

[gay-dorito-dust]

I LOVED your Caracalla marriage headcanons!!! 🤩 could you please please please do marriage headcanons for Geta?

Being with Geta has you learning patience for you wouldn’t be getting much time with your new husband, who happened to be emperor of Rome, as he had his hands full with ruling and his brother’s illness.

So needless to say you would have to find some solace in this, for you’ll only get to see him late into the night before you slept as he clung to you, wistfully thinking that finally he had remembered to gift you with affection and such; or early in the morning but only briefly as he had to do his duties for Rome.

You knew Geta deeply cared and loved his brother and would do anything to protect him from people suspecting something was wrong within their other emperor, so if you’re married to Geta you -as other people have written- might as well have married Caracalla simultaneously with how often you had to be prepared to aid your husband in helping his brother.

However you could see how drained and tried he was from everything, ruling Rome and listening to senate’s council, his brother’s illness and his marriage with you; you could see that everything was getting to him little by little as he had started making expressions that made him appear older then he actually was.

You didn’t care that your needs weren’t met, you just wanted to be within his presence and run your fingers across the lines that deepened across his face in hopes of easing them, take the laurels from his head as you run your hands through his strawberry hair as he audibly groans under your touch; closing his eyes in pleasure as he allows himself to kneel before you as his hands clings to your waist like you were the only thing that grounded him in that moment.

Geta knew that being married to him wasn’t as romantic or sexual or anything that you might’ve thought up beforehand. It was tiring, exhausting and having to make sacrifices for the relationship to work…if you could call what you had anything at all with how little you saw of the other.

However it was moments like theses that have you both hating the positions you were in, yet that didn’t stop you from treasuring this moment and the many more you’d both have in the privacy of your chambers, silently holding each other with tightening grips and foreheads pressed against one another while you breathed the other in. Reminding yourselves that in the eyes of the public you and Geta were one unit, one person and sometimes you have to remind yourselves of that fact also.

‘I apologise-‘ Geta starts

‘Do not apologise dear husband,’ you hushed him, ‘you are emperor and I knew that your attention wouldn’t always be mine to have.’ You smile at him as you rub your hands up and down his back and or arms, depending on where you decided to let them linger. ‘I’ve made peace with that, despite the odd moment now and then, but I’m just happy that I get to see you at the end of each day.’ You kiss his cheeks softly as the lines that aged his face fade away to one of relief and peace.

‘The gods have truly blessed me with you.’ Geta muttered as he nuzzles his nose against yours. ‘They truly have sent me a soul as sweet as freshly picked berries and honey, a soul that’s more then enough to keep me steady, keep me humble should I overstep and a soul who’s words could make the poets weep.’ He finished as his grip tightened on your waist, keeping you close as though you were to slip through his hands and that wasn’t an idea he wanted to tempt anytime soon.

Geta was done doing everything on his own, keeping everything to himself and everyday he thanked for gods for you as no matter what was said in these moments, you would keep them locked and close to your heart and act none the wiser to procure the secret. Your loyalty to him was unfathomable as he couldn’t remember the time where he had done the same for you, but you didn’t care for the concubines that you’d often see crowd Geta and Caracalla, for you knew Geta belonged to you for his eyes never could depart from your being.

‘And I live to hope that I can still withdraw those feelings from you about me, to comfort you and to be a safe haven from your duties that weigh heavily upon your shoulders.’ You whispered as you kissed his forehead before scattering the rest of your kisses across his face. ‘You’re still my Geta, even if I have to wait for the night to come to have you all to myself.’

Geta couldn’t help but smile softly as a warmth flooded throughout his chest, something that he hadn’t felt in a very long time, and now with you in his arms he couldn’t help but crave the feeling for the rest of his life. He’d gladly chase after it as long as you were the one giving him that feeling of peace, of warmth, of a sweetness that he thought he was never ment to reclaim the moment he and Caracalla ascended the throne.

‘If I could, I would spend my mornings in your arms for the senate can wait for you are what I should be focusing on for the rest of my life.’ He tells you and you felt a smile spread across your face as you continue to indulge in feeling the other’s skin beneath your fingertips.

‘You do in ways I cannot describe, I love you my emperor.’ You confess as you stole a kiss from his lips.

Geta hums as he reciprocated the kiss with passion and almost desperation to show you just how much he did care, all the while biding his time to savour the taste of your lips on his. ‘And I adore you my beloved, and I promise to the gods that I shall show this to you every night, satisfy you in multiple ways like a good husband should.’

[mrs-kodzuken]

anything for you ⟢ bokuto k.

synopsis: dating pro!volleyball player Bokuto Koutarou meant that you dealt with a lot of hate that you didn't expect. That lead to a severe newly developed eating disorder that you hid away from your boyfriend, until he found out.

warnings: eating disorder, starving, recovery, healthy meals, emotionally intelligent Bokuto helps you, social media hate, comfort, angst and fluff

This is the sixth day you've gone without food; you could feel hunger pains slowly drifting away. You dreaded the next time they would come, begging for nutrients. Swallowing another sip of diet coke, you didn't worry about it.

After all, you have always told yourself that being skinny means being pretty.

How you desperately wanted to be pretty. How you craved it more than anything else. And fuck, it did hurt to have to keep this newfound development away from your boyfriend, Bokuto.

You both have been in a relationship for almost two years now. You remember that fateful day where you had met him by accident after going to a game for your cousin who loved a certain volleyball player.

You couldn't remember who exactly it was because you were just so captivated by the tall and muscular player who was rumbustious and oozed masculinity.

He had caught your eye and unbeknownst to you, you had also caught his as well. At the end of the game, when he was finished with interviews about his teams' win, he actually came up to you instead to talk about how long you've been a fan.

"Oh! This is my first game, I'm actually here with my cousin." You nervously chuckled, the large volleyball player in front of you making you feel giddy.

"Hey, hey, hey! Did you like my skills? Since you're new can you really tell me how it looked?" The man exclaimed, he sure was a wild one, you could already tell that.

His owlish black and white hair streaks paired with his aureolin colored, astonishing eyes. He sure was definitely blessed, not just in his physical appearance but in his game play too.

You made sure to tell him just that, especially when he scored points for his team. You weren't really sure of volleyball lingo, but you knew that he was unquestionably an eminent player.

"So, would you mind going to dinner with me? I'd love to talk more with you in some place that isn't crowded." He slyly asked, smooth moving into asking you out.

Who are you to say no to someone like him?

In the end, you agreed, and that first date was one of many that lead up to the point of him asking you to be his girlfriend. In which you obviously said yes. However, coming back to your situation right now, it was a shame that things turned out the way they did.

The more you and Koutarou had been with one another, the more self-conscious you got from social media platforms of his fans calling you all sorts of obscenities.

The main one that got you was being called fat, never in your life where you called that. You were raised to eat regular healthy portions, had your fair share of exercise and quite frankly, you felt confident in your skin, even if you were more on the curvy side of things.

That bit of information made you slowly start harming yourself. You would tell yourself that just skipping one meal wouldn't hurt, besides you didn't need the calories anyway?

Then it was every Tuesday you wouldn't eat, then thrice a week, and so on. The cycle continued until you got sick and had to call out of work.

Surviving on gum packets and diet coke honestly got you nowhere.

You could feel yourself getting skinnier, in which you'd end up pretty in the end. That's what you wanted right?

As you pretended that everything was fine, dandy, and normal, a specific night had made everything flip upside down.

Bokuto was finally home after a traveling season, being gone for three weeks was rough on the both of you. You missed him like crazy and couldn't stand to be away from him but were silently thankful he'd been gone so long for other reasons.

"Hey baby," He pulled you closer on your shared queen-sized bed. The clothes you were wearing were his and thankfully so because hiding your progress was the only way you could keep going.

"What do you want me to order for dinner tonight? I don't want to fret you to cook for me, and besides, I need a little cheat day." Kou groaned at the thought of eating healthy prepped meals, like had been for the weeks he was gone to keep his energy up.

Bokuto had missed you like crazy; he was head over heels for you too. After all, he's the one who asked you out in the first place.

After seeing you that day, in all your glory, you were absolutely beautiful to him. He wasn't sure why he was drawn to you, but he knew that he needed to talk with you and well, that ended up with you both dating, so he didn't mind the outcome.

His eyes were focused on his phone, scrolling through the numerous food restaurants in the area for the both of you to choose from. His hair was damp from the shower he just took, as well as comfy lounge clothes to lay around in.

When he originally came back, something about you was off. He couldn't pinpoint it just yet, he was waiting for you to give a hint, a slip up, something so he could connect with you emotionally.

Koutarou knew he was emotionally helpful and in tune with himself, which was something he only became better at since high school.

The TV played a few loud noises in the background, something to distract your mind from the thoughts of food.

Your mouth watered; your stomach demanded something other than diet coke and a few measly low-cal snacks that boost your energy when you needed to do something. Like needing the energy to entertain Bokuto since he was finally home.

You wanted to hold off on telling Bokuto anything, you knew he'd want you to be healthy and not severely and deathly thin.

But in your mind, that was the definition of pretty, you'd do anything to be good enough for him and being deathly skinny is what everyone on twitter was telling you to do.

You cringed away from his touch a bit, disguising it as just moving around to get comfortable. You didn't want him to know, you feared he would take the only thing that's brought you some security since he's been gone.

"Hm? Oh, I'm not really hungry. I ate a huge breakfast this morning." You lie through your teeth, it sounded believable sure, but Kou was better than that.

He wasn't going to take that bait just yet.

"Oh yeah? That's good baby, what'd you eat? I bet it was something so delicious, like your French toast. Oh, God! I've been craving that so much." Bokuto knew what he was doing, he wasn't dumb, just emotionally smart enough to do something like this to make you admit what was wrong.

Of course he's seen the way you look. Your face was a bit slimmer, you moved less, the dishes looked untouched in the cabinet the same way they were when he left.

If his suspensions were right, this may have gone on longer than he presumed, which kind of stung.

How could you keep something like this away from him? Did you not trust him enough to confide in him and ask for help? You brought him back to the present by answering his question.

"I went out this morning for breakfast when I took a walk." You nonchalantly said, not wanting this conversation to continue any further.

You wanted to say that you needed to take a bath, but he's already seen every part of that dead body you don't bear anymore.

You felt trapped to say the least.

You watched as Bokuto silently turned off the TV and turned towards you with all seriousness. That wasn't a face you saw on a daily basis, you feared what he would say next.

"How long have you been dealing with this eating disorder?" His words made you freeze, your instinct was to lie again. But was it really okay to lie to your boyfriend like this?

"I..I don't know what you're talking about. I told you I went out to eat this morning, Kou." You delude, averting your eyes to stare at the decor you both put on the walls of this shared apartment.

He wraps his hands around your hoodie covered arms and turns you to look at him in the eyes. His own searched yours for the answer, for the why. The smallest bit of anger he possessed when he realized what you were doing was long, long gone by now.

He possessed worry, anxiety, and fear for your health.

"Please, baby, please talk to me about this. I'm not mad, I promise. I'm—I'm just very concerned about you right now." He pleads with you, you can't stand to see that look in his eyes either, those beautiful eyes you fell in love with.

You know you're causing him worry, probably pain too from the way you've lied to him.

You turned away and blew out a sigh, "A while, it's not a big deal. It's... I'm fine. I'm managing it, so—you don't have to worry about it."

"Not a big deal? Not a big deal, Y/n? You've been hurting yourself for whoever knows how long and lied about it. Do you even know what you're doing to yourself? Why? What happened to have made you resort to something as harmful as this?"

"Please... just-just talk with me?" Koutarou implored emotionally, he was trying so hard not to shed tears right now. This was about you, not how you were making him feel. And he'd be damned if he guilt-tripped you like that.

Your eyes welled up with tears you didn't think you were capable of. Starving yourself never made you feel regretful of what you were doing, only carefree that you wouldn't have to be the so-called 'pig' social media referred to you as.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I just-I needed," You took a deep breath in before trying to continue.

"I just didn't want to hurt you by doing this to myself. I just wanted to be pretty for you." You cried, allowing yourself to actually feel bad and seeing what you were doing in another light. It was horrible, you felt horrible.

"Hey, hey..." He pulled you close, taking your frame into his. He could feel you now, the sheer size of you was smaller now, not too much but noticeably so since he was able to pick you up when you were not starved.

He rocked you back and forth as you cried, mumbling out apologies and small reasons why you did it. Bokuto would get to that later, but for now he needed to comfort you and make sure you both were on the same page of helping you get to recovering.

"I'm always here for you, through thick and thin. Sickness and health." He paused, "I know those are wedding vows, but they work too." He half smiled at you, trying to make you brighten just a bit.

Over the course of the night, it only got worse for you, feeling wise, and better for Koutarou so he could help you get on the path you needed to be.

The words he would always chant had replaced the negativity that encased your thoughts for almost a month.

'I'm always here for you'

They were such simple and kind words that it made you almost tear up every single time too.

Needless to say, recovery was hard. Very fucking hard. You had leaned on Bokuto as your pillar when you pushed yourself to get better and focus on your health instead of anything else.

The nights you wanted to revert back into your unhealthy lifestyle were numerous, but your pillar was always one step ahead to finding a healthy meal and a good path to walk on together after dinner.

Koutarou was exceedingly furious when he had asked for you to tell him what the reason was that you did this to yourself.

The why.

And he wasn’t prepared for you to pull out your phone and open twitter, the app you would usually go to when the hunger pains got too much.

He scrolled through your feed, seeing nothing but rudeness towards you, ridiculing you, tearing your person down when you have not even done anything.

He was so enraged that he sent out a public message without speaking to his publicist first, noting in his head that he needed to check with them about these comments of his girlfriend he’s been with since forever, and figure out how long they knew.

The public message was a threat that he wouldn’t stand for the impropriety any longer, if he heard even the littlest thing, he would personally have them held accountable and sue for hate crimes.

You were absolutely in awe watching him defend you from the merciless people that ridiculed you for something that was so physical and meaningless if you’re healthy.

It made you not want to ever be in the spotlight again but you knew that Bokuto being there was your light that he’d welcome you to hide in.

He kissed you on your forehead and snuggled into you, soothing you after he sent the public message. “It’s fixed, baby. You don’t have to worry about that ever again, I got you.”

You felt grateful for him, without your Kou you wouldn't know what to do. So, since then you both have found an abundant number of recipes that include everything you may need to help keep you full and feeling happy.

"Ready for our walk, baby?" Kou asked you, whilst you zipped up your matching jumpsuits, he had personally ordered for the both of you. He wanted to make your recovery a positive experience and help you out the best he could.

"You bet." You paused, keeping the loving eye contact the both of you held. "Thank you, I mean it. You're so big-hearted and considerate." You admitted, elated that you found someone who would go through hell with you.

"Of course, baby," He leaned down to kiss your temple, "Anything for you." 

a/n: another comfort piece because why not? requests are open (PLEASEEEE) haha, i hope you enjoyed & use bokuto as a pillar to help yourself get better if you need <3

[mylittlefina]

Thank you for tolerating me at my worst....

We all have our stories and trauma we drag with us. My goal was to show my healing journey and the positive sides of being a "little"

I've been through some insane events this last year, to the point of psychosis.

Luckily, i had this community to help me through it.

Thank you all so much. I can't express how your words and intentions helped me when I felt completely alone and lost within my own mind and body.

I couldn't tell what was real and I felt like the walls around me were closing in and I was the literal joke of the world. It broke me in ways I may never fully recover from.

I'm more than grateful, and I'll share my life with you all to the best of my abilities.

I'm going to embrace my little side more now than ever before without losing my independence. Life is messy, and being innocence brings me an inner peace that nothing can compete with.

I've spoken with so many of you, and i lose track of who I'm messaging, so please don't take it personally. Tumblr has a terrible setup if you have more than 99 messages. It's both a blessing and a curse. Im only one person after all... and I dont like the idea of liking one human over another. Mainly because how I was neglected as a child. I just want things to be as fair as possible.

I care about knowing who I'm messaging so be patient with me. I've met many followers and I like to give everyone a chance, no matter your imperfections or insecurities .. trust me. I'm full of them too. Just know I'm literally not for everyone and that something that kills me sometimes but its life. We all want what we cannot have.

I just wanted to share my thoughts..

I'm not trying to be super serious, but its good to ground ourselves in reality once in a while.

I wish you all the best year yet, I bless your path and all those you care about.

Let's teach people how to be human again. You're literally eternal souls having this temporary experience, so make the most of it ❤️

Blessings to thee for Blessings Are Free 😘💖

Little Fina/Mylee K

[takes1]

heyy I must tell you all those tsukishima fics were so good😭 i used to literally log on to tumblr everyday just becausd of yoy😭 can I request a mattsun x oblivious reader?? Where he has tried multiple times to tell her thwt he likes her but something or the other happens and he can't and also thr reader has absolutely no idea that he likes her. Maybe in thr end he can be like do you not like me and stuff snd then she is so confused becsue she did not think thwt he'd like her back snd lmao they go out later

mattsun x oblivious!reader

the sheer quantity of tsukki lovers was a shock when i first started posting that old series lemme tell you. i rlly appreciate that!!

warnings. sfw, fluff

details. libero!reader / girls team!reader / mattsun fluff / aoba johsai fluff / oblivious!reader / platonic?cuddling / mattsun is always warm / giving you his jacket trope / rbf!mattsun / thinking he hates you trope / pda / 2k words

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. requests OPEN

There was only so much to be done about the bitter cold tonight. The Aoba Johsai teams had their joint biyearly dinner, but thanks to a last-minute close for renovation at your usual spot, you and at least fifteen others were stuck waiting for a reservation outside on the town square.

"Fuck-k!" Oikawa shuddered loudly, teeth chattering as he stepped out from the restaurant you were all barred from.

Somebody whined, "I just wanna sit down!"

Iwa trailed close behind, steam practically coming off of his head as he stared down at his phone. He kept his foot in the door for an older couple, sparing a passive-aggressive look at how easily they were seated.

"It'll be another 20 minutes at least," You overheard him, quiet but frothing with frustration, to your own team captain.

Only a few were properly dressed for the weather outside. It was getting darker fast, and the wind was picking up.

You were able to catch a glimpse of his phone screen. He had the estimated wait time from the restaurant's website; 5 groups were before you, but they were nowhere to be seen.

A harsh wind howled through the street and inspired you to jump behind the nearest body. You and the other liberos were lucky to have your faces protected by the gathered group of shoulders and chests, but that's where your blessings ended. Your cardigan could've been made of tissue paper, how thin it was.

The wind settled and you glanced to see who you had nestled up to- you jumped back with a muffled yelp. It went ignored because of the symphony of complaints, curses to the weather.

Matsukawa was glowering down at you. God, was he warm, but he was so mean.

He was the most unsettling member of the guys' team by far. You got along fine with everyone else, but there was some unspoken hatred in his eyes every time you had to interact with him.

He often tried to speak with you after practice, about receiving of all things, quizzing you about your methods from the games he watched or practices he caught. You didn't like how his questions were made to make you feel stupid, so you tended to keep it short with him and run away as soon as you could.

His stare was harsh and judgmental, his frown deep and unforgiving. It gave the impression that he was tearing you apart in his mind.

"Awww, (Y/n)," Your captain, whom you had backed into, put her arms around you at once.

She didn't offer as much heat as him, but it helped to make you feel safer, and wanted. You turned and pressed your face against her chest as she pulled her jacket around the both of you.

Most of the girls were huddled similarly, choice of attire more of an issue than the heavy-coated guys.

Matsukawa wore a thick, black work hoodie, nice thick pants, boots, and a utility jacket over that. You squinted, jealous and bitter, at how he wasn't shivering at all.

"Tw- t-twenty- minutes?" You shuddered against her, sniffling.

She hummed, her cold, dead fingers no help against your sides.

The wind was so strong that it stole your breath with every gust. Your ears were throbbing, your nose numb, even when another teammate joined the huddle.

Not only had you not dressed for the cold, but you didn't expect to be standing so much, so your heels were killing your feet. Another twenty minutes wasn't doable.

"Hey! There's some benches over here!" Somebody called from down the sidewalk and around the corner.

Those that knew it would take longer, especially in uncomfortable shoes, instantly started to migrate away from the door of the restaurant.

The benches were a little wet from the light drizzle earlier. It made most of your teammates hesitate to sit down, including you. You gave a dismal sniffle, completely exhausted from shivering, unable to get any colder or more glum. You peeled off your cardigan.

"Hey, wait wait-!"

"Noo!"

Your teammates gasped, grabbing at you, as you used it to wipe the bench dry.

You turned, offering them a seat, your ferocious shaking in direct contrast to the point you were trying to make.

"It- was-wasn't keeping me warm-- anyway," You struggled to declare.

The three of you sat down on the freezing metal. At least it was dry now. You stared, twitching hard, at the soggy ball in your numb fingers and tried to zone out.

Your eyes had been closed when someone big squeezed in next to you, at the end of the bench. It was too much energy to open them to see who it was.

But a heavy, warm, and cozy presence over you shocked you to open your eyes again.

"Put this on before you pass out," Matsukawa muttered, hands grabbing at the back of his own hoodie, too.

Your face would've felt warm if not for the conditions. It was already stinging, but it stung some more.

"Thank you," You shivered.

His lowered, studied stare at you as you struggled to put on his hoodie with numbed limbs made you feel like a dumbass. He probably thought you were an idiot.

His arm was so solid as he took his outer jacket back, to put it on over his long sleeve shirt. You quickly put up the plush hood and pulled the drawstrings, ears pounding at the relief of some heat.

Then his arm was back, around your shoulders, rubbing firm to get you warmed up faster.

"Thank you," You repeated, better now, and all you could possibly think to say.

When you glanced at him, you found him looking around. There was a protective air to him, like he was busy watching for something while he took care of you. He wore it well.

His hoodie smelled distinctly like him and you found that you did not mind it in the slightest. You were subtle, pulling it over your nose -breathing deep now that you weren't struggling to filter this icy cold air-, letting your body get wracked by his strong rubbing, your head steadied a little on the inside of his big shoulder. It slowly fell, heavier, on him as you learned to trust that he was being helpful.

The wind picked up again- this time you felt invulnerable to its brutality, but he squeezed his working arm into your waist and pulled you, shockingly easy, into his side with no space left between your bodies.

At this point, you were feeling guilty for enjoying it so much. There was no ounce of softness in his angry face to indicate he wanted to hold you. His nose crunched more at the wind, now that he had less layers to protect him. You could only assume he was just being chivalrous.

It made the remainder of the wait harder, in a different way.

"Oh," Iwa raised his brow at you as you passed him to go inside.

He didn't look at you for long, because he referred his gaze to Matsukawa and exchanged a smirk you couldn't see.

When you were all seated, nobody went to sit right next to you. The table was full except for the one seat while everyone filed in. At first, Watari pulled the chair out, but took one look at you and also said, "Ooh," before sitting elsewhere.

Matsukawa sat down without so much as a look at you.

Every guy at the table was looking at him, so you knew you were right about something. You just didn't know what, yet.

The whole evening, he was quiet and only spoke a few times when directly referred to. Otherwise, you felt the weight of his subtle, unwavering gaze anytime you mustered up the courage to contribute to the conversation at the table.

Surely he just wanted his hoodie back. He wore it so often, so it must have been how pitiful you looked outside to make him give it up like that.

Bellies full, bill paid, and a little more relaxed after a fun dinner out with friends despite his presence, you were all starting to leave to go home.

You stood still outside for a moment, sniffling but content, pulling up a route on your phone to walk back to the bus stop. It was a subtle way to wait for him to come out, so you could give him back his hoodie and brave the freezing journey back.

"You got somebody to walk you back?"

He leaned down to speak quietly, just to you. You watched his hand close the distance and rest on your shoulder. It made you stutter.

"Not- not officially."

Then he was walking you back to the bus stop, making a silent trek more difficult than it had to be if you had just gone by yourself. When you spared some meager glances at him, he had that same vibe about him- like he was preoccupied, displeased, and would be unpleasant if you tried to say anything.

It would be another five minutes for the bus.

He stood close to you, his arm against yours, because this bench was wet and you weren't going to repeat that mistake.

"Do you- uh," He rocked a little on his heels when you looked at him, "Do you not... like me?"

It was a staggering question. You held yourself, painfully aware that you were only standing because of his hoodie around you.

"Sure, I like you," You said in a stilted tone.

It wasn't enough and you knew it as it rolled off your tongue.

You cleared your throat. He looked away.

"I mean- I thought you hated me before today, so," You gave an empty laugh to help ease the tension.

"Hate you?" He turned towards you, hands in his pockets. It was the most emotion you had ever seen on his face.

Clearly, something was off. You squinted at him but only could hold it for a second, "Well, yeah, you're kinda... mean-,"

The shock on his face made you stumble over your words.

"But- uh, today you were so nice! Thank you, for your hoodie, that was very sweet-," You glanced around his face, confused, trailing off, "-of, you..."

He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh, eyes closed, pained at your words. You felt astoundingly guilty, more cold than ever, in a way.

"I gave you my hoodie because I like you."

He put the hand back in his pocket, turning to face the street, watching the lamp posts with a forlorn air about him, "I've been tryin' to ask you out for months."

Your mouth hung open. You covered it, after a few seconds, with your hand.

Was that what all the looks meant? Was that seriously what he was getting at every time he spoke to you? Your face warmed- a welcome sensation.

"I... didn't know," You said simply, pressing up to his side.

It worked, thank god, and though it took him a second, he put a hefty arm around you.

"You were really that clueless?" He muttered, rubbing his warm face with his other hand.

The truth did feel pretty obvious in hindsight, but you reminded him, "You're more intimidating than you think."

In the quiet, the bus sighed around the corner.

"So... I can keep the hoodie?"

You looked up at him, excited at what you could see now as his nervousness. He pressed a hasty kiss to the top of your head as the bus rolled to a stop in front of you.

"Hell, yeah."

VIP

@integers @yuchacco

my masterlist. my request box.

[the-monkeies-girl]

Noa x Human! Reader Imagines.

A/N : I am a beacon of sin. Likes and reblogs always appreciated. Thanks y'all!! I do have more Imagines if you guys are interested. Please, please let me know!!! Thanks again. Hope y'all enjoy. Fandom: ( Kingdom of the )Planet of the Apes. Pairing: Noa x Human! Reader. Rating: K. ( Fluffy again, some other mentions of Ape Aggression but nothing too bad/vivid. ) ** Does contain spoilers for Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes.

Noa unequivocally staring you down. -Ultimately, how the relationship really started. Noa was definitely a lot more subtle about it in the beginning - not sure how he truly felt about you, about… it. He would sit and pass time by watching, no no… Stalking your movements, how they might have varied from how he or any other Ape would move. The way your legs shaped when you walked, the way your hands grasped at things, the way your eyes laid bare everything he needed to know. Echo’s were so easy to read from expression alone and Noa yearned for that, metaphorically reaching his hands out in some feeble attempt that you would grab. He found himself occasionally mimicking your movements to himself when alone, laughing at how utterly awkward they felt to him. He’d shut his eyes then and think about it a bit more.

-He would intensely stare into your eyes whenever you talked one on one. He kept his gaze on you when around others, but not as intense as it was when he had you all to himself. Green, amber and gold speckled eyes followed the minute details of your face, almost down to the wrinkles around your eyes, only reserved when you blessed him with a smile. Rare, but he enjoyed it none-the-less. He sensed, after doing it a few times, that it made you nervous. Your heart raced - Noa swore he could feel it in his feet and something about that made him swell with pride. He’d boost his chest out, wanting to appear more suitable to you, more appealing, more… more… irresistible if you looked at him. But… Then, you would look away quickly, uttering something under your breath to take the attention away from the tension now obviously swirling around the two of you. Noa… He kept his eyes on you, regardless. Though, now it seemed you weren’t aware he was looking so closely.

-As time went on though, and he developed a more personal relationship with you, it… Changed. Noa couldn’t tell anyone why it did, why his eyes would pierce you so deeply, almost to the point where it felt like they were taking you down, further down than you had ever been and you were drowning in golden flecks surrounded by more shades of green than you could count. It left a burning sensation in the back of your mind, almost like bile. It was noticeable, even meters away from him but you buried it deep inside. Secretly, you liked it. Not-so-secretly, Noa knew that you did. He couldn’t explain why you were always in his line of vision, why he felt the need to make his gaze known to you, known to others… Known to others, he thought to himself. At least… Known to anyone he considered a threat. It just was what it was now.

-There were some shameful stares such as the absolute disintegration of another Ape when Noa caught the two of you together during communal dinner time. Mind you, it wasn’t just yourself and this Ape, named Ale, you were also with Anaya, Soona and Noa’s mother, Dar. But, Noa couldn’t separate that anymore. There was just you. He figured you’d be okay with his friends and mother, no one would bother you, you didn't need to be protected from them. But this familiarity with an Ape outside of his inner circle…? No, no. Noa didn't move from his ponderance, looking between you and this Ape on your left side. The fire roared in front of you, obscuring Noa from your view as you explained to Ale that humans often used utensils to eat if available. Noa saw you sign through the vivid orange fire, ‘Not messy.’

Ale shrugged his shoulders and held up a berry before popping it into his mouth, ‘Easier with hands.’

That made you laugh, but the lurch of Noa towards your new friend at your reaction was… Not as funny and it took Dar to finally get him to stop staring down one of his own, intimidatingly, refusing to break eye contact. Noa’s pupils were absolutely blown away, no trace of green or gold to be found. He was broad chested, and you took note that Noa was pushing himself up to appear bigger, more fierce.

Noa signed too fast for you to understand, too abrasive… Words split themselves here and there. ‘Mine’ you got that, ‘stop’ was another, ‘back off’ maybe… but your analysis was all in vain regardless. The gaze he was giving Ale said it all, at least, it did to you, and you wondered if his friends knew the look. Soona questioned Noa silently, but he didn't bother with an answer. Anaya looked between Noa, you and Dar. And based on Dar’s reaction to it, her ability to stop it, she’d seen it before. Maybe even had it happen with Koro when they were younger. You didn't want to ask, you didn't want to pry… But, you watched in baited silence as Noa stood down and huffed at you before pacing off to the right. He had no idea what came over him, but he did what he felt like he needed.

Noticing your scent. Noa was unsure of the feral feeling that the situation gave him when he noticed it beyond just the scent of an Echo. It was yours. He had to deal with Anaya every so often saying something sarcastically about it, about how different it was and that they’d be able to smell you at least a click away, but Noa always shrugged them off.

Pensively, Noa shut his eyes. He was steadily resting back on his feet, crouching and sitting comfortably on his bent legs. Hunching forward, he grasped the ground with his hands, tangling them into the grass below him. Anaya was right. Your smell was very different from the Apes he was often around. He could point out his mother, a few infants that were following her around, Soona… Drawing a deep breath in, he felt like he was suffocating and his ribcage was expanded as far out as it would go without causing intense discomfort.

There was something different. Something almost intoxicatingly sweet. Disgustingly, Noa thought to himself and let his eyes slide open. He looked down at his hands, having now ripped grass out of the Earth. It was like he had tasted the most delectable berry of all time and now he was lingering in the smell that was left behind on his fingertips. He wanted to grab you, hard. Grab you roughly and pull you against him, never let you go, let his strength come in handy in a way that was outside of climbing. He’d consume all of you if you would allow him, he’d do more than that in fact. He’d let himself sink into you both physically and mentally, throwing away caution. Teeth sinking into fragile skin, minds entangling in a brutal dance. Your sweat pouring into his mouth, escaping onto his taste buds. Thoughts now in his mind, messing Noa up. They weren’t just his anymore, they were also yours. He was morbidly curious just how sweet you must have tasted when the smell alone left him feeling the way he was. He was deathly ill wanting to know what you were thinking.

All things made him bare his teeth for a split second, canines glistening in the setting sunlight. Tossing the grass in his hands down on the ground aggressively, Noa sat up completely, almost barrel chested before throwing his body into gear as he finally moved to pace followed by a quick saunter. He needed to find out where your scent was coming from before he unraveled at the seams.

Hand holding. -Definitely a thing you tended to gravitate towards more than Noa. He often liked to keep his hands free to tinker around if needed or to fix something, it was after all, one of his most favorite things. He knew moments when you liked it, or rather… Needed it. Noa with you would do anything to cause him a surge of pride, and that included holding your hand.

-He was cautious about it at first, not sure how to react when he felt the side of your hand against his own. He had gruffed then, avoiding eye contact and you didn't try again.

-The second happenance was accidental. You had slipped on ice, Noa faster to react than you were and he was right in front of you before you had the chance to even brace your hands in preparation of falling. Swallowing softly at the sudden closeness of him, there was obvious heat that rose in you. “T-Thanks.”

Noa’s shoulders shifted as he helped you stand straight up again, your eyes coming to rest on his shoulders as Noa was just a touch taller than you were. Just a bit taller, but given circumstances, he was very strong. “Very… unbalanced.” He said to you in a deeper voice than he intended.

You nodded in agreement, looking down at your feet and then the trail that Noa wanted to take. It appeared icy regardless, and you were mentally preparing yourself to transverse. “Maybe we should have taken a horse.”

He sighed, the movement very apparent to your gaze as you looked over at him. Without a word, Noa held his right hand out. There was suddenly a lump in your throat. Was he…

“Take.” Noa uttered.

You hesitated, clenching your hands to the point where your fingers were slightly whitened.

“You don’t take, you end up on your---”

It was your turn to be faster than light, heart thundering in your chest wildly at the concept of what he was offering to you. You raised your right hand and grasped at his, almost clapping them together from the velocity you put forward. It was just a cupped hand holding, something you knew he would be semi-comfortable with as there was no strict intimacy. He rounded on his feet, much more balanced than you could ever be and began moving forward once again, careful of where he put his gait and hoped that you were smart enough to follow his exact footsteps. You let him move, your arm out-stretched awkwardly as you hadn’t moved in tandem with him. You needed to move, you mumbled inside of your head. You need to move.

You were frozen. And it only took Noa one more step before he tumbled down, ultimately being brought down by your inability to take any more action. You had pulled him down, by default. Your mouth flew open as he laid flat on his back, hands disconnecting at the fact that he had fallen. “Noa---”

He groaned finally, having taken a second to process what happened. “I gave you my hand to help you and you--”

“I’m so sorry.” There was a small touch of a laugh behind your words as Noa just… Rested. He didn't move aside from putting his hands on his chest, flat palmed almost like he was checking for any damage. The fall itself wasn’t bad, but there was ice speckled all over the ground and he couldn’t tell if he fell on any sharp objects. “Here.” You reciprocated the movement Noa had previously given, holding out your hand to help him up.

‘No.’ He signed at you, eyes squirting to gaze up at you due to the sun now angling right at the two of you.

“Noa---”

He shut his eyes and raised his hand, to the left and then to the right as his fingers grazed yours ever so gently. He allowed you to cup his hand. Admittedly, you were unsure if you were able to lift him on your own, and he must have known that. He must have…

“Shit!” You yelled, being tugged down by Noa. It was obvious he didn't use all his strength to do so, just enough to get you on the ground right next to him. It wasn’t a hard fall like his either, you landed relatively gently next to him but still felt like the air had left your lungs, “Ow.”

“Ow.” He said as well, allowing a moment to look at you next to him. The way your hair splayed out on the icy rock, the slight blush of your face. Noa figured that was from the cold, you had no fur to keep you at least sheltered from the winter winds. The last thing to process for both of you were your hands, now deeply entangled within each other. You could feel the sensation of leather, that must have been how his skin really felt… It was enticing, and you wanted nothing more than to trace the palms of his hands with your delicate hands. There was fur encasing his knuckles, thicker this time of year than it was during the late spring and peak summer��� Actually, Noa’s hand almost eclipsed yours completely but you weren’t going to complain as you let your eyes fall shut. You’d get up in a few minutes despite your mind telling you over and over to stay.

[https-milo]

DATING IZUKU MIDORIYA INSTAGRAM!

main m. list / instagram series m. list

details..!

instagram posts w/ comments about dating Izuku Midoriya

itsurfavey/n · 8w

1,456 likes liked by: pinkiethealien, crimsonriotfan, uravity_, creati

itsurfavey/n raise your standards ladies.

tagged: deku_

deku_ anything for you!! <3

↳ itsurfavey/n deku_ I LOVE YOU!!

pinkiethealien they don't make guys like this anymore, I fear

deku_ · 4w

789 likes liked by: k.bakugo, crimsonriotfan, uravity_

deku_ THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!!

tagged: itsurfavey/n

itsurfavey/n OFC IZU!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY <3333

↳ deku_ itsurfavey/n I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!

k.bakugo 🤢🤢love🤢🤢

↳ itsurfavey/n k.bakugo someone's jealous

↳ k.bakugo itsurfavey/n die.

itsurfavey/n · 2w

2,649 likes

liked by: pinkiethealien, invisigirl, creati, rainydayfroppy

itsurfavey/n he surprised me with matching onesies :')

tagged: deku_

deku_ happy one year angel! :D

↳ itsurfavey/n deku_ I have a long big paragraph post ready to post 🥸

↳ deku_ itsurfavey/n i cant wait to read ittt (i have one for you too)

pinkiethealien oh god. they're gonna make each other cry with their one year posts.

itsurfavey/n · 2w

3,864 likes

liked by: pinkiethealien, uravity_, creati_, k.bakugo, chargebolt

itsurfavey/n happy one year to the love of my life :) One year ago today I made the best decision I'll ever make, saying yes to being your girlfriend. You are the light of my life and not a day passes without you in my mind. I love you sososososososo much, never forget that <3

tagged: deku_

deku_ :(( i love you so much its not even funny

↳ itsurfavey/n deku_ i love you so much more <333

k.bakugo this is what he was crying over??

↳ deku_ k.bakugo SHUSH!

deku_ · 2w

1,014 likes

liked by: k.bakugo, chargebolt, fanta.fero, uravity_

deku_ happy one year to my angel :D she's the love of my life and my never-ending spark that keeps me going. You will never find a girl as kind and funny as her. She makes my days so much better and every day with her is a blessing. I love you more than life itself <333

tagged: itsurfavey/n

itsurfavey/n IZU :'( i love you so freaking much

↳ deku_ itsurfavey/n i love you so much freaking more <3

uravity_ y/n collapsed on the floor and started crying btw

↳ itsurfavey/n uravity_ OH SO WE'RE OPPS NOW?

chargebolt k guys whos tryna get w me...

↳ earphonejack chargebolt no one, I fear

↳ h.shinso earphonejack there might be someone, I fear

© https-milo. please do not repost, steal, copy, or modify my works!

Thank you so much for reading <3

[ravensmadreads]

OK YOU KNOW WHAT

FUCK YOU

T_T

iron and charcoal

rating: explicit 18+ pairing: pero tovar x f!reader word count: 6.9K summary: Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without –  Her. He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come.  OR Pero falls hard for a princess and doesn’t know what to do with himself on your wedding night. warnings: angst, brief classism/xenophobia two very stubborn people, pero experiences one Human Emotion and cannot fully process it, arranged marriage, yearning, smut LIKE WOW, soft!pero that i broke my own heart with a/n: Thank you so much to @perotovar for this request: "congrats on your milestone, my love! so happy for you <33 i'm sending a little astrology 💫 + pero & #6 on the fluffy list OR #1 on the smutty list (whichever is speaking to you), because i wanna see your take on him 👀” – of course I chose the slutty one, just for you 😉 I’m actually pretty proud of this one - please consider reblogging if you like it too!

*the image in the header is for aesthetic purposes only and does not reflect the appearance of the reader*

🤍Masterlist 🤍Pero Tovar Masterlist

💜come see what else we've done to celebrate 1K followers

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. 

Sometimes before battle, the clatter inside Pero’s head goes silent. It listens. It waits. 

Other times, it roars. Memories of family, of dead amigos, of mujeres he fucked – they all buck and scratch for a chance to blaze across his mind like a dust storm kicked up by an unbroken mustang. 

He doesn’t know which one he prefers or which one will win out. They both have their uses, necessary states of mind to survive whatever is barreling towards him – an ax, a monster out of legend, some other drunken mercenary he intentionally pissed off. It’s an unconscious decision, yet one that has served him well so far. He wouldn’t be alive today if some deep, primal part of him knew what he needed to live through another battle. 

And yet, as he climbs those stone steps, his own trunk knocking against his hips as he climbed the sickly ostentatious stone steps to the top of the parapet, the handles starting to pinch his fingers, the barest – nearly invisible – tremor in his knees, he cannot fathom, for the life of him, why that singular phrase from his abuela played in his head like water swirling around and around a cenote. 

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. 

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. 

His inner voice, taking on a myriad of forms, of sounds and voices, never quite standing still, the one companion he could always rely on. 

Maybe it was warning him. Dust yourself off, boy, you know exactly how this was going to end. 

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. 

But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without –

Her.

He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come.

He feels sweat escape from the nape of curls at his neck, his cheeks warm and chest hot. Two more flights, he can manage two more flights. 

His abuela also liked to tell him something else: if hell doesn’t get him, his pride certainly will. 

It’s certainly what got him into this ridiculous farce in the first place. Because he can’t alchemize whatever is in his gut into vocalized syllables, he instead has to climb a truly incalculable amount of stairs, while carrying a ragged, torn trunk that weighs as much as his armor. 

Because he can’t form the right words, any words, about what he carries lodged beneath his breastbone for her. What draws him up and up and up and up because it’s lighter than hope, makes him lighter than air, and yet it clogs him up, chokes him out all the same. His pride, his vanity, cuts through it, through her – enough to keep him tongueless and dry but not enough to offer this lightness in his chest to her, for her. He can’t take the light out of him or else he fears what he will truly become.

So, he walks, he goes around and around on unforgiving stone steps until finally there is a door. He thinks about waiting, to catch his breath, but he knows he will just as easily turn around and go back the way he came, trunk still heavy and knocking against his hips, and that pride will be the death of him. So he keeps going, opens the handle, and makes abrupt eye contact with the two guards outside her door. They seem uninterested and unamused in his sweaty, stilted breathing, but by his less-than-royal attire, they easily clock him as one of their own; a man who fights to make his way in the world. The one on the left nods jerkily at him. 

What they see him as, what he will always be, is nearly the reason he kicks that fucking trunk all the way back down. Instead, he nods back, shoulders rounded, eyes down. 

“The princesa - the princess - is requesting the last of her things, to be b-brought up from the stables –,” he clears his throat, “drop this off for her and –,”

“Can’t let you in. King’s orders.” The one on the right sees him as something else – a foreigner first and foremost, their similar stations in life irrelevant. His bright blue eyes rove over Pero’s dark skin, dark hair, jagged scar, distaste and disgust smearing his already ugly features. But he had been dealing with men like these all his life.

“Bueno, you can explain to the King himself why his daughter’s belongings were lost and disregarded. I hear she’s very fond of the Italian prints at the bottom of this . . .”

The guards glance at each other, calculating way above their paygrade. Pero jostles the trunk as if to show he is not above throwing it out the window. 

“Fine.” The second one snaps. “Drop it inside and come back immediately.”

He drops his head, a good little foreign boy. “Gracias, señor.” 

The heavy wooden door opens beneath the iron lock and the instant he is through, he bolts it behind him. Waits to see if the guards notice. They don’t. Perfectamente – all the time in the world. 

All in the time in the world – for what? 

To fail? Again?

He stows the trunk in front of the door, extra time, a few seconds maybe – as if she wouldn’t just tell him to get out the instant she laid eyes on him. Only time will tell. 

Out of the atrium, another door, this one set deep into the wall. A last line of defense. He knocks, once, then twice, then waits. El orgullo chokes him again but fuck it, he’s come this far. He knocks again, knocks something in his chest free and, with it, spill the words:

“Princesa? It’s me. I –,” it throttles him, “princesa, can you open the door?” 

Silence. His heart sits, buried in that trunk. Then –

“It’s unlocked, Pero.” 

His heart in his throat, he opens the door to presumably what will be your marriage bed. And yet, by the state of things, you could have been moving out of it. Trunks and bags stack high against the far wall – those fucking trunks he made such a scene over because the unnecessary weight would slow them all down remain untouched, arranged as they had been when they had been first brought in. He didn’t quite know what to make of that, his thumb absently pressing into the callus of his other hand as he glanced around. It is a beautiful room – tall windows, etched in scarlet drapes, to match the scarlet curtains around the bed. With gold thread and impossibly detailed paintings of the countryside, it is fit for a princess, a some-day queen. This is where someone with royal blood deserved to be, not in the back of a hot carriage for weeks on end, surrounded by dirty, loud, rough men. 

And yet, with your hair down, expansive gown from the ball tonight replaced with a simple cotton dress, you could not have been more out of place. Pero’s heart lurches briefly, moisture seeping from his mouth, as he realizes this is the same dress he bought you when the two of you had been accidentally separated by the caravan and your previous dress had been ruined in the mud. He had no idea you still kept it, much less wore it ever again. 

But if anyone asked him, you look more beautiful in this than any silk or velvet. 

Instead of unpacking, settling into your new home and eventual role as wife, you sit hunched over at the intricately carved mahogany desk, eagle feather quill scratching against parchment. You finish with a flourish and look over your shoulder at him, your eyes annoyingly unreadable. 

“Yes?”

A stupid brute some may call him, but he wasn’t entirely without awareness. Observation of your customs and what you considered inappropriate only encouraged him: if you really didn’t want him here, you would never have let him see you in this state.

But it’s hard to remember that under your icy stare. 

“Y-your things, Princesa. The last from the caravan.”

Your eyes slide over him, to the trunk in the shadows of the atrium. He can tell from a single glance that you know as well as he that trunk is not yours, that no one told him to come here with it, and yet he did it all the same. Something flashes over your eyes but it’s gone by the time you meet his gaze again. 

“Thank you. I am, as always, indebted to you.” 

He hates your words, but warmth spreads in his gut at the way you say it. That’s how it’s always been between you and him – saying one thing but meaning another. He’d never appreciated a sharp mind like yours until he realized you wield it as he wields a sharp sword. 

There are many things he’d never even dreamed of before he met you.

“Then, this means you’re leaving, I suppose.” You draw your sword against him. The metal flashes in your eyes as you stand, one hand against the curved tip of your chair. A bronze halo rims your outline, the fire behind you burning bright and hot. He knows if he touched your shoulder, your neck, your skin would be wonderfully warm. 

He wets his lips. “Si. Our contract with your father is done.” 

You drop his gaze, your lips tightening for a minute, your fingers running through the carvings of wood on the chair. “Even with William in his state? Would it not be better for him to stay and recover? The journey home is –,” you pause, as though someone had thrown a hand over your mouth, “– the journey back east is long.” 

All the longer without you.

“William, he is not an idle man. Two days of bedrest is often all he can take.” 

You grin, in spite of this thing circling you both. “Unless he finds the nun attending to him beautiful.

“He finds them all beautiful.” 

Your smile expands wide across your bright face when you find him smiling at you too. 

This – if this is to be his last memory of you (his heart wrenches at the thought) – this is the you he wants imprinted on his soul: smiling and glowing by firelight. 

But as quickly as it came, that grin that warms him down to his bones, fades. In an instant, your eyes grow soft, your mouth twisted, jaw tight.

“Where will you go?” you ask, in the quietest voice you’d ever addressed him with. 

It pains him, physically aches within him, to hear the distress in your voice. He hasn’t even thought about the next contract, the next royal cabrón who intends to yank him all across God’s green earth to perform a task he can’t be fucked to take on himself. How can he possibly answer you? Nowhere, without you. To rot in a dark hole in the ground? Off a cliff? What answer would provide you or him any sort of satisfaction?

“Wherever the coin goes,” he says and the words scrape his tongue like bile. That ache in his chest spiraling rapidly, deep into his gut – like a poisoned limb he cannot amputate – he does the same thing he always does when he’s hurt: he makes others hurt until they leave him alone. “You do not have to worry, princesa, your new husband will keep you in such comfort you will never wonder where the coin comes from.”

He must be a truly sick man, for the knife-sharp glare you throw at him only knots arousal around the base of his spine. It tugs on something attached directly to his groin which, in turn, yanks the next words out of his mouth.

“He looked especially happy with you in his arms on the dance floor tonight.”

The icy shards in your eyes go brittle and crack. His heart races; he’s overplayed his hand. 

“You watched me dance?”

“All guardsmen were required to –,”

You shake your head, eyes bright and searing through him. “No. It was only the King’s Knights there in attendance.” 

Your hand trailing off the edge of the chair, you take a step forward and he feels his weight shift back onto his heels. But he remains firm. 

Sana, sana.

“Pero, why did you come here tonight?”

“To return the last of your things, princesa. What else is there?”

You flinch, as if he had raised his voice to you. What else is there indeed?

“Not even to . . .  say goodbye? Sixteen weeks on the road is an awfully long time to be around someone, only for them to . . . leave so soon.”

He locks his knees to keep them from shaking. “Do you wish for me to tell you goodbye, princesa?” 

There’s something painfully sad about the way you smile at him. “I wish for whatever would make you happiest.” 

Anger roars within him, hungry and hot, like a burn from a white flame. Why can’t you just admit it? Why do you avoid it time and time again? He knows he hasn’t misread anything you’ve sent his way, so why? Why are you so vested in torturing him this way? 

“Coin makes me happy and, now that I have it, there’s nothing to keep me here.”

There, that hurts you too, just as he meant it.

“Then leave.” They could make ice fortresses out of the strength of your bone-cold stare. “If you have nothing else to say, then take your goddamn trunk and get out of my sight.” 

The flame scorches him, ripping him apart and in his anger, making him cruel.

He bows to you.

“I imagine you will be very happy with your new husband, ranita.”

The term slips from his lips before he can stop it, but his throat and cheeks blister so badly, he physically can’t open his mouth to correct his mistake. Instead, he turns and strides towards the door.

He thinks he hears a gasp from behind him, a sharp sound like breaking glass – small, tinkling, tragic. It spears him through his chest, pierces his heart. 

He gets to the door and pauses.

If you have nothing else to say . . .

Of course he has something to say – words in English and Spanish and broken dialects gathered like poisonous lichen all churning in the boiling cauldron of his mind, but nothing will suffice – nothing reflects or compares to the grief he is already feeling, the despair, the anguish that has settled into all the fleshy joints in his body. Not his pride, but this, saying goodbye to you, this is what actually will kill him.

Every word imaginable crawls up his throat and rages in his mouth, presses up against his teeth, begging for something, anything to be let out, to be free, to tell you that he cannot fucking live without you–

Nothing comes through, but one single word.

“Don’t.” 

The fire crackles in the silence, a wicked god pleased at the display of carnage.

“What did you say?”

A dull thud echoes from where he drops his forehead against the wood of the door, all anger flooding out of his system. Do you have any idea the power you hold over him? One request, one tremor in your voice and his knees all but buckle at your altar. 

Fuck it. 

He always thought he’d go out in a blaze of bloody glory, but he’d never expected to be so exposed, so flayed like this.

“Don’t,” he repeats, his throat as dry as sand. “Do not . . . marry him. Please.” 

The vision of your great warrior slumped against the door frame, his neck bent, shoulders curled up to his ears has your already pounding heart leaping forward into a gallop. He is defeated, laid low. You watch his guts all but pool out on your hearth. 

He looks about as hopeless and anguished as you feel. 

Your soldier, your man of iron and charcoal, goes blurry in your eyes.

“And what would you have me do, Pero?” Your plea is damp, malleable at the edges. You press your hand flat against your chest, near your throat, as if you could pull the grief lodged there with your fingers. “I have been engaged to this man before I was even born. How can I stop this?” 

“Fight.” The word snarls against his bare teeth. He turns, his eyes liquid ink, and suddenly he has you by the shoulders. His thumbs nervously skitter around the curve of your shoulder, gaze just as unsteady and unfocused as it wavers between your hands, your earlobe, your neck. "Where is my brave girl who fights for what she wants, hm? Fight – for me, please.”

Fight, he asks – but in spite of him or because of him?

You lay your hands on the silver shine of his breastplate, watch as they rise and fall with his steady flow of breath. How many nights had you woken up against that shine, in the crook of his arm for warmth, or protection? You didn’t cherish it at the time because you never knew when it would be your last. 

“Why won’t you fight, princesa?” His voice is low, strained, the groan of a wagon wheel before it breaks. You meet his gaze and the exposed look on his face, softening every line on his mouth and around his eyes, nearly sends you into hysterics. You swallow the tears, swallow the hook in your throat as your fingers curl around the clasps of his cape. 

"Because if I don't fight then I can't lose.” His fingers slip from your shoulders, to your elbows, to your waist. You inhale and the scents of warm leather, oil, and ash flood your mouth. The tip of your nose is inches from the scruff of beard against his cheek, the ruddy brown of his sun-drenched skin. He has curled you into him and this, you do not fight either. His massive palms map your back, against your skin, but without any urgency or control. “If I can’t lose, that means I don’t lose you. You'll just be . . . gone."

That last word is a lie. It hangs in the air like a sweltering humid rain and you both know you’re lying. He has you wrapped up in his arms, you didn’t stop him even for a second, and you are all too aware that it would take some great, insidious alchemy to ever truly tear him out of you. 

You stare at his silver collar, defiant against the waves you had managed to shackle down until this very moment: a wave of hopeless crashes into you, a wave of heartbreak, a wave of helpless that fills your eyes to the point of spilling with that very same salt water.

He touches your cheek delicately, fingers rough with callouses, and the floodgates break open with a sob. 

“Preciosa,” he rumbles softly against your hairline, “hush. You break my heart with your tears.” 

“Do not mock me, Tovar. Not now.” you sniff, trying to turn your face but his wide hands catch you around the cheeks.

“You are beyond mocking. I’d show you my heavy heart but I do not wish that weight on anyone.” The snag of his rough thumbs against your cheek draws your watery gaze to him. His mouth is a flat line, barred against whatever climbs his throat, but his eyes move like mercury across your nose, your eyelashes, the arch of your cheek. Your fingers wrap themselves around his wrists, a grounding agent against the waves that threaten to pull you under. 

“Pero, I –,”

“I have fought you, tooth and nail, for days without end. Every favor, every breath, you have forced them from me. I fight my own mind when I sleep at night. Sueños, always of the same woman.” He smears away the tears with his thumbs, gently, sweetly, before pressing his lips to your wet flesh by his knuckle. He inhales deeply, eyes closed, mouth hovering stationary above the skin of your cheek. “You fight me every step of the way . . . and I am so tired of fighting.” 

For all your struggling, for all your tearing and clawing and snarling against the blooming in your chest, nothing is as easy as it is to turn your head and press your lips to his. 

The brush of his bristled mustache against your upper lip. His warm, rough palms holding you steady. His lips soft and hot. You are overwhelmed by the scent of him.

There is nothing like, and nothing will ever be like, finally kissing Pero Tovar. 

All it takes is the movement of his hands from your cheeks to your lower back, the light trace of his tongue against your lips, and the yearning you’d been smothering for weeks now roars to life. His hands squeeze your hips and you can suddenly barely breathe. 

“Pero–,” the noise in the shape of his name that escapes you is near a whine, begging. He nips at your lips, hand firmly at the cup of your jaw, mouth now rough and insistent, and your fingers claw up his neck, wrapping themselves in his dark curls. You tug, nails scratching his scalp, and he groans into your mouth as if you’d just kneed him in the gut.

A thread-bare gasp of your name from his lips splits you from him, then his hand on your hip and the back of your neck pushing you backwards gives you enough air to breathe – to think.

"Your husband will know you're not a virgin,” Pero warns, breathing hard and fast, his eyes like black flints, “if we go on." 

You curl your fingers around his neck, dragging your mouth near his jaw, the soft skin at the edge of his ear.

"Then he will also know my heart is not his either.” You ask everything of him with this. His armor blocks his warm body from you – you want to sink inside his hard shell. “If you’ll have it.”

He is not himself, half-human with an inhuman want, with the snarl that leaves him. 

“Don’t make such promises, dulzura –,” A threat, a dog forced to expose its underbelly, fear radiating like the pain from a broken bone. Your fingers dig into the buckles of your cape, steadying you against a sudden terrible awareness that bloomed, purple-bruised. 

“Unless you don’t want –,” 

The desk rattles when your hips break against it, the force of his kiss enough to topple over your inkwell, spill rolls of parchment to the floor. The wood groans under your weight when he gathers the thick swell of your thighs in his hands, heaves you onto the flat surface, and spreads your knees around his waist. He is as hard as the iron on his chest. 

“Can you feel how much I want you?”

A frantic sigh of relief, a groan shared between two pairs of lips, seeking skin and warmth and other hungry places. 

He drags you onto his chest, your skirt bunched up around your hips, the rings of his armor digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, his mouth covering yours in wet pulls, and he stands up right, as though you weighed less than his sword. 

A stumble, and he spreads you out on the velvet covers of your marriage bed, his hands imprinting on your hips, your knees, the supple meat of your calves. The touch of him on your bare skin feels like the licks of flames, the smoke of arousal blurring your awareness and dragging your eyelids half-closed. On his heels at the edge of the bed, the flint shards of his eyes drift over the bones of your ankles, the bend of your knee, your heaving chest, hair in snarls around your neck and caught behind your back, and finally to your cunt, hidden by the folds of your dress. 

Velvet hums as you slide your ankles to the curve of your ass, widening your legs, parting your knees. His lips part open, dark want etching every line of his face. You feel the wet linen of your dress cling to your achy cunt. He swallows, unbuckling his cape one latch at a time, his eyes nowhere else. The metal clatters as it falls to the floor.

Piece by piece, the chinks in his armor fall away. Piece by piece, he is revealed to you. Your hands rise up, up your thighs to your knees, your thumbs rubbing soft circles. He watches, never tears his gaze away from your sticky hole, his nimble fingers working away the buckles and knots with practiced precision. You can see it in his eyes – memories of bedrolls by firelight, of such a deep painful, yearning ache, separated only by thin tarp, they are a physical weight beside you in this marriage bed. 

You see them because they’re there for you too. You see them because you've been here a dozen times, on your back, legs spread wide, your hands circling but never dipping, waiting. Wanting. For him. 

His bare chest is warm, the wings of his ribs expanding around short, half-drawn breaths, as he crawls up into your pliant mouth. The kisses are slow, like before, with a crackle of heat just beyond them, his hips slipping into the cradle of your thighs, the wet warmth of you separated by the thin linen of your dress. He sucks the tendon below your ear, a whine slipping out of your mouth, fingers spreading over the harsh planes of his back, and his cock bobs against your thigh. 

Pero is bare and warm and entirely yours. All man beneath the sweltering armor. 

“Amorcita,” he drips into your ear, kisses smeared against your collarbone, your mouth, your earlobe, “amorcita, amorcita . . . ranita, let me take you.” 

He starts to use teeth, a harder nip behind his kisses, when he dips down to your chest. A wide palm with stocky fingers grasps at your breast and it’s a startling sensation for you both. 

“Soft,” he moans before licking up under the supple curve of your breast, mouthing at what his tongue missed. He slips your erect nipple into his mouth and twists it between his teeth. “Sweet,” he murmurs with your nipple firmly between his lips. 

This is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You deliriously thank the gods that he hadn’t touched you like this on the road; you would have kept him, your own wild animal, in bed without rest for days on end.

Pero plucks just as aggressively at your other breast, the spit-wet nipple that preoccupied his mouth verging on purple and aching. He cups you from the outside this time, squeezing and massaging, ringing your nipple with his tongue until your back bows and you let out a whine that has his eyes flickering up to you, the scent of wounded prey filling his nostrils. 

That whine of pleasure elongates into a whimper: “please.”

“Tranquila, ranita.” His touch is softer around your bruised tits, but he keeps one hand bagging the weight of your breast while the other slips beneath your skirt.

The pads of his fingers brush your creamy cunt and with a yelp, you grab him by the wrist, your eyes open with a familiar emotion he draws out of you: rage.

“Pero Tovar, if you value your life you will take me under the covers and put your —,”

He chuckles, his cheek against yours, nose rimming the velvet hairs on the ridges of your ear. The vibrations liquify the tension in your bones, loosening your grip. Your eyes flutter, slick obviously running down his fingers. “Ranita, I don’t think you know how you want to end that sentence..”

His words roll like honey over the heat of your skin. It makes your skin tremble. Your grip tightens on his wrist and you roll your hips, your swollen clit finally relieved by the pressure of his palm. 

“Oh, oh, Pero—,” 

With a grunt, he shuffled closer, elbow by your shoulder and he cups your entire wet cunt in his hand, pushing the heel of his palm flatter against you. You cry out, a sparkling kind of pleasure radiating out from where his hand rests. You buck your hips faster, complete release flickering through your outstretched hand. 

“Can you come like this?” You nod, eyes squeezed shut as you barrel towards escape, and you feel him shudder next to you. You are intimately aware that he’s rubbing his cock on the crease of your hip bone but that only drags you faster towards the light. “Then come, ranita, come and I’ll fuck you.” 

The wet, curling heat growing between your legs descends, then in a bright snap, explodes across your body. 

“Fuck!” You tear open your eyes to find them damp, Pero’s massive hand cupping your cheek towards him, his stallion eyes dark as his fingers drag on the soaked material of your dress, your hips slowing. 

“Amorcita, breathe.” The words are torn from his chest, all cock-suredness gone from his frantic gaze. You gulp in air, the weight of his body over yours grounding and smothering you all at once. He pulls his hand away from you, rides it up your thigh to your waist, looking for something to hold onto. He strokes his thumb once against your overheated skin and you’re wriggling up out of your dress. 

“Help,” you hiss and his fingers nearly tear the fabric off you.

With a few undone buttons, you shiver out of your dress, the slick-drenched spots catching on your warm skin. He flings it behind him, near the fireplace. 

He takes you barely beneath the thick covers before you welcome him back to the heat of your open legs. 

But instead of reeling back and plunging his aching cock into you, he takes the time to kiss you. To praise you in all the ways he fears his mouth will end up short. He kisses you, grateful, reverent – wonderful to be swallowed by but also a distraction.

When he lifts your knees by his waist, your hips automatically tilt towards him and for the first time, you feel his red, sore cock between your tacky lips. The dual sensation nearly drags you over the rack of delectably delicious pleasure, as does his worn, broken groan in your ear. 

“More, please, don’t stop.” You cry against the bristles of his beard, his hand dropping between your sweat-slick bodies, finding yours already there to guide him. The press of him spreads you open, filling you one sinking notch at a time. The sensation of your pink, dripping walls moving to take more of him in has you arching up into his chest, nails dragging into his back. His dry lips stifle the moans escaping from your mouth. 

Pero takes both of your hands in his, dragging them above your head, his fingers locking your palms together as his hips roll forward. “Cálmate, amorcita, cálmate,” he murmurs between distracted presses of his mouth against your chin, your cheek, his breathing heavy and stunted. You writhe, pinned open by his hips and his hands, his cock filling you all too slowly and not fast enough. 

With the last few inches, you take him completely, your cunt throbbing, heart pounding, intoxicated by the sensation of being so maddeningly full. Pero drapes over you, his head tucked into your neck, forearms straining with the tension of gripping your hands tightly. 

“Santa madre . . .” He is not a warrior right now. He is but a man, cunt-drunk and heaving. 

His name is pushed out of the bottom of your lungs with the first swing of his hips. You cling to him, knees at his ribs, nails pricking his spine, unwilling to let even an inch of space between your bodies. But this becomes increasingly difficult as his thrusts gain speed. His flushed lips stain a sticky line against your jaw, down to your throat, and he releases your hands, the oak of the bed creaking beneath the force of him drilling down into you, he props himself up on his palms, his shoulders bent and curled over you, biceps straining, hairline damp, eyelids fluttering. The scar on his cheek is flushed pink.

“Look, amorcita, look how well you take me.”

His words tear you from your nebulous high, the grit of them forcing your head down to the obscene squelch beneath the sheets. The thatch of rough curls over his groin is drenched in slick, his thick cocked soaked to the point of shine as it drives into you again and again. The heavy draft of breath the sight draws from him, the tap of his cock against a place so deep you didn’t know your body possessed, draws the spooling bliss as tight as a wire. 

Your trembling thighs squeeze him tighter, that hot pressure rendering you speechless, except for the most pathetic whine. Please, Pero, please, you think, you mutter, you whisper, your body rocking damp against the sheets. 

With a sudden snarl, he takes the chunk of your hair at the base of your head flat in his fists and tugs. A shoot of bright pain sparks bliss down to your tight and bruised nipples, and you cry out again. 

“Stop fighting, puedo sentir cuanto la quieres. Let me have it.” It is the following word that splits you open like lighting carving apart a tree. “Please.”

The wail that you release is the rush of gooseflesh over your skin alchemized into audible sound. Heat radiates through you, sucking the air from your lungs, your vision going blurry, then black as you clamp your eyes shut against the rush, the final release, that curls you into his arms. His warm, flushed arms, shaking with strain. A final wobbly thrust or two and his elbows are buckling, sweat-drenched chest pressing into your own.

Distantly, you are aware of the warm, slick drip down your thighs, his cock pulsing the last drops into your cum-flecked cunt, and the dangers this sort of intimacy poses. You can’t gather enough breath, enough sense to settle the spinning room, to worry or even care. 

Your his, and he is yours. That is all that will ever matter. 

The crackle of wood burning is the only other sound than your ragged breaths, the silent roll of sweat from sticky hot skins into the bedsheets. The stone walls of the castle’s room entomb you together for a brief stretch of infinity.

Pero moves and you think he’s going to back out of you, but instead, he merely adjusts, his head fully on your chest, thick fingers clutching your bruised waist, the shift of his cock pushing more of his release out of your oversensitive cunt. But you’ll take overstimulation over his absence every time. You run your fingers through his damp curls and he hums. 

“I’m sorry,” he huffs into your humid skin. “I’m sorry I let my pride keep us apart for so long.” 

You grin lazily to the ceiling, your breath settling as affection takes its place in your chest. 

“You were not the only one blinded by vanity.” 

“But I’m not blind. Not anymore.” He lifts his head, eyes as dark as your spilled inkwell. “I am never letting you go.” 

You smile at him, fingers soft against the back of his neck. “I don’t plan on wandering away.” 

His oil-black gaze drops to your lips and he leans forward to take your mouth against his. Gentle, but with the promise of more. 

“Mi ranita,” he purrs to break the kiss. 

“You call me that all the time, Pero. What does it mean?”

At that, a nearly shy expression crosses his face. He shakes his head, shifting onto his elbows to lift off you. “I can’t tell you. It will ruin your good mood.” 

You gasp, offended, and you grab him by the ear and twist. He chuckles through a grimace. “You will tell me what that means, Pero Tovar, if you value your appendages.” 

“Órale, princesa, retract your claws and I will tell you.” 

You release your grip and settle against your pillow. Grinning bashfully, he kisses your neck briefly.

“Remember that I love you after I tell you this.” 

Your heart nearly stops, the absence of a steady beat nearly drawing tears to your eyes but you hold firm. You breathe deeply against the fluttering in your stomach and pin him with your glare. Of course, this is how he would profess his love to you – when he’s trying to get out of trouble. 

“Tell me, Tovar!”

He chuckles again and preemptively picks up your hands. He kisses the inside of your palms, settling himself between your thighs. 

“It means little frog.” Your mouth falls open in a gasp and you struggle to yank your hands back from him, hissing like a tea kettle, but he uses his weight to press down on you. He nips at your nose. “I call you that because when you’re upset with me, much like you are now, you puff up like a bullfrog, your cheeks like this–,”

He rounds his cheeks full of air, crossing his eyes, and you simply cannot take the slight anymore. You push roughly against his gut, the breath trapped in his mouth escaping in a hot puff, and you twist him onto his back. He lets you, of course, his bold, full laughter rendering him defenseless. His body shakes beneath you, his beautiful eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open wide as he laughs and laughs and laughs. You take him by the wrists and push his limp hands over his head, pinning him as he had you. You pinch his chin with your teeth, your messy cunt over his stomach, as his laughter subsides. 

“Have you had your fun yet?” 

“Barely,” he chuckles, turning his big nose against your cheek and inhaling. He hums.

“Is that all I am to you? A joke?”

Pero opens his eyes, sober as death rattle. He takes you in, not in a hungry, all-consuming way, but in a look that speaks of awe and rapture.

“You are everything to me.”

You sigh, releasing his hands and curling into his chest. He kisses the top of your head, your eyes on the roaring fire. His thumbs rub your shoulder blades, trace the lines of your spine.

“You’re so very I love you too.” 

His wandering against the expanse of your back stills, just for a moment, before his fingers slide into your hair, around the nape of your neck, holding you to him with the intention of keeping you there forever.

“I know, ranita, I know.” 

He watches you sleep as the sky lightens beyond the tall windows on the opposite side of the bedroom. The dying fire traces your edges in gold, settling heat in the curve of your lips. 

His heart lurches with the wanting of you.

There’s more terrible things to come, he knows that. The plan the two of you concocted in the early morning hours will be dangerous, deadly even. But dying together instead of living apart would be much more tolerable, you told him earlier that night, your hand on his chest. 

He would kill if you asked. He would kill, even if you didn’t, to keep you safe and by his side. You’ve proven yourself capable of living a life away from this spectacular opulence, but it pains him to know he will never be able to give you anything nearly as lovely as the velvet dresses in the closet, the gold jewelry in your trunks. 

Instead, all he has to offer is himself. His strength, his hands, his heart. It’s his own fear that tells him that’s not enough, because you remind him again and again that’s more than you ever wanted. 

He traces the curve of your cheek with the hovering pad of his finger, brushing your hair away from your face. How he ended up so lucky with your love, he’ll never know, but he will spend the rest of his days proving that he’s earned it. 

You stir in your sleep, sensing him above you, and he hates to steal even a few minutes of blissful sleep from you, knowing the endless nights that are coming. When he steals you away from all that you’ve ever known. 

The sleepy grumble in your throat resembles his name as he curls around you, but your eyes remain gently closed. He pulls you against him, the air that leaves your mouth and sits between your chest and his something he covets with his whole heart. 

I love you and I’m disgustingly lucky and I love you. 

He is a man made of dust, serving men made of silver. He is a man of dust, loving a woman made of gold.

El orgullo? No, Abuela, his ranita will get him first, last, and every time.

+

Translations:

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. - This rhyme is typically said to children when they have just hurt themselves. The parent (or grandparent) usually rubs the part that is sore and sings this little tune. Literally translates to: "heal, heal, little frog’s tail. If you don’t heal today, you will heal tomorrow."

el orgullo - pride

dulzura - sweetness, romantic connotation

amorcita - little love, romantic connotation

Tranquila - quiet, as in "be quiet" or "relax"

Cálmate - take it easy, or take it slow

puedo sentir cuanto la quieres - I can feel how much you want it/love it

Órale - okay, or an exclamation expressing approval or encouragement.

ranita - little frog, but you knew that already ;)

the rest are cognates (or familiar words) which you can probably guess the meaning of, but feel free to message me if you don't know!

[mossyivy]

An answered prayer || K. Wagner x Fem!Mutant!Reader

Content Warning: Christmas stuff, fluff and a sprinkle of jealous Kurt

Words: 1.2k

Authors Note: This is an anon request, I believe? Might have Lost a name on accident, oopsies... Enjoy <3 And Happy Holidays!!!

Christmas, what a wonderful time of year. The fire's lit, holiday music playing as the rest of the team enjoys the annual party and secret Santa exchange. Holding his own gift from his dear sister in his lap. Trying to focus on anything but the sight he's transfixed on.

He's supposed to be blue, feeling the sharp green of envy pulling at the edges of his being as he stares down their leader. Grinning wide as he hands over your gift. Watching you rip away at the shiny silver wrapping paper across the common room, hearing you loudly gasp.

Probably something practical and thoughtful... Typical Scott.

And now you're gushing over some stupid cable-knit sweater as you put it to your front. Pulling Scott into a tight embrace as he, albeit awkwardly, hugs you back with a tight smile. Kurt can feel his brows pin together, tail flicking against his own calves in irritation. He knows he has no real right to be jealous. You're not his. Not officially, at least.

You're aware of each other's feelings and have been on a few dates even. But with his duties to the council in Genosha, he hardly gets to see you unless it's fairly important or the occasional time off. Which, obviously, he hates, holding a candle for you for the longest time now.

Kurt sighs, turning his attention back to the fire, arms crossed over his chest as he takes in the dancing flames in the fireplace as everyone buzzes around him. The sound of the party makes it hard to think of anything but your smile crossing his mind.

Sighing, he stands from the couch, heading outside into the cold. Standing out on the back step of the mansion. Looking across the beautiful blanket of fresh white snow just fallen earlier that morning. The inky night sky filled with stars for once over the trees.

That feeling of jealousy still not leaving him. Heart beating against his chest as he takes a deep breath. Closing his eyes as his hands pressed together, a huff of cloudy air escaping him as he softly prayed to himself.

"Heavenly Father, give me the strength to resist the temptation of jealousy. Help me to trust in Your plan and to find contentment in Your provision... She knows not what she does to me, and I know a devil like me isn't supposed to ask for anything... But all I want is her... Bless my friends, bless my dear family, and please, Lord, bless mein Schatz. Amen."

The door creaks open behind him, yellow eyes cutting through the darkness as he looks back to see you standing at the door, arm behind your back with that sweet smile he's come to love.

"Am I interrupting something?" You ask softly, a half smile coming to his lips as he shakes his head, waving you to come outside.

Coming out, you close the door gently, stepping over to him with a quiet kind of grace. Silence filling the air as you both look out into the night sky. So close together, you can feel Kurt's body heat from just being next to him.

It's now or never...

Clearing your throat, you meet his eyes, moving your arm from behind your back. A cute little bag with two kids building a snowman together hanging off your fingers. Blue, sparkling tissue paper billowing from the top with a tiny tag hanging from the handle.

"Merry Christmas..." He looks a little dumbfounded, looking down at the bag before taking it in his palms.

"My sister, she... gave me a gift already?" You chuckle with a nod.

"I know, I got Remy for the Secret Santa. Gave him this really nice deck of cards I found when we had a mission overseas a few weeks ago, but I wanted to give you something too... Special people deserve special gifts." He thanked God in that moment; it was dark out, and you'd see his entire face turn purple as he blushed.

"I... didn't get you anything." You just shrug, not honestly caring about it in the long run.

"My gift can be the look on your face when you open yours. Come on." You nudge the side of the bag, making him look it over. Taking note of how you crossed out "from" on the attached card and wrote "love" instead. Making his stomach do an involuntary flip. Moving the tissue paper away, he pulls out a flat square box, glancing up at you with a small scoff.

"This isn't going to be dozens of tiny boxes, is it?" You tap his shoulder with a roll of your eyes.

"Just open it!" He smiles, pulling the lid away. Face falling as the dim light catches the shiny silver circle pendant. A piece of ivory in the middle with their initials engraved together. He feels his chest tighten, looking up into your eyes in shock.

"I thought it would look good next to your rosary... And you always talk about how we don't get enough time together... Now I can be with you all the time in some way." His eyes fall back to the box, quickly pulling out the necklace and inspecting it closer.

"This... This is beautiful. And so thoughtful..."

"Well, it's just something I thought you needed... Plus, I... I've been wanting to talk to you about something." His eyes shoot back up to you. Looking into your eyes with a hint of disbelief.

"About what?"

"Us." His eyes widen, mouth opening like a fish as you close the gap, pressing your hand to his cheek with an affectionate stroke of your thumb.

"You mean so much to me, Kurt, and it's been killing me to not... Be with you. I miss you constantly and can't stop thinking about you all the time." His free hand drifts over yours on his cheek with a content sigh.

"I can't stop thinking about you either... I don't want you to think that it's necessary for us to be together if we're—" You silence him, kissing him with a tender touch he's never felt before. His head tilts, pressing into you, hand traveling to snake his arm around your waist. Pulling you even closer to his warm frame with a fondness he could only hold for you.

Lips separate, the shared warmth between you almost suffocating to a degree.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to hear you say that, mein Schatz... Merry Christmas." Leaning back in, your lips connect briefly before there's a bang at the door, making you both nearly jump out of your skin.

It's Gambit at the door with a grin on his face, Rogue behind him with a soft giggle as she covers her mouth with a gloved hand. Quickly you turn away from their prying eyes, feeling your face heat up as the thick Cajun drawl pours through the glass.

"Dinner's on the table, lovebirds! Time's ticking' before Cyclops has that aneurysm if you two don't move." He laughs before walking back towards the dining room, arm around Rogue as they disappear. You sigh, rubbing your cheeks to make the heat go away, Kurt only smiling wider as he slips his present box back in the bag. Holding up the necklace, he gives it one last look before turning your face back to look at his.

"Could you help me put this on so I can show my gift to everyone, mein Schatz?"

All content on this page is fictional and I do not condone the acts I enjoy in a fictional sense. I don't consent to my work being reposted or translated.

[valkyrieromanoff]

God bless your dad's genetics… Dilf! Anakin x son’s girlfriend!reader

PREVIOUS LAST

CHAPTER NINE: BED CHEM

synopsis: Finally, you and Anakin surrender to your true feelings and share a night of intense lovemaking.

warning: 18+, age gap (Anakin is 44 years old and the reader is in her early 20s), cheating, alternate universe, sex, oral sex (female receiving), cowgirl position (ride him), missionary position, multiple orgasm, unprotected sex (cum inside, no condom)

w: 3.7 k (probably the biggest smut I've ever written lol)

a/n: hello there, It took me a while but I'm finally back, I had such a hangover of ideas, so I took the opportunity to read the novelization of Revenge of the Sith, and gosh, the best book ever, Anakin is such a babygirl!! Anyway, I hope you like it, and fell free to tell me what you think... I can't believe this is the penultimate chapter, I thank again those who have been following since the beginning, kisses 💖💗 

And I bet we'd both arrive at the same time  And I bet the thermostat's set at six-nine  And I bet it's even better than in my head

“I didn’t want things to escalate that way,” you murmured between kisses, your breath hitching with the emotion behind your words. Your lips, already swollen and red, pressed against his with a desperation that only deepened as you spoke. “It’s not like I regret it, because I don’t. I just…” Your voice faltered as your hands cradled his face, your thumb brushing over the faint, soft stubble growing along his jawline. “I’m afraid of losing Luke’s friendship. We’ve been through so much together, good and bad. I don’t want him to hate me.”

Anakin pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his blue eyes soft and steady. “Hey,” he whispered, his voice like a low hum that vibrated through you. “He could never hate you.” He turned his face slightly, his lips brushing against your palm in an affectionate kiss that sent warmth blooming through your chest. “And if he’s angry, he’ll aim that at me. I’m his father, after all,” he added softly, his lips trailing kisses down your wrist.

The gentleness of the moment melted into something lighter as a small giggle escaped you, your body shivering involuntarily.

Anakin paused, his brow arching as a knowing smirk tugged at his lips. “Are you ticklish?” he asked, his tone playful, the heat in his gaze momentarily replaced by mischief.

You bit your lip, your cheeks turning a soft shade of pink. “Your stubble tickles me,” you admitted shyly, laughter bubbling just beneath the surface.

“Does it now?” he teased, the smirk growing as his eyes sparkled with amusement. Without warning, he slid one arm securely around your waist and lifted you with ease, the motion effortless but deliberate. You gasped, clinging to his shoulders, but the sound dissolved into laughter as his hands found your sides, fingers lightly brushing your skin in a purposeful assault.

“Anakin, stop!” you managed through peals of laughter, wriggling in his grasp.

“Stop?” he repeated, feigning innocence, his grin widening as he carried you to the bed. “Why would I stop when I just found your weakness?” His voice was low, teasing, but there was an unmistakable warmth beneath it, his affection for you shining in every word, every touch.

He set you down gently, his weight shifting over you as his hands stilled, cupping your face instead. “You’re beautiful when you laugh,” he murmured, his voice softening again, his thumb brushing along your cheek.

The teasing dissipated, replaced by a quiet, intimate stillness as his lips found yours once more, slower this time, savoring every moment.

“You’re always beautiful,” Anakin murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck. The soft graze of his stubble sent shivers down your spine, and when he nibbled lightly, your breath hitched, a warmth spreading through you.

Your eyes fluttered open to meet his stormy blue gaze, the intensity there stealing what little composure you had left. His face hovered above yours, his elbows propped on either side of your head as he held himself steady. A silly, passionate smile played on his lips, but it didn’t dull the hunger in his eyes.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice thick with reverence. “You’re so beautiful. Too much.”

His words hit you with the weight of his sincerity, and you looked away, suddenly overwhelmed, heat rising in your cheeks. “Stop,” you murmured, your voice shy, one hand coming up in a half-hearted attempt to push against his chest.

He caught your hand easily, his fingers sliding between yours as if they belonged there. Bringing your hand close to his mouth, he pressed a string of tender, pitying kisses to your knuckles, his lips warm and soft against your skin.

“You’re beautiful,” he repeated, his voice low and fervent, each word infused with the weight of his love.

Your eyes darted back to his, and the intensity in his gaze sent your heart racing. It wasn’t just desire—it was love, raw and unfiltered, shining in those deep blue eyes.

“Let me show you,” he whispered, his tone pleading now. His free hand slid to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your heated skin. “Stop doubting it. Stop doubting me.”

His words cracked something open inside you, and you felt the sting of tears threatening at the corners of your eyes. His stubble brushed against your jaw as he leaned closer, his lips skimming your skin like a whispered promise.

“Let me love you,” he begged softly, his breath warm against your ear. His lips moved against your skin, planting a trail of kisses that left you dizzy, his passion igniting a fire that settled deep in your chest.

Every touch, every word, wrapped around you like a cocoon of safety and adoration. You surrendered to the moment, to him, your fingers tightening around his as your heart finally let go of its hesitation.

Your fingers threaded into his blond hair, soft and unruly beneath your touch, pulling him closer. His face descended, and your lips met in a kiss that was more than passion—it was a silent answer, a request, and a promise all at once. It was your way of saying yes, of asking him to move forward, to let his love envelop you, to let his devotion wash over you like the waves crashing against the ship outside.

His kisses trailed down your face, each one featherlight, like the gentle caress of sunlight breaking through the clouds. They warmed your skin, chasing away every doubt, every shadow that lingered in your heart. Your cheeks flushed, not from the heat of desire, but from the overwhelming flood of emotions his touch stirred within you.

His hands glided down the sides of your body, his fingertips barely skimming your skin as though you were something sacred. There was no urgency in his movements, no rush—only reverence, as if he were tracing the lines of a masterpiece he could scarcely believe was real. His touch was a prayer, his devotion tangible in the way his hands trembled slightly, afraid that if he pressed too hard, you might break beneath him.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured against your temple, his voice soft and filled with awe, like a hymn spoken in the quiet of a sacred place. His lips lingered there, his breath warm, as though he needed the moment to ground himself in the miracle of your presence.

The tenderness in his touch, the purity of his gaze, left you breathless. This wasn’t just love—it was something transcendent, something that felt almost otherworldly. You closed your eyes, surrendering to the quiet intensity of his affection, letting yourself be carried by the waves of his devotion.

His fingers calmly opened the buttons of your dress, revealing every inch of your skin as Anakin undressed you, his lips pressing sweet kisses, humming in appreciation as he revealed your chest, the white bra supporting the expanse of your breasts, the soft curve highlighted by the lace. "Beautiful," he murmured against your skin, kissing your covered breasts, you gasped beneath him, he traced your nipple through the seam of your bra, feeling you harden under his touch.

When your bra finally fell to the floor, a genuine smile spread across his lips as he drank in the sight of you, you were a goddess beneath him, one of those sculptures the Greeks so esteemed, pure and undeniable beauty, your beautiful pink buds perked up at his touch. Anakin's mouth closed on one, his tongue swirling and savoring the delicious sounds that escaped your lips, his hand kneaded your other breast, he kept caressing and caring, enjoying every second until you became impatient, your hands finally participating, trying to get him out of his shirt.

His hands paused, fingers splaying across your breasts, thumbing your nipples as he pinned your wrists above your head. "Patience, my love," Anakin growled, husky voice with desire. "I'm savoring every curve, every inch of your pretty body." He washed attention on your breasts, sucking and nibbling, sending sparks of pleasure radiating through you.

You arched into his touch, a wanton moan escaping your lips. "Please, Anakin," you pleaded breathlessly. 

He released your wrists and sat back, quickly removing his shirt to reveal his chiseled torso. Your eyes drank in the sight of him, muscles rippling as he moved.

Anakin smiled confidently as he took off his shirt, fuck, he knew he was still hot even twenty years later, and that confidence he exuded so naturally made you even more excited, you bit your lower lip, your fingers going down his abdomen, feeling his heat warm your hand.

"Do you like what you see, little angel?" He teased you, purring against your ear, you practically moaned, his voice was husky and mature, shaking you and warming you in all the right places. "Let me take this off you."

You lifted your hips to help him pull your dress off, leaving you in only the mismatched panties you were wearing. "Little hearts?" he teased you mischievously, his finger tracing the colorful designs on your panties, you blushed.

"I, I wasn't expecting, well, this," you admitted shyly.

"Well, I found it extremely sexy, little angel," Anakin hummed, moving his fingers up to play with the seam of your panties, he lowered his head pressing a kiss to your clothed mound. Your breath hitched, and instinctively you lifted your hips upward.

“Someone is in a hurry,” he teased, pressing kisses up your belly, his hand splayed across your waist to still your movements. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” Anakin assured, two fingers rolling over the damp spot growing on your panties. He smirked smugly, his ego boosted by how wet you were for him.

You settled back into the bed, your golden curls fanning out across the pillow as the older man hooked his fingers into your panties and slowly peeled them away, revealing your most intimate place to his hungry gaze. The intensity in his eyes nearly made you close your legs in embarrassment, but the way he licked his lips, practically salivating, stopped you from holding anything back.

Anakin looked up at you one final time, seeking your consent. As soon as you nodded, he dived in, burying his face between your thighs and devouring you like a man starved. He groaned against your sensitive folds, the sound reverberating through you, making you arch off the bed.

Your fingers twisted in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. You weren't sure what you wanted, what you needed, only that he couldn't stop, because if he did, you would be incomplete. His nose brushed against your clit and you gasped, the sensation electric. Like the experienced lover he was, Anakin wasted no time in doing it again, this time with intention, pressing harder as he lapped at your slit, driven by the desperate sounds spilling from your lips.

He needed you to come undone on his face, in his mouth, needed you like the air he breathed, like sunflowers looking for the sun. With a low growl, he sealed his lips around your clit and sucked, his tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your back bowed off the bed as pleasure swan through you, your thighs trembling against his cheeks, your hands fisting in his hair.

"Anakin…" You whimpered his name with a need, a sweetness, that threw him off track. He nearly forgot how to breathe, so lost in the melodious cadence of your voice.

He forced himself to summarize his mission, his destiny, and with the masterful strokes of his tongue against your pussy, you came undone, your eyes fluttering closed, tears streaming down your rosy cheeks. Your fingers tightened in your hair as waves of ecstasy crashed over you, your body trembling in your arms.

Anakin lapped at your quivering flesh, savoring every drop of your sweet essence like a precious cargo, an addictive elixir that left him eternally dependent on you. He didn't want to miss a single taste, needed your delicious flavor to linger on his tongue.

As you came down from your high, you murmured breathlessly, "Wow." Your chest rose and fell with the intensity of your orgasm, and Anakin looked up from between your thighs, his eyes filled with adoration that made your heart skip a beat.

"Kiss me," you begged, and his mouth was already on yours, his hands cupping your face tenderly as your tongues tangled, sharing your sweet taste. You could feel the echoes of your pleasure in the way he kissed you, the way he held you close, like he never wanted to let go.

"Anakin…" you whispered against his lips, your hand sliding down to cup his straining erection through his pants. He groaned into your mouth, the feel of your fingers on his sensitive skin sending shockwaves of pleasure through him. How could such a sweet, petite creature like you reduce him to a desperate, needy mess so easily?

In one swift motion, Anakin shoved his pants and boxers down, freeing his throbbing cock. You wrapped your hand around his impressive length, gently stroking him as your eyes locked with his, drinking in the ecstasy you were coaxing from his body. The knowledge that you were the cause of his pleasure filled you with a heady sense of power.

Just as you were about to kneel before him, Anakin's hand on your arm stopped you. "If you keep this up, I don't know how much longer I can last," he admitted hoarsely, his blue eyes glazed over with thick clouds of desire. "Fuck, I want to cum when I'm buried deep inside you."

His blunt admission made your knees go weak, and you could only shake your head, overwhelmed by the intensity of his need. Rising up on your tips, you captured his lips in a searing kiss as he guided you back onto the bed, his strong hands mapping the curves of your body with reverent touches.

Your hair spilled across the pillow as you lay back, hips raised by the thick cushion beneath you. Anakin's lips trailed hot kisses up your calf, along your inner thigh, as he positioned himself between your spread legs. You flexed your thighs, wrapping them around your hips as he rubbed the swollen head of his cock against your slick entrance.

The first touch of his thick length against your sensitive folds made you gasp, pleasure coiling tight in your belly. "Ready?" Anakin murmured, his husky voice with desire. You shook your head, pushing your hips forward, urging him on. With a low groan, he guided his cock inside, inch by torturous inch, stretching you, filling you in the most delicious way.

"Oh fuck," you moaned as he hilted himself fully, your walls clenching around his throbbing hardness. For a moment, he held still, letting you both savor the exquisite sensation of being joined so intimately. The way your heat enveloped him was almost enough to make him come undone, but he held back, wanting this night to be about your pleasure, about driving you to the heights of ecstasy.

Gripping your hips, he began to move, his powerful thrusts driving him deep, his pelvis grinding against yours with each stroke. The bed creaked beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall as he took you with wild abandon, chasing your pleasure with a single-minded focus.

Your nails raked down his back as you met his thrusts, lost in the delicious friction, the building pressure low in your belly. "Yes, Anakin, just like that," you cried out, your voice ragged with need. "Harder, please, I'm so close."

He obeyed, pistoning into you with deep, forceful strokes, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Reaching between your bodies, he found your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight circles.

Anakin could feel your body tensing beneath him, your walls fluttering around his throbbing cock as he drove into you with deep, powerful thrusts. He redoubled his efforts, grinding his pelvis against yours, hitting that sweet spot inside you with each stroke.

"That's it, baby, let go for me," he growled, his voice low and rough with desire. "Cum on my cock, I want to feel you coming apart in my arms."

His words felt a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over you, and you cried out, your body arching off the bed as your orgasm hit you like a freight train. Wave after wave of ecstasy washed over you, your vision whiting out as you clenched around him like a vice.

Anakin groaned, his spasming walls milking his cock, threatening to push him over the edge. But he held back, wanting to prolong your pleasure, to make you come again before he found his own release.

He slowed his thrusts, gentleling his touch as you started to come down from your high. Leaning down, he captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, tasting the sweetness of your pleasure.

"You're so beautiful when you cum" he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with adoration. "I want to see you come undone again and again."

Still buried deep inside you, he rolled you over, so you were straddling his hips. Reaching up, he cupped your breasts, thumbing your nipples as he guided your hips in a slow, sensual grind against him.

"Ride me, little angel," he encouraged, his hands gripping your hips, steadying you as you found your rhythm. "show me what you got”

You obliged, rising up on your knees before sinking back down, relishing the delicious stretch, the marvelous fullness of having him so deep inside you. You braced your hands on your chest, your hips rolling and undulating as you rode him with wild abandon, your hips rising and falling, your slick walls gripping him like a tight, velvet glove. 

Anakin's hands roamed your body, caressing every inch of soft skin, igniting sparks of pleasure with every touch. He could feel another orgasm building, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in your core. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps, your nails digging into his chest as you lost yourself to the primal rhythm of your bodies joining.

"Yes, just like that," Anakin groaned, his hips snapping up to meet your downward thrusts. "Fuck, you feel incredible."

You could feel his cock twitching inside you, growing even harder, if that were possible. The thought of him losing control, coming undone because of you, pushed you closer to the edge.

Your head fell back, your hair cascading down your back as you lost yourself to the pleasure, chasing your release. Anakin's thumb found your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles around the sensitive nub, sending sparks of ecstasy shooting through your body.

"Cum for me," he demanded, his voice guttural, primal. “I want to feel you melt into me, little angel”

His words were your undoing, and with a keening cry, you shattered, your body convulsing as your orgasm crashed over you in intense, mind-numbing waves. Your walls clenched around him, trying to take him to paradise he seemed to so easily bring to you.

Anakin's hips were still moving, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he neared his own peak. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, the head swelling, growing even harder. "I'm close," he grunted, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Fuck, I'm going to cum."

His words feel a fresh wave of desire through you, and you clenched around him, eager to feel him come undone, to have him fill you with his essence.

"Do it," you urged, your voice breathy, needy. "Cum inside me, Anakin. I want to feel you."

With a guttural groan, he buried himself deep, his hips stuttering as his orgasm hit him like a supernova, a stellar explosion so powerful that it knocked him off his feet, as if he had been transported to a magical realm, leaving his mind with an explosion of sensations and colors.

His cock pulsed inside you, his hot seed spurting against your walls as he came with a force that left him shaking. You moaned as you felt him filling you, his release triggering another small orgasm of your own. Your walls fluttered around him, milking every last drop as he emptied himself inside you.

Anakin collapsed back against the bed, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He pulled you down on top of him, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close as the aftershocks of pleasure rolled through you both.

You could feel his heart pounding against your cheek, his skin slick with sweat. He nuzzled into your hair, pressing soft kisses to your temple, your forehead, your cheek.

"That was…" he started, his voice rough, emotion thick in his words. "Fuck, little angel, that was incredible. You're incredible."

You hummed in agreement, a satisfied smile curving your lips as you snuggled closer, basking in the afterglow of your lovemaking. His softening cock was still nestled inside you, his release still warm and wet between your legs.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice barely audible, a sweet lullaby against the steady rhythm of his heart. Your fingers traced lazy circles where his heart beat steadily beneath your palm, a testament to the love that flowed between you. The intensity of your shared pleasure had left you boneless, your eyelids growing heavy as you drifted on the waves of satisfaction.

"I love you too, my little angel," Anakin murmured, pressing a tender kiss to your hair, his lips lingering in the softness of your strands. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as if you were the most precious treasure in the galaxy.

As you both drifted off to sleep, entwined in each other's arms, the world fell away, leaving only the two of you in a muffle of love and contentment. The moonlight streamed through the window, casting a soft glow on your intertwined bodies, a heavenly blessing on the love you shared.

In the stillness of the night, your heartbeat syncopated with his, a beautiful melody that spoke of a love that transcended time and space, a love that would endure, no matter what challenges the future might bring.