#actual paws. please imagine it in your minds eye

[bmpmp3]

chicken woman. and something akin to a. chicken woman sphinx

[sleyu]

thinking about how mean!bf sirius would have a hugeee corruption kink, he just wants to ruin your mind yk

idk maybe its just me

i think mean or not, it is definite that sirius black has a corruption kink and it unquestionably couples with his possessive nature.

just imagine mean bf ! sirius meeting you for the first time. you’re a timid, but undoubtedly kind individual who is meek next to him—fully aware of sirius’ notoriety in his personality and habits. he becomes so awestruck, he has nothing to respond to your unassuming questions aside from the occasional nod or gentle murmur.

he displays a calm, relatively friendly aura until the pair of you begin to become acquainted with each other and ultimately, begin dating. it is only then, that the mean teasing and snickers begin, and his heart bursts with joy at the sound of your bashful whines and protests every time he playfully slaps your ass or tugs your skirt, laughing and pulling you close to him, muttering how his actions are all in good fun and that he’d never let anything actually hurt you.

‘so bloody sensitive. y’know i’d rather die than let someone lay a hand on you, dummy.’

and of course, sirius isn’t stupid. he’s been having lewd, perverted thoughts about you since the day he met you. in fact, it was only the same night that sirius cast a silencing charm around his bed to hide the sinful sounds of him grunting as he fisted his cock, thoughts about bending you over the classroom desk polluting his already depraved mind.

since you’ve started dating, he reckons it’s time to manifest these fantasies into life, especially after noticing how your meek gaze has begun to linger on his broad chest and widen at the sight of his bulging crotch. his inner self beams with joy and crude anticipation every time he feels you pawing at his thighs, looking up at him in despair as if you’re unsure of what you really want or why the throbbing ache in between your thighs is only getting worse.

i think mean bf ! sirius would definitely become dizzy at the sight of you on your knees, hands gripping his muscular thighs, begging him to let you suck his cock or to fill your cunt up. usually he was the one doing the begging, but here you were, pliant, obedient, and desperate for his every touch. he genuinely has to sit down and stare at you while also controlling the immoral urge of forcing his cock down your throat, watching how your eyes widen and become teary as your throat contracts and chokes around his pulsating cock.

he genuinely cannot control himself once he sees you fully submit to him, begging him to give you the exact things you were too shy about even insinuating merely a month ago. it makes him feel so accomplished knowing that he was the one that made your brain all cloudy and fuzzy—that he was the one who got your cunt hooked on the feeling of his relentless, unforgiving cock.

‘sirius—my fingers—they’re not good enough—need your cock in me—jus’ want you to ruin ‘n abuse me—please da—’ as soon as you become close to uttering the last word, he’s already lifted up your skirt and forced his cock inside your aching pussy anyways, groaning into your mouth and fucking you ten times harder than he would have any other day.

‘slut—you’ve become a little slut—oh, fuck—‘n who’s are you, huh?’

it becomes the first time that sirius loses all sense of reason and caution as it has become evident to him that he’s irreversibly corrupted you into becoming just as disgusting and perverted as him.

‘nah, not sirius’, honey, you're daddy’s, yeah?’

‘gross fuckin’ bitch loves that, huh, puppy? you like it when daddy forces himself inside you like that, hm?’

‘hogwarts newest slut, yeah? but only mine, isn’t that right? only i get to ruin—fuck—this whorish cunt—mmm,’

sirius is so mean, he doesn’t even tell you when he’s about to cum :( he makes you cum and afterward, you’re a fucked out mess because he just doesn’t stop. your eyebrows begin to furrow and you can only manage to mumble a quiet ‘sirius?’ before he groans into your neck, breath all hot and heavy, and pumps you full of his hot, sticky cum. all you can do is whine and writhe beneath him as he pushes your knees to your chest and uses your cunt to drain his massive cock.

all the while, he’s reveling in the realization that he has just cummed inside you and that if spells and birth control were forgotten, it would be no surprise if you fell pregnant with the copious amounts of cum pumped inside your spent hole.

‘my dirty girl likes when daddy breeds her, doesn’t she? oh, don’t shake your head, pup, i know you like it—can feel you clench—god—around me right now.’

sirius gets so turned on when you confess that you can’t make yourself cum without him ever since the two of you started having sex. the image of you crying out in frustration at the feeling of your own neediness and the dull throbbing in between your sore thighs—incapable of doing anything without his guidance—makes his cock harden far quicker than it should have.

‘poor thing. my dumb girl can’t do anything without me, can she? your small fingers just aren’t as daddy, hm?’ paired with a faux, mocking frown because sirius black is an asshole that is very visibly ecstatic that you’ll always have to come to him to find a release.

and nothing fuels his ego more than having you beg him to stuff you full of his cum before class begins. he loses his mind seeing the effects of ruining your perfect, angelic interior. his once smart, goody-two-shoes, good-girl has become a conniving slut, her own cunt betraying any logic or rational thinking within her mind :( seeing his shy, perfect-attendance girlfriend begging him to skip class with her to fuck in a dingy broom closet is all it takes for him to bust right then and there.

[fangswbenefits]

Unexpected

Summary: Astarion has barely ever considered starting a family with you in the old-fashioned way, but an unexpected conversation might just trigger that urge.

Pairing: Astarion x femalex!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Astarion's POV. Breeding kink. Creampie. P in V sex. Body worship. Vampire bite. Blood drinking. Precum.

Word count: 2.2k

As far as Astarion was concerned, babes were merely drool and poop dispensers.  

He could definitely do without having to be around one for more than the strictly necessary.

And today was one of those days.

You had offered to look after one of your friend's toddler, but he had somehow been left on duty as you worked around the kitchen.

Typical.

He glared at the tiny human that stood on his thighs, wobbling dangerously and was only kept upright thanks to his firm hold.

Astarion glanced around to ensure that you weren't nearby before he mischievously bared his fangs at the baby.

He expected fear or a screech.

But no.

She merely glared at him for a brief moment before bursting into a high-pitched laughter that pierced through his ears and made him wince in pain.

Had it not been for his fast reflexes, she would have had her tiny and prying paws inside his mouth as she tried to reach for his fangs.

“No – these are no toy,” he grumbled in utmost annoyance.

You walked into the room, straightening your dress whilst giving him a taunting glare. “Look at you! Bonding.”

He held the babe as far as he could from his face as she giggled enthusiastically, clearly finding in him some amusement.

He scoffed. “Please. Even the Nine Hells can't be as torturous as this.”

Clicking your tongue, you approached to sweep her into your arms, which caused an infernal reaction from her as she broke into a screech that would put a banshee to shame.

“See? She prefers Uncle Astarion.”

He rolled his eyes, returning his focus on the book had been peacefully enjoying before this unfortunate ordeal.

As you managed to quiet her down by shifting her attention to a stuffed owl bear toy, two soft knocks were heard on the front door.

Finally.

You allowed your friend inside who promptly took her babe in her arms.

“Please tell me she behaved,” she said apologetically. “She's teething and her temper can be overbearing at times.”

“It was no bother. She was absolutely delightful and even bonded with Uncle Astarion.”

She chuckled alongside you.

He could feel a frown grow on his face as she turned to him. “How come you two haven't considered having one of your own?”

Astarion's eyes nearly bulged out.

“Oh, it has never crossed our minds, really,” you immediately blurted out, pinching the babe's cheeks affectionately. “We're better off this way.”

Now that set him off.

“Actually, I have considered it.”

Far more often than he dared admitting, but it was not more than wishful thinking.

He was fortunate enough not to worry about unwanted pregnancies, as being a vampire spawn made the feat nigh impossible.

But he still wondered how you'd look carrying his child.

Especially with you being such the motherly type.

His eyes fell to your heaving chest for a moment, and he vaguely imagined how your breasts would swell.

“Oh? You have?” you sounded more surprised than shocked.

Your friend shifted a glance between you and him. “I'm sure Astarion here would warm up to the idea fast – so to speak.”

How he detested puns.

Once she bid her farewell and you parted ways with a gentle kiss to the babe's temple, he found himself content as silence took over.

“You meant that?”

He pressed the book in his hands closed. “Us having a child?”

You nodded.

“I don't see why not.”

You began undoing the laces of your dress as you paced into the room.

“Well, it's not like we can physically do it.”

Astarion stood on his feet, following you closely behind.

“We can.”

Your head turned abruptly to him. “You're just having a laugh, aren't you?”

Astarion had read enough about half-vampires – dhampirs – to know it wasn't as hard to achieve as one might think.

He would just need to be very persistent and be well fed. 

“It is possible.”

You chuckled. “I think we would be on babe number four if it were truly possible.”

As he walked up behind you, he planted a soft kiss to the nape of your neck, moving his masterful fingers down the lacing of your corset.

He adored having you wear the most exquisite clothes he could embroider for you, but he equally adored helping you get undressed.

Just for him.

“But the real question, darling, is… would you want me to?”

As the corset loosened around you, he could see your breasts expand into fullness.

“Want what?”

The chemise underneath hid most of them from sight, but he could see your nipples faintly protruding against the sheet fabric.

He could feel himself already hardening from the topic of the conversation alone.

“Do you want me to breed you?”

His blunt words made you gasp. “You always come inside, Astarion… and nothing happens.”

Was that disappointment he detected in your voice?

Gods above…

That only served to fuel his lust.

You stepped out of your crimson dress and he shifted languidly until he was on his knees in front of you.

“What are you doing?”

He lifted your chemise just above your navel, and trailed soft kisses along your lower abdomen, feeling you occasionally flinching under his cold lips. 

Your fingers tangled in his curls as a soft gasp left your lips. “Astarion?”

He did his best to ignore the ever-growing twitch against his trousers.

“Maybe we should rectify this predicament.”

You ran the pads of your fingers along his scalp in such a loving manner that he found himself humming in approval as his cold lips began to travel downwards.

“And how could you even do such a thing?”

Oh. You still thought he was bullshitting you?

He glared up at you with half-hooded eyes. “Hold on to that pole and place your leg on my shoulder.”

Astarion took pride in being a giving and caring lover who resorted to words laced with sensuality, to get you all worked up for him.

You arched a brow at him, but held onto the iron rod of the bed canopy while lifting your leg and resting it on his shoulder.

From this new angle, he was able to spot a growing damp spot in your underwear that nearly made him salivate.

The fabric clung to your folds, allowing him to spot the outline of your throbbing swell.

It seemed that your body was already getting ready for what was to come.

Hungrily, he leaned forward to place an open-mouthed kiss on the already damp fabric.

You bucked your hips instinctively against him as he teased your folds with his tongue.

He felt the first drops of precum staining his own clothes, and had no choice but to undo the lacing at the front so he could ease the unbearable strain.

The heel of your foot dug into his back as he kept adding more dampness to your underwear with his saliva, enjoying the sight of the outline of your folds.

With one hand firmly closed around his cock, he moved his lips to your inner thigh, earning a groan of protest from you.

He chuckled against your heated skin, squeezing some more precum from his tip, enjoying how it dribbled down his knuckles.

“Stop teasing…” you groaned, softly tugging at his curls.

But Astarion had something else in mind.

“I should be well fed before attempting this, if the words on those books and scrolls are to be trusted.”

A soft whimper spilled from your mouth and you pulled your underwear to the side with a sigh of relief.

But Astarion found no relief in that as he couldn't tear his eyes away from your soaked folds and the swell that peeked between them.

His cock gave him a warning twitch, as more precum dribbled outs from the tip.

You had broken his concentration with a low blow, but he still managed to part his lips, raking his fangs across the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“You've… never….” you gasped in astonishment as the realisation of his intentions hit you.

“There's a first time for everything, darling.”

Unlike your delectable neck, he had no experience catching your pulse in this area, so he had to drag his lips slowly, in search of that rhythmic pulsing that drove him insane.

“Astarion…” you moaned, rolling your hips.

Once he found what he was looking for, he dragged his tongue along the sweet spot before sinking his fangs into it.

He had anticipated you would squirm under his touch, so he anchored you in place by hooking his arm around your thigh.

Astarion reckoned he would never tire of feeling how hard and warm his cock would get whenever he fed on you, your blood rushing through his body like molten fire. 

As he kept downing your blood and keeping you steady, he began to feel the veins that snaked around his cock bulging and he nearly lost it.

Your fingers were still buried in his hair, tugging firmly as your hips rolled on pure instinct.

Through his bloodlust, he managed to shift his gaze only to be met with strings of your wetness dangling from the entrance.

Gods… you were so ready to be bred.

He could feel your arousal.

He could taste it on his tongue.

His hand was doing an adequate job at giving his now heated cock some relief, but he knew he would only find true solace in being buried deep inside you.

Your blood had begun to spill from the corners of his mouth and he felt it trailing down his chin and neck.

With all the willpower he could muster in that moment of blinding hunger, he managed to tear away from you skin, rising to his feet as your leg dropped from his shoulder only to be caught on his arm, effectively keeping you spread for him.

His cock accidentally brushed against the twin marks on your inner thigh, blood coating the leaking tip of his cock.

He let out a hiss as the warm liquid dribbled down his length, mixing with his precum.

Your hand dropped to the back of his neck and you pulled him into a searing kiss, tasting yourself on his soaked lips.

With ease, he shifted closer until the tip of his cock was nudging at your entrance.

You broke the kiss. “Do you think you drank enough?”

His cock twitched violently from the despair in your words.

“There is only one way to find out, darling.”

You licked your lips, jerking your hips to have his tip slide inside.

Then he felt your hand snake in between your bodies until your fingers were wrapped around his length, giving it a trying squeeze.

“You're so, so hard, Astarion…”

Astarion could get even harder just from your praise.

His cock twitched again and he couldn't stop his hips from bucking, gradually burying himself deep within your warmth.

He sank all the way through, bringing his other hand to close around the one you had around the iron rod of the canopy, desperate for support as he thrusted into you.

Soon enough, you had matched his tempo, moving in unison with him.

From this angle, he could see the faint streaks of blood spread around his cock as it spread your folds, allowing him to see how swollen you were for him.

“So eager to be bred, aren't you?” he said in between groans.

You whimpered in response, unbuttoning the front of your chemise.

Astarion nearly came as your bare breasts came into view, swaying with each thrust. Your nipples had hardened completely and he felt his balls tighten.

“I want to see how big they will get.” he moaned more to himself, knowing he was getting closer and closer to his release.

Your mouth fell open but no words came out.

Instead, he felt you squeeze his cock desperately, drawing a primal growl from deep within him.

He truly wanted to know how bigger your breasts would get from carrying his child.

His balls tightened even harder and he felt the familiar wave of overwhelming release wash over his body.

He somehow managed to keep his gaze on your swaying breasts as he spilled deep inside you, feeling his cum shooting rhythmically inside you.

Desperate to feel your own contractions, he placed his thumb between your folds, circling your swell and slowly but surely driving you over the edge.

“Let go, darling…” he urged desperately, wanting the last drops of his seed to be milked out of him forcefully by your contractions.

As your breath quickened and your arms looped around his neck, he knew you were a goner.

You stilled momentarily, rhythmically contracting around him with a gasp.

He glanced down to see the bulging veins along his cock being squeezed as cum began to spill out around him.

Astarion had no idea how much cum he had spilled inside you, but what he did know was that he would gladly spend it all if it meant getting you pregnant with his child.

As you shuddered against him, he placed a soft kiss to your temple.

“Do you think it was enough?”

He chuckled. “I won't stop until it is.”

Masterlist

[chibinasuu]

Little Mouse | Sanji x Reader

Summary: An espionage mission gone wrong had you on the run from the Marines. You snuck onto a random pirate ship to hitch a ride out of town but were discovered by the ship’s cook, who was oddly fond of mice.  Tags: one-shot, fluff, no use of y/n, f!reader (one use of “lady” in reference to reader), mouse-zoan!reader, spy!reader, set in East Blue just after Loguetown

a/n: i have always loved Sanji’s soft spot for mice, and this idea of Sanji with a reader who was a mouse zoan wouldn’t leave my mind so please enjoy this little fic!

You messed up. 

You scurried through the streets of Loguetown, your tiny paws agilely dodging the feet of all the people milling around. 

You really messed up this time.

A couple of marine soldiers were hot on your heels, desperate to accomplish their superior’s bizarre order of capturing a measly little mouse. You reveled in their apparent frustration as they whipped their lowered heads left and right to find you, to no avail. You were too quick for them. 

Now that you thought of it, this whole situation wasn’t even your fault in the first place. You prided yourself in being smart enough to know when you were walking into a trap, and you were certainly observant enough to distinguish a lie from the truth. 

It just so happened that a member of the pirate crew you were spying on was a fool. 

You had been involved in an under-the-table deal with the Marines for over a year now, pocketing Berries in exchange for valuable information that could lead to the capture of East Blue’s most notorious pirates. It was dirty work, and you hated every second of it, but what could you say? Your devil fruit ability was perfect for this and it was a way to put food on your table. 

Your mission this time was to scout a small pirate crew, which was affiliated with one of the marine’s bigger targets. You had overheard a crew member telling his captain that they were supposed to meet the “Big Boss” on the western coast of Sixis Island at dawn. You had no suspicions at all that the man was telling the truth, because he had believed the information to be correct. In such a manner, he had unknowingly — luckily for him — passed on false intel to you, and consequently to the Marines. If you had waited an hour longer, you would’ve heard the ship’s captain scolding the man for misinformation following his conversation with “Big Boss” over the transponder snail, which reaffirmed the location of the actual meeting point.

So imagine the Marines’ surprise when they arrived at the western coast to find not a single soul. The pirates, which were positioned on the southwestern coast, were alerted of the Marines’ arrival and successfully launched an ambush, turning the table around and causing an immense loss for the Marines. 

The Marines were furious at you. One wrong intel and over a year’s worth of precious, accurate information you provided them went down the drain. You were deemed a traitor, and a bounty was immediately put upon your head. 

That was how you find yourself scampering around the streets in a dash toward the harbor. You need to get on a ship and get out of this town as soon as possible. You figured a pirate ship would be your best bet, as they were the least likely to be fraternizing with the Marines.

You were desperately running through the harbor when a stunning caravel with a sheep figurehead caught your eye. You were well-versed in the pirate crews of the East Blue, but you didn't recognize the ship's Jolly Roger — a skull wearing what appeared to be.. a straw hat?

Without a second thought, you snuck onboard, careful to ensure that no marine saw you. You slipped through an open door and found yourself in a quaint kitchen and dining room. You scurried into one of the slightly ajar lower cabinets, and waited. 

After what seemed like hours, you heard the crew, which seemed to be a very small one, preparing to cast off from the harbor. 

Your nerves started to settle as you felt the ship slowly moving away from the town of the beginning and the end. The exhaustion of the day finally caught up to you, and you found yourself drifting off to sleep to the sway of the ship upon the waves. 

The respite was short-lived though, as you were awakened by the clangs of pots and pans. You could only hope that whoever was cooking wouldn’t need anything from the cabinet that you were currently huddled in. But of course, with how your luck was going lately, that was too much to wish for. The cabinet door was suddenly yanked all the way open and you came face to face with a blonde man, his piercing blue eyes wide in surprise. You froze, fully prepared to be met with revulsion, the way normal people react when they see a mouse in a kitchen. 

Instead, to your surprise, the young man’s lips curled up into a wide smile, “Oh hey, little mouse. What are you doing here? You must’ve slipped in at Loguetown, huh?”

He picked you up gently and sat you on top of his palm, “Well, aren’t you a cute little fella?”

If mice could blush, you were sure your white fur would’ve turned red all over. No one has ever called your mouse form cute before. 

He set you down on one of the long benches on the side of the dining table, and continued talking to you, as if he knew that you could understand him, “A ship’s not a good place for a mouse to live, but since you’re already here, let’s take care of you until we can release you on the next island, yeah?”

He went back to the stove and put a little bit of what he was cooking onto a small plate. The cook placed the plate in front of you, “Dig in, Mouse-chan. I hope you like fried rice.”

The inviting aroma of the warm meal made your stomach rumble, reminding you of how hungry you were. You sniffed around the plate, acting as close to an actual mouse as possible to avoid suspicions, before lowering your mouth slowly and taking a small bite. It took everything in you to remain silent and expressionless as you tasted the most delicious food that you have ever had in your whole life. A few minutes was all you needed to clear the plate. You wished you could thank the chef, but you knew it would be wiser for you to stay in your mouse form in front of him. 

“This brings back memories.” He chuckled, though a pinch of sadness was apparent in his smile, “I used to cook for mice when I was little.” 

He took away your little plate before serving up the rest of the fried rice onto the dining table, obviously dinner for his crew. He opened the cabinet that he found you in, folded a dishcloth to form some sort of cushion, and put it inside. 

He offered his palm to you, and you tentatively jumped onto it. He smiled at your cooperation, then proceeded to place you on top of the soft fabric inside the cabinet, “My crew is a rowdy bunch. It’s probably best for you to stay in there for now.” 

He closed the cabinet door, but not all the way, allowing a sliver of light and some fresh air to come through. 

The rest of the crew eventually gathered for dinner. You had no intention to spy on them, but old habits died hard, and you found yourself unwittingly perking up your round ears and listening in to their conversation. 

You figured out that the crew was composed of at least five people – three more boys aside from the cook, and a girl. They seemed to be on the younger side, and you could tell that the crew was only newly formed.

You were only half-listening as they went on to talk about all sorts of mundane things, until the girl suddenly spoke up, “According to this map, we’re about three days away from the Reverse Mountain…”

Wait… the Reverse Mountain? This small-time pirate crew was heading to the Grand Line? With just five people? You couldn’t believe your ears. You had hitched a ride with a bunch of idiots. 

Despite your predicament, a minuscule part of you couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit excited. After all, the Grand Line used to be your dream too, once upon a time. You had fantasized about traveling the world, before reality crashed down upon you and forced you into doing dirty work for the Marines just to survive. 

A little voice inside your head told you that maybe sneaking into this very ship was a blessing in disguise. You were a fugitive with a bounty now after all, so what was stopping you from joining a pirate crew and sailing freely in the Grand Line? 

The more rational voice reminded you that you were an uninvited guest on this ship. There was no way the crew would take you in – a stranger they knew nothing about, and a stowaway at that. No, you couldn’t dare reveal yourself to them. It was better to get off this ship at the next port and figure out your way from there. 

The bustle of the dining room slowly died down as one by one, the crew retired for the night. You heard the sound of dishes being washed, and you felt your thoughts being pulled back to the blue-eyed cook and the kindness that he showed you. If you’ve learned anything from being the user of the Mouse-Mouse Fruit, it's that cooks hate mice in the kitchen. You couldn’t understand why this one treated you differently. 

As if summoned by your thoughts, the door to the cabinet opened to reveal the blonde cook, “You doing alright, Mouse-chan?”

You couldn’t help but admire how handsome he looked under the warm lights of the kitchen. 

The cook brought a little cup of water and put it beside you inside the cabinet. Once again, you were taken aback by the generosity of this man. 

“Sleep tight, I’ll see you in the morning.”

He turned off the lights and headed outside, and before you knew it, a deep sleep claimed you. 

You awoke to the crew’s chatter as they had their breakfast. You hadn’t felt this rested in ages. You saw that a block of cheese and some crackers had been placed beside the water, definitely courtesy of the cook, and you nibbled on them gratefully. 

The day passed on peacefully, with you taking a much-needed rest inside the cabinet and the cook sparing you spoonfuls of the dishes he was cooking for the crew’s lunch and dinner. 

By evening, you were getting a little antsy, the way you always felt when you stayed too long in your animal form. You longed to transform back into a human and stretch your whole body, but you knew it was a risk.

You heard the cook, which you found out from the crew’s conversation was called Sanji, finish cleaning up the kitchen. Just like the day before, Sanji put a cup of fresh water inside your cabinet and bid you good night, then turned off the lights and left the kitchen. 

You hesitated for a second. Now that he had left, the kitchen was empty, dark, and quiet. It should be safe for you to transform for a few minutes, right?

Stealthily, you sneaked outside the cabinet, and in the comfort of the unlit kitchen, you turned yourself into your original human form. You stretched your arms over your head, moving them side to side as you extended your spine. You were so focused on the pleasure of being back in your body that you didn’t notice the footsteps heading toward the kitchen before it was too late. There was no time for you to change back into a mouse as Sanji switched on the kitchen lights. 

The both of you were frozen to your spots as you sized each other up. Sanji looked you up and down, taking in your fitted white top and pants, before locking his gaze on your face. 

His confused expression turned into one of puzzled recognition as he stared into your eyes, the only distinctive feature that you shared with your mouse form. His lips trembled before he sounded out in disbelief, “M-mouse…chan?”

You timidly nodded, heart pounding as you feared what would come next. He would definitely rat you out to his crew, then they would probably throw you overboard. 

“I, uh, forgot my cigarettes,” was the only thing Sanji could say amid his shock. 

Silence shrouded the room, both of you not knowing what to say, before Sanji finally opened his mouth again. 

“Who… what are you?” He asked carefully, in a tone that was filled not with anger, but with curiosity. 

“Do you know what devil fruits are?” You uttered softly, revealing your voice to him at last.

Sanji nodded, “Our captain is a devil fruit user. So, you’re one too?” 

“Yes, the Nezu Nezu no Mi.” You explained, “It allows me to switch between three forms – my true human form, a mouse, and some sort of human-mouse hybrid.”

He was quiet as he took you in once again, his face lit with wonder. A trail of blood started to flow down his nostril and he quickly wiped it away with the sleeve of his suit.  

“Are you okay? You’re not…mad?” You asked hesitantly, before blurting out in one breath, “I’m really, really sorry for stowing away on your ship. You have been nothing but kind to me, and I’ve been tricking you and taking advantage of your hospitality.”

You got down on your knees, “I understand that this is impertinent of me, but I beg you, could you please let me stay until you arrive at the next island? I promise I’ll disappear after that, and I won’t trouble you and your crew ever again.”

Tears started forming in your eyes as you waited for the cook’s verdict. His leather shoes entered your blurry sight as he stepped closer to you. He crouched down before you and tipped your chin up with his fingers, “Of course, you could stay. You could stay however long you like. I don’t know what your situation is, but I would never turn away a lady in need.”

His thumb absentmindedly brushed away the tears from your cheeks as he continued, “I still have to tell the Captain, but I have a feeling he’d be happy to have you onboard.”

“Why?” You asked incredulously, “Why would he be happy to find a stowaway in his ship?”

Sanji chuckled, “Well, for one, you could turn into a mouse. That would be more than enough reason for him to let you stay, or permanently join the crew even.”

At your confused face, he laughed louder and told you, “Trust me, you’ll never meet a man quite like my Captain.”

You slowly nodded, regaining a little bit of composure with Sanji’s reassurance. 

“I have one condition, though.” You heard Sanji say as he stood up and offered you his hand. 

You felt your heart drop. Of course, he would have a condition. You knew it was not going to be as simple as that. 

You took his hand and stood up, lifting your chin in determination, “Name it.” 

Sanji grinned cheekily, “Show me your human-mouse form.”

Heat flooded your cheeks at his request. You hated your hybrid form. It was hideous, for goodness’ sake. However, you could not possibly deny the wish of this man, who has shown so much kindness to you. 

You let his hand go and took a step back. You drew a shaky breath, before allowing your power to flow over you and shift your body into the only form that Sanji had not yet seen. 

You hugged your fur-covered arms insecurely, and nervously looked up at Sanji, expecting to find disgust written all over his face. Yet, his face was filled with what you could only describe as awe. He reached out and ran his fingertips over your whiskered cheek inquisitively, “Beautiful.”

You shivered at his word and his gentle touch, before turning your face away from him in embarrassment and immediately transforming back into a human. 

Sanji laughed in amusement at your shyness, “Hey, don’t hide your pretty face from me.”

The heat on your cheeks intensified, and your eyes wandered around the kitchen, trying to find a distraction from Sanji’s gaze upon your face. Your eyes landed on today’s newspaper lying on top of the dining table, the corner of a wanted poster visible from between its pages.

You took out the poster and cringed at the sight of your full name and picture looking back at you. 

“Is that you?” Sanji asked, “No wonder I thought your face looked a little familiar.” 

He took the poster from you and scanned its content. You felt your heart inadvertently skip a beat as the sound of your name fell from his lips for the first time. 

“15 million Berries?” He raised a swirly eyebrow at you, “That’s quite a bounty for a little mouse.” 

You sighed, “I guess you deserve an explanation.”

You ended up telling him everything. You weren’t sure why, seeing as he was practically a stranger, but you knew that you could trust him. 

You told him about how you left your hometown to go out to sea, filled with dreams of the Grand Line. About how you were stranded on an island with all of your provisions and Berries lost to the sea, and how you ended up accidentally eating a devil fruit to tame your hunger. Of course, you also told him all about how you came to be in this mess with the Marines in the first place.

Sanji was quiet as you talked, only offering small hums and nods to indicate that he was listening. When you finished, he simply thanked you for trusting him with your story. 

In exchange, he told you a little about the crew. He told you about his Captain, Luffy, who dreamed of becoming the King of the Pirates. You had initially laughed, thinking that he was joking, before realizing that Sanji was dead serious. You shook your head in disbelief and smiled to yourself, just what the hell were you getting yourself into?

Without even being aware of it, You and Sanji had talked through the night, getting to know one another over cups of tea that Sanji had prepared at some point during your conversation. 

The rising sun caught the cook’s attention, and he immediately jumped up to prepare breakfast. 

You trembled anxiously at the thought of meeting the rest of the crew soon, not knowing how they would react to your presence. 

Sanji noticed and squeezed your shoulder reassuringly, “Everything is going to be alright, Mouse-chan.”

Somehow, you believed him. 

You watched the sun creep higher and higher over the horizon, bringing in a new day and hopefully, a new life for you.

Everything was going to be alright.

↳ masterlist

[cuntyji]

Heyo!!

Loved all the writing so far! Had this random idea. Like Gojo and the puppy but imagine one of the jjk men that reader chased down their new kitten that ended up cozying up to said man of choice.

Again just my random mind LOL.

You got me as a supporter of your works.

BONGO'S GUIDE TO LOVE ౨ৎ VARIOUS JJK X (GN!) READER

summary: naming your cat bongo seemed fun at first—until he started treating every man in your orbit like his personal enemy. from perching smugly on the shoulder of your tattoo artist mid-ink session to single-handedly (or single-pawedly?) trashing your neighbor's bakery, bongo is on a one-feline mission to ruin your life. or maybe, just maybe, he’s actually trying to fix it? because amidst the chaos and claw marks, there might be a paw-sible chance he’s onto something you’re not.

content warnings: gender neutral reader (no use of y/n, specific pronouns or gender mentioned). 100% sfw and crack, unestablished relationship, meet-cute. bongo cat's breed is not mentioned, only descriptor is that he is chonky. drabbles of various characters, including: stranger! sukuna, tat artist! choso, bakery owner! nanami, moving helper! toji, actor! gojo. — ( full length cat dad! geto fic here )

— RYOMEN SUKUNA  ₍^. .^₎

you watched in absolute horror as bongo, your self-declared king of bad decisions, flung himself at the most terrifying human in the park. his fur fluffed up like some sort of possessed cotton ball as he darted straight for the man’s massive combat boots. the man—ryomen sukuna, as you'd later learn—looked like he moonlighted as a death metal frontman when he wasn't out intimidating random park-goers. tattoos spilled down his neck, across his face, and from what you could see, probably over most of his terrifyingly ripped body.

“bongo, no!” you shouted, but the little menace had already committed.

sukuna's brow furrowed as he crouched, grabbing bongo by the scruff of his neck like some kind of annoyed parent dealing with a particularly unruly toddler. bongo dangled mid-air, his expression entirely unbothered, his tail swishing lazily as if to say, this is fine. you froze, half expecting sukuna to punt bongo into the stratosphere. but instead, sukuna tilted his head. 

“the hell is this?”

“oh my god, please don’t kill my cat!” you blurted, sprinting towards him with all the dignity of a car alarm. sukuna glanced at you, his crimson eyes narrowing. “why the fuck would i kill your cat?”

“i—uh,” you stammered, gesturing wildly at his tattoos like they were some sort of official cat murder license.

bongo, clearly bored of dangling, chose this exact moment to lick sukuna’s face. one looooong, obnoxious lick, from his chin to his cheekbone, leaving a trail of cat slobber behind.

you winced. “oh no—”

but sukuna just blinked. then let out a low chuckle that sounded like a chainsaw revving. “bold little shit, huh?” bongo purred louder, smushing his entire face into sukuna’s jaw like they were old pals. sukuna, to your utter disbelief, reached up with his free hand and gave your traitorous cat a solid scratch behind the ears.

“what’s his name?” sukuna asked, his tone entirely too casual for someone covered in dark tattoos and holding a cat like a teddy bear.

“…bongo,” you muttered, now questioning every life choice that had led to this moment. he smirked, finally lowering bongo to the ground, though your little idiot immediately flopped onto sukuna’s boot like it was a throne. “bongo, huh? fitting. looks like a troublemaker.”

you stared. “yeah, well, he usually doesn’t go around licking strangers.”

“good taste,” sukuna said, smirking wider. “smart cat.”

smart? your cat had the brain cells of a soggy sponge and the survival instincts of a lemming.

“right, well,” you said, attempting to scoop bongo off sukuna’s foot, but the cat clung like velcro. “sorry for… all this. he doesn’t usually—”

“don’t worry about it,” sukuna interrupted, crouching again and giving bongo another scratch that sent your little demon into a full-body wiggle. “might be the best thing that’s happened to me all week.”

“…seriously?”

“yeah.” sukuna’s grin turned sharp, teasing. “most people just run the other way.”

you raised an eyebrow. “wonder why.”

he laughed, low and deep, then stood, towering over you in the most obnoxious way possible. “guess bongo knows a good guy when he sees one.” bongo chose this moment to leap back into sukuna’s arms like some kind of feline rom-com lead, rubbing his cheek against sukuna’s chest. “traitor,” you muttered under your breath.

“looks like he’s mine now,” sukuna teased, shooting you a grin that made you feel uncomfortably warm. “not a chance,” you shot back, but your tone lacked conviction.

ryomen sukuna: terrifying, tattooed, and apparently now your cat’s best friend. god help you both.

— CHOSO KAMO  ₍^. .^₎

it was a bad idea, you knew that from the start. but bongo’s separation anxiety had you by the throat, so there he was, your chunky feline menace, perched on a folding chair like a judgmental little gargoyle as you prepared for your tattoo session. everything was fine until choso kamo walked in.

your tattoo artist was the living embodiment of a rain-a-sauce—uh, renaissance painting. his long black hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, his dark eyes framed by perfectly smudged eyeliner that made him look both mysterious and mildly intimidating. his loose black tee hung just right, accentuating broad shoulders and strong arms that you were definitely not admiring. and then bongo decided to ruin your life.

the cat launched himself like a furry cannonball straight onto choso’s shoulder. not his lap, not a nearby table—his actual shoulder.

“bongo, no!” you hissed, half-rising from the tattoo chair. but choso, calm as a goddamn monk, didn’t even flinch. instead, he turned his head slightly to glance at the literal furball now draped across him. “he’s fine,” choso said, his voice low and smooth, as if this was a completely normal occurrence. “guess he likes me.”

you gawked as bongo, the little traitor, made himself comfortable, kneading choso’s shoulder like it was a deluxe memory foam pillow. “i… i can get him off—”

“don’t worry about it,” choso interrupted, grabbing his tattoo gun with one hand while his other casually scratched behind bongo’s ears. you stared. he was petting your cat. while holding a needle. meant for your skin. “uh, are you sure that’s… safe?” you asked, your voice pitching higher as choso began inking the outline on your arm.

“he’s not bothering me,” choso replied simply, his focus entirely on his work. bothering you? you were the one about to be permanently marked while your fat, smug cat played parrot. bongo purred like a tiny chainsaw, rubbing his cheek against choso’s jaw. “great,” you muttered, clenching your teeth as the needle buzzed against your skin.

as if sensing your tension, bongo stretched out one paw and lightly bopped your cheek. “oh my god, bongo, stoopp!” you whined, glaring at him. choso chuckled softly, his lips quirking into the faintest smile. “looks like he’s trying to comfort you.”

“he’s mocking me,” you shot back, but choso’s quiet laugh was almost enough to distract you from the pain. almost. “you’re doing fine,” choso said after a beat, his voice soothing in a way that made your stomach flip. 

“thanks,” you muttered, your face heating up for reasons that definitely had nothing to do with him. meanwhile, bongo continued his reign of chaos, now swiping at choso’s dangling ponytail like it was his personal cat toy. “you’re really just gonna let him do that?” you asked incredulously. choso shrugged, completely unfazed. “he’s keeping himself entertained. and you, apparently.”

“entertained is not the word i’d use,” you grumbled, but your mouth twitched despite yourself.

“well, at least one of us is having fun,” choso said, his tone light.

and maybe it was the distraction of bongo’s antics, or the way choso’s calm presence made the pain a little more bearable, but by the end of the session, you were almost… relaxed. as choso finished up, he finally plucked bongo off his shoulder and held him up, his strong hands making your cat look oddly small. “you’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered, though there was no bite to his words.

“you have no idea,” you said, shaking your head. choso handed bongo back to you, his lips curving into that faint smile again. “next time, maybe leave him at home.”

you glanced down at bongo, who was purring smugly in your arms. “yeah, not likely.” choso chuckled, wiping his hands clean. “figured.”

as you left the shop, you couldn’t help but think that bongo might’ve been onto something with his whole shoulder-sitting act. maybe your chaotic little furball had better instincts than you gave him credit for.

— NANAMI KENTO  ₍^. .^₎

it’s always the quiet moments when bongo chooses chaos. you were mid-face mask, your skin glowing with the kind of self-care that influencers would kill for, when your furry menace decided to bolt out the backdoor like he had urgent business. “bonggoooo!” you screeched, stumbling after him in your ratty pajamas and slippers that definitely weren’t made for running.

the scent of the bakery hit you like a brick wall. god, how does it smell expensive? buttery, sugary, and somehow elitist all at once. you didn’t have time to contemplate the metaphysics of aromas because bongo had already darted through the bakery’s back entrance like he owned the place. by the time you caught up, panting and slightly disheveled, you were greeted by the sight of nanami kento, the bakery’s perpetually composed owner, standing in the middle of his flour-dusted kitchen. and in his hands, like a prized artifact, was bongo.

kento held your cat aloft like some kind of culinary simba, his perfectly pressed apron dusted with flour. bongo, with his chubby belly and utterly unrepentant face, dangled there like he had no idea he’d just stormed into someone else’s livelihood. “this,” kento said, his deep, even voice somehow more judgmental than any glare could be, “is yours, i presume?” you swallowed hard, your face mask cracking slightly as you plastered on a smile. “yes! uh, that’s bongo. my cat. um, i’m so sorry—”

“he ran across my counter,” kento continued, his tone unchanging as he gently turned bongo to show you his flour-dusted paws. “he stepped in the dough. twice.”

“oh my god,” you groaned, wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole. bongo, ever the villain, reached out a paw and batted at kento’s tie, smearing it with a bit of leftover flour. “i’ll… i’ll pay for the damages,” you stammered, mortified. “or, uh, write an apology letter. from bongo. he’s very articulate.”

kento raised a brow, lowering bongo but still holding him like he was a particularly troublesome baguette. “a letter?”

“yeah, uh, he’s got great penmanship,” you blurted, because apparently, when embarrassed, you just doubled down on ridiculousness. kento sighed, setting bongo down on the floor. your cat immediately started rubbing his face against kento’s leg like they were old friends. “he’s lucky he’s cute,” kento muttered, though his tone softened slightly.

“he’s really not,” you mumbled, scooping bongo into your arms. “he’s a menace.”

“i’ve noticed.” kento crossed his arms, eyeing bongo like he was calculating the exact amount of havoc the cat had wreaked. “next time, maybe keep him indoors.”

“yeah, definitely,” you said, clutching bongo tighter as he squirmed. “and, uh, if you ever need… cat-signed apology letters, i’m your person.”

kento gave you a long, measured look before sighing. “just keep him out of my kitchen.”

as you backed out of the bakery, clutching your flour-covered feline, you couldn’t help but wonder if bongo’s next target would be a crime that didn’t involve you humiliating yourself in front of absurdly attractive men. unlikely.

— TOJI FUSHIGURO ₍^. .^₎

moving to new york was supposed to be your fresh start. concrete jungle where dreams made of, blah blah blah. instead, you found yourself battling overpriced rent and a cat who had zero respect for personal boundaries.

toji, the moving guy, had been an unexpected lifesaver. with his messy scrawl of a name tag and a physique that screamed, “i bench press refrigerators for fun,” he made quick work of your moving boxes. it was almost comical how easily he hefted bongo’s cat tree—like it was a baguette instead of a glorified jungle gym for your chunky feline. you tipped him with cookies because that’s just who you are: a sucker for baked goods as a currency. and as toji waved goodbye and headed off, you gave yourself a little pat on the back for surviving the first day in the big apple. until you noticed bongo was missing.

cue the meltdown.

“bonggggoooooo!” you hollered, tearing through your barely unpacked apartment like a madwoman. every cupboard, every box, even the bathtub—it was all checked twice, thrice, and then some. no bongo. by the time you collapsed onto the floor, tears welling up, you were already planning the world’s most dramatic cat funeral. there’d be violins, speeches, and a photo slideshow of bongo’s finest “this idiot just ate plastic again” moments. then, a knock at the door.

you practically threw it open to find toji standing there, his enormous frame taking up most of the doorway. in his arms was bongo, looking about as offended as a cat could possibly look, his fur slightly ruffled but otherwise unscathed. “found him in my van,” toji said, his gravelly voice tinged with amusement. 

“oh my god,” you gasped, reaching for bongo, who—of course—refused to leave toji’s arms. “he’s such a menace, i’m so sorry—”

“don’t be,” toji interrupted, smirking as bongo nuzzled against his chest like a lovestruck teenager. “guess he’s got good taste.”

“good taste?” you repeated, incredulous. “he literally jumped into a stranger’s van. he’s one step away from being catnapped—i mean, kidnapped.”

“looks like he wouldn’t have minded,” toji quipped, scratching behind bongo’s ear and earning an annoyingly loud purr in return. you groaned, crossing your arms. “great. my cat’s in love with the moving guy.”

toji chuckled, finally setting bongo down. the traitor immediately twined around toji’s legs, shooting you a look that said this man is mine now. “guess i’m unforgettable,” toji teased, leaning against the doorframe.

“yeah, well,” you said, scooping up bongo before he could claw his way back into toji’s arms, “don’t let it go to your head.”

toji gave you a crooked grin, his scarred lip tugging slightly. “welcome to new york,” he said, turning to leave. as he walked away, bongo let out a mournful meow, his paw swiping at the air like he was starring in his own rom-com goodbye scene.

“ugh, big boys,” you muttered, carrying bongo back inside. but as you closed the door, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, new york wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

— GOJO SATORU  ₍^. .^₎

you knew gojo had a flair for theatrics, but the day he decided to charm everything with a pulse—including bongo, the cat cast for your shared scene—you realized just how far he was willing to go. bongo, a seasoned feline actor with a resume longer than yours, had been nothing but professional. meanwhile, gojo? not so much. “who’s a handsome boy? you are, aren’t you?” gojo cooed at bongo during a break, crouched low and ruffling the cat’s fur like they were old pals.

“you know he’s supposed to like my character, right?” you deadpanned from your chair, sipping lukewarm coffee. 

“it’s called method acting, babe,” gojo replied with a wink, scratching under bongo’s chin. “gotta make sure he’s comfortable with me too.”

“yeah, by stealing my scene partner.”

gojo just grinned, letting bongo climb onto his lap like a tiny, furry king surveying his kingdom.

fast-forward to the final day of shooting, and bongo had developed what could only be described as a toxic attachment to gojo. 

“aaaand that’s a wrap!” the director called, the crew breaking into applause. you were ready to celebrate—finally free of gojo’s antics—until chaos erupted.

bongo’s trainer approached to retrieve the cat, only for bongo to hiss dramatically and latch onto gojo’s designer blazer with claws sharp enough to shred through fabric and ego alike. “uh, a little help?” gojo yelped, trying to peel the cat off without damaging what was likely a five-figure jacket. the trainer tugged at bongo gently, but the cat clung harder, his claws hooking into the seams as if his very life depended on staying attached to gojo.

“he’s tearing my clothes!” gojo screeched, his voice hitting a pitch you hadn’t thought possible.

“you’re the one who told him he’s a ‘handsome boy,’” you snarked, watching the scene unfold with far too much glee.

“he is a handsome boy! but now he’s a demon!” gojo cried, trying to shake off the cat, who let out a mournful wail and doubled down on his grip. the crew burst out laughing as bongo dramatically clung to gojo’s chest like he was recreating a tragic love scene.

“just let him go, he’s attached to you now,” you teased, crossing your arms and watching the chaos unfold.

“i can’t!” gojo wailed. “he’s got my soul in his little murder mittens!”

finally, the trainer managed to pry bongo off, leaving behind shredded fabric and a very disheveled gojo. “you owe me a new jacket,” he grumbled, glaring at you like this was somehow your fault. “i owe you nothing,” you shot back. “maybe next time, don’t flirt with cats.”

as bongo was carried off set, still yowling dramatically, you couldn’t help but think: if nothing else, that cat had impeccable taste in people to torment.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sweet Like Candy 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, age gap and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Thor, Bucky Barnes (Professor AU)

Summary: the new school year proves to be hectic. (short!chubby! reader)

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. 

“Hey, Oli, hold my seat,” you say into the phone speaker, “I gotta run! The professor’s office hours close in... ten minutes and I desperately need to be signed into this course. I swear, if I’m stuck taking philosophy again I’m gonna cry.” 

“No problem, we can wait,” Olive assures you. She’s always a comfort. She wouldn’t dare mention how you always cry or that you did this to yourself by waiting until the last minute to sort your schedule. 

“Alright, gotta go! You don’t wanna hear me huffing and puffing,” you chuff, “buh-bye!” 

You hang up and clutch your phone, your bag bouncing, your bum too! You hurtle forward between the bodies of students who refuse to part for your passing. You veer towards the history building and nearly trip up the steps. 

You heave as you get to the stop and grunt as you drag open the heavy wooden door. Ugh! Why are you weak? Not just in body, but mind too. If you had a degree of discipline, this wouldn’t be happening. Again. 

You slow as you climb the next set of stairs. Yeah, you can’t do that. You’re dizzied by the endless halls set out like a twisted maze meant to house beasts with human heads and bulls’ bodies. It doesn’t help that those signs are fuzzy. You can make out the letters if you get real close. 

You finally get to the door you need, dragging your feet as your legs burn. You raise your hand to knock on the door but it opens as if it can sense you. That’s silly. Doors don’t open themselves. 

It’s too late to stop yourself from knocking on the man’s upper stomach. You cringe and pull your hand back against your chest. You force your lips into a smile. 

“Sorry, I—are office hours over? I ran here,” you gasp. “I’m sorry.” 

The man looks down at you and you sway nervously. He’s taller than you. Well, most people are. His blue eyes bore into you as his cheek dimples in agitation. 

“Please--” 

“I don’t know,” he grips the mug in his hand tighter. “Odinson, another one.” 

The man doesn’t bother with an excuse me or pardon. He steps forward and you stumble back. You sidle out of his way and he marches down the hall. You peer through the door again. An even bigger man rises from behind a desk and smiles. The blond is a lot more welcoming than the brunette. 

“Ah hello, I suppose you’ve come to be let into my Norse course?” He intones as he crosses the office and extends his large hand. “Professor Odinson.” 

“Cerise,” you accept his hand. It’s like a paw. Maybe there are mythical beasts in here. Though he is more what you imagine a god to be. Large, golden, and those eyes. “Yes, I’m so sorry! I meant to enroll before the deadline but I had it down wrong and then I realised it was two days late and--” 

“Not to worry. It’s an intensive language course. We are bound to have a few withdrawals so I’d be happy to take on a few extra,” he assures you. “Do you have your form?” 

“Oh, yes!” You let the straps of your bright pink purse part on your arm and you dig inside. You take out the paper and a scatter rains over the floor. “Oops!” You bend to collect the wrapped candies and the heart lollipop. “I kinda... hurried here.” 

“Not to worry,” he grins down at you as you hold out the form again.  

His eyes skim to your other hand and you open your fist. “Er, you want some?” 

“If you don’t mind? But don’t mention it. I wouldn’t like anyone to think I can be bribed with sweets. Though it may be true,” he winks and takes one of the strawberry candies and the form. “Cerise, an interesting name.” 

He turns and goes back to his desk. You follow behind him, nervous to enter the office completely. There’s another desk. The office is bigger than you expect. You stand across form him as he sits. He lays out the paper and unwraps the candy.  

He pops the sweet into his mouth and hums, “delicious.” 

You teeter on your toes and clasp and unclasp your purse as he searches for a pen. He sucks loudly on the confection. As you try not to fidget, there’s a clink that makes you jump. You peek over at the other man as he returns with a full cup. He drops into his chair with as little caution. 

His eyes meet yours. The line of his brows of them make you flinch. He looks angry but why? Or you think so. You narrow your eyes as you try to see him clearer. 

You turn back to Odinson and shake off the tension. He scribbles with a pen across the bottom of the form. He makes a wet noise with his mouth and the other man grunts. 

“Do you have to?” The dark-haired man snarls. 

“Forgive my office mate,” Odinson tuts as he hands over the paper. “Barnes is rather crotchety since his own office was flooded. You think he’d be a bit more grateful for my generosity, elsewise he’d be languishing in some basement.” 

“I said ‘thank you’,” the other professor mutters. 

“Mm, yes, but not loud enough to hear,” Odinson chides and gives a laugh. “Don’t fret about him. I tease. We are merely adjusting to each other. You must live in residence? You know how it can be to have to adapt to others.” 

“Oh, yes, my roommate is a night owl. I already know I’m not going to get any sleep,” you take the form, “thank you, sir.” 

“Not at all, but I must warn you. This is a language course, not mythology. We use the stories to learn the language so you will need to be attentive to your studies,” he girds, “I’d hate for this all to be for not.” 

“I understand,” you look down at the form. You can kind of make out his signature.  

It’s fine. They have all sorts of assistive technology these days. First year, you go through one text-to-speech. Everything is only so you’re really not worried. And you would love to be able to speak like a viking. 

“I’ll see you in class, professor,” you give a triumphant smile and bounce on your heel as you turn. 

Barnes huffs heavily as you cross the office. You stop as a crinkle comes from your hand. You only realise then you’re still clutching onto the candies. You glance over and slowly near his desk. 

“Do you want one?” You open your hand and offer the candies.  

He doesn’t even look up, “no.” 

Odinson sucks loudly, “don’t be such a bore. Leave him a chocolate. He does like them. He keeps truffles in his drawer.” 

Barnes inhales sharply but doesn’t say a word. You take one of the chocolate balls and put it on his desk. You dump the rest in your bag then spin away. 

“Have a great day,” you chirp as you get to the door. 

[miley1442111]

Hi my love!

I'm sorry if this is a bother, but I saw you were taking requests and I really wanted to see this one written and you do such amazing writing.

Please don't feel pressured into writing this tho

So, we all know Derek is like, 6'2" is, right, so the girls he talks to are shorter than him, but I was wondering if you could write something with a female reader where she is almost as tall as him, and decided to wear heels to something, like a party or a gala or something, and she feels insecure about being so tall and he's just swooning over her because look at his tall woman, his amazing tall woman who works as an FBI profiler and can literally kick anyone's ass and just look how cool his girlfriend is.

Like, if you wanted to you could write about how some guy made a comment and Derek literally had to be held back because he was full on ready to throw hands for the reader.

Bonus points of she's like really fit, like she definitely hits the gym and you can see it

Again, you don't have to write it if you don't want to/don't feel comfortable, I just thought it would be cute

OMG I love this idea, it's so freaking cute! I had so much fun with this and istg I'm so sick of y/n always being some small fragile little thing in fics, it drives me crazy!!!!

Thank you for requesting my dear ! :)

my girl- d.morgan

a/n: intended for tall fem!reader but as per usual imagine what you like :)

summary: derek comforts you after something happens at the yearly award show

pairings: derek morgan x reader, (platonic) bau team x reader

warnings: insecurities, suggestive tones, crying, fluff :)

You loved your body, seriously you did. It was your vessel, your home. You nourished it and took care of yourself. 

But sometimes you wanted to feel shorter. Being tall has its advantages, and yes, you knew you were more than conventionally attractive, but it didn’t stop the nagging feeling in the back of your head, telling you it was weird that when you wore heels, your boyfriend was looking up at you, not down. Derek was 6’2. You were 6’2 ½ with these heels on. You were taller, which was fine, but it played in your mind more than you had wanted it to for the entire night. 

Derek on the other hand? When he saw you in that perfect dress he didn’t think he’d have the willpower to actually stop himself from fucking you before the event. He felt so lucky. His beautiful, ass-kicking girlfriend was wearing a dress that he’d bought her and she looked fucking delicious. He knew you were gorgeous, especially when he was regularly graced with the image of you naked, but this was another level. On your latest mission you’d taken the unSub down on your own and he swore he’d never been more turned on. The way you just overpowered him, getting his knife off him and cuffing him. You were the most beautiful person in his eyes, you always would be.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Walking into the gala, he couldn’t keep his hands to himself, gripping and pawing at you, kissing you constantly. Though, he could see something was wrong. Was this gala too much for you? Did you want to go home early? He wouldn’t have complained.  

“You alright baby?” He asked as another award was announced. 

“Fine,” you sighed, staring into your plate of food as you just moved the mashed potatoes around. 

“Baby,” He placed his hand on your thigh, grabbing your attention. “Talk to me.”

“It’s nothing.”

Derek frowned. You weren’t usually one for keeping things from him. “Baby-”

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you announced to the table, and stood up. You avoided Derek’s concerned eyes and he got up to follow you. 

“How’s the weather up there?” A drunk asshole asked you and he saw the way your face subtly contorted into upset, trying to hide tears. 

He saw red.  

His eyes darkened and his fists balled at his sides. “You wanna say that again?”

The drunk asshole sobered slightly after seeing the seriousness on Derek’s face. 

“Derek it’s fine-” you pleaded, wanting to sink into the floor. 

“No it’s fucking not. Say it again.”

David and Aaron got up from the table, stalking over before Derek swung at the guy. 

They were too late. 

“Derek!” You shouted as the other two pulled him off the man. Other tables were starting to stare and you felt perpetually worse. You should’ve just worn flats. 

“You can shut up next time, yeah?” Derek jeered at the bleeding man as Aaron and David held him back.

“Calm down,” Aaron ordered cooly, and Derek instantly pulled himself out of their arms,brushing them off. 

“I’m calm,” he said. He was not calm. No one got to insult his girl. 

“Can we just go home?” You whispered through shaky breaths. Derek’s attention was all on you.

“Of course we can.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The drive home was silent, his hand on your thigh as you attempted to calm down. 

Derek was wracking his brain for why you’d been off all night but came up empty. 

What was wrong?

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You kicked off your shoes, practically running to the bathroom and locking it behind you. Derek sighed to himself as he set down the keys, deciding to grab himself a beer. 

You took off your makeup, your dress, and showered, trying to wash your insecurities away. You knew you were pretty, you knew Derek loved you the way you were. 

Sometimes insecurities just get the better of you.  

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You sheepishly walked into your bedroom and saw Derek on the bed, waiting for you. 

“Can we talk?” He asked and you nodded slowly. “What’s wrong?”

And with that, the floodgates opened. You pushed your face into his chest, crying against him as he comforted you. “I just… I know I’m ‘pretty’ and all but… sometimes I just-”

“Hey, you are pretty, so goddamn pretty baby,” he smiled at you and it eased some of the hurt in you. “But I get that you don’t always feel like it, which is fine too, y’know why?”

“Why?” You snuffled out, looking up at him through running mascara.

“Because I can alway remind you, my pretty girl,” he smirked, and sealed his statement with a kiss. 

You felt better, knowing you had someone who loved you no matter what. 

It’s not like Derek minded, he was so head over heels for you you could’ve had two heads and he wouldn't have cared. You were his.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

criminal minds masterlist:)

[whimsyvixen]

Anubis anon again 👋

Imagine every 100 years, he gets to keep a woman's soul as a concubine to relieve the stress of having to guide and judge every dead soul.

It's hard work, and he takes out all that strain on you whenever he gets the chance.

He comes to you, panting in the egyptian heat, and grabs you for an hour (or more~) of fun. First, he hunches over you and starts making out while he paws all over your body, shoving his tongue into your mouth while he digs his claws into your ass and tits.

Pretty quickly, you can feel his dick growing harder against your stomach, and eventually, he gets tired of just kissing, and lifts himself fully up. Your head can only reach his chest, and when he shoves you onto your knees, you're only just eye level with his cock, which is straining hard against his loincloth.

I kinda wanna turn this into a fic or smth but I should probably watch the show first... Or read about the actual god. Anyway thanks for the art man it always kicks my horny mind into gear

Mmmm~~~ what a juicy fantasy that is~ 💛💛💛🫦

If you make a fic or drabble about this, please tag me. The world knows I need more stories about feral sex with this Egyptian God. I'll definitely draw lewd art of him feeding his cock to the reader. I'm itching to draw more Record of Ragnarok stuff anyways so you'll probably still get it even if you don't write more for him.

[crguang]

at a wedding and it got me thinking about kafka because im mentally ill but imagine getting invited to a family member’s wedding and she happens to be free that day so she comes with you as your plus one, dressed in a slick backless dress with a jacket over her shoulders and an elegant choker around her neck, her nails are done and her hair is up. she’s not one for ceremonies and would likely be bored during the actual wedding because it’s in a church. she sits next to you on a pew, behaving herself like you told her to and you get a bit misty eyed during the ceremony so you lay your head on her shoulder and lace your fingers with hers, your palm under hers. around you there’s a choir singing and the couple of the hour are pronouncing their vows. kafka looks at your joined hands, your bare fingers loosely gripping hers. she can smell the scent of your shampoo and the perfume you applied to your skin a few hours earlier. she doesn’t care much for what’s happening around her, just the anticipation in the air as a lifelong commitment is made out of selfless love. she leans her head on top of yours.

during the reception, your family flock around her due to her charms and composure, bombarding her with questions she navigates gracefully. at some point you leave her among the wolves and slip away to spend some time with the rest of your family, congratulating the newlyweds and keeping up with your closed ones’ lives. kafka’s surrounded, a champagne glass in hand, and gazes at you from across the room. she takes advantage of pauses in the conversation to look at you laughing and hugging family members, mind empty. she tells herself she just likes how you look in that outfit. when the married couple have their first dance, she takes in the softness in your eyes while you watch them.

she’s the one who finds you some time later while you’re seated at one of the round tables with your cousin’s six month old in arms, kissing the baby’s face to get him to smile. it works, and a warm expression takes over your features as you coo at him, pinching his chubby cheeks. kafka lays a wine glass on the table that she fetched for you just now.

“having fun?” she asks, taking a seat next to you. her eyes keep darting back to the baby in your hands and the smile on your face.

“yeah. my aunties finally left you alone?”

“i had to slip away while they were talking amongst themselves. they’d make great bait on a mission.”

“please dont call my family bait.”

the baby babbles unintelligibly and your attention diverts back to him. he stares at kafka, a new addition to his environment, and she stares back.

“wanna hold him?” you lift him towards her and kafka lifts her hands in refusal.

“no, thanks.”

“but he wants you!”

she’s forced to take hold of him by his little waist when you put him on her lap. she sits straighter, holding him away from her chest like he’ll pounce on her any second. you hide a smile behind your hand.

“he’s not a grenade. you can hug him.”

“i’d handle a grenade better.”

kafka and the baby stare at each other for a while. he brings a fist to his mouth, then loses interest a minute later. she looks more uncomfortable than you’ve ever seen her, if only by her posture, and you bite back another amused smile before relieving her. you gently take the six month-old back in your arms. he likes you better anyway, pawing at your cheeks with his tiny hands. kafka takes a sip of her glass. her eyes are on you the entire night, and she relaxes somewhat when the baby’s mother comes to whisk him away.

you dance together for some time, her hands at your waist and yours around her neck, talking lowly amongst yourselves and staring into each other’s eyes. by the time you get home, you’re exhausted by the social event. you take off your shoes and jewelry and kafka watches you for a few minutes before finally speaking the words that have been rotating in her mind for five hours.

“do you want to get married?”

you pause, a confused smile on your lips. you start to undress and she stands near the large dresser on one side of the room, a strangely uncertain look on her face. She doesn’t fidget or fiddle with her hands, just leans on the furniture and awaits your reply.

“where’s that coming from?”

“you seemed really happy today.”

“yeah. someone i love just took a huge leap in her life and is very happy for it. the ceremony was beautiful, too, and i had a great time.”

kafka looks away for a moment to take off her earrings. she shrugs nonchalantly but your eyes narrow in suspicion a bit.

“you’re great with kids.”

you stand in your underwear for a moment, observing her body language, then the reason for her sudden attitude hits you and you chuckle.

“did you get freaked out seeing me with that baby?”

“no. i guess you just…belonged.”

“is that what you think i want? marriage and a baby?”

kafka looks at you. “well, is it?”

you walk to her with a barely concealed smile, loosely wrapping your arms around her waist. “would you give it to me?”

she doesn’t respond to that and that is an answer in itself.

“pfft,” you shake your head good naturally, “you’re an idiot. you let today get to your head, baby.”

kafka pouts and returns your embrace. you kiss it off her lips.

“that’s not what i need from you. you’re enough… for now <3”

[lostmyremembrall]

📖

love the way you write the prompts <3 may i request prompt 18 ??

📖𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐭

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: 𝐻𝑢𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑟, 𝐹𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓, 𝑇𝑜𝑚 𝐵𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝐺𝑟𝑢𝑚𝑝𝑦 𝐴𝑠𝑠 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝐽𝑜𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 1𝐾 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡! Now closed

A/N: Oh my god. I am SO sorry it took this long to get to yours. Please forgive me, and I hope you'll still enjoy this.

You surprise Tom with a cat

Tom’s eyes widened at the sight that awaited him. Four tiny paws. A ball of brown fur. Large two ears. The tiny creature stared up at him, and bared its teeth as it meowed. Tom couldn’t help but jerk his head backwards 

“There he is!”

The enthusiastic voice of Abraxas greeted him when the resident Dark Lord peeked his head in through the doors of the Room of Requirement. His cautious eyes flickered around the room, reminiscent of an uneasy salamander that dared to poke its head out from underneath a rock to survey his surroundings.

“Let’s get this over with,” Tom sighed as he walked towards them, completely ignoring the birthday decorations that you, Abraxas, and Canopus had spent hours putting up.

“Of course. We won’t dare take up your valuable time any more than necessary,” Canopus responded somewhat sarcastically, approaching Tom and reaching up to put the cone hat that read ‘Birthday Boy’ on top of the disgruntled man’s head, knowing full well that he detested it. You might as well say that, for Canopus, seeing Tom in this humiliating hat was the only redeeming aspect of hosting this birthday party. 

“You never fail to make my day, Canopus,” Tom murmured quietly, his eyes coldly narrowing on the black-haired Slytherin. You had to admit, despite the comically small ‘Birthday Boy’ hat perched atop the Dark Lord, his seething glare was still enough to send a shiver down your spine.

  “Well, it’s tradition,” Canopus shrugged with a smug smirk on his lips, a brave reaction worthy of praise from a Gryffindor. You had no idea what it was that Canopus had: courage, stupidity, or simply a warped sense of fear. But, whatever it was, you couldn’t help but pity and admire it at the same time.

“So... Presents,” Abraxas clapped his hands excitedly, contently watching as the group sat around the sofas.

“Here, Tom. Happy birthday,” Abraxas beamed at Tom as he passed the wrapped package that was clearly a book from its size and shape.

Tom did not respond and tore open the paper wrapping.

“Oh. Actually… this is quite helpful,” Tom showed the book cover to you and Canopus; the title read ‘Dictatorship 101: A Beginner's Guide to Regime Change by Khalilah D Smith’. “Thank you, Abraxas. For the thoughtful gift,” Tom even managed a slight curl of his lips.

The blond looked quite pleased with himself, turning his nose slightly up in the air with a proud smile.

“Pshhh, as if our great Tom needs any instructions on becoming a dictator,” Canopus rolled his eyes. 

“I, on the other hand, got the only thing Tom needs on his destined path to greatness: Time,” Canopus added an exaggerated flourish to his hands that gestured to the box on the coffee table, ignoring the clear annoyance that flashed across Abraxas’ elegant features.

“You should know, Canopus,” Tom raised a brow as he opened the box. “Your words bring nothing but anxiety to my already troubled mind.”

You peeked in over Tom’s shoulder to find what exactly he meant by ‘time’, as Canopus dramtically worded. To your surprise, it was packets of energy drink powder.

“Ohh… nooo, Canopus…” you murmured quietly, recalling the Dark Lord’s sensitivity to caffeine. The last time he tried one cup of coffee, he stayed up for four nights in a row. “What on earth made you think this was a good idea?”

“Shush shush,” Canopus silenced your words of terror, not even giving you a glance. “Tom, remember the coffee that you had? Imagine that, but double that.”

Tom’s eyes widened in amusement as he glanced at it. “By that logic, I could conquer the wizarding world twice as fast.”

“Exactly my point!” Canopus’ eyes glimmered wildly. “You don’t trust us with a thing. And you’re right to do so. Imagine how much you could get done if you could do everything yourself.”

Tom hummed, nodding along. “You know what, Canopus? For the first time in my life, you did not disappoint.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “You two are just enabling his unhealthy obsession with power!” You grabbed Tom’s shoulders, and he slightly wobbled from left to right as your seething eyes captured Abraxas and Canopus. “What Tom needs is stability. Emotional support.”

The wincing was visible on Tom’s face as you said the word ‘emotional support’, but before he had any opportunity to protest, you presented him with a medium-sized box. Tom was bewildered by the way the box seemed to shake on its own. But still, carefully, he opened the box.

“Oh,” Tom seemed lost for words. “Oh. This is… rather… unexpected.”

“Unexpected? What is it-” but Canopus did not need to finish his question, as a small tabby kitten poked his head out of the box and pressed his paws against Tom’s eyes. 

Tom grew silent.

“You thought giving Tom a cat was a good idea?” Canopus turned his disbelieving eyes to you. “And here you were, telling me gifting energy drinks was irresponsible.”

You scowled at your friend, not noticing the kitten that had begun climbing Tom’s uniform like it was his life mission. “Well, I, as his friend who actually know him, happen to think that an emotionally volatile person like Tom needs a support animal.”

“Emotionally volatile?” Tom repeated to himself quietly, doubting his ears over the words that came from this supposed friend of his. At that moment, Tom was trying to ignore the kitten on his shoulder, who was pressing his paws against his cheek.

You had to admit, Tom was showing a surprising level of patience towards the kitten, a bitter realisation following closely behind that, perhaps, Tom tolerated the kitten more than any of his human friends. The tabby cat began to incessantly meow by Tom’s right ear, demanding his attention.

Abraxas was watching all of this with intrigued amusement in his pale eyes. “Well… let’s just hope that the cat will survive to see adulthood.”

You found the meowing rather adorable, but it was clear that Tom’s patience was quickly wearing thin. Even for kittens, the Dark Lord had his limits, it seemed. “Look, I only speak snake,” Tom barked, turning his head to the right, speaking directly to the kitten with frustration evident in his voice. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

The kitten only responded by pressing his paws on Tom’s lips, perhaps for the first and the last time the Dark Lord was silenced. Either from rage or being overwhelmed by the kitten’s cuteness, Tom’s cheeks turned a bright red. For the sake of the kitten, you hoped it was the latter.

“Oh hey,” Canopus’ eyes widened at the kitten’s bold move. “What do you know? He might just live to see adulthood.”

Tom growled as the kitten began his climb up Mt. Tom again. “How wonderful,” he murmured darkly, his displeased eyes following the kitten’s tail that swung back and forth in front of his face as he made his way up his head. The kitten was now wrestling with the ‘Birthday Boy’ hat, fighting for his spot on top of his head.

“Not so intimidating anymore, are you Tom?” Canopus snickered as his eyes flickered

between the Dark Lord and the cat that had settled comfortably on top of his head.

Tom’s vehement glare from behind the swinging tail was quite the sight to behold. At that moment, for whatever came over its small brain, the kitten leapt off of Tom’s head and landed on Canopus’ face.

“Agh! What’s happening?!” Canopus tried to pull off the kitten while its claws dug into his face. “Get it off me!”

“Yes. Yes!” Tom’s dark chuckle echoed in the Room of Requirement, while Abraxas watched the scene in terror, his hands elegantly covering his gaping mouth. 

You could confidently say, that for the rest of your life, you would never forget the cheerful eyes of Tom when he turned to you and said, “You were right, dear. Emotional support was exactly what I needed.”

A/N: Ended up writing as a sequel of sorts to 𝒟𝒶𝓇𝓀 ℒℴ𝓇𝒹 ℴ𝓃 𝒞𝒶𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒾𝓃ℯ. Not my best writing, but hope you still enjoyed it!

[kaiso-woo]

Cookie Dough

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

-> Masterlist

BONUS #4 - Connections to ‘Stay Series’! This occurs on Christmas Day - right after the Skz Family has finally left your house in PART 14 - Merry Chris-mas (Felix Never Bad)

WC: 1.1k

Synopsis: So does anyone remember this from PART 14?

“You think we aren’t married?” You ask, sliding the bowl away from Chris for the umpteenth time, “Christopher get your paws out of Felix’s baking.” “He doesn’t mind.” “I mind,” you finish, turning away for a second to turn the oven on, only to have to lunge back for the bowl because Chris has nicked it again.

“Okay, here’s the deal baby, you either let me eat some of this or I eat you out later,” Chris wolfishly demands…

Notes: SMUT, PussyDrunk!Chan, Overstimulation, Oral (F Receiving), Traffic Light System (Used), Fluff?, Second Person Narration, Skz Fluent in English, Swearing, Idol!Chan, Fem!Reader

Here for a reading marathon? Head right back to the start!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

BONUS #4

!!Casual reminder this is entirely fictitious - Chris/Christopher in my work does not represent the actual Bang Chan - this is purely my imagination and nothing more - this goes for all other SKZ-Members too!!

--

You were on your phone. You were on your phone, lying on your bed on your god damn stomach, completely at ease with the world.

"Yeobo~" You had just showered, literally just showered, changed into pyjamas and were ready for bed. "Can I have my dessert please, honey?" You frown and roll over just enough so you can stare at Chris, standing at the bottom of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest. "There's ice cream in the fridge... and Felix's cookies that we made today... why're you asking me for dessert?"

Chris tilts his head slightly, his eyes scanning you from head to toe mischievously, "Not what I meant..." he whispers.

--

How hungry for dessert was he, exactly? Because Jesus Chri-

“Please…” he whines, grabbing your hips and dragging you back down to him, “Please baby. I need more.”

You groan and try to wriggle out of his grip, thrashing against his strength.

“Baby- baby c’mon. Please. I need more. You taste so fucking- god- so fucking good,” he breathes, the warmth against your heat making you shudder. Before you can argue with him, he hoists your legs over his shoulders again, tongue immediately lapping at the slick of your folds.

You release a drawn out whine and shovel your fist into your mouth, struggling to cope with the relentless pace of his tongue. In no time you’re quivering underneath him, his expert tongue swiping the places he knows will make you lose all sense of reality.

“Chris-” you moan, hand flying to lock into his curly hair and tug desperately, writhing, “Too sensitive- s’too much fuck Chris- Christopher-” He hums and sucks particularly hard at your clit, sending rockets of pleasure and pain shooting up your spine.

“Honey I know you can handle this. I know you can. You can do this for me, yeah? Please baby?” He begs, eyes drilling into your teary own, as two of his fingers sneakily slip into your aching hole. He groans at the sound of you whimpering, his other hand tightening on your thigh.

“Oh baby that’s it, moan for me. Let me hear you. I need more baby. I want more,” he continues, mouth falling open in loud pants as he pumps, his third finger sliding in with ease. You squirm and buck against him, trying desperately to muffle your moans instinctively, the precise opposite of what he’s asked.

He notices your attempts to silence yourself and growls, bringing his face down to suck in annoyance at your clit, “I said moan for me sweetheart," he demands against your heat and a pathetic groan escapes you. “There we go. 'Atta girl~”

The combination of his fingers and his tongue is splitting every last remaining brain cell you possess into eighths, his praise and sounds of pure desire at your own pleasure making your heartbeat intensify, your legs shake intensely, incomprehensible words falling out of your mouth.

Eventually, he removes his face from your core so he can watch your expression again, his eyes wide with rapt attention, his mouth parted in awe. If even possible, his fingers speed up, and he licks the juices around his mouth attentively.

“I could listen to you moan like this all day darling. 24/7. Fuck you with my fingers all the time. Yeah? You like the sound of that, don’t you?”

This is not good. His dirty talk. This is not good for you.

“You’re so tight and it’s just my fingers baby. How many times have you cum already, hm?” You’re struggling to think, let alone answer him, and when you don’t, his eyes darken. In a slow, taunting gesture, he leans down to lick an excruciatingly teasing line up the folds of your pussy.

“How many?” “Three three threehee-” you slur out, repeating the words over and over, in a daze.

“And why’s that?” “Ughh- fuck- fuck Chris- fuck it’s cause you- you feel so good- s'good- so good-” your voice dies in your throat pathetically as he curls his fingers and pumps harder, leaning over slightly for a better angle.

“Hm? What was that?” He asks innocently, juxtaposed against his devilish grin. “Your fucckahh fingers. Chris- I can’t- wait, please- sensitive-”

He ignores your last comments and places a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh, “I’ll spell it out for you love, since you can't seem to function like a normal human being."

If he wasn't currently digging you into your own grave, you might have found the willpower to glare at him for his snarky attitude. Unfortunately he seems to love exploring what he's long since discovered, and you could do nothing but squirm.

"You’ve cum twice because of my fingers. And you’ve cum on my tongue because you taste so fucking delicious. I can’t get enough of you, isn’t that right? This meal? It’s mine. All for me. Whenever I'm fucking hungry.”

Your breath intensifying and your walls clenching around his fingers in a spasm lets Chris know you’re about to snap - so what does he do? Pulls his fingers out, briefly edging you. (A/N: I wanna throttle this man - non-sexually - for real sometimes, and I wrote him :|

You whine in desperation and open your mouth to complain when his fingers are replaced with his tongue flicking rapidly at your hole, diving in as deep as he could reach, hitting that soft spot straight away.

“Fuck Chris! Chris- oh shit-” you scream, that white-hot pressure picking up right where it was left off, washing over you with such force that you swear you dip into darkness for a second. When it dies down and the world slams into you heavily, you realise Chris is still lapping at your juices, eagerly sucking and licking, slurping away at the liquid between your legs.

He’s like a vampire. For your cum. His groans are sinful, pleased at having made you cum for the 4th time using only his mouth and fingers. But the overstimulation is too much. You can already feel that pressure building in your lower abdomen, and you’re worried that you’re seriously going to break something if you let him continue.

So amidst your whining and gasps, you manage to stutter out, “Red- red- Chris- red.”

You didn’t have to repeat the word at all. As soon as it fell from your lips the first time Chris stops his actions, breathing heavily. He wipes the excess from his chin and crawls to lay on top of you, placing a tender kiss to your lips - and you can taste yourself slightly.

He snuggles into your neck, trying to control his breathing and simultaneously stroking the side of your face, taking the time to brush any stray strands of hair away and tuck it behind your ear.

“Thank you love. You did so well for me. I'm so proud of you, thank you. Are you okay?” He mumbles, placing adoring kiss after adoring kiss on your neck, “Does it hurt too much? I’ll go get you a drink, yeah? Pineapple juice? Water?”

He makes to roll off you and leave, but you grab his shirt and pull him back, “It’s fine Chris. I’m okay… just… just stay with me please?” “I’m sorry,” he sighs, wrapping himself securely around you again, “I kind of lost myself there, you know what I'm like...” “You don’t say…” you laugh, stroking the curls at the back of his head affectionately.

“Not my fault you taste better than that cookie dough,” he grumbles, and you sigh in defeat. “You’re a man of your word, aren’t you?” “I gave you the option. Let me eat the cookie dough or-” “Okay okay- shush. Point taken.”

Point taken, indeed...

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-> Masterlist

And you've reached the complete end of 'Stay Series'! I hope it's been enjoyable :D

Until we meet again! - Kaisowoo

[kiwanopie]

Tell us more about lord crime sakusa please 🙊❤️

1.4K more crime lord!Sakusa lore + more lore for reader

Lemon sugar soap and airy high notes, your buoyant little song is cut in two the moment you see it in your living room.

The moment you see him in your living room.

Your face immediately drops. Freezes and then lours in broadening terror, until fright is stained across your face. Tears welling as you step back - you’re more exposed in your pajamas shirt than you ever were in those skimpy little getups they make you wear.

Because he’s not supposed to be here. He’s not supposed to cross that straight little line you’ve drawn. All the effort - the horrible things you’ve done to make sure those two sides never touched. Making yourself invulnerable, untouchable, non-existent. Breaking your back to make yourself as elusive as possible, and now he, Sakusa Kiyoomi, the most feared man in all of Asia is sitting in your living room.

He’s sitting in your living room.

You don’t even try to care about how utterly devastated you look, tears already running hot down your cheeks. He just threw all of that hard work in your face. Your peace of mind in your face. He’s not supposed to be there. He’s not supposed to be here. This is your safety. This is your everything.

Fresh flurries of earlier shower aroma whiff into the empty air of your living room as he stares at you from the couch, little hearts curling into the air and drifting in his direction. You smell like bundt cake.

Sakusa clears his throat as the tendons in his jaw flex, trying and somewhat failing to keep his body language as confident as possible. “I’d like to-“

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

The way your voice trembles only sets jagged edges onto the way you address him. “You’re not…” You shake your head. “You’re not supposed to be here-“

He raises his hands in an attempt to placate you. “I know. I’m sorry-“

“How did you find my address…?” Or get past your motion sensors. Lay a hand on the door knob without your blink camera alerting you, or break into your home without your dog so much as barking. “How long have you-“

Your eyes flicker to the aforementioned dog, who’s lackadaisical amble speeds to a giddy trot at the sight of the intruder. Tail waving contentedly as he raises his two front paws to perch them on Sakusa’s lap, and turning your world upside down as the grief in your stomach tightens.

Sakusa rubs distractedly along his floppy ears. “A while.”

He has the decency to look guilty about it at the very least. A little stiffened in his slouch as the apples of his cheeks turn a soft flowery. He’s in his usual two piece suit he wears during work hours. Save for the jacket thrown over the bridge of your couch, and the few relaxed buttons on his crisp button up; few enough to turn his collar loose.

“There’s a better way to do this. I know that.” Sakusa claps his hands in his lap. “But I knew this was the only way to get you alone.”

Your feet brush against the edge of the carpet as you slowly retreat - like a frightened rabbit. “What are you-“

“I’m not gonna hurt you.”

But even still you lock up as he stands, long legged strides now moving in your ever shrinking direction. All the more smaller when he’s tall enough to touch the ceiling with his arms bent. Fit from youth and exercise, veins in his hands and scabs on his knuckles. You don’t even realize through your terror that he’s only in his socks, padding your wooden floors in an effort to show you the respect that you deserve.

You notice his cheeks are actually a thin rouge now that he’s close enough. It softens the perpetual scowl oftenly carved into his face. “I’d… like to offer you a proposition.”

Sakusa tries to keep his composure at a glance of those misty doe eyes. You’re breaking his heart by looking so frightened. “I know how miserable you are working as a scout, and how much you despise being involved with those people - or even this business altogether,”

He surmised at first. It’s hard to imagine a pretty thing like you being treated kindly by an ugly trade like this. Short bruises on you that are close to healing nearly every time he sees them, but it’s a given that they’re renewed in his absence. The cold stare of your mask. Frigid and resentful the way you avoid the eyes of your employers the few times he’s seen you with it off. You’re young and beautiful, wilted and wounded on the inside as is everyone else with an early start to this profession. It’s only common sense that you’d be unhappy.

But then the Azure Dragon contract happened. And your reputation of being clinical and concise was disrupted by a slaughter that would even make a man like him a little queasy. - He had heard there was some bad blood between their leader and the people at your organization. Something buried in the past, but as all disputes with your employer's enterprise it was kept secret with that trademark air of taboo wafting around it. He was there when you were informed of the contract, he could see it in your body language. Locked up and afflicted, so much ire in the air that he could all but taste it. On watching you step out of the room, the first thought that crossed his mind was:

“It was a mistake to send her.”

“Hm?” Your handler lifts her head from the string of documents laid out on her desk.

Sakusa’s eyebrows cinch as he points his gaze toward the door. “Why not send a more… unkempt scout? She doesn’t seem right for a role like that.”

And although obscured by a mask, the look of quiet contempt on her face is visible in her tone. “All my scouts are killers, Sakusa-san. Especially in my elite class.”

“Yeah, but-“ But he stops there. There’s no way to make a gut feeling seem like an appropriate rebuttal.

Though still, She seems intent on making sure he leaves with little to no peace of mind. “She’s the one who asked for it, if that makes you feel any better. The women in our lineup very seldom leave their business unfinished.”

At hearing that, that piquant taste of ire sours to a pungent note of despair.

He wasn’t surprised when news came that the clan had fallen. After a few days of radio silence, Seiko Akie’s head was found perched on a spike, the word “COWARD” etched into the skin on his forehead.

What an ugly path to take. He thought. For you it was. For the goodness that still radiated off of you, for all the times he’s seen you hesitate at the sight of depravity, for your integrity. For anyone keen enough to look between the lines it’d be written all over you ~ that you had your limits, and even the few you’d crossed would fall further of the butchering that took place during that contract. You were being corrupted. What little good in him only shone through seeing the surplus of genuinity you had in you and if that was gone…

If that was gone…

He’s not going to let that happen. “I wanna give you a way out of it. All of it. I could make it disappear.”

“…What…?”

Sakusa’s gentle as he gathers your palms in his, tender over soft silken skin, unroughened even through your years of work. He holds you like you’re jewelry. Treasure sparkling in his grasp as he looks down at you with the kind of adoration you could only sing about. “I’ll buy out your licensing and have my lawyers write out an order that would make you completely inaccessible to them. I could even get your name wiped from their record just to be extra thorough about it-“

“What? W-Why?” Your tears still fall down the tops of your cheeks. “Why would you… do that for me…?”

He swallows hard. It’s strange to see a man like him look so meekend. “Because it would be right. Because that’s what you want, and it would be best for you.”

You stare at him a watery moment.

And then soberly, so removed from your current devastation that you almost sound like a different person. Wrought with the kind of baseline aprehensity that should come from a seasoned business woman, at least in this line of work.

You ask: “What do you want for it?”

He inhales deeply.

And he promises, swears on his life and the lives of all who he has ever cherished - that this’ll be the first and the very last time he’ll ever disappoint you.

He answers: “I want you to marry me.”

He answers: “I want you to marry me.”

He answers: “I want you to marry me.”

[galimation]

Something I noticed;

I always struggle imagining my DnD OC's interacting outside their campaigns. To combat that I placed all of them in an imaginary mansion where everyone has their own room, with a common area and shared kitchen. I wanted to call this "the White Space" originally, but considering Omori already has that I'll just call it "the Mind Space".

And I somehow managed to write existential horror the first time I explored that idea further x'D

„Wasn‘t I just in an airship?“, these are the thoughts that raced through Flufflebite as he found himself in an unfamiliar place. He recognices the smell of leather and fur, but not the objects belonging to them. He recognices the cloth under his paws, but not the pattern. He even recognices specific furniture around him, but not the room itself. He finds himself in a highly familiar unfamiliar place. Flufflebite ears perk up at the sudden knock on the door and he readies his Scythe. Snarling, he waits for whatever might come through. What actually comes through the door is something he did not expect; a halfling. The unfamiliar person places two cups of tea on the table and then turns to Flufflebite: „I bet you are the new Character of him, aren‘tcha“ Bewildered Flufflebite keeps his weapon up but doesn‘t answer. Who knows what this small figure could want of him, and what was it even talking about; „Character of him“? „I‘m sure ya must be confused, but don‘t worry. No one here will pose you a threat“ „Who am I speaking to?“ „Right, right, I completely forgot to introduce myself“, the small halfling straightens his back and takes a deep breath, „I am Gilban Tombubble, pleased to make your aquaintance!“ Flufflebite looks at the small hand the halfling is reaching towards him and shakes it: „Flufflebite“ „‚Flufflebite‘, huh? Haven‘t heard a name like yours here before. Haven‘t seen anyone like you here either“, Gilban moves some furniture around to allow for a comfortable talk over tea, „Sit down and I‘ll explain“ The large lupin sits down on what must be his bed and eyes the halfling suspiciously. Gilban asks if Flufflebite needs anything for his tea, before starting his explanation: „Ya see, this place I call ‚the Mind Space‘. It‘s a realm for all fictional characters made by humans. Not the humans you know, actual humans in a very boring reality. They make up stories and worlds to light up their sad lives and people like us happen to inhabit them.“ Slow to process, Flufflebite takes a minute before he speaks up: „Wait, you mean I‘m not real? That doesn‘t make sense. I can feel my fur, I can speak my mind. How-“ „That‘s true, but we still aren‘t real. Everything we experience is real to us, but not to them. For them we are a way to live more interesting lives, while also spending time with friends.“ Flufflebite lies on the bed, baffled. Did the halfling really just say that? Is all he does and think just someone elses idea? It takes a few seconds, then he bolts back up: „And you‘re okay with that?!“ „Basically, yes.“ „How?!“ Gilban sighs and takes another sip of his tea: „We don‘t really have another option. We just happen to exist and that‘s it. Everyone here learns to live with that fact some way or another.“ Finishing his cup, Gilban stands up again: „If you wanna see where you have arrived, I‘m outside the door; ready to show you around.“ With that, Gilban leaves Flufflebite alone in the room. Alone in the room that seems to be made perfectly for him.

[mxserendipity]

Grieving For My Past Self: Full Poem

Trigger warnings: Words alluding to past self harm, trauma/abuse, dissociation, depression, death and other mental illness. Nothing is explicit, but please stay safe anyways.

—-

Stage 1: Denial.

—-

Feather after feather I swallow,

Filling the aching void in my head.

Something light and sweet to follow,

Avoid the buried feelings of dread.

Something innocent and something thin,

A safety made of imaginary thread.

Only a beautiful daydream as I lay in bed,

for nothing is worth seeing the hole within.

A giggling child, born to run

around the skirt of an evergreen tree.

My other memories are held back by knife and gun,

I am not bound by symptoms, I am free

Nothing deeper holds me hostage

as denial keeps me agnostic.

For I am too kind to suffer and too young to die,

So I will ignore my own inward cries.

They'll say:

Spread your wings and fly away, little dove.

Out of the corners of your mind, your reality

Gather the insincerity of a foxglove,

and hide under the shade of your apathy.

—-

Stage 2: Anger

—-

White hot emotion blinds my eyes

My lungs, my throat, my cries

Oxygen turns to fear turns to rage,  

As you scar my skin with words estranged 

Your god should beg for my forgiveness,

After all you say they planned.

For all the gore they held witness,

They should drop to their knees and apologize first hand

His name is like bile on my tongue, 

Born of a dinner much too sour

I was so eager to forget,

Yet somehow he still holds the power.

I'm drowning in my own disgust

Screaming until my lungs give out

You corrode my memories to rust,

and carve my internal drought.

You made me forget who I am,

My mind focused only on your pleasure,

You've brainwashed me according to plan,

Maybe you should have done it better.

I'm angry at her excuses, 

His failure and your abuses,

But now I curse your ugly name,

and I hope to God you do the same.

For when we kill our gods before us,

Their homes of light and dark will burn.

For an afterlife made from sins unjust,

Are just cages made to imprison us.

—-

Stage 3: Bargaining

—-

Ears flattened, pupils wide

My fingers shake and creak and cry

I fantasize about a change in tide,

and I tickle my brain with hows and whys

I pull at strings long foregone,

Weaving a web for comfort's sake.

I beg and beg for a new dawn,

Anything to soothe the ache.

I poke at fears I've had since thirteen,

Lamentations now admitted.

While I scrub at skin never clean,

And pray someday I'll be acquitted.

Because denial cages the heart,

and anger burns ones throat.

But bargaining is confirmation,

and exposes candor like hives to smoke.

—-

Stage 4: Depression.

—-

Rats crawl along the streets of my mind,

Gnashing teeth and boggling eyes.

Black shadows and dirt combine,

perpetuating normality in a beautiful guise.

Never have I appreciated the rodent,

of disease and grime and fear.

But now I treasure the moment,

when the pitter-patter of paws grows near.

They swarm my corpse and follow trail,

Covering tracks with scurrying wails.

The walls sit giant and sharp,

Letting me forget myself in a rhythmic chop.

Spectators of reality hold their disapproval,

as they eye arms lined with gauze.

their gentle whispers offer removal,

but I've come accustomed to their claws.

I fear not plague or extinction,

and I'm immune to infection and fear.

My home is with pests and crimson,

and it's long resistant to tears.

so bury me in honey and milk,

that way the rats will burn with me in hell.

—-

Stage 5: Acceptance.

—-

I've swallowed hysteria like a mob,

I've picked my teeth with broken bones.

I've bartered with rage like it's my job

I've washed my body with unknowns

I've cuddled with monsters and kissed horrors goodnight,

and yet here I am, oh so alive.

I've battled with my mind and thoughts,

I've cracked and broken my brain,

I've sobbed over fears of gunshots,

and yet here I remain.

I can accept who I am and what happened,

While relearning what I've been taught.

And while I rebuild actualities imagined,

I know I won't be left to rot.

I am a beautiful puzzle,

of pieces yet unfinished.

I am a machine of heart and muscle,

something not worthy of being diminished.

I am not to blame for my past,

as I regain control of my present.

Because I can smile at last,

knowing I can let go of torment.

I am held in the universes palm,

Crafted by delicate carpenters

I have claimed my diversity and calm,

and my worth was never a question.

I am bound, but not caged

I am hurt, but not broken

I am hesitant, but not afraid

And one day, I'll walk free

and that day,

I'll never need to fear again.

[ambroziadelphine]

Madara in the real world: Chapter 15

Masterlist

"Take a deep breath. Channel your chakra, then let the breath out. Imagine your image, your body, your face, your voice. Form the chakra into that shape." He whispered in my ear behind me, his hands gently holding my arms to my sides as I focused. It was now December 1st and we'd been practicing for hours. He wanted to try and see how well I've done in the past week, having me make clones of myself; if I could get up to 3 basic clones formed well enough, he felt confident in moving up in my training. What he didn't know is I wasn't just trying to make a regular clone, I wanted to impress him. I wanted to try a shadow clone jutsu.

I took a deep breath like he said and concentrated, I wanted to make Madara proud. I was working hard to be good at this, and it was quite the challenge beginning from nothing, but I've made it this far and there was no way I was going to stop trying now. I imagined myself, taking effort to remember every detail, I felt my mind shifting to last night's video shoot though. He had bent me over my vanity, forcing me to look at myself as he fucked the hell out of me; I felt myself shiver, blaming it on the cold as I tried to focus again, making the signs like in the show. I felt like something left me, not a physical energy, but something like it; I could still feel it but it wasn't in me, but beside me. Madara was silent as I peeked my eyes open, looking to my right to see a person very similar to myself stood there, only a few things out of place; my hair wasn't as long as it was supposed to be and wavier then I meant, my eye colour was a little off, my face shape was a little different and I was a little too tall.

"That is actually quite impressive for your first clone." Madara mused, letting go of me as he inspected the clone, she blushed under his scrutinizing eyes and looked down. "You have more potential then I thought." He muttered making my clone raise a brow.

"Does that mean you thought I'd suck at this?" The clone asked, Madara chuckling lightly and shook his head.

"No, just that you are surprisingly good for someone in a world where no one ever used chakra this way before." He clarified making me grin, only to frown as my clone vanished, suddenly feeling a little dizzy as I stumbled slightly. "Alex? What's wrong?" He asked, rushing to my side to steady me but I waved him off gently.

"I'm fine.. just got a little dizzy there." I said, leaning on him for support slightly only for him to scoop me up in his arms, my body instinctively curling closer to him for warmth as I tried to not be so surprised. I don't know if I'll ever get used to how easily he can pick me up.

"I think we've done enough training for today. You should rest." He said, walking inside the house before turning at the door and whistling, Seth coming running in and skidding to a stop on the wood floors with his wet paws.

"We're inside, could you put me down now please?" I asked, he smirked at me and paused for a moment to pretend he was thinking.

"I suppose I could." He said, reluctantly letting me down as I took my winter boots off, Madara doing the same. The snow had gotten thicker in the last week, now being about 2 inches thick already, meaning when training Madara made sure I had on enough layers so I wasn't cold, claiming he was used to harsh weather and wasn't bothered as much as I think. As soon as my boots were off however, Madara picked me up again, this time tossing me over his shoulder making me squeak, getting a smack to the ass in response. "Never said I'd let you stay down." He said before walking up the stairs.

"Jokes on you, I have a pretty good view from back here." I teased, my arms crossed on his back as I felt another smack on my ass.

"So do I." He said, only to pause as I, in turn, smacked his ass back. I bit my lip and waited to see what he'd do, knowing I may have just costed myself the ability to walk tomorrow but it would always be worth it if I get to smack his ass every once in a while, hehe. "I better not hear you complaining tonight, because I will make you pay for that." He warned, continuing his way into my bedroom as my thighs clenched, heat blooming in my lower stomach.

"Is that a threat or a promise?" I asked him, hearing him give an amused snicker before laying me down on the bed.

"Take your clothes off and find out." He said, smirking as he lifted his sweater off over his head, I grinned and immediately shed my clothes, tossing them to the side as I laid on the bed waiting for Madara. He crawled onto bed after undressing, a sexy smirk on his face as he stared at me with teasing eyes. "So eager." He taunted, chuckling darkly at my blush, his grin widening as I spread my legs for him, his hand trailing up my leg slowly as he looked over my naked and wanting form.

"Look at you.. is this what you were hoping for?" He asked making me bite my lip.

"Maybe." I said, his eyes narrowing as he kneeled between my legs, two of his large fingers stroking a strip up my core, spreading my arousal that had formed over my clit with a deep chuckle, letting out a soft moan.

"You're so wet, baby.. all this, for me?" He teased, knowing fully well what he does to my body with very little effort; he's gotten to know exactly what my body responds to by now, being very good at learning the subtle touches that get me going in every day life and the bedroom. I whined as he slowly rubbed my clit in soft circles, watching me intently with a confident smirk.

"Madara~" I moaned, eyes closing as he pressed harder, feeling my legs start to twitch as he hiked me up by my thighs, leaning down with his thumb still on my clit, dragging his tongue along my warm cunt. I gasped and moaned loudly, a hand tangling in his soft hair as he continued these movements before plunging his tongue into my trembling hole causing me to cry out and arch my back. He smirked as he continued to thrust his tongue in and out of me slowly, groaning softly at the taste before I tugged on his hair when he removed his tongue from me. Two of his fingers took his tongues place, thrusting in and out slowly as his wet muscle moved on to flick the small bundle of nerves causing my leg to twitch again. He grinned and did it again, his ego boosting as my body started to twitch under his touch; his fingers thrusted into me at a steady pace, curling them making me buck my hips as I cried out, his tongue on my clit making my body tense as I felt my climax approaching quickly. "Master!.. f-fuck.. 'm gonna cum!" I moaned, his fingers picking up their pace as he sucked on my clit, tipping me over the edge as I came, crying out his name as my back arched. He slowly pulled back, grinning at me as he stared at my heaving chest and flushed face, staring up at him with so much desire it was almost palpable.

"Fuck, I love you." He said, quickly climbing up my body and smashing his lips into mine, folding my legs up to my chest; his kisses were harsh and almost rushed as he ran his tip along my folds. I let out a loud moan into the kiss at the taste of myself on his lips, Madara claiming my mouth with his tongue as I pulled him closer by his neck, his tip sliding into me as we both let out loud moans. The stretch as he sheathed himself inside me making my fingers thread in his hair, tugging slightly causing a groan to escape him, his tip kissing my cervix when he slowly pulled back out before thrusting back in. He wasn't rough this time, it was almost more desperate then wild, almost as if he was trying to portray emotions he couldn't express to me otherwise. It sent my mind high in the sky to think he was holding in this much sensitivity, the way his hips thrusted gently into me, the sensual and slightly rougher kisses like he was trying so hard to not pound into me, the way his hands played my body like a rare instrument only he knew how to play. He trailed his lips slowly down my neck, the symphony of moans spilling from me as my nails clawed at his shoulders, his own groans echoing with my sounds as he laid sweet open mouthed kisses along my neck and collar.

"Oh, god.. Madara~! I love you!" I moaned, feeling his hips falter for a split second before his pace started to pick up, moving back to my lips as our kisses turned hot and sloppy.

"Say it again." He commanded between kisses, his breathing was turning heavy and his face was flushed, looking like a wet dream by the faces and noises he was making. I knew Madara was a little vocal in bed given the past few weeks, but this was different, like he was letting himself get lost in his pleasure for once.

"I love you! Fuck.. Madara, I love you- so much.." I babbled, repeating the words he wanted to hear over and over again, feeling my stomach tighten as his tip bullied my cervix, my eyes rolling back as he sat up a little, pushing on the back of my thighs more as he started to thrust faster with each word.

"Fuck, baby.." He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as his face scrunched up in pleasure. "Cum for me.. Fuck, please baby, cum.." He said, the rare begging tone of his voice enough to drive me over the edge as I felt the tightness in my stomach burst. I was crying out his name as I came hard, tears streaming down my face as he groaned above me, my walls squeezing him so tight as he made me ride out my orgasm, his pace not faltering for a moment as he chased his own release.

"Madara! Oh god, Madara!" I cried, unable to move with how harshly he was pressing me into the bed, but still loving every second of it.

"That's it.. damnit, you feel so good.." He groaned loudly, leaning down again to steal my lips in a kiss, his hips were pistoning into me by now, the same passion and feverish emotions still heavy in the air as he kissed me. I felt like I was on cloud 9 with him, my body twitching as I cried out from the overstimulation, feeling myself getting close to the edge once more. I was clinging onto him for dear life, my arms wrapped tight around him as my fingers scratched his back, red claw marks in their wake. I could feel myself almost tipping over the edge when suddenly his hand reached down, starting to rub tight and fast circles on my poor clit, my body convulsing as I came, my arousal soaking Madara's thighs and the bed. I cried out into the kiss, my eyes rolling back as I felt him twitch inside me, his thrusts getting sloppy as he neared his peak; he shifted his body weight to hold me down tightly as he roughly thrusted up into me one last time. "Fuck! I love you, Alex!" He groaned out, my eyes widening as I felt that familiar 'pop' I've felt before, followed by his seed filling me as he let out a long moan.

We laid there, panting heavily as we came down from our highs, Madara's face buried in my neck as he laid soft kisses along it, having let my legs down so I could properly wrap my arms around him. I could feel my cunt throbbing but I didn't care, any pain I was in unnoticeable as Madara held me close, my fingers softly running through his hair. I gave him light kisses on the side of his head, sighing in content as we basked in the afterglow; it felt so calm, so peaceful. Like everything was perfect in this moment.

Then I felt something on my neck.

I didn't notice it at first, but as the sensation of water sliding down my collar and shoulder, Madara's shoulders trembling ever so slightly, it became all the more clear as I realized what it was.

Madara.. was, crying..

I wrapped an arm around his waist, another laying on his head as I smoothed out his hair, holding him tight as I peppered light kisses along his skin.

"I love you." I whispered in his ear, his hold on me tightening as he buried his nose into the crook of my neck, more tears soaking my skin. "I love you so, so much." I said, giving him a small squeeze of reassurance as I rubbed his back gently.

"Thank you.." He muttered quietly against my neck.

"Thank you for loving me."

[evilcatgirlwizard]

sorry op this but also w your tags. small (lie) blurb of a story idea below

Leafppop and Crowfeather run pretty far away, and stay together just up until the kits are weaned. Crowfeather takes Hollykit, though, and disappears in the night. Leafpool is horrified, and with her kits tumbling after her tries to give chase--but unlike him, she can't run like the wind. Nor can she even start running without leaving a kit behind. So she gives up, and takes her remaining children further away from clan territory. Lionkit and Jaykit would be raised right. And she would beg Starclan nightly for Hollykit's safety. Please, please do not punish her for Leafpool:s foolishness... Please...

Not that Crowfeather returned to Clan life. He was busy training Hollykit and hunting, and planning his re-entry into clan life. It didn't work with Leafpool--she was so weird and different and not fun when he had her all to himself. But she had given him Hollykit. She looked to be strong, in his eyes--stronger than that foggy-eyed tom and that large-pawed oaf. More like him, thin and fast. So this is what he drilled into her, only offering affection when she did extremely well. Which, given she barely came of apprentice age before the drills began, she rarely did. Not for lack of trying, Hollypaw did so much constantly for her father. She could hunt for herself, fight for herself--just... slightly worse than him. Which never earned her his love. It did earn her lectures on Clan life, though. Hunting drills began accompanying Warrior Code quizzes. She could name them, recite every word in her sleep, while diving below and around and tearing out a prey's throat. She was efficient, effective, deadly, and Crowfeather was sure she could slot into Windclan if he simply claimed he was her father, and hope not many questions came his way.

Meanwhile, Leafpool was gentler. Kinder. Raised her kits how her father and mother raised her. The were coached gently, but extremely well. Lionpaw was large, and *powerful*--stronger than Leafpool recalled even her father being in his prime. He could spot herbs from two foxlengths away, and enemies twice as far. He took it upon himself to be his mother's guardian, even if she promised him she would always fight to protect *him*. Jaypaw, on the other hand... uh. was also a fighter. With fewer annoying thoughts hovering around him, fewer minds thinking pitingly, Jaypaw *thrived*. He could identify herbs by smell and touch alone, could hunt thrice as well as Lionpaw, and he wasn't too bad in battle. Actually, he was pretty great in battle. The occasional rogue would try to steal what Leafpool and her kits had made for themselves, and Jaypaw could always signal their arrival simply by sensing their thoughts. And tear them apart by tracking their mind's location. They were incredible, far more capable at their ages than Leafpool had ever imagined. Maybe... Maybe that old prophesy...

The days that Leafpool and Crowfeather both returned to clam life were within the same week. Their kits had become new adults--Lionbark, Jaystrike, and Hollyhawk.

Crowfeather returned the lost kin--a solo hunting mission, caught by two legs, sixteen moons of clawing back to Windclan, a sudden fatherhood... But he had trained his daughter in the ways of the Clans, to keep it alive in his heart and hers. Hollyhawk integrated... well. Uncomfortably well to some of her clanmates. It was as if Crowfeather had always had a daughter, had never left. It was unnerving. But she was a great hunter, defended the borders like none else.

Leafpool returned, and retuned honestly. Everything was laid bare: Her affair with a cat of another clan (left unnamed), the fact they sired kits, the fact that they ran away together... But surely, because he took a kit and left her to struggle alone, Starclan had punished her enough. She had been fighting out there, to get back **here**. And surely Starclan must forgive her, if they had allowed her to return. She, and her kits, were accepted, if a little hesitantly. Did Starclan actually forgive her? Mmmaybe. Her kits... don't integrate super well. Jaystrike, especially, cannot stand the pitying thoughts. He's snappier and less patient than his brother or mother have ever seen him be, and Lionbark in particular does his best to keep Jaystrike out of camp where he can feel less... small. Otherwise, Lionbark gets along pretty well with his new old family! He's loud and sweet, and reminds EVERYONE of a young Firestar, with some of Sandstorm's determination and wit. Lionbark ends up helping Leafpool in the medicine cat den, though, and eventually becomes her apprentice. She and [WHOEVER ELSE COULD HAVE BEEN MEDICINE CAT] have zero fears of anything when they leave with Lionbark. Jaystrike ends up getting a reputation for being one of the best fighters and hunters in the clan after a skirmish with Shadowclan, where he somehow tracked and sent the leader of Shadowclan cowering like a kit, with no fear or wounds of his own! The pitying thoughts start to quiet after that. Hard to find the blind guy who won that battle pitiful, huh?

hm yeah that's all my thoughts. fuck Crowfeather. idk maybe Hollyhawk and Jaystrike & Lionbark end up meeting on the border and going Hm Something Feels Wrong Do I Know You but idfk. goodnight

If there’s one idea I really like in au’s where Leafpool and Crowfeather actually do run away, it’s the idea of the three being raised away from the Clans and returning with an outsider’s gaze on how repressive and violent they can be