#again like a kitten. just holding him up by his 'scruff'

[mymarifae]

anyway

i don't know the source nor accuracy of this image and i don't care no one tell me i am choosing to believe aventurine is 5'4 forever now. because it's cute and also because it makes the circumstances of his boss fight really funny. everyone he canonically was facing off against would have been considerably taller than him (stelle and acheron are 5'8, caelus i guess is 5'10, himeko and march are 5'7, and mr. yang is 6'something idk i keep seeing people change the inches number i give up). why did they let him do all that shit. just walk over and pick him up by the back of his coat like a kitten. carry him off the stage. problem solved

[bi-writes]

simon’s reactions to mail order bride finding another cat and bringing it home

mail-order bride

there's a ruckus outside. clattering inside of the rubbish bins, rattling the metal of them. and maybe it could've just been a wild animal, something tearing apart the garbage bags and making a mess, but then there were a few cries, squeaks of terror that were too unnerving to ignore. a cry of distress that wouldn't allow for a good night's rest.

simon throws the back door open. there's a few soldiers milling about, leaning against the outside of the mess hall and barracks as they have a smoke or play some cards. some of them are playing games under the lights, kicking around footballs for a laugh. but he hears it, right around the corner, little eeps and have his neck craning as he turns into the alleyway behind his office.

there's a set of bins there that reek. but he can see the rustle of plastic moving, and when he picks up the top bag and clicks his flashlight on, he's met with fierce hisses of a little orange tabby kitten, with red around her eyes and oil sticking to her fur.

"fuckin' christ," simon mutters, sucking on his teeth. he doesn't know why he's out here. normally, the sounds of it wouldn't even force him to blink twice, but he couldn't help himself, he had to follow it. he looks over his shoulder for a moment, debating, but his mind is already made up.

he thinks of you. his pretty little wife, probably curled up on the couch at home with your candles lit and something warm in the oven. the cat is probably snoozing on one of her shelves, one of her arms hanging over the edge and her little face squished into the cushions he had installed on top of them recently. he thinks of your pretty face and your glowing smile, and he hears your voice in his head as he looks back down into the bin and makes eye contact with the mangy little thing again.

he reaches down and grabs it by the scruff of its neck, lifting it up. her little paws spread, showing her tiny claws, and he sighs, holding it out in front of him as he makes his way back to the barracks.

"what in the living fuck is that, LT?" a bubbly voice laughs. simon continues to hold the kitten out at arms length, his boots heavy as he heads towards the washrooms.

"wot the fuck does it look like, sergeant?" simon snaps. johnny picks up his pace so he can walk beside him, laughing as he smacks simon the back of his vest. simon pushes the door open, dropping the kitten into the sink.

it continues to cry and yip at him. he turns the water on, reaching over for a bottle of dish soap and squeezing it until it splatters against the kitten's back. johnny watches from the doorway as simon tries to scrub the little thing clean, cursing at it all the way as he tries to get all the gunk off of it.

"stop fuckin' squirmin'," simon huffs. "ow! oi! ya lil' shit!"

when simon turns the water off, the kitten is shaking in the sink. simon looks around for something to dry it with, and when he finds nothing, he turns to look at johnny.

"give me your shirt," simon demands. johnny stands up straight.

"what?"

"did i fuckin' stutter? give me y'r bloody shirt, sergeant."

"but! but tha's--"

"an order," simon barks. "give it ta me."

johnny rolls his eyes, gripping his shirt from the back collar and pulling it over his head before tossing it at his lieutenant. simon catches it, picking up the kitten and wrapping it in johnny's shirt before tucking it into the crook of his arm.

"'m goin' 'ome. tell price i'll be back in a few days."

"y'r goin' home? it's late, and we--"

"goodnight, johnny."

you jolt awake when you hear the front door. you rub your eyes, sitting up in bed, but you relax a little when you hear the sound of simon's boots in the living room dropping by the door. you get out of bed, putting your slippers on. when you flick the lamp on, simon is standing in the doorway of the bedroom, in full gear and his skull mask as he looms there, his head nearly hitting the top of the threshold.

"simon?" you croak softly. "i...i thought you weren't gonna be home for a few days."

he's holding something, a ball of bundled-up fabric, and you sniffle as you come closer.

"what is it?" you ask. "is something wrong?"

and then you hear it. the softest little chirp, a squeak coming from his arms. you lean over a little, reaching over and pulling back the fabric, and you let out a little gasp as you see two little yellow eyes blinking up at you, surrounded by tuffs of wet and wild orange fur.

"oh! simon!" you breathe, putting a hand to your chest. "wha...w-what--"

"was in the rubbish," simon mutters, clearing his throat. "i couldn't..."

you look up at him. you can only see his eyes, dark with eye-black smudged save for his blonde lashes, and you soften when you see the way he's looking down. he's frowning, but you know he isn't upset. simon cares, more than he'd like to admit, and you reach up with one delicate hand and touch the skull gently, stroking the cheek of it.

"i know," you say softly, smiling up at him. simon sighs, a little shakily, you notice, and you pass your thumb over where his lips would be before taking the bundle from his arms. you hear what simon doesn't say, understand what he's having difficult accepting, the things that aren't possible for him anymore, the things he has to do to keep himself sane now that there's a voice in his head that always sounds just like yours.

helpless, sweet little kitten, with claws like knives and a temper unlike that of simon's. the thoughts that went through his head, you know them, even if he doesn't tell you. when he saw this little thing, when he saw those big eyes.

i couldn't leave her behind.

no. he couldn't.

[satowooo]

A DAY IN THE LIFE... WITH A CAT

Wherein Sukuna takes care of your cat for a day, despite his indifferences with it.

warning: animal cruelty

Your boyfriend, Ryomen Sukuna, is obviously not very fond of cats. Or to any living and breathing creature at all. But most especially your cat.

Sukuna hates it. Despise it even. He wishes it to be gone with just one flick of his finger just so the silly furball wouldn't take his time away from you. He hopes it'll get tired of you and run away someday because why are you always up on its face?

But then, that would make you sad. So he won't actually do anything to harm it, as much as he can.

To Sukuna, your cat is the most unearthly being that has ever walked on earth. Always tailing you around like a constant shadow, a menacing shadow. He dislikes it so much that it gets more of your attention than his.

“So cute!”

Sukuna watches the way your eyes glint in delight, squealing and feet kicking in the air while you're turned to your stomach right by the floor, playing with the little kitten you adopted. You had the most beautiful and widest grin spread on your face, and all because of an animal.

You can't seriously be so happy over that?

It has been a month since that kitten entered your life, and you hadn't been the same since. Well, you are the same, it's just Sukuna being exaggerated.

Why wouldn't he? You barely even look at him anymore because you're too focused on doting and feeding that animal, to the point that he's already making it a silent competition between him and the kitten about who wins your affections. And the cat wins every time. Every fucking time.

You're so head over heels about the white-furred kitten and he will never understand why. It's just another responsibility for you, another creature that will just distract you from your daily living, the daily living in question being the time that you're supposed to be doing with him instead.

“Look, Kuna!” You cheered, holding the cat by its arms to show the kitten to him, the said animal wearing small little glasses that would fit its little face.

Sukuna could only sneer, a frown obviously etched in his lip. “He looks pathetic. Get him out.”

“That's mean. Don't listen to him.” You turned the cat to face you and covered its ears, as if it'll understand what Sukuna says. The cat in return hisses at Sukuna, which made him scoff in disbelief.

Why are you even treating the kitten like a real baby? It looks so ugly!

But despite his inner thoughts, he actually finds himself caring for the cat, begrudgingly.

It's a furry dirty cat. He would only bring chaos all around your shared apartment. It probably doesn't even know how to clean itself. Sukuna would always think.

But he never really had a choice whenever you're gone at home, and he's left tending to the cat’s crazy needs.

“Will you fucking stay still?” Sukuna holds the cat by its scruff, not too tight though, just enough to hold him up to meet his gaze. The white kitten was all wet after Sukuna just gave him a bath. It meowed at him helplessly, making him smirk to finally see it in distress. “You're a handful, kitten. Why does she like you so much?”

This must've been the longest day for him yet, with you leaving Sukuna with the task to shower the kitten in your place because you'll be out the whole day. Who's he to disobey you anyway?

He wrapped the kitten in a towel, then took him by the counter. He let it sit there for a moment while it was licking its paws, while he rummaged through the cabinets to look for the hair dryer that you always used for the cat. Once he had it in hand, he faced the kitten again, his eyes glaring at the small creature who's just looking at him curiously.

This? This is the cat that you fawn over? He looks even ugly when he's drenched.

He could only shake his head at the thought, before plugging in the hair dryer so he could do his work. The cat tried to run away when he pulled him close, the hair dryer making a loud blowing sound as he fanned it all over the cat's body. A smile would tug on Sukuna's lips, finding the cat's helpless state funny whenever it meows in discomfort at his presence.

Well, let's just say it wasn't a very pleasant experience for the poor animal. As much as it is for Sukuna.

“Yeah, you look horrible. I know.” He chuckled darkly, gazing at the now dried-and-furry-again cat, all thanks to him.

He carried the cat and put it down the floor, letting it run away. He sighs, brushing a tired hand on his nape before he goes over to slump on the couch, resting his eyes for a moment. He could hear the thumps of the kitten running around, stumbling over who knows what, but he couldn't care less. Right now, Sukuna needs to have a moment. It was surely a new experience for him, and something that he will never do again.

It didn't take long for the kitten to go back to him though. It easily jumped on the couch, climbing straight to his lap. He groaned, feeling the cat tapping its little paws on his skin, opening his eyes to see it looking at him, expecting, or perhaps, asking for something?

“What do you want now?”

The kitten meowed, before jumping off his lap and heading straight to a little cabinet by the wall, where his cat food was hidden.

Oh, it's smart. He'll give him that.

“You're hungry?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at it. “Go starve yourself.”

Which wouldn't happen really, because the kitten started meowing furiously at him, which jolted all his senses awake. He cursed underneath his breath, letting out a grunt, standing up so he could give whatever the thing that the creature needed.

It was a very long and tiring day for him indeed. But at the end of the day, he's got the cat settled right above his chest, and he's petting its head softly as it lets out a purr. The cat’s tail would brush across his wrist, a sign that the cat must've been pleased with the gesture.

“I'll let you live longer.” He frowned, a low huff escaping from his lips as the cat only looked at him. “Just remember your place in this house.” Flicking the cat’s forehead softly as a finality, before he pushes it off and lets it fall on the floor, the cat swiftly landing on its feet.

After all, his pleasure is not his top priority, but yours. So, if keeping you happy would mean having this little cat between the two of you, then he might just let it for a while. For a while. Maybe. Depends if the cat crosses a line.

[soft-mafia]

Stealing His Coat [Buggy x Reader]

warnings: oc insert, fem reader, Buggy shouting, language, just a short, cute thing I thought of

a/n: I saw a fic that was about stealing Buggy’s jacket, and conveniently I was just thinking about wearing Buggy’s jacket myself so I decided to write about it lollllll

Buggy was flipping the whole ship upside down at this point, just to find where he misplaced his coat. “God damn it if one of you fuckers THREW MY COAT- IN THE OCEAN, I AM GOING TO RIP YOUR DICK OFF.” Buggy looked around on the deck again, then growled while clenching his jaw.

He then quickly snapped his gaze upwards when he heard giggling above him. Y/n was looking down at him from one of the crow’s nests, wearing his tan, fur jacket. Buggy inhaled, then let out an amused, annoyed, breathy laugh. “Ok. That’s cute.. now, give it back, Y/n.”

“What do you mean?” Y/n asked, acting oblivious but she knew she was pissing Buggy off. She was the only person on Buggy’s ship who would get away with doing stuff like this and still be on Buggy’s good side. Buggy inhaled and exhaled sharply again, then held his hands out, “Babe, give me my jacket.” He was smiling, but the look in his eyes would tell anybody that he was seriously about to snap.

“Hmm.” Y/n rested her arms on the ledge of the crow’s nest, looking off as if she was thinking, before looking down at him and grinning, “No.. I think I wanna keep wearing it.”

Buggy looked down, chuckling breathily and licking his teeth before growling and looking back up at Y/n, “You do this-.. every, damn, DAY. GIVE IT BACK!!” He shouted angrily at her. Y/n looked at Buggy with a dreamy look on her face, as much as she loved him— she thought he was so hot when he was mad. As much as he yelled, shouted and swore at her over silly things like these— she knew he would never purposely hurt her. He was her bitter, handsome clown and that’s what she loved about him, “Nooo.” She scrunched her nose at him, then giggled again.

Buggy growled and walked in a circle for a moment to think then he looked back up at her “Why don’t I get you your own jacket,” he tried to reason with his girlfriend. Buggy obviously wouldn’t get her the same one as his own.. he had to be the one to stand out of course, it was a fabulous jacket and Y/n was already hot enough as it was he didn’t want her getting more attention than she already got.

“I don’t want my own jacket, I want this one.” Y/n replied back to him, almost like a bratty child which made Buggy inhale through his teeth and laugh again. He put his hands on his hips. “Well you can’t have that one, cupcake.. that’s my coat.” He smiled at her. Then suddenly, his arms popped off and floated up towards her, grabbing the collar of the jacket and trying to pull it off of her himself, “Now give it back you little shit!” Buggy growled from below.

Y/n squeaked, stepping back and holding onto the jacket, holding it closed tightly to her chest so Buggy’s arms couldn’t peel it off of her body, “No!!” She tried pulling Buggy’s arms away, but he kept trying to yank and wiggle the jacket off of her. It was akin to a fight, Y/n trying to struggle away from Buggy, keeping a firm hold of the jacket while he was firmly holding it as well— trying to get it off of her.. “Move your hands!” Buggy growled through gritted teeth.

“STOP! You’re hurting me!!” Y/n lied.

It surprisingly got Buggy to pause for a second, anger leaving his face momentarily as he angled his head upwards some more to see what happened.. did he accidentally hurt her? He grimaced for a second before Y/n threw herself out of the crows nest and began to run to the lower deck.

Buggy immediately got pissed again and ran after her, “HEY!” his arms connected back to his body mid run, only his hands chasing after her this time. He grabbed her by the back of the jacket collar and lifted her up, like a kitten being held up by its scruff.

Buggy’s free hand connected back to his arm while the one holding Y/n brought her back to him so that he was holding her slightly above him. His brows were furrowed, his gorgeous eyes glaring at her like daggers, his jaw clenched. Y/n nearly melted as he glared at her, god he was attractive..

Without another word, Buggy dropped her back on the ground, his hand back on his wrist as he yanked the jacket off of her shoulders, and slid it off of her arms. “What the hell is with you and trying to steal my clothes.” He grumbled as he put his jacket onto his own body, looking down at his troublesome girlfriend. “It’s not stealing, it’s just borrowing.” Y/n giggled, she really couldn’t help it, she just felt so snug wearing Buggy’s clothing, plus the fact that they had his scent was a bonus.

“‘Borrowing’, my ass..” Buggy scoffed and put his hand around Y/n’s waist, walking her back to the deck. Y/n grinned and leaned up to kiss Buggy on the cheek, his stubble scraping over her lips just a bit, but that was the best part. A smile tugged at Buggy’s lips after that, his demeanor changing from moments ago.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

Lilith: "Hey Luci check this out." (holds baby charlie up like handbag) "Our infant demon goat child has one of those neck scruff things."

Lucifer: "OHMYGOSH!!! She does!"

Lilith: "Pretty neat huh."

Lucifer: "She's just like a kitten!!"

Lilith: "Try turning into a big cat so you can hold her with your teeth."

Lioness Lucifer: "Ooooh FAMILY PHOTO OPPERTUINITY TIIIIIIME!"

-later-

Charlie: "Dad, we do not need to see the family photos."

Lucifer: "Awww but Char-char-"

Charlie: "NOPE! Don't you DARE bring out that unholy book!"

Vaggie: "Sweetie, I've already seen the lovingly painted portraits of your emo phase. What's left to hide?"

Charlie: "Baby pictures."

Vaggie: "...is your mom holding a lioness by the scruff of the neck?"

Charlie: "DAD!"

Lucifer: "But I really like this one! It's so cuuute!!!"

Vaggie: "Babe. Is baby you hanging from the lion's mouth."

Charlie: "No!"

Vaggie: "With a hamster hanging from your mouth?"

Charlie: "ARGH!!"

Lucifer: "She named him Hamsandwich~"

Vaggie: "Aww. That's kinda worrying, considering the picture."

Charlie: "Hi mom it's me Charlie again~ Whenever you get this message I just want you to know- dad found the photo album, mom. The one you said you'd burned, mom, hOW DID HE FIND THE ALBUM AGAIN MOM YOU FUCKING PROMISED ME IT WAS-"

[toxicanonymity]

stop playing

3.8k, (dark) slasher!Joel x f!reader

Ty @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog for the slasher joel edit and movie poster. And @iamasaddie for the big girthy wrench and the mood board on the master list.

slasher Joel master list | spotify playlist

SUMMARY: Joel fixes and returns your car, pays you a visit, and stuffs you full of his cock and more. WARNINGS: I8+ unsafe dubcon P in V, creampie, m masturbation, crude language and degradation, knifeplay, superficial injury (cut), incidental pussy slap, fisting (be the change you want to see in the world), penetration with wrench A/N:  If something sounds unappealing to you, please quietly skip the fic. This blog is kink-positive. Comments that could have a kink shaming effect may be removed, regardless of intent. Asks: @xdaddysprincessxx and 🔧 anon, ty

“Not here to make love to ya, sweetheart.” His cock twitches against your hand. ”That what ya want?” You can hear the smile in his voice.

You shake your head no, catching his scruff against your cheek. “want ya to fuck me.” 

He chuckles, then puts on an air of sympathy. “Shame. . .that’d be nice. . .” His breath hot on your ear. “Shouldn’t’a left me.”  You try to move and he pins you by your wrists.

------------

Joel is in his garage, under your car, finishing up.  Yeah, he didn’t just tow it, he fixed it.  Bet you're an ungrateful bitch about it. You're a brat, but god damn, you can take a dick. He’s never had anyone sink right down and ride him like that.  He vividly recalls the sensation of being swallowed up.  As blood rushes south, his cock strains his jumpsuit, still crusty with your combined juices. Every time he sees or smells it he thinks of how it all leaked out of your used up hole. He wipes his bicep on his forehead, then palms his growing bulge.  He manages to ignore it while he finishes the repair, then rolls out from under your car. 

He sits up on the roller, holding his big, heavy wrench against his thigh. He looks down at his arousal. He wonders if he's getting a beer belly as he sucks in his stomach to better see his engorged bulge.  He unzips his jumpsuit all the way and pulls his T-shirt out from sticking under his pecs. Then he stands up with a groan and adjusts himself. 

He sets his wrench aside and goes to the dingy old bathroom. His mom tried to make it nice, so there's soap and lotion and a little candle, but it hasn't been cleaned in forever. In the filthy mirror, he has motor oil all over his hands, and some on the side of his face. He takes his sleeves off and presses the hardness in his jumpsuit against the low sink as he washes up, then he takes his cock out and holds it in his hand. It's so fat he can barely get his own massive hand around it if he squeezes. You took it like a cock taking queen. He imagines that's what you are as he pumps the lotion into his hand. 

He begins to stroke his raging erection and stares at himself in the mirror as he does it. The mirror lets him see a lot. His jumpsuit is hanging down, mostly out of the picture, the hems of his sleeves skimming the nasty floor as he strokes his cock. His hair is messed up.  He rakes his free hand back through it. His forehead is sweating again as he runs his fist up and down his length. Cheeks are flushed, lips slightly parted, head tilted back as he's beginning to grunt softly with the stroke of his hand. His white t-shirt, stained with oil, stretches over his strong chest and little belly with a little dip of looser fabric in between, under his pecs. His sleeves barely contain his arms and his forearm flexes as he jerks it. 

With his other hand, he takes his boxers under his massive balls so he can see those too. He tilts his head down, casting a shadow over his eyes, mouth hanging open, breathing heavily. He wets his lips and moans approaching the finish. He looks at his cock in the mirror and pictures you sucking his balls. Nasty little sex kitten sucking them so good. For a moment, picturing you between his knees, he feels like you want him. . . until his thoughts are jolted back to how you left him.  His jaw clenches and he wonders what to do with you. When you're only good for one thing, you better be real good at it. Cunt. He jerks himself thinking about how you probably take so many cocks. He wonders how much you could take. 

He takes a deep breath, his cock twitches in his hand, and he groans as he cums into the sink. As he finishes coming, he makes eye contact with himself in the mirror. Under his weathered face, for a moment he sees a younger, sadder man before his nose twitches into a snarl and he rinses the cum down the sink.

As he goes to leave the bathroom, half his footsteps are clicking.   Something is stuck in the bottom of his work boot. He lifts his foot to look at the sole, and he pries a tooth from between the rubber ridges. He tosses it in the toilet on his way out. 

. . .

Joel changes out of his uniform, showers, and puts on jeans and a tight t-shirt. It’s dusk when he gets in your driver's seat and starts your car.  Empty coke bottles, goody's pain relief, fast food receipts, empty packets of gum.   There’s plenty of personal information about you, too. He could take you tonight, if he felt like it. Fuck you and dump you. Oh, not figuratively, literally.  If he feels like it. If only you hadn’t left him. . . he would’ve let you go. 

He pulls up google maps and types in your address.  It’s a long ass drive, an hour and a half, but might be worth it, he thinks.  “What the hell were ya doin’ out here,” he mutters to himself.  He knows the answer– whoring. Of course your gas tank is empty. He’ll fill it up on your dime. He hasn’t decided what to do with you when he puts the car in reverse. He'll figure it out on the way.

As he's driving off, the heavy wrench slides off the roof of your car. "God damnit," he mutters and stops to pick it up. Before he gets back in the car, he pats his pocket and makes sure he has his switchblade.  He calls his mom on the way to your house and tells her he needs to swing by for his extra key to the car. She asks him to stay for dinner. 

—---------------

It’s only been a few days. You’ve been driving Joel’s car. You know he’ll come for it eventually, and that’s okay, you think. Depending on how pissed he is about you leaving him handcuffed on his bed and stealing his car.  You think about him constantly, and it always turns you on. It’s making you irritable, living in a constant state of arousal. What’s wrong with you? He could kill you. He might still.  And yet, you have half a mind to drive all the way back to his sad little camper just to chain him up and ride him again. 

You’re home alone, watching TV when you hear a car park outside, then a car door closes. You look out the window and it’s your car. Your heart flutters. Then you hear another car door open and shut–Joel’s car–and the engine starts.  He drives away in his car without so much as a glance toward your house.  Your heart sinks and you’re disgusted with yourself.

You go out to your car and there’s a piece of paper under your windshield wiper. You unfold it and it says, “Take care, sweetheart.”  There’s something on the other side. You turn it over. It’s a drawing. You can’t tell what it is until you turn it to the side and a chill runs down your spine–not just from the content, but the quality. It looks like a kid could have drawn it, but it’s so crude. The focal point is a detailed vagina, clit, hole, labia, and all, liquid leaking out of it.  In much less detail, there are two legs spread with knees up, tits, and behind the tits, a picasso type face you presume is supposed to be you, based on the hair. Uneven eyes. 

Something’s wrong with him. And, of course, something’s wrong with you–Because your heart sank when he drove away, but it sank more when you read, “take care.” 

—

You think about him even more after that. Non-stop.  You convince yourself he was never going to kill you. He was trying to scare you. It was a fucked up game. You wash the grisly t-shirt he gave you–rendered pointless with slashes through the front, and stains. You wear it and wash it and wear it and wash it, and it’s so fucked up. 

A week or two later, you’re taking a walk in leggings and a tank top. You’re walking by some woods in an undeveloped stretch of your neighborhood, right before a big, vacant lot when you get an unsettling feeling. You jog the rest of the way home.

When you’re standing in front of your fridge cooling off with a cold glass of water, you hear metal on metal and look over to see your sliding glass door being pried open. Joel’s imposing form pauses in the doorway. Then he turns and tosses the crowbar outside. He shuts the door behind him. He’s holding a huge wrench and his other hand is flexing around nothing, fingers slightly wiggling. He’s wearing his mechanic jumpsuit and a scowl. 

His voice is deep and gravely. “Miss me, sweetheart?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” you ask as his boots thud ominously toward you. He’s so imposing, muscles begging for more room in his uniform.  His nose twitches one side of his mouth into a smile, then he tilts his head and wets his lips. He lifts the wrench and lets the end of it fall heavily into his other massive hand. You stand frozen against the kitchen counter. You let him pin you to it with his hips, and that's not all. He puts the wrench down with a loud clunk on the faux granite.  Then he plants his massive hands on either side of you, caging you to the counter. He presses his pelvis into you and the warmth of his semi-hard bulge makes you tingle. His belly presses into your middle. Your heart races.  You wedge your hand between you and palm his bulge.

He laughs, nearly silently, then brings his mouth to your ear. “M’not here to make love to ya, sweetheart.” His cock twitches against your hand. ”That what ya want?” 

You shake your head no and say, “want ya to fuck me.” 

He chuckles, then puts on an air of sympathy. “Shame. . .that’d be nice. . .” His breath hot on your ear. “Shouldn’t’a left me.” 

You try to move and he pins you by your wrists. You knee his groin and when he falls backward, you run around the counter. He grabs his wrench and comes after you. You trip over a pair of shoes and he grabs a fistful of your shirt on your way to the floor, lessening your impact. You’re face-down on the carpet. he discards the wrench with a soft clunk and takes out his knife.

“Stop fuckin’ playin’,” he growls. He doesn’t let go of your shirt. He stabs through the fabric and slices all the way down to the bottom hem, then turns the blade upward and cuts the collar in one quick snap. You squirm under him. He puts all his weight on you, pushing his hard bulge against your ass. Then he lifts his pelvis off you, straddles your thigh, and shoves his hand between your legs, digging between your mound and the carpet to feel you through your leggings.  You know they’re already damp. Joel opens and shuts his hand over your cunt, plucking the stretchy fabric out from your body and snapping it back against your pussy.  Then he gets up on his knees, pulls the spandex out one last time, and stabs through it. He rips a big hole in the crotch. And he keeps stabbing and slicing at the fabric between your legs and then he nicks your inner thigh and you yelp. 

“sorry, sweetheart.” he backs down your leg and gives the booboo a kiss. He slices the seat of your leggings more carefully, ripping them all the way open, then he presses the flat of the knife against one buttcheek, separating your crack more. 

“Stop playin’,” he reminds you. 

“Okay,” you whimper and stop fighting. 

He puts his weight back on top of you, with his belly on your back and his knees straddling your thighs and his cock hard against your ass. He cups your exposed cunt and growls when he feels how wet you are. “There’s my sex kitten,” he murmurs. “Pussy’s dyin’ for it, ain’t she.” 

“Just fuck me already,” you whine, disturbed by what a lack of sexual interest could possibly  mean for you. Then you taunt, “Unless you can’t.”

He runs his thick fingers through your wet folds, then pushes one, then two, then three fat digits into you. He slowly pumps them and his cock swells against you. You twitch around him. 

He sighs and says, “Course I can” and unzips his jumpsuit. “Only ‘cause I feel like it.” He spits loudly, then notches at your entrance and he’s even wider than you remember. He shoves himself into you, parting your core with his absurd girth. 

“Mmmfuck,” he grunts. He retreats slightly then plunges in and you gasp as he bottoms out. “That what ya want?”

You get wetter around his cock and he begins to fuck you at a steady rhythm with your face pressed into the carpet. His hand engulfs the back of one knee to nudge it on the carpet, spreading your legs open more. He grunts as he pounds into you with the thickest cock you’ve ever had, even thicker than you remember. 

“Nasty girl,” he rasps as the heft of his cock splits you open. “Take it like a real cockslut, don’t ya?” 

Your nipples harden at his words and you whimper. 

“But damn you can ride it, too,” he pants. 

He grunts and moans as he buries his girth in you.  

“More,” you whine, unsure why you have the constant urge to provoke him. 

He pounds you harder and faster, grunting like an animal with his broad cock stabbing into you, massive balls slapping your skin through the tatters of your torn leggings.

“More,” you beg.

“Careful,” he warns.  “Cause I’ll give ya more.” 

His hips snap into you, stuffing you so full of cock, rearranging your guts. 

“More,” you pant and his hips slow. He thrusts his fat cock into you slower then takes it out entirely. The void he leaves is jolting and the air is cold on your dripping cunt. 

“Fuckin’ warned ya,” he bites. “Turn over and keep your mouth shut.”  He forces you onto your back so you can see him.  He slices through your sleeves and collars and you flinch with the knife near your neck. He tears your shirt off.  “Give ya more,” he mutters. He straddles your right leg so his right hand is closest to your cunt. He slaps your pussy and rubs his flattened fingers around in your ample slick. Then he wipes it on his cock.  He repeats the action until he’s satisfied with his lube. Then he spits on his cock again and slowly strokes himself with his left hand. 

He pumps his cock with his left hand, and with his right hand, he puts three fingers in a triangular formation and wedges them into your cunt while it’s still stretched from his cock.  He pushes his three fingers in and out, curling them, moving them side to side, stretching you slowly. Your body catches up with him, and your cunt gets even wetter. You’ll probably shrivel his fingertips at this rate.  He pulls his fingers almost all the way out, then adds his pinky to the others and begins to wedge all four of them into you, clustered together barely inside your entrance. He puts his thumb on your clit.  All four of his fat digits push into you and you moan. 

“Ooh she likes it,” he coos. “Ever had your gash this full?” You spasm at his crudeness. “Mm?” He thumbs your clit and keeps stroking himself with his left hand. 

You shake your head no. His four move in and out of you, and his eyes glue to your cunt, watching you take them.  He thumbs your clit faster and your back arches. Your cunt relaxes more, like you want to swallow him whole. 

He scowls, sliding all four of his fingers in and out of you as your body keeps you moist. Then he slides them out and pauses.  He spits on his thumb, despite how sopping wet you are. He wedges his thumb between his fingers, so his thumb and pinky are touching each other, clustered with the three middle digits. Then he begins to push his hand into you.  You groan at the stretch. His hand is massive, and gorgeous. You look at the other hand wrapped around his cock. It’s veiny–they both are, the hand and his cock. He adjusts his position and his massive balls rest on your thigh.

“Wanted more, didn’t ya?” he asks. He’s only buried his fingers to the second knuckle, with the bottom half of each digit still outside your cunt. He subtly twists his hand from side to side wriggling it into you. “Yeah, you can take it,” he says. Thank god you’re so shamefully wet for this psycho.  “That’s my sex kitten.” He lets go of his cock and plants his hand on the floor for leverage, leaning over you.  His hand pushes further into you, and you feel his major knuckles prodding at your poor, stretched hole. He pauses as though taking in the sight. He moans and his eyelids are half shut watching your dripping cunt stretch obscenely around his hand. “Fuck that’s hot,” he breathes, then he pushes the rest of his hand into you. 

The stretch burns when his major knuckles crest your hole, with the heel of his palm still outside you. You whimper and he keeps going. He pushes his hand in, making your hole grow even wider.  Your cunt stretches and swallows his hand—his whole hand. The heel of his palm nudges your g-spot, and his knuckles push against your walls. He’s buried to the wrist now. “Fuck, yeah,” he breathes. “God damn. . .hungry, ain’t she?” He pushes in a little further.  Your walls hug his massive hand and don’t want to let go. You’re shocked by the moisture just pouring into your core, like your body wants more, more, more. 

“What’s wrong with ya, huh?” You wish you knew.  “Lemme ruin your clothes, ruin your hole.” He breathes heavier, grinds his cock against your thigh, and keeps the hand inside you mostly still. He clenches the hand inside you and his breathing falters. He slightly twists his hand.  He starts to withdraw it, then pushes it back in before the knuckles emerge from your hole. He does this a few times, partly out and back in, and your walls squeeze him. You writhe under him.  Then, he begins to wriggle his hand out of you. “Fuck, you should see this, baby.”  He sits up straighter and takes his cock in his left hand again.  “Ohh, fuck,” he breathes. “Spread wide open around my hand.” his thumb slips out first and he puts it back on your clit. You whimper. 

“Yeah, ya like that?” he rubs you with his thumb, four fingers still inside you. Your hips lift into him. “Good girl,” he whispers, rubbing you rhythmically. You look at his fat cock in his hand, leaking precum, and you want it back so bad. “Not yet,” he shakes his head. He moves his four fingers inside you and thumbs your clit, watching between your legs with his mouth hanging open, saliva pooling at the corners of his lips. The tension builds and builds with his thumb on your clit until you begin to clench around his hand and he groans as your walls clamp down on him. “Ohhh,” he moans. “Good girl, oh fuck.” When you’ve finished spasming around his hand, he slides it out the rest of the way. When it’s out, he gives a low whistle and lightly taps your cunt with the backs of his fingers. “Don’t worry,” he reassures you. “Ain’t gonna leave ya empty.” He picks up his massive wrench and admires the wide end of it, a little bigger than his fist. 

You’re dumbstruck. It’s nasty, it’s gross, but your body wants it, really bad. It’s like a dream where you can’t make yourself talk. You don’t move. You just look at it, clit throbbing as he brings the fat end of the wrench to your deflated, weeping cunt. He uses his left hand to spread you open and hold you open, then the cold metal makes you wince and your whole body erupts in goosebumps.  His left hand helps, sticking his fingers in with the wrench and using them to tug your entrance around it as he wriggles the wrench into you. He’s gentler than you expect. He works the wide end of the tool all the way into you. It feels so dangerous and crude, but at least it’s smooth.  It doesn’t scratch, thank god. It’s a little awkward, the way parts of it jut out, but at least the metal is smooth. And having it inside you is somehow exhilerating

“And just like that,” he marvels, “ya took it.” He raises his eyebrows. “Damn.” 

“It’s fucking cold,” you complain. 

He begins to fuck you with it in short little thrusts, watching your cunt take it. You’re stretched around the metal. The danger, the obscenity of it turns you on, but you find yourself staring at his cock, wanting it back.  He lazily strokes himself with his left fist.  He follows your eyes and says, “Had enough, huh?” 

You nod. 

“Want my big fat cock back?”

You nod. 

“Alright, kitten.” He carefully wedges the wrench out of you and inhales sharply watching it emerge obscenely from your stretched out hole. He watches your body begin to pull itself back together as he puts the wrench down and gets between your legs.  He lines up and shoves all the way into you, sliding easily to the hilt. He begins to rail you unrestrained. “Not too bad,” he pants, sliding in and out of you easily. This time, he feels like an average sized man. “Fuck,” he breathes, already close. “Don’t worry.  Won’t leave ya empty.”  He slows down a little and seems to be holding his breath. “fill ya up now,” he pants. “Much as this cumsock can take.” Your cunt twitches. “That’s right.” 

He slams into you and erupts, pulsing massively into your worn-out hole, and a second climax sneaks up on you. Your hips lift into his and he groans.  He hovers over you as he cums, and you admire his face, barely keeping your eyes open with waves of pleasure crashing through your core.  

When his balls are empty. He hovers over you for a moment, gives a subtle but demented smile, eyes sparkling. Then he pulls out.

“Whew.” He sits back on his heels, and tucks his massive cock back into his jumpsuit. Your legs are still spread. He brings his face close to your cunt and says “all fucked out.” He gives it a pat with the backs of his fingers again. “Mmm.” He zips up his suit and braces his hands on his thighs. He stands up with a groan.  

“Why did you come here?” you ask him. 

He ignores the question, picks up the wrench, and leaves you on the floor.

----

Thank you so much for reading and interacting!! Love you guys. Happy Friday the 13th, and Happy Halloween.

[alexa-fika]

Could I request child reader where she ate the devil fruit that turns her into a spotted rusted cat( it's one of the smallest cats in the world, they grow up to 5'9 to 11 inches) i think it would be fun seeing her on whitebeards ship. Just a tiny kitty running around the deck, she was in her cat form and kinda dozed off. Maybe in a crate of supplies

Please just whitebeard holding this tiny kitten in his palm or by the scruff by the neck. She just turns back into a Human. She just feral because she's an orphan and looks after herself. She isn't scared to bite and scratch.

Claws out (Whitebeard pirates x f!Cat!reader)

Pt 2

A/N Guys I COOKED here, I have like one curse word here so be on the lookout for that, I also had to tease our favorite Freckled man on his origins on the Moby dick, just had to. Also double post today since I have homework I have been pushing back and have to do tomorrow so im not sure if I can upload tomorrow so wanted to feed you guys before

Reader here is replaced by dokucha which means Reader in japanese

Dividers by @/saradika

“How was the mission, Thatch?” Izou asked, walking next to his brother

“Ace and I rounded em in no time; he replied, making his way into the kitchen

“They never stood a chance,” said commander pipes in

“You should have- Is that a cat?” he asks, interrupting his statements as he glances at the feline freely dozing off on top of his kitchen’s oven

“Not again! Hey! Up and at’ em! Skedaddle!”

Dokusha opens her eyes as the sound of screams directed her way abruptly wakes her up, narrowing her eyes and hissing at the commanders

She shifts into her human form, taking a defensive position, ready to pounce on the two strangers

“Who are you?”

“Woah! It talks?” Ace asked his brother in disbelief with a broad smile

“Golly, Looks like it’s a zoan type,” Thatch says, glancing at the girl on his counter

“I don’t think she likes us,” Izou says, matching the stare of the stowaway and narrowing his eyes

“Get closer, and I'm clawing your eyes out,” she hisses

“Well, someone is grumpy,” Ace says, chuckling as he holds his hands up

“Now, aint that cute?” Thatch says with a small smile

“Hey, lil lady, how about you get off the counter, and we can talk things out?”

“How about you fuck off?”

“Aww, don’t talk like that lil’ one. Ya hurting my feelings,” Thatch says, smirking as he tries to come closer to the girl

“Careful, Thatch, this one is rather feisty,” Izou says

“Don’t worry, he can handle it,” Ace says, also coming closer

“Get the hell away from me!”

Ace and Thatch look at each other, smirking as they try to approach the girl

“Don’t be like that kitty, I just want to get to know ya,” Thatch says, trying to take another step forward

They hiss at him, pouncing on him

Thatch laughs easily, taking hold of her wrists and trapping her against him, bringing her closer to his chest, effectively hugging her trapped

“Sorry, Pumkin’, it’s gonna take a little bit more than that to take me down.”

Izou quickly steps close to the two, snapping a sea stone bracelet on her wrist

She frowns as her claws go back to normal, effectively leaving her defenseless, struggling against the hold Thatch had on her

Thatch keeps holding her close, ignoring her struggles with a grin on his face

“Quite the wild one,” Sighs Izou, glancing at the girl and ignoring the constant hisses and struggles

“Reminds me of yer early days, Ace,” Thatch laughs

“You think so?”

A smirk was visible on Ace’s face at this, and he replied with a sarcastic tone of voice

“I reminded you of a cat?”

“A dejected one, always trying to get to Pops,” Izou comments

“I was not a dejected cat! If anything, I was a fierce one.”

“If ya say so, Ace,” Thatch says with a grin on his face

“Let me go you lowlifes!” she continues hissing and struggling, unable to move and trapped in his grip

“Quit your bellyachin; we’re not even tryin’ to hurt you,” Thatch says, still holding her in his grasp

“Come on, we just want to talk,” Ace says

“Let’s talk without these on then,” she growls, gesturing to the bracelet now bound around her wrist

“Sorry, the bracelet stays on,” Izou says, smiling

“We should take her to Pops, see what he wants to do,” Ace comments, glancing at the cat girl, frowning when he notices the various scratches littering her skin

“We should also have Marco take a look at her.”

“Let me go, you giant troll!”

Currently, Dokucha had found herself once again under the hands of the pirates, held by the scruff of her shirt and under the scrutiny of the captain, who simply watched her with a laugh

“Well, aren’t you a squirmy one?” Whitebeard grins as the girl continues to struggle in his hands

“She does remind me of you, boy.”

“Not this again, Pops; I was not this bad, was I ?”

“You were, went at it hundreds of times before you came around,” Laughs Vista, looking at the Flame man

“Let me down!”She yells, continuing to struggle in the hands of the large pirate, now starting to kick her legs in the direction of the large pirate

“So what do we do with this one?” Ace asks

“Take her to Marco; it seems she’s in a rough shape,” he said, placing her down

“After she has been patched up, you can show her where she’ll be sleeping; you will have to take turns watching this one.”

“Will do Pops”

She takes advantage of the small handoff and makes a dash for one of the Junior Boats

“Woah there, slow down, Madam, you’re not going nowhere but the medic bay,” says Vista, quickly taking hold of the woman, making his way to the clinic with her

“Let me go, you damn brute!”

“Brute? I’ll have you know I'm far from a brute, Madam,” he retorts

“Don’t let her get to you, Vista; you know how the new ones are,” Izou pipes in, walking next to the swordsman

“I swear I will claw your heart out once I get off these!” Dokucha growls, pulling at the restraints that now held her to the examination table

“I apologize for the restraints, but I really need to take a look at you; you have wounds that need attention, and you are at risk of an infection if they are not taken care of-yoi, please understand” sighs Marco

“How did you get all of these wounds-yoi?” Marco asked curiously once she had stopped struggling

“I don’t need to answer that,” She hisses through gritted teeth, glaring at him, trying her hardest to keep her arms from pulling at the restraints

“You certainly don’t, and no one here will force you to; we just want to help you, is all; it’s the least you could do, seeing as you are a stowaway in our ship-yoi.”

She remains quiet for a few moments after that comment

“You don’t want to talk about it, right?” Marco asks, tilting his head to the side as he takes down notes about her condition

And the many scars she had

“That’s fine; you can speak when you feel more comfortable-yoi.”

“It’s none of your business,” she mumbles

“Alright, I won’t pry then-yoi,” he replies, taking down more notes before speaking again

“Do you feel anything weird lately? Like an uneasy sensation, headaches, fatigue, or anything similar-yoi?” he questions, glancing up when he receives no response

“Let’s do something. You seem to have calmed down, so answer me the question, and I‘ll get those restraints off-yoi.”

“I have been getting fatigued lately, lots of headaches,” she mutters

“See? Not so hard now, was it-yoi?” he said, taking notes of her comments, placing the clipboard down, and snapping off her restraints

She rubs at her wrists once they have been removed

“And the sea stone?”

“We’ll keep that on until we are sure you’re not a danger to anyone on board-yoi,” Marco replies, looking up at her

“Tell me more about those headaches-yoi. Are they the throbbing type? Do they come and go?”

“No, it’s pulsating and constant.”

“And the fatigue?”

“Constant, I always feel tired and end up dozing off.”

“Have you been eating?”

“I don’t have the liberty to eat as I please,” she growls

“Been struggling lately?”

“I have since my folks were killed.”

He glances up at her

“I ‘m sorry for your loss.”

“…I appreciate that.”

He smiles, ruffling her head

“There you go, you can relax her. None of us mean any harm-you”

Be pauses as he hears a rumbling sound, his smile growing into a wide grin

“Are you purring-yoi?”

She blushes, slapping his hand away

“No!”

This has potential for a part 2 doesn’t it 👀 okay so I feel like I always start it in the supply room so I decided to switch things up and started up in the kitchen this time, spice things up a bit 💅🏽

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

[n0n-sen-se]

Hashira who can (and will) pick you up like you weigh nothing ;;

includes ;; gn!reader. uzui. gyomei. sanemi. content ;; fluff. bruises ( one boy does not know his own strength ) a/n ;; look, we all know these guys could lift anyone unprovoked. . . like they can and will pick you up for no reason other than they just can. ( also yes, the picture above is completely necessary. )

☆☆☆ # uzui tengen !

uzui always has an excuse to pick you up (and hardly ever waits for your answer)

he saved you once. slung you over his shoulder and took off.

honestly, terrifying experience 6/10 because he's so fast and probably laughing like a maniac the whole time. (i mean it'd be great if you weren't in mortal danger and all but. . .)

also probably forgets your up on his shoulder until you remind him to "please put me down now"

even if you were in a relationship, he'd love carrying you. regardless

it'd alternate between you being over his shoulder or carrying you bridal style

either way he carries you like it's what he was born to do

no effort, just you appear in his arms while he smiles (silently relishing in the feeling of your weight on him)

if you ever asked for him to carry you (for whatever reason) he'd be over the moon with joy

☆☆☆ # gyomei himejima !

you're. . . his very passionate feisty tsugoku. (technically not even that, because he has one already. . .)

but i feel like whenever you get too riled up over something he'll just pick you up ( one-handed ) by the scruff of your collar as if you were a kitten.

and yes, to gyomei you weigh next to nothing.

pretty effortless

he's like 7 foot of pure muscle, don't expect less

suddenly you'd be like 2 feet in the air. what the hell is happening

even if you fought him or asked to be put down, he'd just wait until you were calm again.

it's how he'd treat you in a platonic setting. romantically speaking, he has a lot more care when picking you up

your being held next to his chest, bridal style. tucked into his gigantic haori for added safety

always extremely gentle when he picks you up

☆☆☆ # sanemi shinazugawa !

manhandled ! entirely manhandled.

at first, there will be bruises. if he's saving you, moving you etc. he picks you up quickly and a little. . . haphazardly.

plus, if he's fighting, he has more on his mind than how uncomfortable you are

if he has to protect you and carry you, there's only one option:

piggy-back.

you're hanging onto him technically, but he's still carrying/supporting you fully with one hand that's barred over your lower back (or curled under your leg, whichever is more convenient for him)

sanemi always tries to carry you with one hand, either cradled in front of him bridal style or on his back

his methods are a little. . . clumsy, yes (he's rarely ever had to hold someone so gently), but when he picks you up you'll always feel so secure. no matter what scenario he's in, he won't let you go or drop you.

doesn't bother him in the slightest, i mean physically it's no strain. in his hands your light as a feather

not to mention he kind of likes the way he just can pick you up, so sometimes he just does, just to get a reaction out of you ( only if he likes you of course )

[tenseoyong]

Hi can you do Aemond x betrothed reader at the dinner scene he’s jealous of jace and reader dancing?

Aemond would scarcely admit he hadn’t expected to become so quickly enamored by his sweet tongued, kind-eyed, gentle handed betrothal. Honestly speaking, Aemond had assumed his arranged marriage would follow a similar pattern as his parents’ and siblings’—loveless and constant avoidance—he was sure that the lovely Lady that had arrived at court would have little interest in the Scarred Prince beyond the gain of gold and the title of Princess.

Yet, Aemond was surprised to find a less than timid woman, one who did not shy away from his cold gaze, nor did she pity or fear his childhood maiming.

Yes, the Prince had grown rather fond of the unusual Lady. Often Aemond spend hours with her, hidden from prying eyes by the many shelves of books of the Keep’s library.

She listened to him attentively—not just keeping up appearances of a doting and obedient wife-to-be—no, she actually enjoyed Aemond’s company; hanging off his every word as he recounted his daily training, or when he told of the history of dragons, even dared to attempt to teach her a word or two in High Valyrian. In turn, she spun tales of her home, how her brothers bickered as children, and how she feared riding a horse just as one would fear facing a dragon.

Aemond would grow to love his Lady Wife—that much he was sure of—and he had dared to hope that she would return that love ten fold.

She had all but extinguished the dragon’s fire that lived in him.

Yet, the moment his darling nephew, Jacaerys, had stepped forward—folllowing his sweet sister Heleana’s speech of marital neglect—and requested she accompany him in dance, Aemond’s mind filled with vivid images of Jacaerys burned to a crisp, curtesy of Vhagar’s breath.

To see her, in the arms of his bastard nephew as she politely accepted his dance proposal, turned his stomach to stone.

Aemond believes he knew true anger. He’d spent a good portion of his childhood angry—angry at his father, and his nephews, and at his dragon-less status. Though, as violet eyes watched his Lady and Jacaerys is dance, Aemond knew then he’d never truly experienced anger—until this moment.

It burned inside him hotter than dragon’s fire, boiling his blood and scalding his heart.

And as his nephew spun his betrothed about the empty corner of the room, Aemond could bare to witness it no more.

The whole room came to a screeching halt as Aemond slammed his fist into the table as he rose to stand tall, and mockingly held his cup in the air, “I’d like to toast to my nephews—Jace, Luke…Joffrey—each of them handsome, wise, brave…” He paused, turning to stare directly at the hand Jace had placed to the small of his Lady’s back. “And Strong.”

Not to give up the game, Jace didn’t release his partner, only twirling the pair until Jace was between his uncle and his intended before demanding, “I dare you to say that again!”

“Why?” Aemond tsked, rounding the table and taking several calculated steps towards the stationary duo. “T’was only a compliment—I would extend my toast to my beloved betrothed, I shall pray to the Gods that they make our sons as Strong as their cousins.”

The fury was evident enough on young Jace’s face, all while the quiet satisfaction of getting under his skin flooded Aemond’s.

Though, the satisfaction didn’t last nearly as long as he’d hoped—for as soon as Jacaerys fixed Aemond with a mischievous look and devious smile, Jace reestablished his hold on his uncle’s bride-to-be, and taunted, “If only there were such a way to ensure your sons’ strength, perhaps I’ll be of some help, if the Lady wouldn’t mind me—“

All at once, Aemond closed what little space remained between him and the dancing pair, and curled his fingers into his nephew’s neck like a claw, snatching the younger boy up much like a kitten at its scruff, “You’ll remove your hands from my Wife.”

“You misspoke, Uncle.” Jacaerys smirked, ignoring Aemond’s seething rage. “The Lady is not yet your wife, is she? I believe that gives her leave to do as she pleases, while she can.”

“I care not for the beliefs of a bastard,” Aemond’s words dripped with venom. “She is to be my bride—since you are so keen on pretending to be of your status—you should be aware that you are greatly overstepping.”

Jacaerys only cocked an eyebrow—a silent challenge—before his fingers curled into your side and what little room between your bodies had been erased, “Oh? Have I overstepped—“

“You will remove your hand,” Aemond was through playing this game, he did break the eye contact he held with his nephew, yet he could still see the obvious annoyance and displeasure growing on your sweet face. Aemond’s hand fluttered above the dagger strapped at his hip. “Or I shall remove it for you.”

The threat lingered in the air momentarily before, much to anyone’s surprise, the Lady squirmed out of Jacaerys’ hold and took her rightful place at Aemond’s right and placed a gentle on Aemond’s tensed arm.

“My Love,” She all but cooed at the furious dragon she would soon claim as a husband. “Let us not ruin the single night your father has requested with his family—I am unharmed and unbothered—let us not have further bloodshed between kin.”

Aemond won’t not soon let go of his hatred for his bastard nephews, but as his Lady-to-be stood by his side and looked upon him with such care and affection Aemond would afford her this kindness.

He released his blade, and his grip on Jacaerys’ neck—though he paused a moment to admire the half-moon shaped nail marks he’d left in his stead—before collecting his betrothed and whisking them both from the disastrous dinner, desiring nothing more than to be hidden away with his Lady love where they belonged.

Soon after, as the servant folks spread tales of the exciting night—a song would emerge—that of a Lady, who had managed to tame the dragon.

[masterlist]

@moonchildrenandflowercrowns

[cambion-companion]

"Hold Monster"

Based on this amazing post and artwork. I couldn't help but write something for our beloved INT 8 Tav from 1st POV since that's what I feel most comfortable writing.

Raphael x reader!Tav | Tav thinks the hold monster spell works in a very different way

You certainly hadn't intended to trip and fall into the portal, landing face-first on the polished marble floor of Raphael's entryway.

Your presence had been noticed immediately by Raphael who, upon recognizing you, wore a rather aggrieved expression. He set down his quill carefully and rose to full towering height, a slight twist of bemusement curling his lips. "Here I assumed you could go an hour without indulging in foolishness." He strode toward you and gripped you by the scruff like a wayward kitten. "You just caused me to lose a bet with Korilla."

"I really don't know how this happened!" You protested against his grasp as he dragged you back towards the portal. "I would've knocked if you had a door!"

Raphael released you with a slight push, his wings flexing as he glowered down at you. "Innocent or not, a trespass will be received as such."

"Ah! Raphael, it was an accident!" You began to panic as his eyes glowed a bright gold and flames began to dance upon the tips of his fingers. "Oh, not again." You groaned, wracking your brains for something to counter his retribution."

You withdrew a small amount of silver from your pocket and shrieked. "I cast hold monster!!" Then charged at the cambion head-on.

So surprised was he by your yell and sudden movement, Raphael couldn't react in time before you leapt upon him. You wrapped your arms and legs around his torso and hips, clinging to him like a rabid spider monkey.

The force with which you jumped him caught both of you off guard and Raphael toppled to the floor, his wings failing to catch his weight in time. You felt his grip pierce your sides as he stared up at you in utter shock for a moment. The spell had worked, it seemed.

You panted. "I don't want my bottom singed again like last time. That wasn't very nice."

Raphael grimaced, his face sharpening again as his surprise subsided. Emotions warred across his features. "You are a most confounding creature. If I believed you at all capable of rational thought, you'd be a pile of ash this very moment. Now...get off."

"Sorry, I can't." You shook your head sorrowfully. "The spell lasts a minute."

Raphael growled low in his throat, his wings stretching as he slowly got to his feet. You still clung to him, holding him tightly as you could.

With great care and powerful restraint, Raphael removed you from his person limb by limb.

"Wow, you're strong." You said with awe, panting a little from the exertion. Seeing the look on his face you backed slowly towards the portal. "Okay, I can see you're busy. I'll be going now."

"I should think so." Sparks of hellfire danced between Raphael's fingertips as he looked at you, his expression much like one who is considering how best to skin a deer.

Once you'd disappeared back to the material plane, Raphael grunted and looked around his immaculate manor. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the infernal air. "For the crown."

[ivymarquis]

Say You Won’t Let Go

A Zombie Named Fred

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 2.9k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Post Apocalypse!AU, Single Mom!verse, pregnant reader, the author is still on her bullshit about the pepperoncinis, they’re both a little crazy but it’s the end of the world, the author does not have first hand experience nor a formal education on pregnancy, John is giving soft dom vibes

First Chapter | Previous Chapter

Not even 48 hours in and you’re having your first argument.

You can tell by his expression that you’re not giving him the expected response. However he’s clearly no shrinking violet and doesn’t cow to your anxiety-turning-agitation.

“I was only gone for a bit and you were asleep,” he defends himself, standing his ground.

You pry your gaze from the stash of goodies he very obviously acquired with you in mind, the wheels in your brain clearly turning as you decide how much effort this will warrant and if you’re willing to expend that effort.

You’ve been a loose, limp thing for him to drag around as he sees fit. No protests so far as he uses his teeth to scruff you.

“You didn’t even tell me! It’s dangerous out there- what if something had happened?”

“I’ve been in far worse situations, Love, I can assure you that. If I’d have told you last night would you have still gone to bed?”

No.

The apocalypse has taken societal norms and attachment styles and turned them on their heads with no hope for recovery.

This man is a complete stranger to you and yet he is firmly entrenched as the center of your social circle at the moment. You most assuredly would not have responded well last night.

Your silence is loud, giving away the answer entirely.

“I needed you safe, tucked away, and not fretting,” you can feel yourself being mollified against your will, softening back up despite your desire to still prickle in displeasure.

“We don’t know how long we’ll be here until it’s safe to leave,” he continues, “and you are in no condition to be traveling far- we need supplies stocked while the area is still mostly clear from the last herd wandering through.”

That is the one good thing about herds even if they’re an absolutely terrifying sight.

Lions and tigers and bears might be scary predators, but living predators aren’t mindless killing machines. They act in a reasonable way for their species. Leave them alone, don’t fuck with their offspring and don’t make yourself look like easy prey, and they will likely leave you alone.

Zombies? The virus eats away at any rational reasoning or need to sate an ingrained desire. They want to bite, to consume, to spread the virus.

So put together a group of several hundred or several thousand and they are the stuff nightmares are made of.

But if you survive a wave of them wandering through, they pick up any stragglers in an area. They’re gregarious, for whatever that’s worth.

Still terrifying though. The peace in knowing that the local zombie population drops drastically is knowing the price comes at more individuals being added to the herd.

In short, now is about as safe a time as ever to scavenge.

You’re still staring him down, still resisting acquiescing to him on principle.

Of course, there’s little doubt that the captain views your displeasure on par with a disgruntled kitten- yowling and hissing and batting at him but harmless and ineffective.

He steps towards you- close enough he makes you tilt your head to maintain eye contact. “You can just say “Thank you” and go enjoy your peppers, Love,” he asserts, offering you an easy out.

The thought crosses your mind to dig your heels in and be stubborn.

But just the mention of the jar of pepperoncinis placates you as your craving from yesterday returns in full force, pulling your attention away from John and to the jar sitting on the counter.

He’s got you hook, line, and sinker and he knows it too.

“Thank you,” you yield, once again becoming soft and pliant in his hold.

“You’re welcome,” he steps away then, eyes following your every move as you slip past him and do in fact beeline for the peppers.

It’s the end of the world- you can have peppers for breakfast if you want to.

The only problem though is you can’t get the damn jar open.

There are certain changes with your body that you expected with the discovery of your pregnancy- the swell of your belly and your breasts, the stretch marks that criss cross your skin- and some that you learned first hand and it’s annoying.

It’s your body starting to relax itself to prepare for labor, you were told. The tendons and ligaments relaxing. Hips widening.

It also makes your grip weaker which is so incredibly frustrating.

John is at your side in a moment, prompting you with a “Give it here,” to hand him the jar to twist the lid for you.

Any lingering surliness from the discovery of John’s midnight stroll abates entirely as the smell of the peppers hits your nose.

He looks pleased with himself, giving you back the jar as you thank him.

The rest of the day passes peacefully between the two of you. This is not a permanent home, so no renovations or improvements to be made. The biggest line of defense you have here is blending so well into the rest of the abandoned houses that nothing will draw unwanted attention. The windows covered and boarded. There’s no true perimeter to check. You don’t want to catch anyone’s eye by wandering around outside.

You’ve been on the move for so long, constantly fighting and scrapping that it is nice to just sit in one place. The preggie pops despite their silly name are a Godsend. You feel like a person for the first time in months rather than a vessel just waiting to vomit at the wrong provocation.

You get nosy, looking through photos and albums of the owners. The man’s name is Fred. The woman’s name is Wilma.

There’s a fucking lego set that Fred and Wilma never got around to opening. You alternate killing time between working on that and reading. You’re in no hurry, taking your time. John putters around doing something but swings back every so often to check on you.

Eventually you will need to sort laundry, but that can probably happen in a day or so and doesn’t need to be right now.

The water still works so you figure you can just wash your clothes in the sink and then hang them somewhere outside to dry. Simple, but will occupy some time and establish a sense of normal for you. Maybe you can find some sort of clothes line if there’s not one already.

Once again the sun sets and John comes to round you up for the night and herds you up the stairs. You settle into your bed and hear John getting ready over in his and yet despite the fact your pregnancy exhausts you, you can’t sleep.

Your ears are honed in for any sort of attempt on John’s end to sneak out again.

You try to quell the concern and anxiety coiling within you, but everything is a feedback loop just building intensity until you feel like you’re going to snap.

Sleep is a lost cause at this point.

Getting out of bed is a process so you’re not rendered immobile like a turtle on its back. It takes a moment but you manage on your own.

No sooner than you sneak out to the landing you have your answer if John is still in the house. It’s not obnoxiously loud, but you can clearly hear the sound of him snoring on the other side of his door.

Your anxiety quells with the knowledge that he’s still here but doesn’t dissipate entirely.

Not quite ready to return to bed, you decide that maybe a quick snack (something other than the pepperoncinis, the baby says) is in order.

Despite being a grown adult, there’s a part of you that feels akin to a teenager sneaking out of the house.

You are not going to leave. Unlike a certain captain, you don’t have a death wish sneaking out in the middle of the night. While the soft sound of his snores assure you that he’s still sleeping you know he’d be displeased knowing you’re about to venture down the stairs by yourself.

You’re careful- equal parts trying to avoid the parts of the stairs that squeak because you’re not sure how light a sleeper John is, and equal parts simply not wanting to eat shit on the stairs. God forbid you give his concerns credibility- you don’t even want to think about what he’d do.

You haven’t been downstairs after sunset since the first night you stumbled into the house. John rather jealously keeps you herded upstairs.

You contemplate what the baby wants for a midnight snack as you cross from the stairs through the living room and into the kitchen.

Chef Boyardee sounds appealing and you don’t care about eating it cold- which is a plus because it’s one less thing for you to do versus something you’d want to eat warm.

The quiet in the house gives you time to come up with stupid fucking ideas like looking out the windows.

By and large you have been leaving them alone. There hasn’t been any sort of conversation about it between you and John, but you feel you’ve got enough of a read on him by now.

The main defense you two have is that the neighborhood is abandoned and there’s nothing special about the outside of the house. If someone happens to be strolling by and sees you moving the curtains in broad daylight- well, that seems like a good way to get your ass chewed on by John. Hence why you’ve left the windows alone.

But it’s nighttime and you’re alone.

The windows at the front of the house are boarded up, but in a slapstick, hurried fashion- there’s large gaps you can peek through as you bring your opened can of ravioli.

The street is deserted which is exactly what you expect. Not so much as a zombie shuffling through.

The neighborhood seems like it was beautiful before the end of the world. The kind of place that you always fantasized about living in.

What a weird way to get what you want.

Your mind wanders, focusing on the practicality of the fact you need to wash your clothes.

When out in the wild and forced to survive how you can, you learned to make do with dirty clothes that were lived in far longer than you prefer. But if you’re going to be cooped up in the house until your little hostage evacuates, it would be a good idea to clean them.

Curious if the backyard already has a clothes line, you carefully peel back the curtain blocking the view-

Only to be greeted with the sight of a zombie standing on the back porch right on the other side of the glass.

Your startle reflex has been trained out of you. There’s no big yelp or jump or dropping your food. Making loud noises like that can get you killed in situations where you might be able to survive if you can sneak away unnoticed.

Safely on the other side of the glass and obstructed by darkness- the zombie cannot see, hear or smell you. He gives no reaction to you, clearly having no knowledge of your existence.

You realize rather quickly that this is Fred, albeit far more gray and decayed than in the photos of him in the house. You wonder what happened to Wilma.

(It’s the goddamn apocalypse so you know statistically what happened, but a macabre curiosity for the details eats at you)

It’s not often (re: ever) that you’re in a situation to just…observe the undead. Always keeping an eye on them, always keeping tabs on what currently holds their attention, but never just a passive observation. They’re always a threat and you’re always trying to figure out how to get by or through them unscathed.

The small flick of you moving the curtain might have initially caught Fred’s attention but without the confirmation that you’re a meal to be devoured he shuffles slowly and moves away from the glass.

He’s caught in the yard, confined by the perimeter fencing. No chance of joining the herd.

You wonder why John hasn’t killed Fred yet. A singular zombie isn’t much of a threat.

Maybe he hadn’t seen Fred? The curtains had been drawn shut when he picked this house and he just kept them that way?

Seems unlikely, but arguably plausible.

You don’t see any sort of established clothing line to dry your clothes after you wash them.

You’re so fascinated by the Fred situation that you’re oblivious to the fact that John’s snoring stops. Or his door opening. Or his pause at the landing, eyes falling to your open door. Or his descent down the stairs and the huff of relief when he lays eyes on you.

You are not oblivious to the way he snarls “What in the devil are you doing?”, closing the distance between the two of you to haul you away from the glass.

The drop of the curtain catches Fred’s attention again but not enough to do more than cast an eerie shadow as he approaches.

“Why is there a zombie in the backyard?!” You keep your voice low as you hiss at John despite acquiescing as he pulls you along back towards the stairs.

“He wasn’t worth the bullet but that was before I realized you were going to go opening doors in the middle of the night!”

“I wasn’t opening the door!” You protest, suddenly aware that this conversation isn’t entirely unlike this morning’s argument when John slipping out in the middle of the night had ruffled your feathers.

“Then what are you doing down here?” He stops at the foot of the stairs, his question answered as his eyes land on the can in your free hand.

“I was eating!” You hold up the can as a beacon of your innocence, not missing the way the agitation on John’s face softens ever so slightly.

You take advantage of the opportunity to pull your arm out of his grasp.

He doesn’t try to wrestle you back into his grip- satisfied with your reasoning and the confirmation you hadn’t gone bat shit insane trying to let zombies into the house in the middle of the night.

In another life, one where the dead stay dead, you think maybe you’d still be able to wrap the captain around your finger and make him fold to your whims as easily as you accept his.

You’re pretty sure, however, that it’s just your delicate state that’s got him yielding to you. That keeping you alive, and ultimately getting you and your baby back to this settlement that he and his group watches over gives a sense of purpose where he’s otherwise aimless, trapped like an animal in a vivarium until he can safely find his way back home.

“Go finish your food,” he tells you firmly- still far more subdued than moments ago.

Again, not unlike this morning when he diffused the argument then.

Both of you are still maintaining your ground, but finding a way to keep the peace- you’re all the other has got in this situation.

He hovers as you make your way back to the kitchen- the moonlit shadow of Fred gone from the curtains, implying he’s aimlessly wandering the yard.

You don’t have much left of it, which is a good thing because eating while being watched just feels weird. You know he wants to drag you by your scruff back up the stairs and situate you for the night.

And that’s exactly what he does after you quickly clean after yourself.

Always with him and the stairs, he guides you up while following behind.

Where he throws you for a loop is when you expect to slink off to your own room, only for you to find one of his arms wrapping around your torso and cutting you off from your intended destination.

“Need to make sure you don’t go sneaking off again,” is all the reason he gives as he herds you towards his bed.

He’s the one who started all this by leaving last night on his own, but you decide to not light that particular candle. You can admit to missing the comfort of sharing a bed, and that the nights have been getting colder as fall begins to give way to winter.

Before the end of the world, you’d be giving this a long hard think. But the rules are different now- the way you interact and mesh with people has changed so drastically. Everything is in the fast lane.

You’re utterly dependent on John. Been at his mercy for days. If he was going to do something, surely he would have done it by now?

So you yield to the arm pressing lightly at your side- a request that while stern is not escalating to a demand.

You let him guide you towards his room.

A wave of exhaustion hits that holds your interest more than the decor of the room- there’s no personal touches or stashes of goodies hidden away. You get yourself situated under John’s watchful eye, and yet somehow it feels weirdly intimate to watch him so you look off at the wall as he gets in.

John stays on his side between you and the door, you stay on yours and if he says anything you don’t hear it. One second you’re blinking at the wall and the next you’re out like a light.

[thoughtsfromlayla]

Love and Loss Extra Content (1)

Based on the characters from Love and Loss

Summary: Your and Morpheus' daughter sneaks off again and it's up to your husband to find her. It's hard when she can shift shapes just like her father.

Notes: ~950 words, ideas inspired by @kpopgirlbtssvt and a few of their sent in requests

Warnings/Tags: Meowpheus, happy family time, fluff :)

Main Masterlist | One Shot Masterlist

The tiny goddess giggles as she watches the panicking dreams and nightmares running around below her. She stays hidden within the leaves of the tree she hides in. Her jet-black hair is a mess, and her face is covered in dirt, but still, she perseveres. 

A dream looks up at the trees when he hears a giggle, but the child shifts into a beetle and stays as still as she can. When the dream shrugs and turns away she returns to her normal form, still giggling. She was technically still within the castle walls, so she wasn’t disobeying her parents or anything. 

She had snuck away from her mother when she wasn’t looking and her father was too enamored with his wife to realize. Delphyne was awfully good at that: going undetected. Of course, it didn’t take very long for her parents to notice she was missing, and a Dreaming-wide panic swept across the realm. 

She turns into a field mouse and scurries her way down the tree, jumping when she is a safe distance from the ground. Delphyne runs across soft grass blades as fast as her legs can carry her. 

She runs and runs, feeling the wind in her fur and seeing so many new things from a perspective this low. When she hits a set of stairs she can’t climb, she morphs into a cat and jumps. Delphyne feels the powerful leg muscles of her form as she launches herself onto the next step, then the next, until her paws hit the cold floors of the castle interior. 

“They should call me Delphyne, conqueror of the stairs!” She thinks to herself, stomping a small paw in harumph. She then stalks off into some unknown corner. 

Her energy leaves her, suddenly, having used all of it from the stairs. Delphyne peeks around the corner and sees her mother. She sees you, her mother, rubbing your temples as you walk in slow circles, this wasn’t the first time Delphyne ran off, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. 

But it was so much fun!

Delphyne turns, going to walk off in the opposite direction to avoid her mother just a little longer. But, before she could, she mews as gentle but firm teeth scruff her. She goes limp in the hold and though she can’t see him, she knows she was just caught by her father. 

His long, black fur rubs against hers as he trots towards her mother. 

“I found you, you little rascal,” He interlinks with her mind. A small growl emits from deep in his throat but Delphyne pays no mind to it. It was an empty threat anyway.

“I hid longer this time!” She replies happily.

Morpheus pushes out air from his nose, his nose and whiskers twitching in annoyance. Though he will admit that she was getting better at this hiding game of hers. It made him proud, even if it caused a good deal of trouble for everyone else. 

“Morpheus!” You exclaim when you see her husband, the large cat hard to miss. “And… Delphyne…” You start to scold as well. 

Morpheus sits as his wife reaches down to grab at their kitten daughter. When you wrap gentle fingers around her torso, she explodes into a fit of laughter as she turns human once more. 

“Did I hide well?” The tiny goddess asks you as she wraps her hands around her mother’s neck.

“Very well, my dove,” You smile down at her. You couldn’t stay mad at your child for long, not when she smiled at you like that. 

Delphyne squirms in your grasp, not liking to be held for long periods of time. When you place her on the ground, she runs to her father. Delphyne wraps her chubby arms around his neck, the softness of his fur enveloping her fully. 

“Thanks for finding me, Kitty Daddy!” She giggles, nuzzling her chin on the top of his head. His ears flatten at the action, but he purrs in response. 

Morpheus blinks slowly as Delphyne pulls away, tilting his head as he watches her shift into a kitten once more. He watches still, not moving from his sitting position, as she rears her hind and shakes it. With a small growl, she pounces on him, claws drawn and tiny teeth baring at him. 

Morpheus thinks if he knew she wanted to play fight with him, he would’ve pretended to fall over to boost her confidence. But, honestly, he didn’t know what she was going to do. So, in actuality, she unceremoniously bounces off his chest without him moving an inch. Delphyne tumbles onto her back, her paws swinging in the air as she tries to turn herself right side up again. 

Unblinkingly, he slides down until he lays on all four paws, and his gaze remains on his daughter. This… should be good enough, right?

“Mamaaaa!!” Delphyne whimpers as she turns and bolts for his wife. She scales the loose dress of her mother easily with her small claws and shifts human once more. She hides her tear streaked face in the neck of her mother who only shakes her head with a smile. 

Morpheus is quick to shift back to his human form. “Wait, I’m sorry, my little love.”

Morpheus raises a hand to pat her back gently but watches with an agape mouth as his beloved wife, the love of his life, the missing piece to his soul, his true match, walks away with his daughter in her arms. He follows them, as he would to the ends of every world, feet dragging as Delphyne’s hiccups echo the halls of the castle, and his wife’s shoulder bounce with poorly hidden laughs.

Some good old fluff after whatever the fuck happened in chapter four of DDOL

♡ Yours, Layla

[baylishh]

Domestic- Azriel

TW: implied sex, mentions of a straight razor

Summary: Domestic mornings with Az as he helps you learn a new skill.

Mornings like this have always been your favorite. Cool, sea salt winds pouring through tossed open windows carrying soft tendrils of music in from across the Sidra. The refreshing breeze a staunch difference from the heat of your mate’s body pressed between your thighs. Scenes like this becoming more and more common as the two of you acclimate to your new situation, your bond.

The two of you decided to take it slow, just be with each other until you both felt ready to take the leap and accept the bond on both ends. You’d both taken that leap a couple months ago, and the need to touch each other hasn’t eased in the slightest.

Especially now; your plush thighs dented from where Azriel’s fingertips press into them, holding your legs around him, his hips slotted firmly against yours as he stares down at you in hungry adoration. Hazel eyes lock on to your hand as you reach for the pot of shaving soap beside the sink. His shadows swirl around you softly stroking and petting as you lather up the brush and begin applying the soap to Azriel’s scruffy face.

The Shadowsinger never would have expected to give someone this level of control over him, allowing someone to scrape a sharp razor against his skin even to shave, but your curiosity and wonder filled eyes were too sweet to pass up the opportunity. The first time he shaved in front of you had been a couple days after you finally mated. The burn of his scruff between your legs quickly becoming one of your favorite feelings until he was between them so long he gave you beard burn and you became so sensitive to the feeling of his facial hair you begged him to shave before diving back in.

You’d watched him so closely then, like an excited kitten exploring something new and fascinating. Azriel had given you a look when you’d asked to help, one you knew meant “no, not with this,” but the next time he shaved, you asked again… and again… and again.

Today was the last it took to finally break him.

The brush and pot find their way back to the counter as you look your mate over the sight pulling a giggle from you.

“You look good with a beard, babe,” you grin, wiping a spot of soap from the tip of his nose.

Azriel nips at your finger, narrowly missing it, grinning when you squeal and cradle your finger to your chest.

“Illyrian baby.”

Az squeezes your thighs affectionately, heart warming at the teasing tone.

Picking up the straight razor and gingerly pulling it open you appraise it; the metal is gleaming, well taken care of, the edge of blade giving a whole new meaning to the term “razor sharp.” Nervously, your eyes meet Az’s;

“Can you do the first stroke? I don’t want to hurt you.”

The question is uttered so softly Az would have missed it if he wasn’t nearly chest to chest with you. One of his hands slides up the side of your thigh, goosebumps rising in its wake, gripping your hip in a reassuring squeeze, then taking your hand with the other.

“How about we do it together?”

His fingers are firm around yours, holding the razor with you. The first scrape against his cheek causes you to giggle.

Resisting the urge to smile, Az remains focused on the mirror behind you. Hands still locked he reaches behind you rinsing the blade then bringing it up to do another stroke.

“See? Not so bad, huh? Wanna give it a go?”

You worry your lip between your teeth and nod. Thankfully Az keeps his hand on yours, but loosens his grip, letting you take control. You make the first pass on a small section.

“Little more pressure, bunny,” he coos, “you won’t hurt me, and if you do? I’ve faced worse than a razor nick.”

His words seem to snap the nervous tension in your body. Taking a deep breath you make a second pass pushing a little harder this time. This pass is cleaner and smoother and you beam at your mate.

“I did it!”

Az chuckles, thumb absentmindedly tracing the stretch marks on your hips. “You did, baby. Good job.”

Shaving the rest of Az’s face gets easier and easier with each pass, the male even closes his eyes at the soothing feeling of your hands at work. The action becomes comfortably repetitive; shave, rinse, repeat, shave, rinse, repeat.

Reaching his jaw and chin has you biting the inside of your cheek.

“I’m not confident enough to do this part,” you speak softly as not to startle your mate in the quiet bathroom (not that you COULD startle Az. His shadows tell him everything).

“That’s okay, bunny. Lemme take over. You just sit there and be my pretty girl,” he grins wolfishly as you fix him with a playful look.

Plucking the razor from your hand, Az finishes shaving in record time. He cleans up a couple spots you missed, cleans up his sideburns, then rinses the razor and sets it aside.

You’re already reaching for his face with a soft towel, laughing as your mate presses his chin into your hands, looking uncharacteristically puppy-like. Gently rubbing at his face Az let’s out a sound akin to a purr, and you pull him closer with your legs, wanting to feel that rumble against your chest.

Az pulls back tossing the towel aside and wrapping you in a hug. It’s almost cheesily domestic, his bare chest presses to your own, the soft rumble in his chest causing you to feel even warmer than his body heat is.

“I want you in here helping me every time I shave, now,” he whispers, nuzzling his face into your neck.

The soft skin of his face against your neck has you shivering, the motion causing a feline grin to break across Azriel’s lips.

“Guess we need to test it and make sure it’s nice and soft for you,” he purrs, sliding to his knees and resting your legs over his shoulders, the velvet softness of his wings brushing your calves has goosebumps dotting your skin yet again.

Your lips part, the words choking in your throat as Azriel buries his face between your thighs.

Needless to say, you didn’t do half bad for your first time shaving .

[gabessquishytum]

Hob in his hedonist morally gray years is a highwayman. He robs fancy carriages and picks pockets and generally fucks around, living for sex and a good fight. One day he comes across a fancy looking carriage and thinks “yep that’s an easy mark. The owner looks like a stiff wind would knock him over.”

So Hob stops the carriage, beats up the driver and opens the door. Inside, the pale, delicate lord stares at him from the dark. He has his curtains drawn.

“Step out of the carriage, sweetheart,” Hob says. He sort of wants to pat him down. Maybe he will. “I’ll be taking that ruby and anything else you’ve got.”

The lord just gives him a little arch look. “Your dreams are full of violence and hedonism,” he says. “Have you no respect for the laws of your society?”

“None,” Hob answers cheerily and crowds into the carriage. He sits on the bench next to him and taps his knife against that sharp, high collar. “Now… you aren’t going to give me trouble, are you?”

The lord isn’t as frightened as Hob expected. That should have been his first sign.

“You seem strong and healthy. Haven’t you found honest work?” The lord makes no effort to flinch back from the knife and Hob digs it against his pale, fine skin.

“Why, when I can steal what I need?”

The lord doesn’t give off much heat, Hob notices, now that he’s close. His eyes in the dark glint. Idly, Hob thinks of a snake. Something cold blooded.

“You’ll do,” the lord muses.

Hob feels the hair on the back of his neck rise. “I’m getting impatient. Hand over that ruby or I’ll have to get rough.” He presses the knife deep enough to pierce skin.

Only it doesn’t. It’s like he’s pressing against marble, not flesh.

Hob jerks back. A hand snatches out, catching his wrist in a vise-like grip, twisting the knife out of his fingers. The lord—flows over him and suddenly Hob is on his back, and there are teeth at his throat.

“What—!” He gasps.

The door of the carriage opens. It’s the guard, who Hob thought he had dispatched, grinning down at him, blood matting one side of his blond hair.

“What do you think, Lord Morpheus?” He asks his lord, who has settled on Hob’s thighs, claws digging into his wrists. “Is he suitable?”

“Yes. No one will question the disappearance of a highwayman,” Morpheus says through a mouth with too many teeth in his pretty red mouth. Hob stares in horror. “And I rather like the idea of taming him.”

Hob struggles against his hold, blood racing through his body.

“What are you,” he gasps. “I didn’t mean—”

“You meant to rob me and kill me. What else might you have done to me?” A too-long tong your lavs eagerly up his neck, curling behind his ear. “Tell me, that I may do it to you.”

“Only scare you,” Hob promises.

“Liar.” Morpheus smiles against his pulse.

His guard closes the door and suddenly the carriage is moving again. The creature purrs, scenting up his cheek. “I never want to take someone good,” Morpheus says. “You are no good man. Yet you are strong. You crave violence. You crave sex. You’ll be able to hold on longer than the others.”

“What are you going to do to me?”

“Nothing you won’t beg me for. You’ve been aroused since I pinned you.”

Oh god. He’d noticed. Desperate, Hob attempts to slam his head into the lord’s. But the lord dodges.

He catches Hob by the scruff of his neck like a misbehaving kitten and smirks down at him. “Don’t fret. I prefer not to kill you. I’d rather like to keep you. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to keep someone. If you’re good, I’ll keep you for centuries, but I’ll have to teach you goodness. I can tell it doesn’t come naturally to you. Poor thing, no one’s ever taught you how to behave, but you’ll take to obedience beautifully, I know it.”

His eyes are mesmerizing. It’s hard to breathe with him so close and Hob … has never so afraid in his life. Nor so hard in his pants. “Are you a vampire? A demon? Are you dragging me to hell for my sins?”

Lord Morpheus pets his hair as if he truly was a stray in need of soothing. “Nothing so simple, Robert Gadling.”

I'm literally obsessed with this!!!!! I've said it before but like. When you guys drop lil snippets and mini fics into my inbox I feel really honoured. You guys have so much talent and I am so grateful that I get to benefit from it <3

Anyway: highwayman hob is. Genius. I love him already. I can imagine him riding around the country and just being an absolute bastard, stealing cash and fancy jewelry and occasionally having his wicked way when his victims seem willing. He absolutely loves his life, but oh dear, karma is coming for him...

Imagine Hob pinned back against the velvet interior of the carriage by Morpheus’s gaze and one hand alone. And Hob is reduced to whimpering like one of his previous victims. The beautiful Lord is caressing and fondling him through his clothes, squeezing his half-hard cock (how is he getting hard?!). All the while the driver watches and grins.

Hob has a horrible feeling that he's going to do exactly as this strange man (being?) tells him. When Lord Morpheus tells him that he's going to be a beautiful, obedient little nightmare, Hob finds himself nodding. Poor thing, he can't help himself.

And when his Lord tells him to kiss that wonderful ruby, the one he was so keen to steal... Hob does exactly that.

Perhaps sometimes Dream needs a little extra human touch for his dreams and nightmares. Perhaps he's found exactly what he was looking for...

[dullgecko]

I think after Kristen starts doing crossfit, she picks up riz a lot just because she can. What's the point of getting strong if you can't pick up your short friend

The first time Kristen does it Riz is FURIOUS, especially since she was using her medical knowledge for evil and had grabbed him in JUST the right way to stop him from being able to move his arms.

She was also holding him far enough out from her body that he couldnt get purchase to kick, so he had to settle for hissing furiously and squirming as she cackled. Riz looking incredibly pissed off, tail thrashing and ears back as far as they could go, with her holding him with his arms pinned securely at his sides.

She'd walked around with him like that for a good hour before she managed to hand him off to Gorgug. She would have put him down sooner but she realised that as soon as she did he'd probably genuinly try to murder her, so Kristen had to wait for one of the other boys to turn up so she could offload him safely.

She did end up apologising with a VERY fancy and expensive iced coffee and a promise to not do it again but sometimes she looses the fight against the little voice in her head and the fight starts all over again. (Honestly its just really fucking funny to see Riz /that mad/. He's 3ft tall and he's so /cranky/.) He eventually gets used to it and is only mildly annoyed by Kristen grabbing him like that, which kindof ruins the fun of it.

One time she changes up the routine after doing some research and scruffs him instead. Pinching near the base of his neck and hauling him off his feet to dangle in the air, it wasnt harmfulI but it did make it so he couldnt control his limbs. It was that moment that she remembered that oh right Riz basically kills /dragons/ as a form of relaxation. She swears the temperature of the room actually dropped when she hoisted him off the ground, he went limp like a kitten, and he started radiating an aura of pure /malice/.

It was this incident that led to an official policy within the bad kids to be put into place. There were now /approved/ ways to pick Riz up that wouldnt lead to a mauling, most were okay as long as you gave him a warning first, but scruffing was put firmly into the 'only in life and death situations' catagory.

[ilovespec]

"Your fears her pleasure"

Yandere FEM ! Assassin × civilian FEM ! reader.

Her description

WARNINGS!!! Yandere female , female main character , pronouns of the main character She/her , description of murder , murder , height difference , difference in strength , Yandere behavior , age difference , yandere is a assassin .

6053 words

December. City "X"

You are an ordinary girl working in a coffee shop. You have (your hair color) hair. (Your eye color) eyes that go pretty well with (your skin color). You have an ordinary relationship with your comrades, an average salary, and just an ordinary gray life. This winter morning, you got up as usual, did all the morning procedures (washed, brushed your teeth, took a shower, got dressed, ate and went to work) That day, you were calmly serving customers when you suddenly heard a noise in the room... You looked ahead and saw this picture - Some man was yelling at a black-haired girl with a blindfold! God!! And this girl ... I pushed this man at you, you fell to the floor with him in shock. You couldn't get up because of his weight, but some BIG, muscular woman easily grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, AND THEN, MOVING AWAY FROM THE SHOCKED YOU, GRABBED THIS "BLIND" GIRL BY THE SCRUFF OF THE NECK AND THREW HER OUT OF THE ROOM!!!! Because of this, all the visitors stared at it, but then continued to go about their business. And then this woman came up to you...

♡✧( ु•⌄• )

It was a woman who looked over 30 years old...She had tanned skin and short black hair ... RED eyes , very much .. To put it mildly, a man's build, and tall, her black hair was combed back. She was wearing a tight black T-shirt with a collar , strict wide trousers , and a leather belt ... Black berets. She took you like a kitten and gently put you on the floor, came out from behind the counter taking out her purse.

- ??? : Good evening to you, miss . Sorry to bother you, this is my.. "friend" raging. I'll have some black tea, please.

She handed you an amount that was 5 TIMES MORE THAN THE AMOUNT OF THIS TEA!!

- You : uh... but... There's a lot more money than you need..

This strange woman just grins, and holding out her palm puts money in your much smaller palm... Her palms are so calloused and warm. And then she grins, takes a table and waits patiently for her tea... You finally made her tea, and brought it to her.

- ??? : Thank you very much. Have a nice evening, miss.

You give a little nod of thanks, still shocked by such a big tip, and go back to work...

♡✧( ु•⌄• )

You finished your day at work , and went home, and on the way bought some sweets for yourself with part of the tip , and watched your favorite TV shows all night , because you have a day off tomorrow >3<

♡✧( ु•⌄• )

When you returned to work again , and you were already working off your next day, this frightening woman came to you again !! She came up to your counter, with a slight smile on her face.

- ??? : Good evening to you again, miss. I'll have black tea.

And she hands you the money.. The same amount again, and you awkwardly take her money (because of this, her adult face became slightly more joyful) and make her tea... And then, like last time , you take her her order , and she gently says goodbye to you ...and so every day, and every time you felt that she was looking at you, and as if she was devouring you with her eyes. But her generous tips make you not reject her... Perhaps it's just a rich adult woman who works late and who likes black tea..like "🔥Mommy🔥" teheheh..

♡✧( ु•⌄• )

You finished your next shift, and you were walking to the bus stop to get on the bus and go home. And you started walking past another alley from which... The man who fell on you ran out.. WITH A KNIFE IN HIS HANDS !!! You tried to scream, but there was a loud "BOOM!" and he fell to the ground with a hole in his head.... And this mysterious woman came out of the shadows..

- ??? : my dear, you'd better not scream, I've been ordered to kill this man... And yes, if you say that to someone...

She moved closer to you, and lightly patted your cheek.

??? : then you will never talk to anyone else except me~

You ran away in fear , and she stared after you for a long time , and then looked at her hand, with which she stroked your face and licked it. Clearly dreaming of doing it with your soft skin ...

♡✧( ु•⌄• )

You started walking around with pepper spray in your pocket. Just in case. And this "assassin" has become a regular at your coffee shop... And your colleagues pay CLOSE attention and interest to her, but she is only interested in you, black tea and .. By you. One day, she didn't leave when you gave her the tea, but waited until all the customers had left, and then called you to her.

- ??? : Will you sit down? I'd like to chat with you...

You sat down uncertainly, and you started talking... During the conversation, you found out that her name is Gaetana Gatti. She's from a village in Rome, she's 35 years old, she's a former MMA fighter and... yes. She's a contract killer. You chatted for another hour and a half, and then she left. And you closed the coffee shop and went home...

♡✧( ु•⌄• )

A private investigator posted your photos in front of Gaetana. On them, you just threw out the trash, cooked, worked and changed clothes... New pictures to the collection.

- Private investigator: Well ....? How do you like the pictures..?

- Gaetana : excellent . Very much so. But you don't deserve to see and photograph my angel like this.

And a couple of seconds later, this private investigator was already lying on the floor, his brains were on the wall, and he had a hole in his head..And Gaetana cleaned the gun of her fingerprints, and put it in the hand of this pathetic "man".

♡✧( ु•⌄• )

Soon, you began to feel that you were being watched day after day, even many of your things were out of place!! That's why you quit your job. Which Gaetana didn't like very much. You started looking for a new apartment, and after selling your old one, you moved there.... But after a couple of days, your "free" days when you could safely go wherever you wanted, or just go outside stopped....

♡✧( ु•⌄• )

One noisy night, you woke up to hear someone's footsteps in the living room... And a familiar voice.... It was Gaetana.

- Gaetana : my soul.... Where are you? Why did you leave me...

you climbed into the closet and held your breath. Tears of fear were rolling down your face and you were trembling all over with fear. And soon you heard fading footsteps...

BUT SUDDENLY !!!

The closet door swung open, and Gaetana loomed over you....

- Gaetana : found you~