#and I say that with the utmost fondness

[boysbeloving]

BOC more like Butt on Camera

[bethrnoora]

me: going about my business in skyrim looking for the quest marker and enjoying the tundra scenery

cicero, ambling around behind my character:

[lale-txt]

your average Y/N on a casual Wednesday

[mechieonu]

i need them to try to kill each other and i need them to make the other laugh

[lemonandpie]

Armand seems like the kind of freak to fuck a bedpost

[sexybritishllama]

tbh of all the things in hello internet the 'hello, my name is [dan]' part is probably one of the least embarrassing parts. frankly if i were dan and that was what people decided to meme on me for i'd be relieved

[xflashbastardx]

{ any time anons start sending messages talking about Crowley like he's a domesticated pet it makes me think of that one post that's something like "keep your clowns on leashes they're disturbing my properly kept draculas" or w/e.

anyway. same energy. }

[ahaaaoootblooded]

in that interview with cborle he mentions he sleeps or something after shows so whenever i see pictures of the cast of a production he's in and he isn't there i'm like 'oh the bitch is sleeping'

[dutybcrne]

Diluc likes to personally do the repairs and maintenance to not only his own weapon, but especially those of his most important people. He would always insist on personally handling Kaeya, later Jean's, weapons, throughout their time as Knights together, and even to this day gets salty if he happens to see either or even their weapons alone at Wagner's.

[lanternlightss]

today i have thought sm about my beloved oc’s mel and cerelia and i am feeling so completely normal about them (this is a lie i am so unwell)

[pinknipszz]

heian era sukuna x reader →

(a/n: loosely inspired by that one jessica rabbit scene; this is also borderline uraume/reader bc theyre so cute ugh)

people don’t understand how you can love the king of curses. his figure was grotesque—beyond repulsive—with four heavy hands that could snap your limbs into two if he so pleased. they can’t get past the four eyes either, but you found them charming. how could you not when he looked at you so sweetly? 

“where is my husband?” you inquire for the nth time, your voice as sweet as molasses as you tug at the ends of uraume’s sleeves. the humble servant doesn’t answer immediately; they know not to, and you don’t mind. while you wait, you watch the passerines tease the fish in the pond from your spot on the engawa.

uraume dips their elegant fude into the shallow inkstone beside you. calligraphy and whatnot. “lord sukuna is tending to matters in the southern provinces,” they answer with the same amount of patience they had a few minutes ago, and an hour before, and another before that. they must be used to it now.

“do you think he misses me?” comes a light brush against their pale hand. uraume exhales through their nose at your question, but not from exasperation. never that. “yes,” they say with utmost sincerity, like it’s gospel truth, before painting one long, flourishing stroke. “very much so.”

content, you cease your ministrations and fall on your back, giggling at the way your hair splays beneath your head. “he loves me,” you coo and cup your sun-kissed cheeks. “my husband loves me, and i love him too.” you think the edge of their lips twitch up into the barest hint of a smile.

but it vanishes before you can get a proper glimpse. sighing, uraume gives you a knowing look from the corner of their eye as they dip their fude back into the inkstone. you turn to lay on your side and watch how it absorbs the ink. “the servants, though adequate, have been quite bothersome lately.”

they finish the kanji in several swift strokes. 麗. rei for beauty. uraume continues. “there’s ill speak of your relationship with lord sukuna.” you count the passerines, letting the unspoken question hang in the air. shall i do something about it? it’s uraume’s turn to wait patiently for an answer, an ultimatum.

but you don’t give one so easily, preoccupied with an image that resurfaces in your mind: a group of servants—fresh off the cut and eager-eyed—gossiping by the water well. you don’t think they saw you, unless they were stupider than you thought, but they were loud enough to hear.

uraume is watching you, properly now, as you blow a stray strand of hair from your face. when they lean in to gently tuck it behind your ear, persimmons and plums permeate your senses. “do not bother with them. they talk because they do not understand why i love him,” you decide with finality.

“and why do you love him?” there’s a hint of fondness in their voice, reserved for you.

you look up through your delicate lashes, smiling cheekily. “he makes me laugh.”

(masterlist) | (a/n: would yall hate me if I wrote uraume/reader's pls be honest)

[zstraps]

me and my college girlfriend really thought we had everything figured out at eighteen years old with our hippie “follow the impulses” life philosophy…like babes you both just have adhd 😭😭

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Princess treatment with Ellie Williams: Headcannons

❀Ellie wants to treat you. It's always those soft, sensual kisses in which her plush lips will trace over your jaw down to your pulse, kissing at the fluttery feeling and quickly back up to your lips where she'll take her time with that shit. She wants to give you the world, not sloppy seconds.

❀"Ass or tits?" Thighs. Ellie loves thighs. She'll spend hours with her laid on your lap so she can occasionally leave soft pecks on your thighs. Small thighs, big thighs, stretch marks or none, she loves thighs. She's all about having a hand spread out on one of your thighs while she's driving, too.

❀Her love for you is something she is so proud of but also her biggest weakness. If you deny her, she loses her mind. Not actually denying her of course, because if you said she word she would keep her hands to herself in a heartbeat. But just denying her of what she wants so you can hear her soft, raspy voice pleading to touch you? Fuck, yeah.

❀Did I mention how much she loves your thighs? Not only that, but being between them. Ellie's a huge service top. She already knows she has power over you, but she wouldn't care if she didn't. Really, you're the one who has her wrapped around her slender fingers. Figuratively and literally. Tell that girl you want to go shopping and a credit card is in your hands. Hungry? Ellie will let you pick the restaurant, and she HAS to get you a bouquet of your favorite flowers every single time she picks you up. You're horny? She'll spend hours taking you apart from the seams, fingers pleasingly dipping into your warm hole, hours spent french-kissing your pussy lips, or if you're up for it her strap-on is always in her closet just for you.

❀She lives for your content sounds. She loves hearing the way you gasp when the plastic tip catches on your drenched hole, and she can't just shove it in, even if she's slightly tempted. She'll plunge into you like you're delicate and in need of the utmost care, and when you beg for more, she cannot bear denying you for even a second. She hates the idea of denying you orgasms or just edging overall. She also isn't too fond of overstimulation because if you seem like you're in any pain, even if it's the good type, she hates it. She has to be slow, sweet with you.

❀Not to say she won't be intense with you, though. As long as you beg, she'll be perfectly capable with slamming her hips into you, absolutely obliterating your train of thoughts. She wants to kiss you while she does it though, or at least tell you how fucking gorgeous you are between thrusts, and tell you how lucky she is to be inside you between her panting breaths.

❀Fuck, Ellie is just obsessed with you. She would spend the rest of her life keeping you happy just so she can plant her lips all over that sweet smile of yours, and it feels like she's loving a goddess.

A/N: I’m currently obsessed with service top Ellie/princess treatment so expect more of this version of her

[hoseoksluna]

BOOKWORMS | knj

pairing: boyfriend!namjoon x reader

genre: smut; fluff

word count: 4.4k

summary: namjoon thinks of you when he reads a smut scene in his book.

warnings: boyfriend namjoon!!!, kimi namijoon reading, mentions of sex (riding), oral sex (f. receiving), nipple play, the importance of consent, teasing, raw sex, breeding kink <3, big dick namu!!, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, joonie's chain dangling in ur face, tummy bulge, creampie, bruising, hickeys, aftercare:(

note: it took blood, sweat and tears (hehe) to write this and i'm so happy it's finally here!! i loved writing about namjoon. he's my whole soul and the entirety of my heart and i have to write abt him again soon. please take your time reading this and enjoy urself! let me know what you think in the comments mwah (or tell me anonymously in my inbox) and as i always say please like and if u want to - reblog, but i won't pressure u baby. love love you!!

side note: if you want to jump straight to the smut, it's right under the asterisks &lt;;3

You revel, you truly do, in seeing your boyfriend in such a serene state of mind. 

Nose buried in a book, Namjoon pays no mind to the surroundings fleeting by him with each flutter of his eyelashes. It goes unnoticed by him, strangely so, how you tidy up the apartment you share. How you feed the two cats that chose you and him to be their human parents. How you fondle their soft ears. How you bend over the furniture to whisper ‘pspsps’ at them when they need a moment away from you just to see their round eyes look up at you stupidly. Namjoon usually observes these moments; this utmost natural behavior of yours. He draws strength from the homeliness of it all with each and every swell of his lungs. Needs it to survive. That is until he gets a hold of that one papery portal and sits comfortably on the couch, one ankle propped over the knee. Then, he ceases to exist in this world. 

You’re happy for him. Over time, you’ve come to find that you have a certain fondness for the way he remains stoic. Because you always know what kind of book he’s reading, a smile blossoms on its own over the line of your lips whenever your eye catches the sculpture-like look on his face. It’s like even if he let himself hold his breath, his consciousness would waver back to the earth and the wretched awareness that he’s here, among mortals and the unfair capitalist system aftermath, would stream in his bloodstream, poisoning his experience. It takes the leisure out of it and makes the bed for misery instead. He doesn’t like it. Hates it, in fact. It’s a necessity that he focuses, as he embarks on the journey, because he does it for you.

Namjoon confides in his feelings and his literature with you almost on a daily basis. On the same couch, with the same cats snoring faintly, their small bodies spilling over the perimeter of your tangled legs. Doesn’t matter if it’s his thigh or the curve of your hip. The animals always find a warm crook to doze in, eavesdropping in, with their curious little ears, on the conversations you’re having. Though you reckon they like the meat of his thigh the best. You do, too. Can’t really blame them. The same serenity that intimately knows the person of Namjoon perceives the person of you when he prompts you to rest your head on his lap while he brushes his book-kissed fingers through the silky waterfall of your hair. Thoroughly explains the intricacies of the plot he’s invested in to you. Describes the characters as if they’re real people he’s become acquainted with. They are real to you as you listen. As you ask additional questions and gaze up at his eyes just to catch that one body of a shooting star fiery hot in the glossiness of his eyes. As you wonder, openly, what will happen to them.

“I’ll tell you when they tell me.” He sunk the promise onto the smooth skin of your forehead with the pucker of his lips.

It’s how you discovered, in all seriousness, that the plaster of his stoicism breaks during these literary moments.

Various colors of emotion tug and twist his features, the bare kind. The unrestrained kind. You know it’s a relief for him when the dam bursts open, soaking you in the beauty of humanness one only finds in literature these days. You can’t help but fall in love with him all over again when his eyebrows furrow. When his orbs nearly burn a hole in the ceiling when he’s trying to think of the right word that will ultimately help him convey the unfolding of the storyline. When he gives up and weaves English into his sentences, relying on his hands to say what his overstimulated brain fails to do. 

He reads to pass knowledge to you. The serenity whispered it into the chambers of your heart, a puff of hot breath in winter’s cold. It soothingly rubbed his shoulders when Namjoon told you there used to be a time when he couldn’t stand the sight of his books lining up the walls of his apartment. Wanted to burn it down and watch as the evidence of his melancholy dies in front of him. Because that’s what most of his book collection consisted of back then. The innermost shadowy faces of his pain. Loneliness. Sadness. Despair from life, from it not being enough for him, from it not saving a spot there for him–not once throughout the course of his life. That’s why he reads different kinds of books now. Ones that do not reflect his survival before you.

The reader has to get wiser, ruffled by life in order to gain more, gain what they need from those once deeply loved pages. It’s what the serenity believes. It’s what you believe and hope for Namjoon. That one day, somehow by the healing of the love you give him, he will look back and pick a souvenir from that moonless country of pain. Put it up somewhere between the spines of his new cluttered collection. Look at it from time to time and sense that it’s telling him something. Something that will fill the stitched-up cracks in his heart with sunlight. Something that he will pass over to you. It’s your love language after all. Namjoon reads because you read. It’s his own personal healing thing. 

You two are just a pair of two bookworms. Unfit for the world outside. Fit for the land you two created. Whose soil you take care of together.

***

Dinner is almost ready by the time you feel his fingertips gripping your hips. You hum, acknowledging his presence. Glad for the homely heat that radiates off of his body and seeps into your bones as you stir the risotto you decided to make on the stove. Coldness had been embracing you all day while he read so you’re overjoyed that he ripped it away from you.

Namjoon places a kiss on your temple and you sigh in relief. You might be too dependent on him, but so is he. He wouldn’t be nuzzling his face in your hair, squeezing your waist, peppering kisses on your tender skin if he wasn’t. It’s the perfect balance. And it’s not that you’re not able to be away from each other. The principle of looking forward to one another is what makes it so sweet, so endurable for the pair of you. Of the coming back and coming into contact at the end of the day. It’s natural. Simple. Human.

“Missed me?” Namjoon husks into your ear. 

You smirk and turn off the stove, turning around to face him. “Terribly.”

His body is clad in a black T-shirt that fits his broad figure well and a pair of baggy sweats of the same color, having discarded the warm crewneck he was wearing earlier somewhere in the universe of his book. A long silver chain twinkles in the middle of his chest in the yellow light. You caress it with your fingers and leave your palm there, on the hardness of his pecs. 

“I finished the book,” he says and you blink up at him. You’re not surprised at all. “Couldn’t put it down.”

Sleepy wrinkles have left their mark on his face from the cozy position he laid in for too long on the couch. His short sunlit hair, grown healthily from his military service, is tousled in all directions and you smooth it down for him. How did God bless you with such a beautiful man is something you’ll wonder about for the rest of your life. 

“What happened to Theo in the end?” you ask, genuinely curious about whether one of the characters you’ve grown attached to is okay after all the shit the author put him through. 

Namjoon was reading a coming-of-age book about a boy named Theo. A panorama of his childhood and adolescent life, you’ve heard all about it. Namjoon cared a lot about this story, cared a lot about the protagonist’s emotions and reactions to the reappearing storms. What made him stick with it, despite the nearly triggering themes, is the fact that Theo never let go of his optimism no matter what. It was incredibly inspiring for Namjoon. Something new. Something that he never thought could be possible. You’re proud of him for daring to read a book so reminiscent of his past.

“You’re not gonna believe it,” Namjoon says, a blush creeping along his cheeks.

You raise one of your eyebrows in question. 

“Theo got laid,” Namjoon reveals, laughing softly. “I’m so happy for him.”

You gasp and burst into giggles. “What?”

“He got some!” 

Your laughter rises in volume. “He lost his virginity and that’s the end?”

“It was a big moment for him. A triumph of some kind. Like he shed his old skin and left that broken life behind. It was amazing.” Namjoon’s eyes glint with tiny shooting stars and you melt. He always finds poetic meanings in the varieties of the character arcs. You think you just fell in love with him all over again. 

“That’s really beautiful,” you admit. It reminds you of something. Of something quite personal. “My first time with you changed my life as well.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows curl in tenderness. Dragon eyes widen and round in fervent emotion. He squeezes his arms around you, enfolding you in a hug. Kisses you warmly. Strokes your hair down your back. Your own eyes pool with little tears with the intimate knowledge that you chose the right person to unfold your raw femininity with. No one, no man other than him could have created such a safe for that to happen.

“Tell you what,” Namjoon says a bit hoarsely. “I saw us in it.”

You hum, encouraging him to continue. Crave for more of his thoughts and confidential findings. Its fire spreading through your body, as each word of his registers in your brain, always makes you feel phenomenally alive. You’re not timid to avow that it’s your addiction. Shame doesn’t know you.

“Elena was on top and he was watching her. In awe of her,” he murmurs, caressing your cheek with the tip of his thumb. “Made me think of our last time. A life changing experience of mine as well.”

You welcome the fire and suspire with sudden desire, eyes lidding. Your heart begins to thump. Namjoon studies your reaction. 

“You remember well, don’t you?” He nudges his nose against yours. “I was in awe of you just the same.” 

It’s impossible not to remember. The memory consumes your mind every waking hour. Gets you needy in ways you haven’t felt before. Namjoon had you sat on his lap among the fluffiness of your innumerable pillows and plushies. Had you do all the work as he focused on the sleekness of your freshly moisturized calves, its coconut aroma interfused with the scent of sex and the euphony of your bounces, ragged breaths and broken moans making his head all fucked up. He was loud himself, more loud than you ever recalled him being. Reading your body at the mercy of the pleasure his hard length was giving you with his bottom lip sucked between his teeth. Not once did he take his eyes off of you, not once did he help you. Just gripped your calves. Your thighs. Your tits all in his face. Only when you came hard, out of your own delightful merit, did his eyes roll back. You left his hips glazed with the evidence of your well-deserved orgasm, a porcelain statue made glossy.

A little later, during your pillow talk, he told you he’d found the idea of you using him while getting yourself off extremely hot. Made him more hard than he’d been in a while. Begged you to be even more selfish next time, adding an indistinct, ‘well, of course, if you want’ to the end of his sentence because he’s Namjoon.

“I do,” you breathe. “Touched myself to it this morning while you were still asleep.”

Namjoon groans. “God.” He kisses the side of your neck. Gets close to your ear. “You wanna do it again, hm? Wanna fuck me?” 

You might burst. His closeness, his heat, his need to ask for your consent turns you unstable. You’re choked up on your words, mind too fuzzy to say something. Turned on. Fucked up.

“You wanna show me how you touched yourself?” Namjoon continues, but you shake your head against the side of his face. 

You had touched yourself in the shower. Couldn’t say no to the impulse. Sharing that part of you for his eyes to see isn’t something you’re quite ready for. To you, it’s still something that’s yours. Something private. A courage you have yet to pluck up. You’re afraid to give him this last part of your femininity.

“Not today,” you whisper, planting a kiss on his neck. Feel him shiver. “I’m sorry. Do you mind?”

Withdrawing from your neck, Namjoon looks you dead in the eye, brows twisted in stern seriousness. “Don’t ever apologize for something like that again. Hear me when I say that.”

You squeeze his shoulder, the corners of your mouth lowering in a pout. Thankfulness grips your heart and suddenly it’s hard to breathe. 

“You know this is why we do this right?” he asks you. “Why I ask you these questions? I need to always know what you’re comfortable with so I don’t make a mistake.”

You nod. “Yes, Namjoon, I know and I’m so thankful.”

“Good. I’ll never push you to do anything you don’t want. Don’t forget that, okay?”

“Okay, I won’t.” 

“That’s my girl. 

You grab him by the back of his neck and engulf him in a hug. Luckiest girl in the world? That you are. The fact that you’re his is still something you can’t wrap your head around.

“We can stop. We don’t even have to do anything tonight—”

“No, Namjoon.” You withdraw. “Look.” Wrapping your hand around his wrist, you slip his hand beneath the confines of your panties. 

His breath shakes when he reaches your soaked folds. He traces your hole with his middle finger and your hips follow his movement, the pleasure so faint but so good that you flutter your eyes closed.

“Fuck, baby.” 

“Yeah, I need you. Need more,” you breathe out. “Can’t leave me like this, can you?”

Namjoon hums. “No, I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of this pussy.” 

He kisses you. Massages his tongue against yours. You buck your hips into his hand and Namjoon hears your body language. Takes his fingers up and rubs your swollen clit from side to side, quickening his pace as he swallows your moans down his throat. Gets angry at your tight leggings hindering him in giving you more, so he gets on his knees and swiftly pulls them down along with your underwear. 

“Sit on the counter.”

You comply right away. Namjoon takes your feet in his hands and gently removes your slippers, removing your garments fully so they don’t pool around your ankles. He needs your legs spread and he needs them spread wide for what he’s about to do to you. 

Torso long enough to reach you, he remains on his knees. Runs his hands up the back of your thighs to guide you into the position he wants you in. “Lock your arms around the back of your knees. Don’t let go.”

You do as he says, biting your lips in nervousness. Intertwine your hands together. Prepare yourself to die. 

Namjoon studies your dewy pussy, index and middle finger mimicking the letter V as he slides them up and down your folds, squeezing just right to hear you mewling. Your knees being so close together makes her look a lot more pillowy and you hear Namjoon breathe hard, absolutely hypnotized by the beauty of your flesh. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping down my hand.” He withdraws his fingers to show you how your slick trickles down the lines on his palm, changing the course of his life once and for all. 

Your clit throbs, breath matching his. “Please, Namjoon.”

He curses inaudibly. Brings his fingers back down to your folds, squeezes your lips and your clit together. Hisses at the sweet whimpery sounds spilling out of your mouth. Presses tighter so you whine needily for him. Takes you into his mouth when he accomplished what he wanted, tonguing your clit in slow agonizing circles that has you buckling your hips again. Puts his hands on your thighs to keep you down, flicking fast to absolutely abuse the fuck of you. Dragon eyes zeroing on yours, he gives you the hypnosis that your pussy did to him as he sucks on your bundle of nerves. You can’t even scream. Can’t breathe. The pleasure overwhelms you wholly and straps you down. There’s nothing you can do but take it. 

You come hard on his tongue. Namjoon laps it all up gladly. And when he’s finished, he stands up and slips those two digits that ruined you into your hole. Doesn’t move them. Lets you adjust instead.

“One more,” he mutters. “Please.”

You nod.

“Use your words or we’re stopping.”

You groan and close your eyes, your thighs visibly shaking in your iron grip from your orgasm. “Yes, Namjoon, one more. I’ll come for you.”

Namjoon places a wet kiss on your thigh to praise you, and to thank you as well. Begins to move his fingers promptly, but can’t seem to get enough of your skin. Proceeds to make it shiny with his liquid love, sucking it to bruise you. To remember this moment a little more fondly in the morning. 

Creating a trail up to the back of your knee, his digits pick up the speed. The pool of slick you left in his palm sloshes with each rapid thrust of his hand. He looks back at you and sees you lost in the pleasure, eyes lidded and unfocused. “Look at me.” 

You do, weakly.

“Just a little bit more and I’ll fuck you, all right?”

You’re about to nod, but decide against it. “Mhm, yes, Namjoon, fuck.” 

He smiles down at you. Your relief inches closer. “I’m so proud of you for speaking up today. For letting me know.” 

You could cry right now. Because of his fingers making you feel so good. Because of his kindness making you feel so safe. It all closes in on you and you whimper. 

Abruptly, Namjoon unravels your grip on your knees and kisses you, tongue slipping in. You come all over his hand, without meaning to, and he doesn’t stop. On the contrary, Namjoon fucks you harder. Takes all four of his fingers and strums your clit, prolonging your orgasm, swallowing down all of your moans. 

“Come on.”

Namjoon helps you down. If it weren’t for his arms holding you steady, you would’ve collapsed on the floor. Your legs shake, muscles taut and tense. 

“I got you.”

Sat on the floor with his joggers and boxers pulled beneath his crotch, he pulls you down on his lap. A wisp of precum adorns his tip and you wrap your hand around it, collecting it with your thumb. Watch him as you swirl your tongue around the digit before sucking on it, letting go with an obscene pop. Namjoon licks his lips, hands clasping your hips hard enough to bruise you. Twitches in your other hand.

“Don’t fucking do that to me, baby.” 

You laugh almost inaudibly, drunk on him. “Are you gonna come in me?” 

He replaces your hand, holding his length at the base for you to sink down. And you do, gasping softly at his thickness. Your dewiness helps it to be a smooth ride.

“Gonna pump you full. Leave you dripping,” he promises, voice restrained. “Gonna fuck you so good you’ll remember it for the rest of your life.” 

One thing about Namjoon, he’s a man of his word. 

Seated perfectly on him, he waits for you to adjust. Alleviates the tremble of your thighs with his palms, massaging the muscles. Takes off your shirt and flings it across the kitchen. Gropes your tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers. You start to grind on him, throwing your head back. He latches onto your nipple and flicks the nub with his tongue. You lose your mind, leaking down his balls. 

“Ready?” he asks against the fullness of your breast. 

“Yeah, fuck me, Joon.” 

He thrusts into you once to watch you fall apart. Locks your arms behind your back. Grabs your forearms for his use.

“You forgot something.”

He thrusts again, harder this time.

“What?” you breathe out, meekly. 

“What word do you use when you want to ask for something?”

He watches you as you work it out in your brain. Fucks into you three more times, equally hard, to disrupt you. 

“Fuck, sorry. Please, Joon, please.”

He grinds, hips rotating in circles. 

“Uh-huh, that’s right. Now use it.” 

Namjoon envelops your tit in his mouth, swirling his tongue around your areola. Sucking. Keeping up the agonizing pace. Groaning when you clench down on him. 

“Please, hmph, fuck me.”

Your breast bounces back when he lets go, biting his lip. “Knew you could do it,” he coos. “Smart fucking girl.” 

He begins to fuck you properly. Thrusting up and down as he holds you steady, keeping his eyes locked on yours. As he takes control of your squirming, leaving his fingerprints on your forearms and waist. You’re breathless, whimpering, on the verge of sobbing. So turned on and needy for him that the emotions brim in you, threatening to spill over. 

“Aren’t you?” Namjoon continues. “Aren’t you a smart girl?” 

You nod, knowing exactly what he wants to hear. “I’m a smart girl.” 

He spanks your ass to reward you and you arch your back. Tits all in his face. He’s mesmerized watching them bounce and nearly slap against each other, nubs hard and pointed. He licks them up, flicking them with his tongue. You round your shoulders a little in pleasure, his strong grip not letting you fold like your body wants. 

“That’s right. So smart and good for me. So fucking wet. Making me lose my mind.”

Namjoon kisses you. Inhales you. Withdraws only for a mere second before he’s back, tongue in, toying with you the way you like it. You feel your relief calling your name.

“Namjoon, I’m so fucking close. I’m so close. I’m gonna come,” you whine, forehead pressed against his, face twisted in ecstasy.

Namjoon stops out of the blue and slips out of you. You whine loudly, but before you know it, he carries you to the couch and lays you down on it. Takes off all of his clothes until only his silver chain remains, shining bright in the dim light. He spreads your legs, one limb over the backrest, the other around his thigh. Grips his length and tugs at it a few times, the feeling of your wetness making him slippery pulling moan after moan out of him. 

He enters you again and resumes his fast pace, holding your calf in his hand. “Smart girls come on the couch, not on the floor like whores. You got that?” 

You nod almost too eagerly, fucked out beyond measure. “Yes, Joon, please make me come. Please, come here.” 

Namjoon leans towards you, propping his elbows by your head, cradling you. “I’m here. I’m gonna make you come.” 

From this angle, he fucks you more deeply than before, his tip reaching your cervix. You roll your eyes back, but bring them right back to his face when his chain taps you on the chin. You find it so hot that you grind your hips against his, meeting his thrusts, encouraging him to fuck you harder. The chain meets you in erratic staccatos and you scratch your nails down his bare back, the sword-like pendant hurting you in a way that you like. 

Namjoon notices. Slows down his movements. Pinches the chain from the back of his neck. Prompts you to lift your head and slides it over, letting it rest in the middle of your breasts. Then fucks you back into the couch.  

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips. “Gonna breed you. Hm. You want that, don’t you?”

The cord tightens in your lower belly. The bulge of where his tip is hitting you nudges him in his stomach and he looks down. Curses. 

“Look.” 

You follow his eyes and moan. “Namjoon, Namjoon, please come in me. I’m so close. Wanna feel you. Please.” 

He grunts, nodding his head. Licks his fingertips and presses them against your clit. Pleasures you in fast and swift jerks until you’re knocking your head back. Only when he grabs your jaw and kisses you does the cord snap, his lips being your ultimate undoing. 

Namjoon presses you down with his body, keeps you calm and collected. Kisses you all through it, your jaw, your neck, your cheeks. Then his thrusts turn sloppy and his cock twitches in you. He gives you one final hard thrusts and fills you up, groaning against your mouth.

You’re smoothing down the sting of your scratches on his back when he pulls out of you and his cum drips out of you. You wish you could see what he sees, hand on his mouth, careful to catch his drool. You push out more for him and he curses, fondling your pussy with his thumb before he pumps it back in. 

He comes back to you and kisses you. Fixes your hair. Caresses your cheek. Helps you stand on your feet as he leads you into the shower. Washes every inch of your body, heedful of the bruises he left on the back of your thigh. Lathers your hair in your favorite shampoo. Wraps you in a towel. Wanted to moisturize your body, but you told him off, knowing both of you would get horny again. You let him brush your hair, though, placing a comb in his hand. He’s gentle as he undoes the knots, then he blowdries your hair. 

And you do the same for him.

Once the pillow touches your cheeks, you’re both out like a light. 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist

[trappolia]

SUNDAY IS FOR REST ── sunday x halovian!reader, 918

"do be careful, my dove," he murmurs as you straighten out the light feathers behind his ear.

"you haven't preened yourself in a while, have you?" your voice is soft, a hint of chiding to it that makes his heart flutter — there's a groggy rasp to your tone as well, having just stirred from your own dreams. sunday dares not look back at you, for there is a sweet domesticity to be found in the impression of rumpled bedsheets against your cheek and the heavy-lidded eyelids that make it known that you would love nothing more than to go back to sleep — proper sleep.

a hum resonates in sunday's chest as he allows himself to be fully immersed in the moment; early morning, messy hair and feathers, the sleepy press of lip against lip. his head tilts to the side, allowing greater access for you to tidy the feathers in question.

"you are correct. there's no need for me to do such preening in the dreamscape, though i prefer it when you offer your generous help," he replies, a mix of contentment and fondness pervading his voice.

"i'll help you only if you stay still," you grumble. your hands, which were straightening out his feathers, are now hovering just above them as sunday tries very hard not to shift in place again.

he cannot help it, truly. it is not just the factor that sunday is unused to, well, anyone touching something as intimate as his halovian wings, but also the fact that the slightest brush of your skin against his is a sensation like no other.

not that he would ever tell you, of course.

sunday nods, a silent affirmation that he will try his best to remain still, although a trace of a smile dances upon his lips. as you resume tending to his wings, each brush of your fingers brings a newfound appreciation for the sensation of your touch. he can feel the slight tingle, akin to electricity, every time your skin makes contact with his wings.

"my apologies," he murmurs, a chuckle slipping past his lips — as if he is not willing his chest to rise and fall rhythmically, having to manually breathe under your intimate ministrations. "i shall endeavour my utmost to be an inanimate statue. your wish is my command."

"haha," you say dryly.

in spite of your tone, sunday cannot help but chuckle at your jest. a cruel man he is, to find amusement in your grumpiness in the early morn. your nimble fingers gently untangle his feathers, and the sensation is a mix of tingles and warmth that spread across his wings. the act of having someone, especially someone he holds in such high esteem, tend to these parts of him that are reserved for only the most intimate moments is endearing, to say the least.

as you work, your movements deliberate and precise, your lover muses softly, "only you could make tending to feathers feel like a luxury."

"it is a luxury when you are not the one doing it yourself," you huff, hands moving around with practiced ease: smoothing a feather here, tugging a broken one out there.

sunday's chest rumbles with barely suppressed laughter at your huff of annoyance, but he remains true to his word and does all he can to keep still. his skin feels electrified with each brush of your touch, even more potent than before, and he wonders idly if it's because he's aware of how much effort you're taking in taking care of him. he is always the one caring and fussing, rather than being cared for and fussed over. it is strange, for the tables to be turnt. strange, had it been anyone else but you.

"perhaps," he manages to say between bouts of laughter, reaching back to catch one of your wrists and presses a chaste kiss upon it. "we could make a habit of this."

"is it truly proper of the head of the oak family to make a habit of keeping himself less than pristine?" you murmur.

how embarrassing; the passing thought occurs to sunday at your words. indeed, it is unbecoming for him, who stands at a position of such power and authority, to be so unkempt, so careless around you. it feels… freeing.

and so his response is a gentle tug upon your wrist, guiding your arms to wrap around his shoulders and link with his fingers. with a smile full of affection and a touch of teasing, he gently brushes his thumb over the tender flesh between your thumb and forefinger.

"i am simply indulging in the pleasure of being cared for," he answers in that same gentle rumble. "and if that means i am a tad bit less than pristine as a result, so be it."

"i suppose so," you hum, and from where sunday sits in between your legs, he feels you lean forward, hooking your chin over his shoulder. your own wings tickle his cheek, like a lover's kiss in the early morning. "preen me next?"

a low rumble resonates somewhere deep in his chest at the feeling of your breath against his neck. the closeness you've allowed between you is not something sunday takes lightly, and he relishes in it with every beat of his heart.

"with pleasure," he answers, unable to help the upwards tug of his lips as he squeezes your palms.

"let me take care of you, my dove — as you do to me."

© trappolia 2024

[iamgonnagetyouback]

𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐒

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: Theodore Nott x Reader

Theodore Nott didn’t understand you. In fact, he was fairly certain that nobody understood you. Yet, as he leaned against the library’s stone archway, watching you float through the corridors like some ethereal, pastel dream, he couldn’t look away.

You were all bouncy curls and matching bows, a perpetual smile plastered on your face as if you were in a constant state of blissful daydreaming. You stopped abruptly to crouch down, whispering to a group of ducks that had waddled in from the Hogwarts lake. Yes, actual ducks. They quacked in reply, as if they were in on the conversation.

“Of course,” Theodore muttered under his breath, pushing himself off the wall and walking over, curiosity getting the better of him.

When he got close enough, he heard you giggling, a sound that, against his will, made the corner of his mouth twitch upward.

“And that’s why you shouldn’t fly too close to the Whomping Willow,” you were saying seriously to the ducks. “It doesn’t know how to make friends properly, but we should still be kind to it.”

Theodore raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Are you giving life advice to ducks now?”

You looked up at him, eyes twinkling. “Theo!” you chirped, as if him showing up was the most delightful surprise you could’ve imagined. “I’m not giving advice. I’m just making sure they know the dangers around here! It’s very important.”

He sighed. Of course, it was.

“Do you ever stop smiling?” he asked, though the question was softer than he intended.

You grinned even wider—how that was possible, he didn’t know. “Why would I stop? There are so many things to be happy about!"

He glanced at you. “I don’t see the point in getting excited over things that happen every day.”

You stood up and clasped your hands together, staring at him with those impossibly bright eyes. “Oh, Theo, you poor, gloomy boy,” you said dramatically, putting a hand on your heart. “You must be starving for joy!”

“I’m not starving for anything,” he said, though he suddenly felt a little unsure about that.

“Oh, but you are!” you declared, twirling around him in a circle. “You need some color in your life, some adventure, some—”

“Flowers?” he interrupted, gesturing to the daisy chain you had managed to loop around his arm while he wasn’t paying attention.

“Exactly!” you said, your eyes twinkling. “Flowers make everything better. See? Now you look like a prince from one of those old fairy tales!”

Theodore glanced down at the delicate chain of daisies and sighed again. “This isn’t helping my reputation, you know.”

You just smiled innocently. “Who cares about reputation? Life is more fun when you don’t worry so much.”

“I’m not worried,” he said quickly. “I just—don’t understand you.”

“That’s okay,” you said softly, standing still now, your voice like a gentle breeze. “You don’t have to understand me, Theo. But you could try… enjoying things a little. It wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

Theodore opened his mouth to respond, but you weren’t waiting for an answer. Instead, you grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the courtyard.

“We’re going on an adventure!” she announced.

“We are?” Theodore asked, though he was already being tugged along.

“Yes! Look at all the flowers blooming today! I bet we can find the perfect ones to make a crown for you. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Theodore groaned, but something warm flickered in his chest. “Darling, I am not wearing a flower crown.”

“We’ll see,” you sang, skipping ahead with him in tow.

As you reached the courtyard, you released his hand and flitted from one patch of wildflowers to the next, gathering blossoms and humming a tune. Theodore leaned against a pillar, watching you with an exasperated, almost fond expression. How could someone be so relentlessly joyful?

“Found it!” you called out, holding up a daffodil triumphantly. “This is the one. It’s your flower.”

“My—what?”

“Your flower,” you repeated with utmost seriousness. “Daffodils mean new beginnings. They’re perfect for you.”

Theodore raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need a new beginning.”

“Everyone needs new beginnings sometimes,” you said softly, tucking the daffodil behind his ear. “Even grumpy boys like you.”

He swallowed, suddenly very aware of how close you were. Your scent—something like wildflowers and sunshine—was intoxicating. For the briefest moment, Theodore wondered if maybe, just maybe, there was something to your endless optimism, your constant smiles.

“Do you always fall in love with everything?” he asked, his voice quieter than before.

You paused, your fingers lingering near his face. “I fall in love with the beauty in things,” you admitted, your gaze steady and sincere. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t notice the hard parts too. I just choose to love it all anyway.”

He stared at you for a long moment, something unfamiliar tugging at his chest.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered.

“And you’re adorable,” you replied, grinning again.

Theodore sighed, though this time, there was a hint of a smile on his face. “I still don’t want a flower crown.”

You giggled, plopping the half-finished daisy chain on his head. “Too late! You’re already the flower prince of Hogwarts.”

It was a little ridiculous how happy you were, and it drove Theo absolutely mad.

But not in the way he wanted.

“Good morning, Theo!” you chirped as you bounced into the common room, your shoes making soft tap tap sounds on the stone floor. You held a handful of daisies, which you promptly began to sprinkle over the Slytherin table, because, in your words, “Even dungeons need love!”

Theo looked up from his book, his brow furrowing. “What are you doing?”

“Making everything prettier, of course,” you replied with a giggle, twirling around to place a daisy behind your ear. “The dungeon’s so gloomy. Don’t you think flowers brighten the place up?”

He blinked at you, his eyes flicking from the daisies to you, then back to his book. “I don’t think flowers are going to solve the fact that we live underground.”

You gasped dramatically, clutching the flowers to your chest like he had just offended your entire soul. “Theo! How could you say that? Flowers solve everything!”

He grumbled something under his breath, flipping the page of his book with more force than necessary. “Whatever. Do what you want.”

And that was how it always went. You would always find some way to make Theo’s carefully crafted gloomy world a little brighter—much to his dismay. Yet, somehow, despite himself, he couldn’t help but let you.

Like that time you convinced him to walk with you through the Forbidden Forest, not for some grand adventure, but because, in your words, “The sunlight looked so pretty through the trees.” Theo had rolled his eyes so hard he thought they might fall out of his head, but still, there he was, trudging alongside you, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, grumbling all the while.

And then there was that one time during Potions class, where he sat quietly at his desk, scribbling notes, and you… well, you were busy tying tiny bows on the vials of ingredients. Professor Snape wasn’t impressed, but when he told you to stop, you just smiled and said, “But Professor, it’s just so much nicer this way!”

It was ridiculous. You were ridiculous.

And he was utterly and completely… charmed.

Not that he’d admit that, of course. Theo was far too grumpy, far too Theodore to ever say something like that aloud. But he didn’t mind that you sat next to him in every class, constantly filling the space with your endless chatter about how beautiful the stars looked last night or how you had named the toads in the courtyard after each of the Hogwarts founders. He didn’t mind how you always found a way to make him a little less… grumpy, even if he pretended otherwise.

One day, as you skipped down the hall beside him, your arms full of flowers you had picked from Merlin-knows-where, you suddenly stopped dead in your tracks, eyes wide as saucers.

“Theo! Look at the sky! It’s pink! And orange! Oh my gosh, isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

He stopped too, glancing up at the sky, his expression flat. “It’s just a sunset.”

“Just a sunset?” you gasped, grabbing his arm and tugging him closer to the window. “No, no, it’s not just a sunset, it’s magical. Don’t you feel it? The colors, the warmth! It’s like the sky is telling a story!”

He looked at you then, really looked at you. The way your eyes sparkled with excitement, the way your lips curled into that bright, infectious smile. You were staring at the sky like it was the most wonderful thing you’d ever seen, and somehow, in that moment, he thought you looked more magical than any sunset could ever be.

“Theo?” You waved a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his daze. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” he muttered, shaking his head as he tried to focus on something, anything that wasn’t how ridiculously soft and pretty you looked in the pinkish-orange glow of the sky. “You’re just… weird.”

You grinned up at him, undeterred. “Weird? That’s the best compliment you’ve given me all week!”

He rolled his eyes again, though his lips quirked up ever so slightly. “Yeah, well… don’t get used to it.”

But you saw right through him. “You like me, don’t you, Theo?” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder.

“Absolutely not,” he shot back, though the redness creeping up his neck betrayed him.

You giggled, that sweet, melodic sound that made his heart do stupid things in his chest. “It’s okay, I like you too.”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Merlin help me…”

But as you linked your arm through his and started humming a happy little tune, skipping alongside him down the hall, he couldn’t help but smile just a little.

Maybe, just maybe, sunshine wasn’t so bad after all.