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dannythedog · 5 months ago

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Collage by @stardust-chords-enthusiast

Long Past Dawn part Two

Part One

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: You've grown up with Sam Kiszka as a best friend. As the two of you get older, you realize your feelings may be morphing into something more. What will happen when Sam finally invites you to the annual Kiszka lake trip where a string of crimes have taken place?

Warnings: 18+, brief smut, talk of death, angst

A/N: Hi everyone! I hope you enjoy part two! This one is much shorter than the first chapter. I reread that first part and it took way too long, so I chopped this part. Thank you to anyone who took the time to read this. I'm excited to continue this series and see how I can develop this world!! Feedback and/or comments are always appreciated :)

“Jake’s dead.”

Your blood runs cold as Danny’s words sink in. It feels as though the entire world has stopped spinning, yet your body is still flying around the sun. The feeling of dread that you’ve grown all too familiar with in the last twelve hours amplifies and consumes you, swallowing you into its depths.

“That’s a fucked up joke, Dan,” Sam finally speaks.

“I’m not joking. He’s dead. He’s- guys he’s not moving. I went over and shook him. He’s dead,” Danny panics.

Your stomach is churning, their argument falling upon your deaf ears. This isn’t real. Jake isn’t dead. Your knees shake as you stare at Danny’s broad shoulders that are now frantically moving with his arms. Muffled voices try to penetrate your state of shock, but nothing is sharp enough. The tears welling in your unblinking eyes are the only sign that you’ve heard Danny at all.

The feeling of Sam tugging at your hand pulls you out of it - but only enough to follow the brothers outside.

“You guys are such fucking liars,” Josh grumbles with an eye roll. “It was funny last night when we were scaring Bug, but the moment has passed.”

Your heart aches for the twin. How could he be so casual about this? Didn’t he see the look on Danny’s face? His curls swirl in the early morning breeze and it makes you want to wrap him in your arms, to ward away the distress and grief that will try to befriend him. Josh’s features are still light and carefree despite a twinge of annoyance. A slight sunburn atop the bridge of his nose and cheeks gives him a youthful, innocent glow. You hate that it’ll be marred.

Danny leads the group of you off the deck and towards the old dock where you saw the silhouette last night. Bile rises in your throat as you recall last night’s memory. Sam still grips your hand as you slowly head down the embankment, eyes frantically scanning the shore for a body. His face remains calm, but his grip is tight and his palm starts to sweat, giving away his true emotions. You’re grateful that you took the time to admire his peace when you woke. You don’t know when you’ll see it again.

“Where is he?” Sam huffs out, nerves beginning to be evident.

Danny pauses, bending over to rest his hands on his knees and breathe deeply before continuing to the structure. You see Jake’s bare foot laying eerily still in the sand, the rest of his body being obscured by the dock. Before you can even think, you’re ripping your hand out of Sam’s and turning your back to the sight. “I can’t look,” you heave.

“It’s just a joke, y/n,” Josh snaps. “They’re just fucking with us.” He doesn’t mean to take his annoyance out on you, but he’s trying desperately to hide his fear. Josh is terrified that his twin is really laying there dead in the sand, having passed away while he was only yards away peacefully sleeping.

Josh and Danny approach the younger twin while Sam stays halfway between them and you. “Get up,” Josh demands and kicks at Jake’s unmoving body. He’s face down, half of his face pressed into the wet sand while the tide gently kisses his cheeks.

Sam takes a tentative step forward when he sees his big brother lean down and press Jake’s face fully into the water. “I SAID GET THE FUCK UP!”

“Josh,” Sam whimpers, lower lip beginning to tremble.

Just as you begin to cross the sand to Sam, Jake’s body is rolled over. His face is red and he's spluttering for air, water coming out of his nose and mouth. “Jesus!” he shouts. “I wasn’t actually dead, but you damn near killed me!”

“You’re fucked up,” Josh seethes at his twin and gives him a harsh push to the shoulder. Confusion washes over you as you watch the younger twin rise from the water and brush sand from his clothes. Was this all just some sick dream?

“And you,” Josh jabs at Danny’s chest. “You’re fucked up for taking it that far.”

The tall man’s gaze is filled with regret, brown eyes wide and sheepish. Before he has the chance to apologize, Josh is trekking through the sand back to the house.

Shock and dread are still coursing through your body as you watch Jake push wet strands of hair away from his tanned face. “It wasn’t supposed to go that far,” he groans. “We didn’t think you’d fall for it that easily.”

“You’re one hell of an actor,” Sam sneers. He gives his brother one final glare before turning on his heel to follow Josh. You’re rooted to the spot, unable to process anything that’s happened in the last ten minutes. You want to lash out at them like the others did, but a swirl of emotions weighs your chest down, making it feel like you’re choking. The beating sun only adds to the mix. Your brain feels fried and sluggish - entirely too perplexed from the emotional whiplash.

Jake’s warm eyes bore into yours, pleading for you to understand that it was only a joke. “Bug, c’mon. It’s not that serious.”

All you can manage is a shake of your head before trudging off to find Sam. Jake may not think it’s a big deal, but this joke was entirely too convincing. Entirely too real.

The breeze isn’t welcoming anymore, it chills your skin and draws out goosebumps. You find Sam laying in a hammock on the side of the house that’s bordered by forest. His wiry arms are folded over his bare chest as the wind swirls his brown locks around his face. He hadn’t even had the chance to put it up this morning.

“Hey,” you call quietly so you don’t startle him as you stand next to the hammock. “Are you okay?”

Bony fingers are wrapping around your wrists and swiftly tugging you on top of him. A shocked squeak falls from your lips as you land in an awkward position, but Sam wastes no time in readjusting you so that you’re cuddled up to him.

He nuzzles into your neck and takes a deep breath. “He’s such an asshole.”

You know you’re supposed to be focusing on comforting him, but the way his breath tickles across your neck makes your heart thud against your ribcage and your skin flush. You swallow thickly before nodding. “It was a fucked up joke. It was eerie how real it felt.”

Sam’s just as nervous as you are about the proximity of your bodies, but he takes a risk anyway. Planting a gentle kiss to the underside of your jaw, he tucks some of your hair behind your ear. “I think his punishment should be the silent treatment,” he murmurs against your skin. “Spend the day with me, Bug. Just me and you.”

His plush lips have you ready to agree in an instant. “What about Josh?” you breathe. “He seemed pretty upset.”

“Fuck Josh,” he mutters as he repositions his body so that it’s slightly on top of yours. “He’s a big boy. He can be mad at his twin all day long while I spend time with my sweet girl. As a real boyfriend and girlfriend now.”

“And how do you suppose we get them to leave us alone?”

“That’s easy, just have to pretend like were fucking if they try to come close to us,” Sam speaks nonchalantly - as if he was just telling you his favorite color.

“Samuel!” You’re positive that your cheeks have to be the same shade of bright red as the kayak that’s bobbing along the shore.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Unless?”

“I swear to God, I will leave the hammock if you keep it up.” Trying to prove your point, you push at his chest, trying to get your legs out from underneath him.

“Bug, stop it. You know I’m playing with you,” he whines and grabs your waist tighter.

“Yeah yeah. C’mon, I wanna go take a walk along the shore and see what seashells I can get.”

You hop out of the black hammock and hold your hand out to the lanky boy. Everytime Sam smiles at you - you feel like you are going to have a heart attack. He’s had you in a love spell for the past several years. He was finally yours and you were finally his.

“Huh?”

“What?” You look up at the boy - well he prefers for you to call him a man. He has three sparse mustache hairs coming in and it has him convinced that he is a man and he needs to be referred to as one.

“You said something.” He follows you almost obediently to the sand, fingers squeezing yours in sporadic rhythms.

“Did you smoke something?”

“I’ve been with you all morning, dingus. When would I have time to do that?” You feel yourself blush even more when Sam zeroes his line of sight to you. “I already heard what you said, I just wanted to hear you say it again.”

“And what did I say?” you play coy. You don’t feel like being even more embarrassed.

“That I was finally yours and you were finally mine.” Sam stops you along the shore to stand in front of you for a second, beaming at you when he notices you lowering your head to focus on the waves that are crashing into your feet. “Hey, stop being shy. It’s just me, Bug.”

Sam places his pointer finger under your chin, forcing you to lift your head to look at him fully. Your eyes search each other, just taking in the moment and the realization of last night hits you even more.

“You gonna kiss her or what?” Jake. He always has to come along and ruin a moment.

Sam’s eyes tear away from yours, jaw clenching tightly. “If you haven’t noticed, we’re all pretty pissed at you,” Sam hisses. “Why don’t you and Danny fuck off for the day.”

Jake doesn’t budge, his brown eyes boring into your own, nearly begging for you to tell him everything is okay. “You two finally get together? Or is Sam still being a pussy?”

You could practically feel the anger radiating from Sam’s body as he takes a step forward. Thinking quickly, you place your palm onto his bare chest to stop him from doing anything he may regret. The heat leeches into your skin and makes you feel woozy.

“Calm down, Sam. He gets it - what he did was shitty.” Your gaze flicks up to Jake again, expression soft so he knows he’s forgiven. “We did get together, yes. Last night. We were going to tell everyone this morning, but it seems like you and Danny had other plans.”

His big eyes twinge with regret. All he does is give a simple nod - one that he knows you’ll understand.

“Looks like I finally won, huh, Jake?” Sam spits. “Looks like I finally got her.”

“Sam, you know it was never like that.”

“Oh really? I saw how you acted towards her. I saw all your secret moments and stupid little looks. She doesn’t want you. She never has. Grow up and leave us the fuck alone.”

“Sam,” you breathe, not sure why he’s being so hard on his brother. “Come on, let’s just go, okay?”

His mouth opens to go at Jake again, but he’s interrupted. “I’m happy for you two. Really.”

Confusion flashes across Sam’s face for a quick moment, but it’s gone just as fast. “Let’s go, Bug.”

He tugs your hand, leading you further down the shore. Tension radiates off of him. His muscles are taut, face set into a stony expression. A frown floats down your face. You could try to explain why he shouldn’t be so upset with Jake, why he should take this as an opportunity to be grateful that his brother is in his life, but you know he needs time. So, you let him lead you across the wet sand and towards a little island. It was really more like a large sandbar, but you’d think of it as your own personal island. Sam and Bug Isle.

He wades into the shallow water rather aggressively. Thin legs cut through each gentle bob of the tide to reach your destination. You follow him without a second thought. He reaches out a hand to steady you as you climb onto your little island - any aggression he may have had is gone as soon as his skin touches yours.

“This could be our place,” you suggest. “I was thinking of it as our own island.”

Troubled brown eyes gaze into your own and soften with each word. You could tell he likes the idea, but is too trapped in his feelings to voice it. The gentle squeeze of his large hand on yours is enough of an answer.

“You shouldn’t be too upset with him. I know what he did is fucked up and I’m upset, too, but I think I’m more glad that he’s actually okay. I’m happy we still have him with us.”

A puff of air leaves his nose and he looks out at the water. “He’s a douche. He always knows just how to fuck everything up.”

“Hey, leave that all behind. Don’t bring bad vibes to our island.”

You finally coax a small smile from Sam. His shoulder touches yours in a tender gesture. “Yeah. You’re right. Let’s make this morning about us. Should we christen the island?”

A mutter of his name escapes you in pure embarrassment. Christening a dinky little spot of land that’s so out in the open? Something that’s not quite in sight of the cabin full of his family, but is still right there?

He leans closer, his warm skin soothing the goosebumps that litter yourself. “Then just kiss me for a while.”

Now this was doable. Sam turns his body so he’s fully facing you now, knees knocking against yours. You can’t help the small smile that forms when his droopy eyes flick to your lips. The first kiss is tender, much like the one you shared in the bedroom last night. It’s full of nervous feelings and simple newness. You sort of wish he would invest in chapstick.

Any thoughts of chapped lips escape your mind when he grazes his fingers across your cheek to tilt your head upwards a bit, deepening the kiss. His full lips move cautiously against your own as he explores his new canvas. Shaky hands skirt up his bare chest - you’re thankful he hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt this morning. His skin is soft and smooth under your touch and you swear you can feel his thudding heart. It makes you all too aware of how fast yours is beating.

“Relax,” he murmurs against your lips. “It’s just me. Don’t get all jittery on me.”

He pulls back to look at you, a lopsided grin on display. “My little jitterbug.”

You huff and trace your fingertips against his shoulder. “That’s the problem. It’s you. Yesterday I was beyond terrified that you’d figure out how I felt and now we’re here. Just freely kissing.”

“Do you like it?”

You scoff. “Of course I do. I’m just nervous.”

“Don’t be,” he insists and presses a kiss to the very corner of your mouth. “I don’t think you could mess this up if you tried.”

Then his plush lips are on yours again. Sam grasps the back of your neck to keep you close, his fingers wrapping themselves up in baby hairs. This time he beckons your mouth open with a gentle lap of his tongue. It felt almost greedy the way you welcomed him in. The sound of the waves match up with each swirl of your tongues and the wind caresses you just as softly as he does. You don’t think you’ve ever experienced anything so romantic.

The mood shifts when he presses his body forward and guides you to lay on your back. He mumbles something about being more comfortable this way. A few weeds poke at your back and sand travels its way into your shorts, but you don’t care. You don’t care about anything uncomfortable while you’re with him.

A large, shaky hand rests on your hip and massages gently. He got on you about being nervous, but you could tell he felt the same. His fingers slowly slip under your baggy sleep shirt and knead your side. Sam breaks the kiss to look into your eyes.

“Y/n, I really like you,” he whispers, his sweet voice trembling.

You whisper back the same sentiment. It was obvious what he wanted to do. It was obvious he wanted you right there on your little island and you think you’d let him take you.

Seeing him so nervous and gentle sent a wave of confidence through you. In one swift movement, you sweep off your shirt and toss it to the side. The way his eyes bulge at the sight of your breasts makes you want to run for the hills. Maybe you weren’t actually feeling all that confident.

“Oh, Bug,” he utters, eyes locked onto your body. “You’re beautiful.”

You want to shy away and you give into the feeling. In your moment of bashfulness, you cover your chest with your arms.

“No. No, don’t do that. Don’t hide from me.” He tugs at your arms in full seriousness. “Let me see how stunning you are.”

He always knew how to weaken your resolve. Slowly, you move your arms back down to your sides. His smile is breathtaking. Ever so carefully, his hands slide up your sides and over your ribs, then they cup your breasts. It wasn’t the awkward groping you got so used to with inexperienced boys. This was tender. Full of emotion. His thumbs brush over your nipples and it sends a rather delicious shiver through you.

His hands never leave you as he attaches his lips to that same spot under your jaw from earlier. A place you’re growing to love being kissed. Bursts of kisses are pressed to your throat as he moves himself over you. One knee is between your thighs and the other takes the brunt of his weight. Sloppy, wet kisses move down your chest and to the top of your left breast.

He looks up at you in a moment of pause. “Do you want this?”

Do I want this? Last night and this morning have been such a whirlwind of emotions. Everyone is overwhelmed and frazzled, but maybe this is what I need. Maybe this is the release we both need to get back on track to what’s supposed to be a good vacation.

“Yeah. I want you.”

You undress each other right there on your island. His touches are slightly fumbled but given with the most care you’ve ever felt. When he presses into you it’s electric. Whispered words and soft praises are shared with each movement of his hips. This moment is engrained on that bit of land. You leave a bit of yourselves there for the rest of time.

Afterwards you lay there basking in the morning sun. The chaos of last night and this morning had completely slipped your brain. “I don’t want to go back,” he groans.

“So we won’t,” you hum, nuzzling into him further. “Let’s stay here.”

“I’m a little cold and I’m starving,” he huffs. So you do go back. You walk hand in hand back to the cabin with rosy cheeks and an excited glow about you. There was leftover breakfast from when Josh had cooked. The rest of the morning was spent wrapped up in Sam. You felt like you had to make up for lost time. That is until the eldest brother appears with a mock stern look.

“We shouldn’t leave you two alone with all this nonsense that’s going on.” You weren’t sure if he was talking about the murders or the obvious fact you and Sam had hooked up. “Let’s go for a hike.”

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ravendruid · 4 months ago

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Pike, Grog, and Scanlan for "rainy days"?

Hi Anon! Thank you so much for sending a prompt! I hope you like it!

Nothing Better Than Ale and Friends

(Read on AO3)

Grog’s stomps can be heard all throughout the keep, which is how Pike knows he is about to burst through her bedroom door and ask for something. The goliath has that gait to him that the gnome knows means he is on a mission, and considering it’s raining outside, she is pretty sure she knows what her friend wants.

“Pikey!” Just as Pike predicted, Grog barges in, almost knocking the door off its hinges. “I’m bored. Let’s go train!”

Pike closes the book she was reading with resignation and grabs her mace from the side of her bed. “Alright, buddies.”

Grog looks down at her, shocked that he didn’t have to work hard for it, but eventually shrugs and storms out the way he came, now followed by Pike, who needs to take almost five steps to match one of his.

“Do you think the rain will stop soon?” Grog asks in his characteristically boisterous voice. “I wanted to go out, but the rain is wet.”

Pike chuckles at his observation. “It sure is, buddy. I bet it will stop soon, don’t worry.” She pats the highest she can get, which is the goliath’s upper thigh. When Grog doesn’t add any comment or complaints, Pike says, “What if we brought Scanlan along?”

“Wot?” Grog turns down to her. “Do you fancy him, or something?”

Pike tries to hide her blush as she stammers, “No. It’s just that he might be just as bored.”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess.” Grog says, then abruptly stops in front of Scanlan’s bedroom. “Oy! Scanlan!” He yells out before he knocks his large fist on the wood.

Scanlan doesn’t take long to open the door, which is a good thing because Grog can get really loud really fast.

“What with the commotion, big gu—oh, hi there, Pike,” He throws Pike one of those charming smiles he always uses to pick up people.

“Hi Scanlan,” Pike greets bashfully.

“It’s raining and it’s wet, and we’re going training. Come with us.” Grog orders.

“In the rain?” Scanlan asks, his voice raising an octave.

“No, no, no. We’re going to the training room,” Pike explains, completely understanding the confusion of the gnome.

“Alright then,” Scanlan replies, still nervously, though.

The training room is down in the basement, right next to Percival’s workshop, which makes it the second warmest room in that level, and Vox Machina spent a few weeks furnishing it with everything they needed, from target dummies, to weights, and even a small sand pit for sparring. Pike’s favorite area is definitely the weight section, where she and Grog alternate between sets and have a silent competition to see who does more repetitions in the shortest amount of time.

“So, what are we doing?” Scanlan asks.

Grog grins in reply, a sight that makes Pike’s spine freeze in fear. This is not good.

“I got these,” Grog pulls out a pair of small bells hanging from a cord. “And you’re going to have to take them from me.” He ties them to his belt, then sets himself in a defensive position. “No weapons, no magic.”

Pike regards Scanlan, searching for his approval or rejection to the challenge. It won’t be easy, especially because the other gnome is not trained in hand-to-hand combat, but it will be fun.

“Alright,” Scanlan nods. He sets himself in an offensive position with his fists in front of him in a way that makes Pike want to laugh at how ridiculous he looks.

“Let’s do this, then,” Pike agrees, setting her mace to the side. When she returns to Scanlan’s side, she gives him a side glance and asks, “Ready?”

“Ready when you are, Pike,”

They both set off to attack Grog, punching and kicking him. Scanlan, like Pike predicted, is not as proficient in melee combat, but he is in cunning, so when the gnome punches the goliath in the balls and Grog bends over in pain, Pike takes the opportunity to slide past Grog’s defenses and steals one of the bells.

“One down,” She teases.

“That. Not. Fair.” Grog growls, still hunched over himself.

“You said no weapons and no magic, but you didn’t say anything about not going for your weak spot.” Scanlan scolds the half-giant.

“Alright, new rule. No kicking in the balls,” Grog stands up straight and bears his teeth at the gnomes.

It’s harder to get the second bell from Grog now that he has increased his defenses, so by the time Pike and Scanlan each hold a bell in their small hands, everyone is dripping with sweat down to their undergarments, and in much need of a bath.

“That was good training,” Grog declares when they reach the landing of the ground floor.

“And look, it stopped raining, too,” Pike points out the large window where the three see the sun shining over the rolling hills at the back of the keep.

“Time for a bath, and then maybe a drink?” Scanlan offers, to which Pike accepts enthusiastically.

“Nothing better than ale after a good practice,” Grog yells out, tapping his stomach. Pike and Scanlan laugh at his enthusiasm.

“You are so right, buddies. Last one to bathe and get back here pays the first round,” Pike screams, running up the stairs before the other two men realize what she just said.

The promise of a nice, warm bath followed by ale and two of her favorite people is just the right amount of light Pike needs after a dark, rainy day.

#critical role #cr fic #cr fanfic #vox machina #grog strongjaw #scanlan shorthalt #pike trickfoot #prompted #september prompts

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dracoqueen22 · 2 months ago

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BlorboWriMo 2024 - Day Six

Dart’s feet feel rooted in place, though he knows Sirene is right. He jerks backward through sheer willpower. One step. Two. The Templar captain bears down on him, beautiful and terrifying, and there’s another aching throb in Dart’s chest. Sirene rattles, the feel of her power rising around him like a cloak.

Another step. His heel sinks as the edge of the cliff crumbles beneath him.

Dart tilts. He bends his knees and pushes at the last second, throwing everything he has into a leap to put distance between himself and the cliffside.

Open air takes his breath away. He’s falling like he’s flying, and above him, the Templar captain’s face appears over the edge of the cliff.

“Sirene!” he shouts in a voice that sounds as if it’s been pulled from the pit of his belly, a cry that makes Dart’s own heart ache.

And then he’s twisting in mid-air, turning his fall into a dive, smacking into the water with a shocked gasp. It’s frigid as it closes over his head, but his body knows the sea. His gills get to work as his lungs push out the last bit of air, and his first desperate pull through his gills feels like victory.

Dart kicks his feet and laments his boots. One arm still hangs limp at his side, but he twists around, clawing at the laces with his good hand. He gets his boots loose enough to kick them off, toes spreading gleefully into the cold wet, extending the webbing between them.

He pushes further, enjoying the pressure of the water around him, the weight it takes off his throbbing shoulder, the implied safety of the sea’s embrace. Here, nothing can touch him. The shore slopes steeply downward, the rocky sand quickly giving way to a sudden drop. It is dark as far as the eye can see, even as Dart’s vision adjusts.

He’s too far from the Undersea kelp forest that Dart called home. His people, called the Kelple by those on Dryland, prefer to stay further from Dryland habitation. But it’s safe enough here. Dart can go deep, beyond the reach of Drylanders, and swim to the site for the mission. With any luck, he can meet the rest of his team there.

It’s a solid plan.

Sirene croons sadly at the back of his mind, her attention fully toward the surface and the sky, like a little hook wanting to draw Dart upward.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t realize Vesper was attached to a Templar.”

She winds around him, intangible but warm, desperately seeking comfort. “I did not think they’d bind her without me,” she says, miserable. “I thought they’d wait.”

The Templar? Wait? When they have power that could be used? Dart doesn’t say it, but he certainly thinks it. While he’s still learning the vast history of the struggle between the Ori and the Templar across Aeotora, he understands this much – the Templar have never seen power they haven’t wanted to claim.

“I’m sorry that they didn’t,” Dart says as her sorrow fills his chest, emptying it of everything but the deep, aching loss. “I wish I could–”

Dart chokes on the next word, concentration shattered, as something wraps around his right ankle and yanks him down, further into the deep. It’s elastic against his skin, burning like a hot iron, and when he looks down, a single eye glows back at him, harsh yellow against the black, a narrow pupil filled with menace.

Shatter.

Dart tries to yank his ankle back, but it’s to no effect. The tentacle wrapped around his limb is too strong, as it should be, for a squid that redefines what it means to be giant. Shatter has been haunting these waters for decades, though never this far inland, and never in waters this shallow. She lurks in the depths, feeding on the other horrors that reside in the black.

She yanks, pulling him further down, and Dart panics. He yanks his dagger from his thigh sheath and twists down, stabbing it into the fleshy tentacle. It flails in pain, whipping him back and forth before it loosens its grasp. The suckers peel away from his skin, leaving a growing burn that the ocean can’t soothe.

Dart kicks his feet and races for the surface. Shatter hates sunlight and shallow water. If he can just get high enough, she’ll leave him in peace.

Damn his wounded shoulder! It drags, slowing him down, and without the use of his other arm, he struggles.

A sound like a roar rises up from beneath him. Dart looks down, and his heart rises into his throat as Shatter pushes up from the deep, a fleshy arrowhead of uncertain shade, her dark eye focused on him.

She outpaces him in a matter of seconds, blocking off his exit, darkening the sea above him until he’s surrounded by black. White flashes in the dark, a sucking motion pulling him upward, and there’s a very real possibility she’s about to eat him.

Dart grips his knife. If he’s going to get eaten, he’s going to give her some serious intestinal distress.

A low-pitched keen warbles through the sea. Shatter flows to the side, allowing Dart a glimpse of the sun once more. The suction abruptly ceases, and he takes advantage of it, swimming frantically in the opposite direction. He doesn’t know what happened to draw Shatter’s attention, nor does he care.

Dart swims. And swims. Shoulder aching, foot burning, the sun getting brighter and brighter, until he swears he can taste the sea air, but that’s when a tentacle loops around his waist and drags him back. He stabs frantically with the knife, blood darkening the water around him, but Shatter gives him a shake, tightening her grip.

Dart loses the knife as he’s whipped back and forth, the pressure around his ribcage immense. He might not need his lungs right now, but he needs all the rest of his organs, and they’re not feeling comfy right now. No knife. He only has his claws, so Dart tears into Shatter’s tentacle, ripping, ripping, ripping, shreds of flesh floating in a cloud of blood.

“Dart! Hurry!” Sirene cries.

“What do you think I’m trying to do!” he shouts back right as an unearthly bellow vibrates through the water.

Sea whips past him, like a smack to the face, racing to the surface. For a moment, Dart’s airborne, flying through the sky, water spraying around him, and then he’s tumbling, head over heels, sky-sea-sky-sea, before landing with a smack back into the sea. Water closes over his head as he struggles to get his bearings, to tell up from down, when another tentacle snakes around his left thigh and pulls, dragging him under.

Dart flails, dizzy, pain throbbing through him, within inches of the surface as the pull abruptly stops. Shatter’s tentacle shakes, tightening and loosing around him. Something flits in the sky overhead, a great dark shape that then comes streaking down, but an arc of light precedes it.

What the fu–?

The arc slams into the water, sending sheets upward in a fierce wave. Shatter keens as if damaged, and her grip loosens, just enough for Dart to tear free, to push and push and push for the surface. If he can make it to shore, if he can keep going, if–

Shatter flails, tentacles whipping in all directions, a sound both angry and pained splitting the sky. Dart breaks the surface, drags in a lungful of air. Water rains down on his head. That dark form takes shape. Wings, big black wings like a bird of prey, but a person. A person with wings. Not a Volcres, but human-shaped with horns and shining armor, wielding a massive blade.

The Templar captain.

Did he have wings before?

“Vesper!” Sirene’s cry echoes loud in Dart’s head, as if he can hear it externally, ears ringing.

The Templar dives, beautiful and terrible all at once, and Shatter thrashes, churning up the sea. Dart kicks to make distance. He pulls with his one good hand, but it’s not enough.

A tentacle slams into his side, hitting his ribs with the impact of a cannon shot. Something cracks, pain splintering his insides.. He chokes on his next breath and then darkness blots out the sky. Shatter comes toppling toward him, and Dart’s washed away in a tidal wave of black.

Dart wakes slowly, like surfacing from a night spent drunk off his ass after his first taste of smoking herb, the smoke somehow both savory and sweet on his tongue. Lysia and Lucas teased him mercilessly the next morning. He’d danced on tables, propositioned anyone halfway charming, and then turned into a leech-like cuddlebug before falling asleep, drooling, all over Lucas’ chest.

In Dart’s defense, it is a nice chest.

Groggy is how he feels this time, once again, only there’s no bitter aftertaste of smoke or the teasing tickle of a pair of twin terrors. No, this time there’s the feeling of firm ground beneath his ass, a hard line against his spine, and the uncomfortable pull of his shoulders.

He groans and peels open his eyes, staring down through the dim at his own thighs. He tries to roll his shoulders and a dull throb protests on the right. Oh. Yeah. Dislocated. Except not anymore?

Dart experimentally moves his arms, then his hands, and realizes his wrists are tied behind his back. No. Not just behind his back, but also behind the same firm line against his spine. He’s tied to a column or pole of some sort.

Wait.

Where the fuck is he?

Dart lifts his head, and his vision immediately swims, the world a blur of grey with a narrow band of light about ten feet ahead of him. The band wavers, bringing with it the faint scent of the sea. Wind?

There’s something else, like a cologne, like soap, but not the hard cakes of lye most of the Ori use. This is something perfumed. Sweeter. Expensive. It clings to the air.

He closes his eyes, blinks hard, and when he opens them, his vision has focused. The dark gives way to gray then to a pale illumination. He’s in a tent, big enough to sleep his entire unit, a rumpled bedroll to his left and a pile of belongings to his right.

Wait. Those are his belongings. That’s his armor, his daggers, his pouches, his Sirene. She’s too far for him to reach, even if he slumps down and stretches out his toes.

Dart huffs. He’s alive, at least, but now he’s apparently captured, disarmed, and tied up. He doesn’t remember consenting to bondage.

“At least they fixed you,” Sirene says. “They didn’t kill you either, like you thought they would.”

They? Great. Not only is he captured, he’s in the hands of the Templar. Good job, Dart. Your first mission and you fucked it all up. So much for making Dad proud.

“It’s going to be okay,” Sirene murmurs. Though her voice is soft, like she’s trying to be reassuring, there’s an anxious excitement rising around her. It pools in Dart’s stomach, makes his pulse quicken, his skin hot.

Or maybe that’s just his own fear. He rather likes his head where it is, attached to his shoulders, and he’s heard the Templar like to remove them and put them on display.

“Forgive me if I don’t share your optimism,” Dart mumbles. He tugs on his wrist, testing the give of the ropes. Too strong for him to snap, but if Sirene offers just a drip of her power, he can probably burn them away with her acid.

Sirene sighs.

Dart fully intends to start wheedling here, but a shadow falls across the strip of light from the mouth of the tent, and then the cloth doors flick open and someone strides inside. Taller than Dart, long blond hair woven with a black ribbon, black horns, bright purple eyes, the hilt of a sword peeking over is shoulder.

This is the Templar captain. The only thing he’s missing is the shiny armor, which Dart belatedly realized is piled with his own in the corner.

Dart braces himself for anything: a beating, a demand, to be spat upon, who knows? But he’s not prepared for how downright handsome the man is. Fucking beautiful actually with a face that’s just androgynous enough to make Dart’s heart twirl and a set of full lips that are dying to be bitten.

Actually, no, scratch that. The captain’s missing two things: his shiny armor and that gorgeous pair of wings Dart saw him with earlier.

“Wait.” He cranes his neck, but nope, they aren’t tucked behind the man. They’re just gone. “What happened to your wings?”

The captain pauses mid-step, head tilting in a show of confusion that shouldn’t be as adorable as it is, before he visibly shakes his head and sets his face in something firm and unyielding.

“Identify yourself,” he barks.

Well, this hadn’t started with a beating. Sirene hasn’t stopped cooing since he walked in the door, and Dart swears he can hear her vibrating in her sheath. Or maybe that’s the captain’s sword. Riptide, it’s probably both of them.

“I seem to recall being taught that it’s rude to ask someone’s name without giving yours,” Dart says. At least, that’s what Weaver told him, and he’s inclined to believe anything Weaver tells him when she’s got a knife in her hand. Which she had at the time.

The captain presses his lips into a thin line before he says, “Cecil,” like the concession physically pains him.

Dart falls back on the only defense he has, lazy disregard. “Nice to meet you, Cecil,” he drawls. “Can I be untied now?”

Cecil moves closer, dropping into a crouch that braces his elbows on his knees, the hilt of his sword still visible over his shoulder. The rattle of blade in sheath is louder. “Identify yourself,” he demands.

“Dart.” He smiles his most charming smile.

Cecil’s brow wrinkles like Lucas’ often does when Lysia’s being unreasonable. “How did you get that blade, Dart?” He turns his head pointedly, and Dart follows his gaze, though he’d already noticed Sirene earlier.

“I found it,” Dart says. “Where’d you get yours?” He cranes his neck, trying to see more details. Vesper, if this is truly Vesper, is much bigger than Sirene.

She’s more of a broadsword compared to Sirene’s rapier-esque design. Sirene’s meant to be quick and agile, at least according to Lysia. Dart can barely wield her. He’s clumsy with a sword, and they both know it.

“She’s Vesper, I know she is!” Sirene cries at the back of his mind. That pull of longing intensifies, tugging at Dart’s chest until he’s learning forward, away from the pillar and toward Cecil before he catches himself.

He’s not the only one.

Cecil flinches as if he’s been struck, one eye squinting with a familiar crease of pain in the twist of his mouth. If Vesper’s even half as vocal as Sirene, his head must be aching. Dart’s hasn’t stopped pounding since he woke up, and it’s only getting worse.

He’s hungry. He’s thirsty. He’s starving. He’s desperate for some intangible thing he can’t name. It’s like the air in here has risen by ten degrees. It’s warm and humid, thick. Dart’s starting to sweat.

“Please,” Sirene croons. “I just want to feel her. It’s been so long.”

Dart swallows, his mouth dry, a lump in his throat. “What in the Trench is going on?” he whispers, and it isn’t until Cecil’s eyes lock on him that Dart realizes he’s spoken aloud.

“You stole something that shouldn’t be yours,” Cecil says, but if he meant it to sound like a censure, he missed the mark. He’s leaning closer, his pupils dilating, his eyes like amethyst crystals in the shadowed dim.

Also, he smells fucking amazing. Whatever perfume or soap he uses tastes like sweet and spice in the air.

---------

Day Six Word Count: 2652 Running Word Count Total: 13,743

#blorbowrimo 2024 #unedited fics #draco writes #trial by sword #tethers universe

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cryopathiic-a · 1 year ago

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Soon, steep hills mellow into a seaside view. The first waft of salty breeze slaps the two across the face and a soft squeal comes from the younger. He has been wanting this for some time. And Michikatsu is usually his only way out of the holy grounds. He doesn't know how to ride a horse or to navigate the forest. Even as they ride together, he relies on that experienced finger to point him to small hints that mark the way back, just as he points his faithful to the moon when speaking of salvation. A guiding light. The sun may shine bright, but it's the moon people turn to when night falls, after all. And that's what Michikatsu is to him in a way. So the thought of their time being limited is not something he's willing to entertain on such a lovely evening.

❝ Hey! ❞ His elbow connects harshly with the other's side; a small push that won't do much other than jolt him. Even when scolding him, the prophet's cadence retains that honeyed quality. Soft and pure and all things fuzzy. ❝ Don't say things like that! Are you trying to make me cry? ❞ And oh, he will cry. His eyes are already a little wet when he turns to pout at the other. It is almost as if Dōma always has tears at the ready.

He's not the type of person to plan ahead, as his friend well knows. And besides, he has a cause; a purpose, right? These people need him. He is a good person. And yes maybe he benefits from the luxuries as well, but, he has been giving back to the world. He has been doing these people a kindness. After all, what's a little white lie in the grand scheme of things...

❝ I've told you before, Michi. My door is open to everyone. I won't turn people away because of their personal beliefs. ❞ But his favorite soldier once again has a point to make; the rumors have been unsettling. And the mouths who spread them at the common areas of the temple are only fanning the flames; but Eternal Paradise wants that. Because it keeps people afraid. And fear means control. That's what that place is truly about, isn't it? As much as Dōma likes to claim he is better than the rest of the founding family, he gets to eat the bigger share and adorns himself in the finest silk of the province all the same.

His hold is firm on the saddle. He looks up with a small smile at that promise; there's this rare but precious side to his friend, the one that is just as drawn to thrills as he is. That's probably Dōma's favorite thing about him, even if it doesn't happen that often. He likes to believe that's an after effect of his station and the pressure on his shoulders. But even that has its allure. He would never settle for someone lesser, after all; not when he has been raised as a God.

The horse's hooves soon sink into softer ground and prismatic eyes flash wide upon the scenery. Sparks fly. There's that vast expanse of darkness where the sea blends into the horizon; broken only by the occasional white tuft of a wave's peak. The ocean breathes quietly at this time of night. And its waters reflect the stars and moon above. It's breathtaking and so, for a moment, the young priest merely lingers on the saddle with bated breath. That is, until those comforting arms extend towards him. Dōma is all too eager to land within them.

❝ Oh, woah... ❞ His hands rest gently on the other's shoulders for a moment, even though he's not looking at him. Transfixed by the ocean's vastness, instead, he is quick to trail off and walk on the sand as if mesmerized. Momentarily, he pauses to look down at his own feet and reaches to undo the ties of his sandals. Pale skin sinks into the beads. He takes a few barefoot steps and feels the little twigs and pebbles poke into his skin — a skin that's soft, too soft for such harsh ground. Even those first few steps have left some indentations. As if hypnotized he trails to the water's edge and there bends over to swipe his fingers over moist sand.

❝ It really does smell like fish. And the water is so warm... it's like a really big tub! ❞ Comes the first comment, a little dazed and aimless, filled with childlike wonder. When he stands and turns to face the other, there's that huge grin plastered on his face. And then, he rushes to jump into his arms with a delighted sound. ❝ Ah, it's so beautiful, Michi! Thank you... for bringing me here. I—❞ A bashful smile pressed into the other's shoulder as he hugs them, gentle yet firm. It's the embrace of someone who knows how to make others feel warm - even if he, himself, never quite had that. Not until now, at least. And then, a spark of mischief.

❝ ... Hey, hey— let's walk into the water! Come ooooon, take all this chunky armor off and dive with me! ❞

#FORBIDDEN VERSE #forbidden tw #fallesto #(( mk so u have to steal mine i get it ))#(( every reply feels like a ticking time bomb bc I KNOW U. I know ur waiting for me to let my guard down- ))#(( you: verse where they are pure me: mk but mine's still a bastard :shrug: ))

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fuckyeahcornwellandlorca · 7 years ago

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2 times Gabriel got it wrong and the 1 time he got it right

(Continuation of my post about Gabriel leaving Katrina fortune cookies, sometimes not in the best places.)

“Admiral Cornwell,” Admiral Terral stoically entered her office, placing a crumbled fortune cookie and a small white strip onto her desk. “I believe this treat and its hidden explicit message was intended for you.”

Katrina felt the blood rushing to her cheeks.

“It was left on the seat in your old office, my current office. It would be wise to notify Captain Lorca of the change.”

Gabriel!

Katrina sleepily stepped out of the bedroom.

crunch

“What the-”

Gabriel!

Katrina looked down at the fortune cookie smashed under her bare foot. Her gaze followed the row of fortune cookies on the floor until they disappeared around the corner, where she could see just the hint of Gabriel peering at her.

“You’re supposed to follow them Kat, not Godzilla smash ‘em!”

With a frustrated sigh Katrina brushed the cookie crumbs off her foot.

“Follow them Godzilla KittyKat!”

“Why? They might lead me to you!” Katrina retorted playfully.

Silence and then a heavy sigh from Gabriel who came out from behind the corner, quickly maneuvering his way to Katrina, scooping her up into his arms.

“No, they lead to breakfast. I’m just the bonus.”

“Let’s walk on the shore.” Katrina led Gabriel by the hand. It was a mild night and they had just kicked their shoes off in the sand. Katrina felt Gabriel hesitate.

“It was your idea to take a walk on the beach.” Katrina said as she let go of Gabriel’s hand walking onto the shore. “The water feels great!”

There was a slight pause before Gabriel followed suit, almost reluctantly dipping his feet into the water and taking Katrina’s hand back in his.

They walked in silence for a bit, Gabriel seeming a million miles away. Katrina noticed that Gabriel was gradually trying to lead her away from the water. She led him back.

Gabriel stopped. “You’re so damn stubborn Katrina,” a smirk on his face.

She would have retorted but the use of her full name, not Kat, not KittyKat, and the sight of Gabriel nervously pulling out a fortune cookie gave her pause.

“I forgot to give you your cookie after dinner.” He held out the small fortune cookie to her, his eyes pleading that she take it.

Fortune cookies were the norm after their meals, but with the odd way Gabriel was behaving tonight, she assumed he simply forgot.

Letting go of Gabriel’s hand, Katrina took the cookie and cracked it open. Feeling Gabriel’s heavy gaze on her, she read the small piece of paper.

I look at you and see the rest of my life in front of my eyes

And there was Gabriel, one knee in the wet sand, the waves soaking his trousers, holding up a small band in his fingers. “Katrina, please spend the rest of your life with me.”

#star trek discovery #katriel #cornwell x lorca #lorca x cornwell #admiral katrina cornwell #katrina cornwell #admiral cornwell #captain lorca #captain gabriel lorca #gabriel lorca #valentines day nonsense #this was originally 4 times he did it wrong but that would have been a really long post #Also Gabriel holds traditions even if they seem silly #and even if they mean he has to bend down on wet sand and look like he pissed himself #she said yes obviously #but I had to cut this nonsense short because the post was getting way too long

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https-capri · 3 years ago

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AlbedoxAfab!reader

CW: fem! bodied reader, mentions of masturbation, slight overstim, petnames (darling, angel, love), cervix fucking if you squint hard enough, smut (obv), porn with plot

A/n: sorry this took so long!! I'm used to writing more dominant readers because, me. Hehehe but I want to write another Xiao smut but I'm not sure how, because I can see him subby, mean, bratty nd all that. Still thinking abt who my next should be tho. Anywho, enjoy my dears <333

Albedo loved and adored you, you knew that much. Only sometimes he'd pay you any mind, though. More often than not, he'd be too focused on his studies to even offer you a welcome, or a glance at that. If you were having a bad day, you'd approach him from behind, wrap your arms around his torso and hug him, resting your head lazily in the crook of his neck. The most you'd get out of him was a hum of acknowledgment, or a sigh.

You know he's overworked, but why'd he agree to getting together if he had no time for you, you felt neglected and useless. It's as if you were simply tossed into a corner, but maybe it was your fault, you never once dared to complain about something regarding your relationship, goodness no, surely the man was far too busy to care. Does he also not know how he leaves you achingly wet, fluttering soft and gentle touches on your legs and proceeding on as if it were nothing. There was a certain instance, when you and him were alone, Sucrose venturing out of the cavern for supplies. Nothing in the atmosphere changed, though.

You remained seated on a table near Albedo, swinging your feet and watching his movements. His hair elegantly pulled back into a braided ponytail, some fluffy locks still flowing free of the band, the color of warm sand enclosing your body at the beach. His captivating eyes, focusing on his study radiated love, concern and care all in the shade of a bright blue. His soft skin that gently reflected the light shining on him. He was so perfect, it was a scene you easily could've drooled over. Catching your eyes from the corner of his, he glanced up from his tubes, potions and notes, offering you a gentle smile while sliding his chair in front of you. The undivided attention gave you butterflies, he rested his hands in your thighs, your swinging legs coming to a halt.

"Need anything, dear?" He asked in that oh so soft voice of his. Making you internally scream in your head. So gentle, always a hint of care in the words he spoke.

"Mm, nope. Don't let me bother you 'bedo. Looked like you were working real hard." You commented, smiling gently and tucking a piece of hair behind his ear to get the best view of his eyes locked on yours.

"You're never a bother to me." He quickly counters. Rubbing your thigh before sliding his wheeled chair back to his original place, in front of his desk. You wished he'd notice you more, it feels like more of a crush than a relationship, but you don't want to be needy. However, being that he was your boyfriend, you had thought about him in a rather lewd manner more than once. You'd catch yourself zoning out while staring at his frail, thin hands. Imagining them traveling up and down your body, stopping to cup your chest and he'd bend down to kiss you over his desk. Him scrapping all of the material on it just to fuck you senseless.

You could only dream, though. How could such a pure, kindhearted man like him think such dirty thoughts? You slowly crept nearer to the sofa he had in his workshop, sitting on it with one knee bent and the other hanging off the side, sliding a blanket on you. You considered a nap, but couldn't stop thinking about that daydream of him touching you. Only had you not realized how late it had gotten, too lost in the reality you created in your head to see the sun descend and the stars appear. This has happened before, spending the night with Albedo, I mean, but this was different. You were horny, for him, and you were expected to sleep next to him. Slipping from under the blanket, you turn to Albedo's figure, outlined with the light of his lamp, nearly the only light source left now that the sun has set. Maybe it wasn't too late to go home? You hear Albedo hum as he turns to you, getting his attention.

"Going home?" Albedo questions, putting his pen down and getting up.

"Erm.. not sure, it's looking a little nasty out there with the snow and all-" you comment, the both of you looking out to the snow beating down on the ground.

"Agreed, love, why don't you stay the night here?" He offers, briefly going back to the room he has his personal items in, returning with 2 mugs of tea for the both of you.

"Sure it won't burden you?" You softly ask, hoping you weren't overwhelming him by staying the night.

"Of course not, you never do." Albedo replies sternly, beginning to collect his belongings into a small pile so he can prepare for the night.

"Why don't you settle yourself down and I'll meet you in bed 'kay?" He ushers, making his way back to his room. As you'd expect, he didn't think as much of it compared to you. Just from your thoughts alone, you were soaked in your own wetness, clenching your thighs to prevent it from getting anywhere. You tend to be prepared when visiting Albedo, given that he spends most of his time in one of the more dangerous regions of Mondstadt, meaning that you have a change of clothes. Still, you opted to wear one of his bigger shirts and some shorts you had brought for sleepwear. Quietly stepping into his room, you feel the drastic change in temperature, it was nice. There was warmth, it was simply decorated and had all the enjoyable luxuries for a cold climate. You felt your way around the dark room and simmered down in bed next to Albedo, who was nearly asleep now.

The heat between your legs was not lessening, and you were growing restless. After what felt like hours of tossing and turning, hoping to not wake your dear beloved, you lay still on your back. You nervously swallow and inch your hand to the hem of your shorts and nearer to your panties. Snaking a hand inside, your fingers find your wet folds, dragging a hand up from your center, you begin rubbing slow circles on your puffy clit. Other hand covering your mouth in attempts to stay quiet. Grinding your hips into the touch of your fingers, feeling every bit of pleasure as your hips stutter. Wetness allowing your fingers to glide through your slits, rubbing sloppy circles over your throbbing bud. It feels so much more difficult to stay quiet in this type of situation. You feel your lover shift, now facing you, his eyes flutter open.

"Dearest? Is everything alright?" Albedo questioned, reaching a hand out to feel where you were in the dark room.

Heavy breaths left your mouth, face feeling as if it were burning you muffle out a sound of approval, Albedo still not convinced. He reaches behind him to turn on the small lamp on his bedside table, seeing your face blown into a deep state of lust.

"Y..y/n what's wrong?" Albedo asked, more confused than anything, still speaking in a groggy voice after abruptly waking up.

"Al-bedo.. please, I want you" you whine, half moaning, terribly embarrassed.

"Huh?" Albedo asks again, concerned.

"I've been thinking of you since earlier while you were in the lab, and I think it.. turned me on." You say, quieting your voice towards the end. Albedo lets out an airy laugh, shifting his whole body to you, and moving a hand to your waist.

"I'm sorry to wake you, Albedo." You confess, guilt heavy in your tone.

"Don't apologize, angel. We have all of tomorrow to rest." Albedo assures, hand gliding on the shape of your waist back and forth, slightly raising your shirt in the process.

He nears his face to yours, closing the space between he locks his lips in a kiss with you. Hungrily, he moves himself on top of you, leg falling in between yours, nearly meeting your sopping womanhood. Quickly whining in response, Albedo slips his tongue into your mouth, experimentally feeling around the inside. You grind down onto his leg, humping it in attempts to gain more friction. Albedos hands grew shakey as they begin to undress you of your top. Upon removal, Albedos face flushes a bright red at the sight of your chest. He glances quickly at you through lidded eyes before making contact with one of your breasts, suckling on it. His tongue swirls shapes of all kinds on your skin, feeling it grow tighter as he leaves love bites throughout the section of skin.

"Ah!~ Albedo, yes.." you whine, hands engulfed in the strands of his soft hair. Your center begins aching at the lack of touch, edging yourself further as you allow Albedo to take his time pleasuring you. Him caressing the mounds of your chest, thumbs tracing over the bump of your hardened nipples, mewls leaving your mouth in response to his touches.

"Hmm, I wonder.. would my darling angel like this..?" Albedo teases, face lowering to your center, his delicate fingers trapping your shorts in between them, pulling them down along with him. Your legs grow weak as Albedo breaths warm air on your throbbing cunt, soaked all for him. Albedo hums in delight, licking a strip from your hole to your clit, flicking his tongue on the nub.

"'Bedo~!" You incoherently moan in need for him.

"Ah!! Ah-! Please cum in me! Put it in..!" You beg, no longer being able to wait for the neglect your hole was receiving.

"Patience, princess. I'll take good care of you, promise." Albedo coos, eyes locking with yours while his tongue still works circles on your clit, a hand nearing your hole. Eyes clasped shut, you feel a finger enter you, curling in a fast pace.

"Ahhn!!~" you moan in bliss, back arching as you mentally plead for more fingers. Much to your pleasure, Albedo adds another finger, both curling in sync as wet squelching noises are heard from your cunt. How filthy. Mouth agape, only inaudible words were able to leave, overwhelmed from the pleasure feeling like you were going to cum any second. The knot in your stomach was so tight, you had your thighs around Albedos head as if he were trying to leave. His free hand trailed up your torso and back to your chest, where he fondled one of your boobs in his hand.

"'M gonna~ ah~ Al-bedo!! 'M gonna cum!!" You squeak, voice high from loud moans.

"'S that right? My pretty little doll 's gonna cum for me?" Albedo questions, lips latched onto your clit as his pace quickens.

"Cum for me, love" he adds, your vision blurry from the tears, hips snapping as they begin jolting from your orgasm. Gripping the sheets behind you, you feel the tears that have previously built up fall, feeling pure satisfaction as your orgasm calms. You're left staring at Albedo in awe, him still between you, unreadable smile plastered on his gorgeous face as he wipes your juices from his chin with the back of his hand. Looking up at you as he licks off the rest. Albedo moves his hand behind your head, gently massaging your scalp as he attaches his soft damp lips to your neck, licking up and down. You turn your head, allowing more access and let a whimper fall from your lips. You pull away from Albedo to begin undressing him, entranced by his lean figure. He comfortingly smiles and pulls you into a hug.

Though, the lack of innocence remains as you feel him grind onto you, prominent boner erect in his pants. You gasp, hand flying to where his tent once was, face immediately heating up. Placing a peck on your lips, Albedo stands back up, placed between your legs, sliding down the remainder of clothes on his lower half you can see his hard cock. Sprung to his stomach, leaking precum from its slit as it bobs in anticipation. You bite the inside of your cheek, clenching your thighs together feeling your cunt begin to throb, the sensation of butterflies invading your stomach. You look away bashfully, Albedo looking at you with love while slowly spreading your legs , rubbing them assuringly in the process. You obliege and leave your legs open for him, Albedo rubbing the tip of his cock on your slick pussy, him groaning at the feeling.

"F-feels good" you mutter, shyly looking up at your lover as he smiles in response.

"Good."

Albedo moves a hand on your lower abdomen, placed so his thumb can rub circles over your clit as he eases his erection into you.

Slapping a hand over your mouth, you bite your tongue in attempts to not moan. Albedo in response taking your hands and pinning them above your head as he drags himself back out achingly slow, stopping so he can slam himself back into you.

"auuhh~!! A-Albedo!!" You moan, sounding more like a cry as tears begin to reform in the corners of your eyes.

Albedo forms a pace fast enough to feel the knot in your stomach rebuild, center clenches tight enough around him to create a ring of your cum around his cock.

"Mm fuck.. yes, squeeze me just like that baby, feels so good" Albedo groans, beginning to fuck you at an animalistic pace, chasing his own high. His thumb, however, never left your clit and had been rubbing circles on it through the entirety of him entering you. And you were going to cum again, soon. Whimpering, you wrapped a hand around Albedos wrist, unbearable pleasure making it impossible for you to speak, only moans and whimpers leaving your mouth as it hung open. Albedo, hardly noticing your hand continued fucking you, thrusts getting harder as each pump into you hit your cervix. You squeeze tightly around his dick, closing your eyes tightly as you feel your second orgasm wash over you, body twitching as you grip Albedos wrist.

"Auh~ 's too much!!~ mm 'bedo!!" You cried, voice hardly coherent as you were muffled by the sound of skin slapping. Albedos free hand grasping desperately at the sheets next to you, looking up at him to see his eyes tightly closed, teeth clenched and face flushed, too caught up in his high to see how he was overstimulating your poor fucked out pussy. Tears poured from your eyes as your body moved with his, awaited for his orgasm so you could stop since Albedo couldn't hear your pleas.

"Y/n.. c-cumming~" Albedo whined in your ear, his thrusts growing slower as he began grinding and humping you rather than fucking. Feeling his warm cum fall as spurts onto your skin sent a wave of relief through you. You were aching all over. Having cum twice and to have him keep abusing your hole was not something you'd imagine enjoying as much as you did, still he regulated his breathes and looked at you, falling on top and embracing you in a warm hug.

"Thank you, bedo. I love you" you whispered.

"I love you too, y/n" Albedo replied, gazing at you lovingly with sleepy eyes. Lazily, he pulled his shirt from the floor and wiped the both of you down, sighing and kissing you sweetly, you both drifted back off to sleep.

#genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin smut #gi smut #x reader #albedo #albedo x reader #albedo smut #albedo kreideprinz #albedo fic #albedo fanfic #albedo imagines #SoundCloud

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aiiwa · 4 years ago

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HAIKYUU BOYS REACTING TO THEIR DICK PRINTS SHOWING AT THE BEACH.

— seijoh.

genre: crack.

warnings: suggestive content + swearing. all characters are aged up.

— a/n: from me and @bootylikepeachy thirsting over argentina!oikawa hehe. i’m not sure if this even makes sense but if you like these and want more let me know shskskkss.

— tag list: @chunhua-s @bootylikepeachy @sucker4setters @slutawara @sunkithbo @cuteshyallie @bokutosworld @devilgirlcrybabiey + if you would like to be part of my tag list please fill out the form linked on my navi!

— OIKAWA TOORU; cocky as fuck! he knows his dick is pretty, so what if you can see it? will walk out of the water in slow motion, running his hand through his hair with a smirk, before strutting across the sand with his thang thangin’. would definitely wear a speedo.

— MATSUKAWA ISSEI; is actually shy about his dick print showing. he knows that motherfucker (lmao literal mother fucker, he could pull all the milfs) is huge, so he tries to wear swim shorts that are a bit longer than usual. he’s had one traumatising experience when his dick was peaking out at the bottom of his shorts and a random dog ran up to him and licked the tip. he’s never been the same since.

— HANAMAKI TAKAHIRO; is really chill about his dick print, doesn’t really care if anyone stares. in fact, he loves to traumatise mattsun and iwa, resident prudes, by jumping up and down, swinging his dick around carelessly.

— IWAIZUMI HAJIME; he struggles the most with hiding his dick print. listen, he’s a thicc boy which means thicc thighs + wet shorts = his fat dick on show for everyone. he tries to buy bigger shorts, but they’re always tight and ride up his thighs, especially when he sits down. constantly has a towel over his lap or is shifting his dick around to make it less...prominent. never really works.

— KINDAICHI YUUTAROU; he also wants his dick print to be seen. will grab it to show it off more when girls walk past. but he’s also awkward as fuck. his shorts don’t fit right, so when he bends down to pick up shells in the sand, his dick just flops out. yeah that’s one way to get the girls’ attention.

— KUNIMI AKIRA; he doesn’t really like the beach in general, so oikawa lends him a spare speedo since he doesn’t own swimwear. swimming in the sea is a no, so he takes to laying out on the sand - will most likely nap. the boys clown him and build a mermaid tail that unsurprisingly doesn’t cover his bulge, yet when he wakes up and looks down he just shrugs and goes back to sleep. too bad he doesn’t notice the seagulls eyeing him up.

— KYOUTANI KENTAROU; him and his dick are a fucking menace at the beach. another who has his dick peaking out the bottom of his shorts, but he lives for the surprised gasps of everyone around him when the sunlight catches the glint of his pretty prince albert piercing. his print also looks a bit odd from the frenum ladder running along his shaft (what can i say, ceo of piercing his dick). is also the type to be like, “the fuck are you staring at?”

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu headcannons #oikawa headcannons #mattsun headcannons #makki headcannons #iwa headcannons #kindaichi headcannons #kunimi headcannons #kyoutani headcannons #haikyuu crack

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cdroloisms · 4 years ago

Note

TW; Death mentioned

I had this thought, I was watching the Hunchback of Notre Dame and remember in the beginning where the Gypsy mother ran to the church and claimed sanctuary, but she died on the church steps

What if c!Dream either was let out of the prison or escaped and c!sam chased him down (for whatever reason you want) and Dream runs to church prime in the Holy Land, claiming sanctuary, and maybe Sam accidentally kills Dream on that land in front of the church

this was a FUN ask, anon, sorry it took so long for me to get to it

tw: DEATH, DEREALIZATION, religious themes, blood, grief, vomit, murder, violence, implied torture/abuse, dark themes, dark content, prison arc/pandora’s vault

To be honest, when George opens his eyes, he has no idea if he’s awake or not.

This has become an...alarmingly common occurrence. He’d been bothered by it at the beginning, had spent hours stuck in his own head, dropping and picking up items, counting forwards and backwards, seeking any sign possible that what he was looking at was real and not just a figment of his own dreams. In the end, it’d all been for nothing; he would be 100% sure in reality, that what he was looking at was the real world, only for it to dissolve into shadow and himself back to lying on that same bed in the middle of nowhere that he’d never remembered lying down in. At some point, he must’ve just...given up. It’s not like the dreams were unpleasant; they were the exact opposite, most of the time. Unlike that one reality-bending fit of wakefulness that had ended in him boxed in by lava in the middle of a chamber of red, one that wasn’t a dream, surprisingly enough, his dreams are usually just- normal. He goes to his field, harvests some wheat. Talks to Quackity and Sapnap and Karl, though he’s almost certain he’s not talked to any of the three in a long time in the waking world. Sometimes, he’ll even be visited by a god wearing Dream’s face, XD, though sometimes XD is there in the real world, too, so they’re hardly a determining factor. If he’s really lucky, in the dreams, he’ll even see Dream.

Dream, as he remembers him, not as the monster he’s been told he became. Once, the dream had even dropped in the flustered, confused form of Dream from the beginning of the server, all fluffed up hair and boyish joy. Usually, he’ll see a Dream that’s been let out the prison, hale and whole and sheepish, stuttering through brief apologies and hugging him in that overeager way that makes his ribs ache and then the three of them, for the lack of better words, prance off into the sunset without a worry in their minds.

And then he wakes up.

George rubs at his eyes, looks up at the sky to reorient himself; it looks real. It feels real. The sun is warm on his skin, the grass still wet with dew from the morning, brushing against his ankles as he stands up. He’s in the area behind Punz’s house, his walls and towers looming in front of him, and George blows a breath through his teeth as he goes towards the direction of the Prime Path. There’s no knowing if this is a dream or reality, but either way, standing in one place does nothing for him. Better to get the rest of the day over with than to waste it here.

He’s not even halfway to the Prime Path when sirens sound on the horizon, giving him pause. That’s never happened before. They’re loud, and shrill, and something niggles at the back of his head in a vague sense of familiarity, begging for him to understand and take note. He frowns, and picks up the pace- if he gets on the Path, he might get a better idea of what’s going on. At the very least, if there’s something dangerous, his best bet is the Holy Land.

Surprisingly enough, when he gets there, there doesn’t seem to be anyone around, only the consistent drone of sirens on the horizon. George strains his eyes along both sides of the path; nobody comes, or speaks, or makes their presence known. There’s only George, alone. It’s strangely eerie.

Is this a dream? he considers briefly, before shaking his head. It doesn’t matter.

It’s another several minutes before anything changes. He stands there, at the edge of the Holy Land, until he hears a faint clamor that draws his attention, prompts him to edge forward along the path. The sound, starting faint, quickly swells in volume, underscored by the hum of the siren still ringing in the distance.

First come the shouts, overlapping, too muffled for George to quite pick the words out between the sounds. Then come the footsteps, low and rumbling, making the path creak and shudder. Then-

“Get him!”

George watches, eyes wide behind his goggles, as a dull orange blur reaches the crest of the hill and stumbles down it in a dead sprint, not paying him a second glance as they swing under the arched entrance to the Holy Land to enter within it. They collapse into a heap on the quartz steps- and oh, that’s blood seeping out of them, staining the white red, their hands tight on the stairs as a shivering string of sounds leave their crimson-speckled lips. Their face turns towards him, unseeing, and George feels something splinter, irreparably, in his chest, because that’s Dream.

He’s dreamed about Dream a lot, but never like this. Never injured, like this, face hollow and haunted, scars splitting his skin into shards. The wheezes in his dreams had always been from laughter, not this seething, spitting rattle that emerges from his chest, worryingly wet and irregular. He’s collapsed on the bottom steps of Church Prime, legs bent strangely in a way that must be uncomfortable against the ground, arms resting against the edges of the stairs, all skin and bone and still-bleeding cuts, and he looks like he’ll never be able to stand up again.

“Please, please, pl-please,” he stutters through his sobs, meaningless begs and platitudes falling on George’s ears and making him cringe back at the sound, “please-” and George doesn’t quite know what he’s begging for, doesn’t know what has left his friend in a ruin on the ground, leaving bloodstains on the stone, but the words worm under his skin and into his skull and refuse to leave. Footsteps continue to pound on the path behind him; George turns around, gasps at the sight of two figures, fully in enchanted netherite, thundering over the wood and into the Holy Land.

“What-”

“There!” The voice is rough but familiar, and the figures dash over to where Dream is lying, defenseless. His pleads rise in pitch and volume, becoming almost unbearable to listen to, and there’s an angry clamor of voices and an awful, wet crack and a shrill scream-

Silence.

“Holy fuck-” George’s head is spinning, the voice finally registering- that’s Quackity, stance wide, a sword in his hand. Beside him, tall and imposing, stands Sam, his full set of Warden armor shining brilliantly under the still-rising sun. His hands are wrapped around his trident, gleaming cyan, the end speared straight through Dream’s chest.

“You killed him,” Quackity hisses, head raising and only then meeting George’s eyes. “Sam- what are we going to- you killed him.”

“I-” Sam shakes his head. “I had to, he was going to get away-”

“Sam-” Quackity’s voice pitches higher, more desperate, “Sam, did you- oh fuck, we’re in the Holy Land-”

The air shatters.

That, at least, seems to be the only way to describe what happens; George watches, breathless, as the air shimmers and warps unnaturally, the way his dreams do right before he wakes up, only centralized in the Church entrance instead of surrounding him on all sides. Blood continues to run down the stairs, stark against the pure white of the quartz, so dark it almost seems black. The ripple clarifies, deepens; there’s a sound like ripping fabric, and something carves a tear through what seems to be existence itself. Behind, there’s a starless void, alluring, wanting, calling, dark and deep and everlasting and the End this is The End-

A whirl of white and green and gold, and the tear is gone, leaving something entirely other in its wake. George shivers in his place; he thought that he’s seen XD angry, before, remembers vividly the feeling of being chased, the God’s voice calling after him as he shut the doors of Punz’s house behind him. He remembers the way their voice had glitched, growing deeper and distorted, the rage with which they had growled at him when they thought they were being used.

That all pales in comparison to this. That was all nothing compared to this.

“YOU-” the deity booms, voice echoing and crackling and rolling like thunder and cracking ice and the roar of the ocean on the sand, making George clamp his hands to his ears in vain. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”

George remembers being uncomfortable, back then, at how inhuman XD had seemed. Their jokes, gory and violent and startling, their idea of a prank being playing with people like dolls subject to their whims. It had taken him a while to really seem to get the God and for the God to understand him in turn, a while for him to understand that ignorance did not mean malice, that even a God that had never once known mortality could be so startlingly human. Here, their wings spread over them, seeming large enough to block out the sun, something dark and writhing behind the mask they wear, a sourceless wind howling around their robes and battering against the walls with aimless fury, George is reminded by how powerful they really are. That they are still eldritch, still a God, that they will not hesitate to judge those below him, the ones that they stare at, now, helpless and mortal and trapped within their gaze.

Sam stumbles back on the church steps, grip loosening on his trident. It continues to stick up out of Dream’s unmoving body, splattered with blood halfway up the handle.

“Oh no-” he hisses, and Quackity backs away with him, “no, no no I didn’t want to kill him,”

“THIS DOMAIN IS MINE.” Anyone else and it might’ve sounded petulant, childish. Here, with the deity’s fury directed on the two of them, even on the sidelines all George can feel is terror. “YOU HAVE TAKEN A LIFE UNDER MY PROTECTION, MORTALS.”

“Sam,” Quackity’s eyes are wide as saucers. “Sam, we gotta- we gotta run-”

“WHERE WILL YOU GO, LITTLE MORTAL?” XD disappears, then flashes back into existence at the Holy Land entrance, making Quackity and Sam shriek with their escape route blocked. “YOU HAVE ABUSED THE AUTHORITY YOU HAVE BEEN GIVEN AND DESTROYED WHAT WAS NOT YOURS TO BREAK. YOU HAVE PURSUED POWER BEYOND YOUR UNDERSTANDING AND OUTSIDE YOUR POSSESSION. YOU HAVE ENTERED MY DOMAIN, MY REALM. DO YOU REALLY THINK YOU SHALL LEAVE UNPUNISHED?”

“XD,” Sam shouts, and thunder cracks overhead.

“A LIFE FOR A LIFE,” XD rumbles, their words final, and in the end, just as every other time, all George can do when the world ends is watch. Lightning spears to the ground, striking both Sam and Quackity with twin flashes of brilliant white, striking from a clear blue sky. The air sparks from the power, charged with static electricity and making George’s hair stand on end; thunder claps, seems to shatter the world into two as they disappear in twin shrieks and the smell of burned flesh. Just as quick as it happens, it ends, and George is once again left alone in the Holy Land, vomit clawing up his throat and tears stinging the backs of his eyes as he dry-heaves into the grass.

“XD,” he more begs than says, eyes fixed on Dream, still lying too-still on the church stairs. The deity turns to him, their face strangely blank. “XD, please- please tell me this is a dream.”

“Would that make you happy, George?” the god replies, and George sobs, face collapsing into his hands.

“Please, XD, please tell me- please tell me this isn’t real, please-”

“I don’t understand, George. Would that ease your distress?”

“XD- THIS CAN’T BE REAL- THIS- I-” George sinks to the ground. “He- he was supposed to be okay. He was supposed to come back, he wasn’t-” he grips their robes within his hands. “Please, XD, you can bring him back, please bring him back- this has to be a dream, he can’t be- he can’t be dead-”

Through his cries, the sirens continue to wail.

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multifandomthoughts · 3 years ago

Text

Sunbathing Beauty

MINORS DNI, NSFW

AFAB READER

Requested by: @softiebadbitch

Warnings: Fellatio, Penetration, Semi-public sex (though nobody is there)

“Ace, you can’t even swim!” You shout as the brunette held your arm, dragging you across the warm sand as he ran, umbrella slung over one shoulder and a backpack over the other. “But I wanted to spend time with you, and pops said if I didn’t get out soon, he’d tell the cook not to let me have any food for a week. I know he didn’t mean it, but that personal of a threat has to mean something.”

“I still don’t understand why you took me to the beach of all places.” You retort, the sun beating down on the two of you, reminding you to put on sunscreen after this conversation. “Isn’t it enough that I want to spend some time with you? You are my favorite person after all.” Ace flashes you a wide grin and drops the bag he was carrying, some of the contents spilling out.

You get a look at the contents and sighed. Buckets and hand shovels? The second division commander of the Whitebeard Pirates… wants to make sandcastles? “You’re lucky you’re so cute.” You say, trying to act annoyed but unable to keep a smile off your face. Pulling out the rest of the contents, there are two towels, sunscreen and sunglasses. The towel and sunscreen are most important, considering you were burning not only your skin, but the soles of your feet from the baking sand.

The first thing you do is spread your towel on the sand, and once the safe haven is formed you get off your hot feet and lie down on it, putting on your sunglasses. “Since we’re going to be here a while, do you think you could help me with the sunscreen? I don’t want to burn my back.” Ace nods and grabs the bottle. “Want to untie your top or should I just work around it?” He asks, squeezing a sizable dollop onto his hand.

You nod as best you can while lying down and reach back to untie the knot holding your top on. A small sigh escapes you as your chest feels that little bit more free. It’s soon replaced by a squeal as you twitch from the sudden presence of Ace’s cold, wet hands on your back. You return to a relaxed state once the initial shock wears off and enjoy the loving touch of him applying the lotion all over your bare skin. It feels like the interaction is over almost as soon as it started and soon he’s left your side again to start filling his buckets with sand. You pout a little bit, as you tie your top back on and sit up to start applying your own sunscreen everywhere else.

A funny feeling starts to creep upon Ace. His mind is no longer focused on the whimsy of building sand castles. He’s more interested in that bikini that you spent so much time trying to have him notice. His heart is racing as if he were on the battlefield, but adrenaline and aggression are the furthest things from his mind right now. This is purely… excitement, and something akin to the awe he gets from a sunset, all focused on you. The desire to get even closer to you begins to overwhelm his mind, and he has to do something about it. The thought of dumping a bucket of cold clear ocean water on you has passed.

Acting on impulse alone he left his buckets behind and stood in front of you once again, wordlessly staring. You give him a confused look. “Do you need something, Ace?” Stumbling over his words, Ace blurts “That swimsuit is so revealing it’s practically pointless. Let’s get rid of it.” Your face turns bright red, it wasn’t the reaction you expected, but one that you were looking for. “Ace….” You respond, a smirk on your face. “We can do that, but this is a public place!” “But why not? Being a pirate is about the freedom to do what you like when you like. And a relationship is about not caring what others think because you’re happy together. So since I’m all worked up now, let’s have some fun!”

You scan your eyes across the beach, looking for any signs of other inhabitants. It seems like any other occupants have left, either because they knew who Ace was, or they had become disinterested. Satisfied that you don’t have an audience, you give a sigh. “Alright, but can you at least put up the umbrella so we’ll be more cool in the shade?” Giving a mock salute, Ace sets about planting the pole in the sand and spreading the umbrella over your heads. “Nice and comfy now, hot stuff?” “Totally, the shade makes it nice and cool, as well as covering up.”

You go to take off your top, Ace’s eyes glued to your torso like a dog towards a steak. That gives you an even better idea, and you immediately put that plan into action. Running yours hand up and down your shoulders and thighs, you hover your hand over the knot keeping your swimsuit together. You can swear you see Ace gulp and a bead of sweat cascade down his forehead.

Rather than pull the knot undone right away you tug on the strings over your shoulders a bit to make your chest bounce for him. “You said this doesn’t cover enough, but I think you’re going crazy because you can’t see the best parts yet… but don’t worry baby, I’ll show you everything soon. And then you’ll melt in my hands, knowing that you have to beg. Ace squirms excitedly, his hands clasped together between his knees in a futile attempt to keep him from reaching out.

You right hand reaches behind your back to untie the knot while simultaneously holding your left arm in front of you, covering up your breasts as the top of your swimsuit goes limp around your body. Winking at him, you bring your free hand back around to your waist and start tugging at the side of your bottoms. “Which will it be first, Ace? Move this arm out of the way, or take the rest of it off?” For the first time, you think you’ve silenced Ace. He doesn’t say anything, and just stares straight ahead at your covered breast. So mesmerized, so enamored that not one word drips out of his mouth.

Ace says something, but the words just don’t come out. He repeats this multiple times, each time as quiet as the last time. You tilt your head in mock confusion, trying to hold back the smirk that attempts to creep onto your face. “Sorry babe, a little louder?” His fists are tightly clenched in between his knees as he sits in front of you staring unblinkingly at the arm keeping him from your treasure. “All… I want all of it… I need all of you…” he groans through gritted teeth, his legs constantly shifting as if that will bring any relief to his fierce prisoner.

“Oh, is that so? You laughed, happy to know that your plan of teasing him with your swimsuit has gotten you to this point. “So, what’s it going to be? Tits or pussy?” Ace flashes you a devilish grin, having gained his confidence back. The Ace that you met who was full of swagger, and could take on absolutely anything. Without a second thought he gently grabs your wrist. “Yes.” Next thing you know, you’re on your back in a passionate kiss with Ace. One hand is running through your hair, the other has pulled your arm away from your chest, your breasts now pressed against his pecs as the friction sends a wave of heat through both of your bodies.

“Now, for the elephant in the room….he declares. “Do I have your permission to touch you?” Nodding your head violently and vocalizing a yes, you take his hand, place it on your breast and wrap his fingers around the soft tender flesh. His knee runs up your inner thigh, stopping short of the prize and coming back down, then back up again. If he had finished the journey he would feel the damp spot in your bikini bottoms. Instead, he brings his mouth down to kiss and suck on the tit his hand had left unattended. “Love these so much…” he mutters, bowed over you as if in a prayer of gratitude. When his head does raise to meet your gaze, the mischievous look is back though a bit hazy with lust. “Permission to finish stripping you?” He inquired with a smirk. “G-granted…” you manage to squeak out between shuddering breaths and half suppressed moans. “Great. Then get up onto your knees and bend over for me.” He says with an authority you can’t dismiss but a needy tone that betrays the facade covering his desperation for this.

As he asks, you get on your hands and knees. No sooner have you done it than he is behind you running his hands over your ass. But he does not let himself get sidetracked and you feel fingers hooking under the waistband of your bottoms. With baited breath you try to hold still as he yanks the garment down to your knees. Your arousal is apparent in both the wetness of its crotch area and the moisture glistening on your exposed pussy. “Naughty girl, aren’t you?” Ace teases, knowing damn well he and his pitched mast aren’t ones to talk. “I could take you right here like this… would you like that? Or should I ask you to return the favor and help me out of my trunks now?” You squirm in his grip, before slipping out onto your back and spreading your legs for him. “You’ve been begging for it, I don’t know how you’re able to wait!” You giggle, batting your eyelashes at him. Seeing you in this new seductive pose silences Ace yet again, not to mention being called out for his lust. You take a little pity on him and sit up again to reach out for his swimsuit.

“I guess I won’t make you wait in agony any longer… let me see your handsome body…” you say softly as you pull his clothes off. Sure enough his erection springs out stiff and ready. You mull your eyes over it for a minute, big and thick before running your hand down and up the base. Ace let’s out a long sigh, one that he didn’t know that he was holding. He scoots back onto the very edge of the towel, spreading himself out so you have more room to take him in. Before anything else, you knew you had to give this thing some hands on attention… and probably lip service.

Running a finger up and down the warm flesh from soft tip to twitching base, you lick your lips and feel your lower half getting equally wet. You’re not some superficial girl who only appreciates a guy for physical attributes… but fuck this is an impressive dick. As you reach the tip again you wrap your hand around his shaft instead and start to gently stroke up and down. “So big and hard… just for me? You know how to make a girl feel special don’t you… Let’s see if I can make you feel even better. Just tell me if it hurts, or if you’re about to blow.” He nods violently, as you begin to lower your head back onto his dick. Your hand on the base of his shaft, you move it in the opposite direction you are sucking, sliding your hand up as you go down.

With a gentle grip guiding your head, Ace directs your motions in a steady pace, releasing a cacophony of moans. For every rise and fall he lets out a pleasured sound unlike anything you’ve ever heard from this notorious pirate. Some guttural, some high pitched, all from your man. You flutter your eyelashes again as you look up at him; it’s useless, as his eyes are gently closed in pure bliss. Despite the umbrella casting a long shadow across the two of you, beads of sweat roll down his forehead; you’ve got him wrapped around your finger. A sharp tug on your hair alerts you that he’s close, as his eyes roll back into his skull. He attempts to take control and starts thrusting in search of climax. You weren’t prepared to be face fucked like this, but you can adapt quickly.

Using your arms, you forcefully remove Ace’s hands from your head, releasing you from his guide. In an attempt to coax his climax quicker, you breathe in deeply through your nose and take all of his thick cock, burying your nose into his pubic bone. The mixture of deepthroating, and your hand on the base of his shaft causes him to let out an ear piercing whine. You manage to stay down and are rewarded as his pulsing cock unloads, the warm rush of cum filling your mouth. You swallow, before winking and blushing back at your partner.

“Ready for round two?” You coo, giving the tip of his cock a kiss before widening your stance expectantly. “Or can you not handle what beauty is sitting in front of you?” You expect him to need a little time to cool down and recharge, but his erection hasn’t gone down in the slightest and he only looks more eager. “I think I can handle you pretty well, just wanna be sure you can handle this bad boy. Guess I have my answer, so here’s a better question: Do we have any kind of protection?”

Biting your lip, you drag your discarded top through the sand, and reach inside the breast pocket. “For when a sexy man wants to have some fun…” You quip, tearing the wrapping open with your teeth. “Now’s the main event, big boy…” Separating the rubber from the plastic, you put Ace’s cock in your hand once again. In one quick movement, the condom is on and the two of you are ready to go. As he draws in close again, you run a playful finger along his abs. He takes hold of your left thigh while his right hand holds his member steady on its course. “Let me help with that…” you offer softly, grabbing his wrist to make the intention clear. He lets go and you take hold of the slick latex and warm flesh. Now with both hands on your thighs, he keeps your legs spread and your body steady as the tip of his member presses at your waiting opening to seek entry. With you to guide him he pushes a bit more and finds it.

You wince in pain, gripping his shoulders as his big cock fills you. He was stretching you a bit, but you didn’t mind the sting. The pain is worth the pleasure. You take a deep breath as you bottom out, a pleasant feeling enveloping your core. “Fuck me Ace, please…you feel so good…” you plead, squirming to get more of that wonderful feeling. “Okay hot stuff, be prepared for a wild ride.” His hands wander up to your breasts, grasping them as if they were the most precious jewels. Tantalizingly slow, he pulls out of you. You beg and whine, every inch lost leaving an empty feeling until all you have is the tip. “Put it….in…please!!” You howl, clawing at his legs as you attempt to push him back in. He goes back to rubbing your nipples under his thumbs and acts like he’s deep in thought. “Well… you’re making some pretty cute noises right now so maybe I shouldn’t? Ah, but I wanna hear what you’ll sound like when I do this!” And just like that he slammed back in, as you let out a loud moan.

Ace is done going easy on you, and the thrust in is immediately followed by another out, then back in agains and again. He’s really fucking you now, and it feels so goddamn good. Every slap of skin against skin elicits an even louder sound, is it possible that there’s a limit to your volume? The harder he goes on you, the tighter you can feel yourself getting. Your coil keeps tightening, almost ready to snap. As if the feeling of his cock isn’t exciting enough, the look on his face and the grunts and moans he’s making are sure as hell helping. You wrap your legs around his waist to keep him deep in you and arch your back to press your tits into his waiting hands even more.

Pleasure and joy flow through your body and mind so strongly you worry it might start to spill out as tears, and you can certainly tell it’s dripping out somewhere else. Your sexual frenzy continues a few minutes more until you know you can’t take any more. “Ace… I’m so close…” you try to tell him, though by now your voice has been reduced to a shrill squeak. Ace understands it though, and replies with a grunt that sounds like “Me too… together babe.” Your boyfriend leans in and kisses you one more time as he ruts like the animal in heat he seems to be. The dam bursts and you moan into the kiss as your pussy convulses and tries to milk him for all he’s got. Luckily you have the condom in the way, because he’s got a lot. He twitches a few times as a fresh load streams out and is collected in the reservoir tip, and you feel a new wave of heat in your core.

You lay back on your towel, spent. It feels as if you’ve just completed a marathon and every muscle in your body is crying out for rest. Despite this, you look into Ace’s eyes; they’re clouded from what just went on. Catching your breath, your face is just inches away from Ace’s. He’s regained all his energy already and gives you a cheeky grin. “See? I knew we’d have plenty to do at the beach without having to swim!”

#one piece x reader #one piece #one piece imagines #portgas d ace imagine #portgas d ace x reader #ace x reader #portgas d ace

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ellayuki · 3 years ago

Text

26062022 - Free!

“If I said I wanted to quit now,” Haru says, looking out at the setting sun, the sea’s gentle push-pull waves warm around his ankles. He breathes in the salty evening air, and feels something both unwind in his chest and crawl uncomfortably up his throat. He turns to Makoto. “That I’m never gonna race again. What would you say?”

Makoto looks at him, the small, content smile on his lips turning slowly into a confused frown. “Haru? What do you mean?”

Haru looks down at his feet, at the way his toes sink in the wet sand. He wonders how long before he sinks fully into it, unable to resurface, unable to breathe, to swim again. "Just something I was…" How does he put it all into words? How does he explain the uncertainties that have slowly begun to creep in and drag him down, inch by inch, heartbeat by heartbeat, every day for the past few months? He shrugs. "I don't know. Nothing. Nevermind."

But who is Makoto if not the person who knows Haru best in the world? "It's not nothing, Haru-chan, not if it has you actually asking." He exhales, looks up at the darkening sky, out at the watery horizon, and then back at Haru, eyes gentle. "If it's something you actually want, Haru, if it's something you've actually thought about properly, and not just a knee-jerk reaction to that last competition… Then…"

Haru thinks he knows what Makoto will say next, but he still wants to hear it, needs it. "Then?"

"It's a decision only you can make. You can quit." And it feels like a blessing, a permission, an option that isn't out of Haru's reach anymore. "But you know, Haru-chan? I think you're not really there yet. I think you still have a few more races left in you."

"You think so, huh?"

Makoto smiles, and it outshines the sun. "Yep. And it’s not just because Haru-chan is too competitive by half, or because you won’t just let Rin win by default.”

“Oi!” …it’s true, though.

Makoto bends over, carefully scoops up a handful of water. When he straightens back up, he takes Haru’s hand with his free one and pours the water into Haru’s open palm. Liquid heat and electricity travels up Haru’s arm and down his spine. “It’s because no one loves water, or swimming as much as you do.”

#Free!#nanase haruka #tachibana makoto #makoharu #free! iwatobi swim club #by moi #fic #my fic #2022 fic #freefic #don't ask me how watchingnthe press conference #for our free double worlds champion and 5th place 50m backstroke athlete #inspired a free ficlet today #but it did #so #anyway

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 4 years ago

Text

Drown In My Desire

also on ao3

written for the Monster March prompt list prompt: siren pls see ao3 for the full list of tags, this is... something edit: some formatting got fucked up and I had to make some adjustments, sorry if there are any wonky bits now 😅

Geralt is barely off the boat back from Skellige when he hears about the contract. There's a lone Siren causing trouble along one of the trading routes; drawing the ships closer until they wreck on the jagged rocks of the bay. The fishermen complain loudly about it as he disembarks and as soon as his feet hit dry land, Geralt makes straight for them. It's basic Siren behaviour, likely to be an easy job and then back on his way.

The men are offloading barrels and Geralt keeps out of the way as he approaches the one giving orders.

"Heard you've got a Siren problem," he says and the man straightens up to look him over.

"Aye, we do. You're a Witcher, right? You'll take care of it for us?"

"What are you offering?"

"Godsdamn anything at this point. Things wrecked six shops, we've lost 11 good men, countless hours of labour... Name your price, Witcher, we'll pay it."

"Five hundred," Geralt suggests.

"Fine by me. Bring back proof of the kill and you'll get your coin."

"Agreed." Normally, Geralt would request half in advance, but he's dealt with Novigradian merchants before and they're reputable and trustworthy most of the time. Plus, this is a simple contract, probably not even worth the 500 he asked for.

He stays to get the rest of the details from the merchant, then heads into town to rent a room at the Kingfisher. He won't be in town long, but he may as well have somewhere comfortable to sleep when he inevitably comes back cold and wet.

Geralt bribes a local fisherman to take him out to the bay or as close to it as possible - no one will go right in any longer. They moor on the far side and Geralt disembarks, thanking the man and paying him a generous fee for his service. He didn't have to bring him out here, and many other men wouldn't dare go this far.

He hears the song immediately and it makes him pause. Geralt has heard the Siren song before, has even fallen under its spell in the past, and this is not it. This is a Siren, for sure, and he is singing, but his song is... sad. Geralt frowns as he makes his way over the swell of the hill, the beach sprawling out before him in a wide arc.

It's sandy, devoid of rocks and debris but the tide is down and large, jagged rocks break the surface of the water. Waves roll up gently onto the shore and Geralt scans the shoreline, looking for any sign of the Siren. The song is coming from the far side of the small bay, but he sees nothing.

Readjusting the belts across his chest, he makes his way down to the beach and across the sand.

He spots him shortly, tucked under a shelf of rock out of the sun, curled around himself. Geralt thinks at first, that he may be injured, hence the despair in his song, but as he approaches he recognizes a sense of desperation in the tune. Approaching further, he catches the creature's interest and he looks up at him, his confusion a mixture of desperation and fear and resignation. Geralt looks him over as he approaches, not trusting the Siren not to jump out and attack. He knows well enough they're crafty and wouldn't stop short of setting a trap in dire situations.

But when Geralt is within a few feet, the Siren still makes no sign of wanting to hurt him. If anything, he looks miserable to have been discovered and Geralt does a quick once-over for injuries. There are none visible, but as the Siren unfurls himself, stretching out to his full length, Geralt pauses.

He doesn't know a lot about Siren anatomy past what a sorcerer will pay for what, but he's seen enough pricks in his life to know one when he sees it.

Jaskier whines internally and shuts up as soon as he sees the figure approaching. He was trying to attract... well, not him. Not a Witcher. He needs someone to solve his problem, not to be killed as the solution to someone else’s. But maybe that would be better than going through this every five years out here alone. Maybe the Witcher will be kind and put him out of his misery and then- well, at least he wouldn't be stuck here on his own like this.

But the man approaches and doesn't do anything. He just looks, walking closer until Jaskier could nearly reach out and touch him. Slowly, as non-threateningly as he can, he uncoils himself to prove he's not a threat. His cock aches and he's reminded of the fact that it's very blatantly on display, but that's the least of his problems now.

"You're the one who's been wrecking ships?" the Witcher asks and well, yes, Jaskier assumes that's his fault.

He's seen the wreckage washing up on shore, seen the men floating lifeless amongst the waves. He tries to help, but in this state, it's impossible to do much before the burning need overtakes him again and he's rendered useless.

"I didn't-" he starts, but he doesn't think a Witcher will care whether he meant to or not. He just wants a companion, wants someone to help ease this ache as his own attempts aren't helping any longer, he didn't mean for the humans to get in the way.

"Didn't what?"

"Didn't mean for them to get hurt." Jaskier doesn't look at him, but the Witcher is quiet for some time and then,

"It’s... a mating song?" he guesses and something in Jaskier’s stomach twists uncomfortably that he could figure it out so quickly. Jaskier avoids his eyes looking instead at the way the sand coats the toes of his boots.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

Jaskier's head snaps up at that and he looks the Witcher dead in the eye. He's never heard of a monster being given a chance to tell their side of the story, to redeem themself. The Witcher drops to the sand, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his thighs.

"I-" Jaskier starts, unsure if this is some sort of twisted game. "I just- I was hoping someone might be nearby to hear-" he feels pathetic, his only consolation the fact that the Witcher doesn't know that he came here willingly, he left his family willingly to go out and explore the vast oceans and now he’s miserable.

"How long have you been here?" the Witcher asks, "you've never caused problems before now."

"Before now I wasn't-" he rolls his eyes in frustration at himself, slapping his tail against the sand. "Sirens," he starts again, "go through cycles. I'm in heat and I'm alone and every attempt I've made to reach out has only ended in ruin." Jaskier scowls at his own confession.

"I tried to help," he adds solemnly, "I just... I can't focus, I don't have the strength to pull them to the surface- I tried," he persists, "but I'm not much use like this." His cock aches and he groans at the timing. "I hardly think that deserves a death sentence." He wraps his tail protectively around himself, hiding the evidence of his situation.

"Not here to hurt you," the Witcher explains, "just here to keep people from dying. I could... help?"

Jaskier starts at the offer, his wings snapping tight against his back. "What do you mean, help?"

The Witcher huffs a light laugh and Jaskier tries not to be too hopeful. He's never strayed beyond his race, though he knows many who have and if he were to, well, the Witcher isn't awful to look at. In fact, Jaskier thinks, taking in his shining golden eyes and shock-white hair tied back in a loose bun, he’s quite lovely.

"Now, I know you're not stupid," the Witcher says, almost sounding amused. "The offer’s there. I'll help if you stop with the singing."

Maybe it's the need coursing through him, or maybe it's the fact that no one has ever been so kind to him before, or maybe there's just something about this man's smile that makes him weak. Jaskier agrees.

"Not here," he says. "Can you swim?" The Witcher cocks an eyebrow at him. "I'd prefer not to have to do this out in the open where anyone could just wander upon us. I do have some sense of decorum."

"Where are we going?"

"Home," Jaskier says simply. "It's not far." He shifts in the sand, sitting up and gesturing out toward the sea. "A human could make the swim, surely a Witcher can as well."

"Fair enough. I'm Geralt, by the way. And I can swim."

"Jaskier."

He squirms in the sand, trying to force his cock to withdraw, but it's no use. Geralt rises, kicking off his boots and removing his gear, tucking it away into a crevice in the rock. He bends down, scooping Jaskier into his arms. It's a shock and Jaskier is helpless to do anything but wind his arms around Geralt's neck and hold on, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the way his cock juts out obscenely, betraying him.

Geralt walks into the waves, releasing Jaskier as soon as the water is up to his waist. He holds his breath, lets Jaskier take his hand, and follows him down beneath the surf. Jaskier feels marginally better out of the sun and sand, in the cool water, but not much. He swims quickly, eager to return home and get on with... whatever Geralt has in mind to help.

He ducks into the narrow tunnel, dropping Geralt's hand and gesturing for him to follow behind. He does, and Jaskier leads the way back to an underwater cave. Glowing coral grows near the ledge of rock, where the water gives way to open air again. It gives off a little light, but Jaskier can see perfectly well and he knows Witchers have night vision.

He slips up onto the stony cave floor and offers a webbed hand to Geralt as he breaks the surface. To Geralt's credit, he only seems a little out of breath as he's hauled up out of the water.

Jaskier flops back on his side, watching the way Geralt rises to his feet, tugging his soaked shirt off and wringing the water from it. His trousers remain in place and Jaskier finds himself disappointed, curious to see what's hidden beneath. But this isn't a fun romp for the sake of it; this is an agreement, Geralt is simply doing him a favour.

When he seems pleased with the state of his shirt, Geralt lays it out and lies down next to him, lining his body up with Jaskier's. He's... stunning up close and it takes more of his effort than it should not to simply reach out and touch him just for the sake of it. He remembers fucking other Sirens, the touching, the press of bodies - he misses it, and he finds himself wishing this was something more than a simple favour. But that's selfish; Geralt is already offering him so much, for so little in return and nothing, even, for himself.

"You'll have to walk me through it," Geralt says with a smile, "I've never fucked a Siren before."

"Oh. You can just... touch me?" Jaskier says and Geralt reaches out tentatively, slipping a hand over the swell of his hip.

"Like this?"

Jaskier nods. It's not exactly what he wants, but it does feel nice and he's not about to try and direct. Geralt's hesitation is short-lived and he slides his hand up Jaskier's chest, brushing his thumb over a nipple and Jaskier's breath catches. He watches the movement of Geralt's hand as his fingers press into his skin, warm, despite the swim through cool water.

He shifts slightly, leaning up on one arm and pressing back down, over the swell of Jaskier's hip and he tugs him forward before abruptly before dragging his fingers up the length of Jaskier's swollen cock. He's slow, but delicate like he's learning his way around, but it feels incredible and it's hard for Jaskier not to just thrust up into the touch and take the pleasure from his hands.

Geralt's fingers slip over the ridge at the base of him, curling around him beneath it and squeezing as he pulls up over it.

"What is this?" he asks. He sounds intrigued, curious, and Jaskier can't help but indulge him.

"'S hard to fuck underwater," he hums, moaning as Geralt's fingers reach the tip of his cock. One dips into the slit, pressing against it, and Jaskier whimpers. "Keeps me from... slipping out." The noise Geralt makes in response is hard to determine, but it sounds interested. He moves his hand back down to squeeze around the ring.

His fingers slip over the swell of skin, pressing against it and running his thumb along the edge. He likes it, Jaskier realizes. It prods at something inside him and he presses his hips forward encouragingly.

"Does that feel good?" Geralt asks and Jaskier nods, pressing his forehead against his arm to keep from moaning out loud. He wants to show his appreciation, wants Geralt to know he can do as he pleases with him, but he doesn't want to push too hard.

Geralt’s light touches grow bolder, pressing more firmly, jerking him quickly and firmly and as Jaskier whines and squirms beneath him, Geralt grows more confident. His fingers slip down, pressing between the folds of his sheath, pressing right down to the base of his cock and within. No one has touched him like this before, the sharp jab of a Siren's claws not conducive to pressing inside.

Something warm spreads through his chest and he finds himself pulling away, embarrassed by how vulnerable he suddenly feels letting a stranger touch him this way, a Witcher no less. Immediately, Geralt withdraws his hands and the look on his face implies worry.

"Sorry," he blurts, then softer, "tell me if it's too much."

"No, I just. No one's ever-"

"I'll stop."

"No," Jaskier says again, a little too abruptly. "No, it was good, it just... caught me off guard." Geralt doesn't wait to be told twice, but his fingers move more slowly as they slip back into place at the base of his cock. Jaskier gives a little thrust on encouragement and Geralt presses his palm against him, giving him something to rut against while he explores.

Jaskier rocks against him, burying his face in his arm as the need takes over. Given an inch, he's no longer able to control himself, so needy for it that he's invited a perfect stranger into his home to fuck him. But Geralt doesn't seem to mind his desperation, doesn't mention it. He picks up quickly on Jaskier's most sensitive spots, going back to rub over them, pressing his thumb beneath the swollen ring and Jaskier's mind goes blank with the pleasure of it.

He's never noticed how sensitive it is there; the use of hands in Siren coupling is rare and limited to squeezing and jerking, not prodding and rubbing like Geralt does so easily. It's hardly Jaskier's fault that he can't contain himself in the face of this new, wonderful sensation.

The swell of his climax creeps up on him slowly, his mind too preoccupied with where Geralt's fingers are and what they're doing. It's not until Geralt wraps around the base of him, pushing as far into his sheath as his fingers with reach, that Jaskier realizes how close he is. His hips jerk hard and Geralt's other hand shoots out to steady him, holding him close as Jaskier writhes against him.

There's not much else he can do like this, just squirm and try to press as much of his cock against Geralt's palm as he can. Otherwise, he's under Geralt's control, letting him do what he wants, take him apart as he will. Geralt's thumb presses along the underside of his cock, pressing up toward the tip and Jaskier jerks hard as his orgasm washes over him, spilling over Geralt's hand and up his arm.

His hips twitch, cocking slipping easily against Geralt's arm with his own spend to slick the way. He'd be embarrassed, coming so quickly with so little stimulation to anything but his cock, but Geralt hums, sounding very pleased.

He continues touching him, fingers slipping through his spend and using it as slick, rubbing down the full length of him and rubbing against the slit at the tip.

"Good?" he asks and Jaskier can only nod and whimper, still struggling to catch his breath.

Geralt leans in, pressing his nose into Jaskier's neck abruptly and Jaskier shifts onto his back to allow him better access. He likes the warmth of Geralt's breath on his neck, the soft press of his lips and the occasional flick of his tongue against his skin. Geralt says nothing as his kisses become firmer, pressing down the column of his throat and down his chest.

His hand remains on Jaskier's cock, stroking slowly as he kisses down the length of his body, not even pausing as pale skin gives way to shimmering scales. He seems unbothered by it and Jaskier likes the feeling of his lips on his tail. Geralt doesn't release his cock until he's moved fully down the length of Jaskier's body, straddling the end of his tail.

Geralt kisses around the base of his cock, not touching it but for the barest brush of his cheek as he passes. Jaskier holds his breath in anticipation, arching off the bed with each kiss that gets closer to where he wants it. When Geralt's lips finally press against him, he lets out a strangled groan and arches off the ground, hands immediately and automatically groping for Geralt's shoulder.

Geralt kisses up the length of him, teasing the tip with his tongue before moving back down again. Jaskier wants his mouth, wants to feel that wet heat around him, so different than the cool touch of one of his own kind. It wouldn't be the first time he's had a mouth around his cock, but he's used to sharp teeth, to slow and cautious strokes. When Geralt gets his mouth around him, he's anything but.

The moment Geralt's lips wrap around him, quick and eager, sliding his tongue over him and pressing his lips in close, holding him tight as he sinks right to the base. His tongue presses in where his fingers had been and Jaskier knows now that he likes exploring, likes discovering what makes Jaskier squirm and taking advantage of it. And he's incredibly good at it.

His fingers that had, up until now, been happily settled on his hips, push up to brush against his skin. One hand remains, seeking out the smallest part of his waist and settling in the dip as the other moves down again. Jaskier's foggy mind suggests that he intends to wrap around the base of his cock, but Geralt gets distracted somewhere between. His fingers pass over Jaskier’s slit and he pauses. Slowly, Gerlt lifts his head, licking up the length of Jaskier's cock and looking at the opening beneath his fingers.

"Can I?" he asks and Jaskier nods.

This is... new. He knows for women it can be pleasurable to be touched this way, but he's never had anyone do it to him. As a child, they told stories about men who fucked each other like this, the way they fuck women, but Jaskier had been young and naive and passed them off as nothing but stories. He'd never found anyone who wanted to touch him that way and had assumed, like most things children talk about, it was a rumour.

But Geralt's fingers tease the opening and sparks rush over his skin. Jaskier's cock throbs and he pushes himself up to watch. Geralt catches his eyes for a brief moment, before dropping back to his work and pushing inside.

"Oh," he breathes, "you're wet." Jaskier squirms, as his body gives way to Geralt's finger, quickly joined by a second.

As with everything, he moves slowly at first, pushing deep and rubbing into him. It feels good, much better than Jaskier could have expected and then Geralt bumps against something inside him and Jaskier cries out, digging his claws into Geralt's shoulder.

When he realizes what he's done, he releases him quickly, but Geralt seems unfazed and he's smiling when he meets Jaskier's eyes again.

"You like that?" he asks and Jaskier lets out a breathy, yes. Geralt grins at him and ducks down to wrap his lips around the tip of Jaskier's cock.

Geralt's fingers work in time with his mouth, picking up speed as Jaskier's groans become more frequent, less controlled. It doesn't take him long like this, with his cock slipping down Geralt's throat and Geralt's fingers constantly pressing against whatever that is inside him that feels so fucking good.

He comes with a gasp as Geralt thrusts up into him again and Geralt makes no attempt to keep him from pushing his cock deeper into his throat. If anything, he seems glad for it, and when Jaskier slumps back against the ground again, Geralt pulls off his cock with slow precision, careful to wrap his lips tightly around the head. Jaskier's eyes drop shut and his chest heaves, but he's aware of Geraly lying back down next to him.

"That felt... good."

"No one has ever touched you like this?" Geralt asks lightly. Jaskier waves a clawed hand at him in response. "Mmm, understandable. But you liked it?" Jaskier huffs a tired laugh and turns to face him.

"Very much."

"Can I?" Geralt asks, already sliding slick fingers along his waist.

"Please."

Geralt rises to his knees, straddling Jaskier's hips for a moment before dropping to the ground on the other side of him. He presses right up against him, slipping an arm under his neck and holding him close as his other hand presses flat against Jaskier's stomach, sliding downward. He crooks two fingers, pushing inside him and seeking out that same spot again.

He finds it with ease and when Jaskier jerks hard, Geralt pulls him in against his chest. He drops his forehead to Jaskier's, breathing hard against him and Jaskier shuts his eyes, letting the pleasure wash over him. Geralt thrusts into him, quick and precise, then slows to tease at the opening, fingers slipping slowly in and out, and Jaskier can't decide which he likes more.

When he's quick, it punches the breath out of him, leaves him mindless and aching for more, but then he slows, gently caresses and rubs into him and it's like a slow fire burning within him, gradually burning brighter. His mind goes blank, foggy with lust, and he wraps himself around Geralt's shoulders, drawing him close. Even with Jaskier wrapped around him, he never falters and before long Jaskier is writhing again, his tail slapping hard against the floor as pleasure courses through him.

He's overwhelmed, so entirely encompassed by pleasure that he can't do more than cling to Geralt and whimper until, at last, he comes, his cock untouched where it spurts over his hip.

Slick drips from his slit, mixing with his come and Geralt pulls out slowly, swiping his fingers through it and sliding them around Jaskier's cock. He cries out at the first touch, oversensitive from multiple consecutive orgasms, but it still feels good underneath the sensitivity and he can't bring himself to tell Geralt to stop.

When Geralt finally lets him go, Jaskier flops onto his back and stares up at him. Geralt is watching him, his eyes dark but bright, and he smiles. Unthinking, Jaskier reaches up, wrapping one hand around Geralt's cheek and tugging him down toward him. At the last second, he realizes what he's doing and hesitates, but Geralt closes the distance, pressing their lips together in a gentle kiss.

It doesn't last long and Jaskier has to keep himself from nipping at his lips when they part. Geralt presses up close and for the first time, he feels the hard line of Geralt's cock beneath his trousers and it makes his breath catch. For a moment, he just stares at him, enthralled by the idea that Geralt is turned on by this.

"You're... aroused?" he asks and Geralt huffs a soft laugh.

"I'm fine."

"Could I touch you?"

"Mmm, if you like."

Jaskier grins, shifting onto his side and pushes Geralt over. He laughs and goes easily, watching as Jaskier spreads a hand over his chest. He maps out the planes of his chest, pushing clawed fingers through soft chest hair before dragging them lightly down toward the hem of his trousers.

He rakes his eyes over the jut of Geralt's cock, but doesn't touch, afraid of pushing too far. A favour, he reminds himself, Geralt is doing him a favour here. So he slips his hand back up to his stomach, mimicking the way Geralt touched him at first, exploring the little dips and rises in his skin, careful not to catch his claws.

And when he looks up to him again, Geralt is watching him. Something in the way he looks at him makes Jaskier's chest tight and he dips down again, catching Geralt's lips in a kiss. Geralt kisses back with enthusiasm, wrapping an arm around so he can pull Jaskier on top of him.

Both hands move down, cupping the swell of Jaskier's tail and rocking him slowly forward. Jaskier's cock, still sensitive, presses against Geralt's through the rough fabric of his trousers. He hisses at the drag, but Geralt moans at the friction and the sound goes straight through him. This time, Jaskier does it on purpose.

They find an easy rhythm between the two of them and even with Geralt's trousers in the way, the sensitivity soon gives way to pleasure and Jaskier ruts against him, kissing him hard despite the lingering fear that he'll bite too hard. Geralt however, seems unconcerned. He's got one hand buried in Jaskier's hair, the other pressing between them, fumbling with the buttons on his trousers. It takes him a moment, but he gets them undone, finally pulling his cock free and Jaskier groans as he ruts against him.

Geralt is hot, his cock even more so, and Jaskier basks in the warmth, pressing himself closer, even with Geralt’s hand still between them. He's sure he could come just like this, happy to rut against him, but then Geralt's fingers are pressing against his slit again. His fingers come away slick and he winds his hand around Jaskier's cock, stroking him slowly.

"What do you need?" he asks and Jaskier whimpers.

"What you did before," he breathes, "could you... do that again?" In an instant, Geralt flips him onto his back again, dragging his fingers up to his slit, but Jaskier stops him. "Could you... with your cock?"

"Oh. Fuck, yeah."

Geralt shifts, pushing his trousers down and kicking them off before pressing up close again. He pulls Jaskier into a deep kiss, his hand sliding away to bring his hips closer. He ruts against him, pushing through the slick and come and when he catches on Jaskier's slit, Jaskier lets out a little gasp and grasps at Geralt's shoulders.

Geralt pushes forward pressing into him and Jaskier holds his breath as he stretches open on his cock. Geralt's eyelids flutter as he settles and then he rocks forward, slowly at first, just short little thrusts that leave Jaskier aching, pushing himself onto him, wanting more.

And Geralt gives it to him. He sinks deep, hooking a knee over Jaskier's hip to hold him close as he ruts, his cock pressed firmly against that spot that makes him wild. Jaskier bucks and whines, his own cock slipping against Geralt's with every thrust. He delights in the feeling of Gerslt inside him, of his warmth and the stretch of his cock, sliding into him and filling him wholly.

He's surprised to find Geralt as breathless as he is when he looks up at him and he can't help but tip forward and nip at his lower lip. Geralt groans and kisses him hard. He pushes him onto his back so he's straddling his hips and when he sits back, Jaskier's cock presses between his cheeks.

He rocks his hips, suddenly overwhelmed by the heat around his cock and Geralt shudders as he pushes back against him. His eyes flick up to Jaskier's and he licks his lips.

"Can I try something?" he asks and Jask nods enthusiastically.

Geralt withdraws immediately, pressing his fingers into Jaskier's slit. When he withdraws, he reaches behind himself, and Jaskier burns to know what he's doing, but the slick fingers wrap around his cock, and Geralt sits back on him. Jaskier groans low as Geralt's body engulfs him, heat seeping into every inch where they touch and he reaches out, fingers digging into his thighs, so careful not to leave scratches.

Geralt rocks back onto him, taking the full length of Jaskier's cock and grinding back against him. He rolls his hips and squeezes around him, pulling right up to the tip before dropping back down the length on him. Jaskier is breathless, helpless to do anything but squeeze Geralt's thighs and bite his own lip.

Tentatively, he wraps one hand around Geralt's cock, slipping webbed fingers over the head of his cock. Geralt moans softly, sliding one hand over Jaskier's and guiding it down. Jaskier nearly stops breathing as the head of Geralt's cock nudges against his slit and then he's sliding in again, filling him up even as he squeezes around Jaskier's cock.

It's so much. Jaskier's body sings with the twin pleasures of being filled so wholly and sinking into Geralt himself as he shifts his hips up.

"Fuck" he groans and Geralt drapes himself over his chest, kissing the moan from his lips.

He finds a rhythm, a careful balance that keeps them joined in both places and Jaskier has never felt such overwhelming pleasure in his life. He meets Geralt's thrusts, thrusting in deep as Geralt sinks into him and it's hardly surprising when he finds himself creeping close to the edge. Geralt's thighs shake around him and he wants to hold out, to make Geralt comes first, but Geralt reaches up, nipping at the sensitive skin over his throat and the pleasure that zips through him is too much.

His hips snap up hard and Geralt kisses him through it, deep and hard, his whole body arching against him. He follows shortly, burying himself deep in Jaskier's body and rutting into him urgently. The moans and pleas that drop from his lips do nothing to ease Jaskier's persistent erection, but as Geralt slumps against him, Jaskier feels the exhaustion creeping in.

Geralt, too, seems tired and Jaskier withdraws reluctantly, mourning the loss of Geralt's body around him. His cock remains stubbornly hard, still unsheathed, but the aching desperation wore off some time ago and he flings himself into the water, quickly rubbing himself down to prevent waking up sticky and uncomfortable. A moment later there's a splash as Geralt rolls off the ledge next to him.

He swims closer enough for Jaskier to reach him and he makes a point of wiping Geralt down first before wrapping a hand around his cock and sliding slowly. Geralt's eyes drop shut and he winds his arms around Jaskier's neck with a soft, shuddering moan.

"How long does this usually last?" he asks and Jaskier shrugs.

"Anywhere from a week to six."

Geralt gawks at him. "Six weeks?"

"On and off," Jaskier huffs, amused. "I don't swim around with an exposed prick for six weeks. And besides. It's usually two, though it is much more in much more... concentrated bursts."

"Meaning I should stick around?"

Jaskier's heart thuds heavily at the suggestion which is, realistically, ridiculous. He's known Geralt for all of a few hours and under normal circumstances, the man would have just killed him. But the idea of keeping him close spreads warmth through his chest.

"You don't have to," he says anyway. "You kept up your end of the deal. I'll be quiet."

"Mmm," Geralt agrees, nosing at his neck, "but it'll get bad again. What would you do with no one here to get you through it."

"Are you..." Jaskier starts, hesitant. "Are you saying you want to stay?"

"Maybe not exactly here," Geralt shrugs, "I'd appreciate being warm and dry part of the time. But I don't intend to go far. Maybe I'll camp out on the beach."

"Will you stay for now?" Jaskier asks hopefully.

"Yes."

Jaskier doesn’t acknowledge the way his heart clenches a little. He shouldn’t want Geralt to stay, shouldn’t care what he does with himself now that he’s fulfilled his end of the bargain, but as they finish cleaning up, he seems happy to be there.

Once they're both clean and Geralt has managed to pull another orgasm from him, they settle on the ground, Jaskier curled up around him. His cock rests perfectly against the cleft of Geralt's ass and he has to be careful not to move too much, lest he work himself up again. He spreads one wing out over Geralt, using it as well as he can to keep him warm.

“You should go back,” Geralt says quietly and if Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say he sounded almost disappointed, “leave here and find more of your kind so you don’t have to suffer alone next time.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Jaskier admits, “but I like it here.”

“Mm,” Geralt hums sleepily, “guess I’ll just have to come back then, hm?”

Five years later…

The need returns, just as it always does, creeping up slowly and then hitting him all at once, but this time it's worse. This time he has the memory of his Witcher, soft and sweet touching him and kissing him and working him through it. And the memory only serves to make the need stronger.

But he made a promise.

So Jaskier holes himself up in his cave and deals with it as well as he can on his own and when that quits working on the first day, Jaskier swims to the surface in the hopes of coming across some other passer-by who might be willing to risk their life to fuck a Siren.

But when he breaches the surface of the water, there's a figure on the beach, moving oddly. He keeps low in the water, just his head breaking the surface and when he gets closer he realizes it's a man taking off his boots. It takes a couple of seconds to register as the man strips completely naked, but as he gets closer, as Jaskier swims further, he recognizes him. There's a swell of something warm and pleasant that settles in his chest and his heart beats just a fraction too quickly.

Geralt came back for him.

#geraskier #siren #monster march #spicy #nsft #rex writes

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hotdamnhunnam · 4 years ago

Text

Iron Dickhead

Part 1 | Part 2

A/N: Here’s Part 2 of your dirty adventures with Will “Iron(dick)head” Miller! This is the fifth of twelve fics for my Kinkfest, based on the below request... in which this savage sex god gives his bitch what she needs: some seriously degrading sex on the beach 🏝

Pairing: Will “Ironhead” Miller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, rough sex, dom!Will, face slapping, choking, inferiority kink (extreme verbal abuse/humiliation/degradation – Will is NOT serious about it; just indulging reader’s kinks) Request: Kinkfest request from @coffeequeenxx

Word Count: ~2.9k

**Please note warnings above**

Triggering content after ‘Keep reading’ cut…

***************

... Continued from Part 1 [Read Here]

“But where are we going...?”

It’s your second date with Will “Ironhead” Miller, and he’s driving you off to some faraway place with a mischievous smirk on his face, dark and knowing. Looks like the world’s sexiest serial killer.

Thankfully, you trust him enough to feel safe by his side, all throughout this long ride. He winks at you mysteriously. “Oh, you’ll see.”

The ominous, dominant growl in his voice cuts in straight to your pussy. Will knows just what he’s doing, obviously. Knows what a submissive little slut you are.

“Well, is it far?” you groan, like a mutt begging for a bone, “...‘cause if it is, then you should pull up for a minute and just fuck me in the car.”

“Already done that,” he dismisses your proposal with a wicked laugh. Recalling your recent first date when he had railed you in the backseat with his massive monster shaft, ripping your cunt in half. “Babe, you’re just gonna have to learn to live with wanting me so bad.”

You grumble in displeasure, thirstier than ever, dripping wet. Two minutes later, you start begging Will to let you give him road head. Even though you knew the captain would refuse, simply to torture you, keeping his blue eyes firmly glued to the long road ahead.

“Are we there yet?” you whine like a pathetic little child, all your hormones running wild.

“Just another couple miles...”

Once you’ve finally reached your destination, you leap right out of the car without a second’s hesitation. You’re excited and impatient.

You can smell an ocean breeze around the bend, basking in the familiar balmy scent. Savoring sea salt in the air, wind in your hair. You’d told Will on your first date that you really love the beach—sun in your eyes, waves rolling by, blue as the big sky overhead, soft sand beneath your feet. It means a lot to see that he remembered what you said, and that he cares.

Now that the secret destination has been reached... now as he smiles and takes your hand to lead you down toward the beach... all you can think is that you really hope he plans to fuck you there.

***************

You stand and stare—this place is fucking stunning. So damn beautiful that you somehow manage to take your eyes off of the captain, as the scenic seascape captures your attention. Without a care, you kick your shoes off and start running, flinging your clothes everywhere. Challenging Will to race you to the shore as you sprint towards it in your bra and underwear.

He lets you win of course, which really isn’t fair. Then tackles you down to the shore, with playful force, once you’re both there. You spend a few minutes just drowning in each other in the sand, tearing away his shirt with desperate hands, to feel his naked upper body pressed to yours. Raking your fingers down the strong hard muscles of his back and through the soft spikes of his hair. Loving the way his tongue devours and explores. Waves crash repeatedly against your cold bare skin, as you attack each other heatedly and soak the moment in.

Will is still wearing his jeans, though... and they really need to go...

Oh, no—it hits you then that you’re in public, so you try to curb your hunger for his dick. Just for the sake of dignity and decency, although with Will you doubt you even have any. You pull back from the kiss briefly, so you can sit up straight, and look around the beach. If anyone approaches now it’d be too late; your clothes are sadly thrown far out of reach.

But as it turns out... there is no one to be found. Just sea and sand for miles around, as clear and empty as the cloudless sky above. Without a doubt, you and Will Miller are alone here in this secret little cove.

How did he know of such a place? The most beautiful beach that you could ever even dream of...? You stare up into his gorgeous face, enamored with the sweet romantic softness in his gaze, the way it coexists somehow with the red hot alpha male energy he radiates. You’re only on your second date, but you’re full-on crazy in love.

“This place is just... amazing, Will,” you gush, as his warm smile turns you to a pile of mush. He’s so damn effortlessly powerful his presence makes the earth stand still. “Feels like we’re the only two souls in all the world...”

“Mm-hmm,” he hums, pulling you close to him. Like there’s no other way to be. “That’s how I like it, baby. Just me and my girl.”

Will gets back in the groove of kissing you, the way he loves to do. He grinds his huge denim-clad bulge against your bare thigh, and the feeling makes your toes curl. Makes you want to fucking die.

“Guess this beach is the best-kept secret in Hawaii...” you sigh, reaching down to unzip his jeans, with a suggestive little smile. “Just you and I... nobody else around for miles... which means...”

“...we can go fucking wild,” he agrees and grabs your leg, growling and biting at your neck, ready to wreck. Sex on the beach Will Miller style. He’s so aggressive it’s obscene.

Your bra and panties end up torn to shreds in less than half a second. He quickly reaches to release his raging cock, hard as a rock, while you tremble beneath him fucking begging. From the moment he begins, your sense of time and space descends into a blur. He fucks you once, pounding your cunt, and then again, right afterward. And then a third. You’re so in love with how exquisitely it hurts. Sex on the second date is just as epic as the first—making you cum until you burst, leaving you numb and lost for words.

You had already learned on the first date that he’s a motherfucking stallion. Will has some kind of superhuman gift to keep his dick hard for however long he wants—could go on fucking you nonstop for weeks and months. Cums by the gallon. Over and over again. This is his claim to fame, the reason for his ‘Ironhead’ nickname. The reason he will always be the motherfucking captain.

But what really blows your mind—as Will spins you around, into the sand facedown, to fuck you from behind—is that he’s somehow rough yet soft at the same time, which feels so good that it should really be a crime. His dick is honestly sublime.

Even while splitting you in half, with his enormous staff... he cradles you in his adoring hands, and treasures you in ways you’ll never understand... content to pleasure you in every way he can, like a real man, intent on giving you the best sex you will ever fucking have.

It’s not as if he has to try. He’s so damn perfect you could cry. He spanks your ass and yanks your hair back, making you scream with each smack, reminding you you’re nothing but his dirty fucking whore—the last remaining shred of dignity inside you promptly dies—and that is when you realize... hell, you wish those brutal hands of his would do a little something more.

Reading your mind, as he keeps ramming your wet pussy from behind, Will’s hand entwined in your hair drifts down, shifting slowly toward your throat and wraps around... and holy shit, that feels divine.

“You like that, bitch?” he whispers in your ear, a fucking sneer. He’s not yet cutting off your air supply, but he knows you’re too senseless to reply. Growls as his firm grip makes your breathing hitch. The sound he loves to hear.

You do your best to shout out yesss just to make sure he gets the message loud and clear.

“Like getting choked? While getting fucked?” he taunts, hammering deeper in your cunt. No man on earth has ever been so dominant. “Mmm, how about I choke you with this big hard fucking cock?”

Oh Goddd... how is it even possible for anyone to be so fucking hot?? You blew him a few times on your first date, and loved the taste, but he was much too big to take down all the way. Which is a shame because a dick like his was made just to be sucked. Just... ughh. You want nothing more than for Will Miller to fuck your fucking face.

Just then he reads your mind again. Apparently one of his many superpowers as the motherfucking captain.

“Up on your knees, slut,” he demands, rising to stand, leaving you sprawled out on the sand. Dealing a sharp slap to your naked butt, to spur you on to follow his command.

You just... cannot?! This man is an actual god...

“Show me how much you love my cock. Get on your knees and fucking suck.”

Sweet Jesus holy motherfuck... you struggle to hoist yourself into a kneeling position, but find yourself reeling from the full effects of such total submission.

That’s when Will tangles all his fingers your hair, angles your head up toward him and holds it there, and straight up slays you with his smoldering blue stare, now as he reasserts his power as the captain. “Bitch, don’t you dare make me say it again.”

One of the hands in your hair slides down to your cheek—and all of a sudden... you manage to speak. Will’s sheer dominance makes you so weak, but apparently strong enough to confess something you want. Something you would’ve been too ashamed to admit, before Will Miller made you his absolute bitch.

You feel so fucking safe with this man. Which is why you want him to consensually use and abuse you in every way he fucking can.

And so you blurt it out. The words just tumble from your mouth. You need this now—no time to waste. “Please slap my face.”

That causes him to pause. Clenches his jaw. Will isn’t here to play; he’s serious about making sure that you feel okay. “The fuck did you just say?”

So you repeat just what you need, without missing a beat. Cunt burning up in heat. The slut inside you never hesitates. “Will, I want you to slap me in the face.”

He bites his lower lip, but looking at his dick right now it’s obvious he’s loving this; a juicy bead of precum oozes from the tip. “You sure?”

“Yes, sir,” you wholeheartedly answer. There’s a gaping hole inside your slutty soul and only Will can feed it. “You’re the captain; you’re my master. I want you to choke me out and slap my face and treat me like a worthless piece of shit. I fucking need it.”

Will is more than a little shook. To him your mind has always been an open book; with just one look, he always knew just how to read it. But with this shit, he wouldn’t dare proceed until you made the terms explicit.

...Now you’ve done just that. And you’re so ready for the filthiest sex you have ever had. The sky is honestly the limit. Your whole body exists for Will ‘Ironhead’ Miller to do whatever the fuck he wants with it.

It’s just your fucking luck the captain wants this, too. All of the shit that you’re desperate for him to do... it’s pretty much his dream come true. The savage dominance inside of him is seriously infinite.

And so he doesn’t waste another fucking minute.

“You pathetic piece of shit,” he rasps, dealing your cheek a quick, sharp slap. He snickers as he sees you gasp, shaking in bliss. “You fucking want this? Fucking like that?”

“God, yes...” you moan out loud, thirsty and thoughtless, loving how he swipes his hand across your mouth, allowing you to kiss his palm. You might have just cum, to be honest. Can’t quite tell because your whole body is numb. Just getting started and already this is all you’ve ever wanted.

You’re clearly not the only one who’s getting off on it. Will’s cock is bigger now and harder than it’s ever been—which is saying a lot, because he is a big dick king, a fucking god.

“You make me sick,” he scoffs, blessing you with another slap that’s just the best level of rough. “So damn pathetic. Bitch, you don’t even deserve this dick.”

“I know, sir...” you respond, as every word from your captain sets off a bomb deep in your cunt. His dick is everything you want. Despite his words, you can’t resist inching your lips toward the glistening wet tip, moving your head closer...

“Look at you,” he ruthlessly taunts, gripping his girth in his right hand to stroke himself and force your sorry ass to watch. Left hand grabbing hold of your hair again, to keep you from the prize you crave so much. “What would you do for this dick, huh? What would you fucking do.”

“Sir, anything. I live to worship you. You are my god, my fucking king...”

“Ugh, you’re disgusting,” he degrades you as he slaps your face once more. “Good for nothing. Such a filthy fucking piece of shit whore.”

Feeling so insanely dirty somehow makes you feel so pure. The waves crashing against the shore, the hot blood pumping through your veins and thundering throughout your body in a deep deafening roar... you’re hanging on his every word and all you want is more. “Th-thank you, sir...”

“Thank you for what?”

God damn. “For treating me like what I am. A worthless fucking slut.”

“Yeah? You think that’s what you deserve?”

“Yes, sir...”

“Know your place in life is to serve?”

“Yes, sir...”

“Then get to work,” he orders, suddenly pulling your head in toward his crotch with a sadistic little smirk. Pushing his cock into your sloppy throat as deep as he had gone before, then pushing further. “That’s it, whore. This big dick ain’t gonna suck itself now, is it? Let’s see what this pathetic mouth of yours can do with it.”

Oh holy shit. Whatever gag reflex you used to have... immediately vanishes as Will begins to fuck your face with his majestic shaft. For all you’re worth. His savage strength, his length, his girth... are more than you can take. All set to break your jaw in half.

And it’s a privilege, to serve Captain Will Miller as his cock-worshiping bitch.

Then when he slaps your face while you’re sucking him off... as if you weren’t already so certain before, now you’re dead sure that you’re officially in love.

Though you’re dying for Will to unload down your gaping throat, as you guzzle and gag... your man has other plans, for the moments before he explodes. Shifts from where he stands, manhandling you like a literal rag doll because he can. Shoving you down to the sea-dampened sand, spread out flat on your back. Ready for him to fucking attack.

So he does just that. Clamping both hands firmly around your neck, he settles in place between your shaking legs, and treats you to a whole other level of rough fucking sex. You cannot breathe, but his dominance is the only air you’ll ever need. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull, as he ruins your soaking wet fuckhole. So in love with the way that he wrecks you to death, as he cuts off your breath. You’re drowning in the power of Will. He’s so perfect it kills.

“Take it, whore,” he growls down at you now in a ravenous roar. Ripping your dripping pussy to shreds with such merciless force. “Yeah, you know this is just what you live for. Taking my big cock so deep in this tight little cunt of yours.”

Every word off of his ruthless lips brings you pure fucking joy.

“You like being my fucktoy?” he asks with a wicked laugh, one of his hands shifting off of your throat to bless your breathless face with another hard slap. “Know you do. Look at you. Just a fucking plaything made for me to destroy.”

And the sound of those words, said in Will Miller’s cunt-slaying voice... hits so good that you instantly burst. Leaves your body with no other choice. You were already so fucking close. But just then as he tightens his grasp on your throat, every fiber of your being promptly explodes, in the same moment you feel him filling your hole and the depths of your soul with his thick creamy load.

You were just at the edge of consciousness, and still feel like you’re falling over it even as Will slowly eases you down from all this. Showering you with such heartfelt softness. You’re so thoroughly ravaged you can’t feel a thing, to be honest. He just gave you everything you’d ever wanted.

“Bitch, I think I’m in love with you,” he confesses, just as blissed out as you are and totally breathless.

You can’t form the words yet to tell him that you love him too. Surely he already knows you do. And the best part, is now that you’ve captured Will’s heart... this is only the start.

Your first time indulging in these kinks with him was fucking wicked. Yet now there’s a whole lifetime in store, to serve him as his whore—you’re so glad that you have years ahead, to indulge and explore even more with your dearly beloved... your one and only iron dickhead.

***************

Sooo... yeah, that was some mad filthy shit... Hope there are some kinky bitches here who enjoyed it, and I’d love to hear if you did! 🤗❤️

– Main Masterlist

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*If you’re unable to use that link to join the tag list, just let me know and I’ll manually add you to it!

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efkgirldetective · 4 years ago

Text

~part III~ of this little prompt series ( part I & part II icymi )

much gratitude to @missgryffin for one prompt & the same anon as the previous prompt for the other one!! <3 absolutely TICKLED to indulge my obsession with post-traumatic injury reunions <3

pajamas + purple + panic

doodle + indigo + relief

A soft knock on the bathroom door. “Evans? Everything all right? You’ve been—oi, I’m standing here, will you—what d’you mean leave her alone, she’s—oh, come off it, Lupin, I’m just trying to be a help, honestly—”

Lily presses her forehead to cool porcelain. Focuses on one breath in; one breath out. It doesn't work. Her stomach roils, and she sicks up. Hardly anything left—but it burns just the same.

There's scuffling outside the door, voices quick and low. Lily flushes the basin and rises to the sink, avoiding her own eyes in the mirror. Swishes around mouth rinse and spits it out. Washes her hands and turns the light off and takes a backward look at her reflection, hand on the doorknob.

Her face is stark and pale and scared, even in the dim.

The door swings open to Remus and Sirius mid-argument. They fall silent; turn to her, cautious.

“I’m fine,” she says, though she doesn’t meet their eyes, either. Pulls at the sleeves of her linen blouse, at the collar; sticky with nervous sweat. Remus takes out his wand and casts a cooling charm. She closes her eyes to it and nods. “Thank you.”

“Jesus, Evans,” Sirius murmurs, his hand on her arm. She wants to pull off, turn from the touch, tell them both to piss off —but the tightness in her throat intensifies, the pit in her stomach glomming like a rock. She loses footing, body asway; Sirius catches her elbow and pulls her forward, into the crook of his shoulder.

Lily takes a long, painful breath.

That morning she woke from fitful sleep to disorientation; pain; loneliness; panic. Remembering James, a room away, deep in spelled sleep. Remembering, disjointedly, the tossed-off owl from St. Mungo’s: ...three weeks lapsed...tri-monthly Contraceptive Charm...would you care to reschedule your appointment?

The bleary eyes, the dry throat, the: This can’t be right—

I never forget—

I never forget.

The problem with war is the blur. The carousel of unease, its unremitting haze; the constant, constant disruption. The this is not my time anymore. The my time belongs to war.

Lily feels sick again, suddenly, tucked in Sirius’ shoulder. It’s not the right time. This isn’t our time.

Remus puts a steady palm on her back, as if he can feel her tremble. Voice low, “there’s something else, isn’t there?”

She raises her head—and how clearly he seems to see her. His hair is overgrown; the color of sand wet with sea. All those narrow silver scars. She tries to say his name but nothing comes out, and besides that there’s another voice, round the corner of the hall:

“Lads? He’s awake—oh, shit, Lils, he's up, he's—”

“He’s awake?” Sirius interrupts, disbelieving.

Peter looks drained, nodding. “Awake.”

Remus urges Lily, palm on back—but it's Sirius she looks to, now. The skin beneath his eyes made into translucent half-moons. “We’ll be just on—you go.”

She pauses one more half a second, then goes. Feels a tremor overtaking. Rushing so quickly she nearly smacks into Mags, exiting. The door cracked an inch. “Be gentle, yeah? It’s fragile. But—a day or so of rest, he’s good as fine.”

“Maggie,” Lily breathes, tunneling the woman into her arms. Gripping like she doesn’t know how hard she holds. Entrenched in gratitude—for her, for him; maybe, for a third. “Thank you.”

“All in time, Evans,” Mags says gruffly, pulling back, bristling. “All in time.”

Lily steps in slowly, squinting at the brightness. Someone has opened the shades and the room is light with midday. In the center, in their bed, pillowed upright by cushions and sheets, blanketed in the purple quilt her mother made for them—James sitting up, open-eyed.

Lily inhales deeply and blinks to be sure that it’s right; that it’s real. Amid such a downy pile he looks younger. But his eyes are blaring gold, glasses un-cracked—and he’s breathing.

“Hi,” he says, quietly, sheepishly. Someone put him in pajamas. The green-and-white striped collared shirt buttoned unevenly, off by one looped hole.

At such a little thing, the pulp of Lily's heart gives a definitive jolt.

She stumbles. Slows; remembers Mags saying fragile. Looks down to his leg, bandaged and glowing the deep indigo of stasis charms. Her throat locks and she remembers the morning; her hapless nerves. Turns her head out of necessity, eyes landing on the bedside table, the little framed sketch of her own profile—doodled by James in the back of seventh-year Charms.

She turns back and finds him apprehensive, chewing at his lower lip, as if she’s the one that should be handled carefully. As if he didn’t fall to his knees and nearly leave her for good. “Hi,” she tries—and it really almost works, if it weren’t for the cracking, midway, for the way his arm falls down onto the bed, palm up, open, reaching, for the way he breathes out—

“Lils.”

She goes to him. Feels the palm, carefully, with her own—and skin so familiar, and finally warm, and dear, fingers latching onto hers, that she folds forward at the waist, unable to stop, face pressed wholly to the bend of his arm. Mouthing at the skin, desperate to prove he is solid; prove he is whole. “I’m sorry.”

“No, love, no,” he murmurs, and he’s threading a hand through her hair, urging her face upward, till she finds herself facing the uneven buttons—a detail still so tender that it breaks her over again. Reaching out to touch any reachable part; the other elbow, the good leg, the hollow space between collarbones.

“Come on,” he says, so earnestly.

“Don’t you—” she cuts her head to the side and suddenly exhaustion crashes over her; the night of poor sleep, the morning so blue with sickness and owl and abrupt, unwelcome truth. “Don’t you go and pull that shit ever again, Potter, you can’t just—” His hand stroking up through her hair, his hand cradling her jaw. “I won’t live without you.” And it’s irrational and true. His thumb across her lips. “You arsehole,” she adds, though she’s crying—though the sentiment is real—though her lungs are crying out for air.

“Rather selfish of me to nearly die, I realize," his mouth quirking minutely, a smirk so gentle and so Jameslike it pains. “And I apologize, I really do, from the bottom of my heart.”

“Honestly,” she laughs, cut through at once with pain and a flood of gentle levity, his eyes so bright and healthy; the sweet flopping of dark hair over forehead. “Honestly.”

His throat moves. There’s no time to tell him—not the right time—others wanting reunions, wanting confirmation he’s awake. But his face so open and honest. “We’ll be okay,” he says, always quick to ground, to hold steady; to carry her face in his hands. “I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head, words gone out. Kisses him on the cheek, on the other. “Stay with me,” she begs. Implores. “I love you, stay with me.”

His brow creased in a tender pull. Breath shallow and warm when their lips meet between, pulling her out of herself. Everything will wait. Relief is like a river; long, slow, and plenty.

#weve got an unplanned pregnancy on our hands boys #jily #fic #marauders

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pynkhues · 4 years ago

Note

Brio 45 and 81

Thanks, anon!

This fic is set in my Center & Circumference universe, but you don't have to have read that to read this. Just know that they've been together a little while, but are as cagey as ever, haha.

(Tiiiiny spoilers for the last part of To Face Unafraid, but just little ones)

45 floating on your back in water + 81 cloudless summer sky

“Playa del Amor,” he hums, and Beth’s neck twists back just enough to see Rio grin. “What? You rather I take you to Cabo?”

“I don’t want you to take me anywhere,” she replies easily, a practiced retort that Rio knows as well as she does at this point, and when he breathes out a laugh, Beth drums the point home, reaching for their closet door. “If - - when - - we go on a vacation, we’ll go together.”

He seems pleased at least by the when – something even she can admit is the result of a lot of wearing down – his Cheshire Cat grin smoothing out into something both exasperated and affection as he rolls onto his side in their bed. The movement is enough for the sheets to dip lower, to reveal the perfect V of his groin, the space where his happy trail thickens, and it’s like the sun sparks through the window to greet the sight, the warm light leaving him summer skinned and glowing, and she hates that she wets her lips. Hates that he clocks it (because of course he does), and she makes sure he sees her roll her eyes when his grin turns into a smirk.

“Anyway,” she says, standing up a little straighter and turning back around to open their walk-in closet door. “We don’t have time right now. Not with the new deal Mick’s set up, and definitely not with the kids still a month off summer break.”

He doesn’t reply to that, but Beth knows the kids really don’t factor into this particular vacation plan. Or they do, of course they do, but only in the sense of who’s going to take them while he and her drink tequila on his cousin’s catamaran in Mexico. Which - -

Beth huffs, flicking through a few of her sundresses, trying to find something that’s not going to be too suffocating in the June heat, more irritable than she should be. The conversation is one they’ve been circling since Christmas though, when he’d surprised her with a trip away – not for him and her, but instead one for her, Ruby and Annie.

The weight of it had been lost in the chaos with Judith and his (- - her) family, but when the three of them had had their feet up in front of the fire at the ski lodge, mulled wine sloshing about their heads as Annie and Ruby giggled their way through old memories, it had been more than gratitude she’d felt. More than happiness, more than - -

God.

She doesn’t know, just more, and she’d gotten home and Rio had been there, reading glasses on as he’d tapped through accounts on his laptop, glitter on his neck from where he’d helped Emma get ready for her ballet recital dress rehearsal, and she’d straddled his hips before she’d even taken her shoes off, and she’d said - -

Well.

She hadn’t really said anything.

But she thinks by that evening he’d felt it too.

Even more so when he’d pressed swollen lips to hers and said next time, it’s you and me, yeah?

“The deal’s practically done, and ain’t there camp and shit?”

Beth rolls her eyes, reaching for one of her looser black sundresses, and she can hear more than see Rio scoot across the bed to drop his head off the edge of it, an angle she knows he likes just because he can see her better, or rather, see up the back of her robe when she bends over.

(Another gift, she thinks, briefly amused again. Although this one really was a gift for him given it barely covers her ass when she’s standing, let alone doing anything else.)

“Yes, I know where Cabo is.”

He snorts, and Beth turns around to walk back out of the closet, feeling the silk of her robe slip just a little, just enough she can feel it drag sweat back across her chest, and god, if it’s already this hot, she’s not looking forward to their air con bill for the quarter. She strides across the room to hook the coat hanger over the door of their en suite, before starting back to grab some clean panties, a bra, feeling Rio’s gaze on her every step of the way, and it’s silly, the way maybe she pushes her chest out just a little, points her toes to elongate her legs, the way her gaze darts, just to make sure he’s noticed.

(He has.

God, when does the spark she feels at that dim?)

“Ain’t talking about Cabo,” he tells her, voice a little lower. He’s still resting long on his side, head off the bed, tilted back just so, hands low enough on his belly his pinkies brush the thickening hair, feel the bristle of it that Beth’s all too familiar with, and she yanks open the dresser drawer. “Talkin’ about Playa del Amor. It’s on the Islas Marietas.”

And at least that checks out with the catamaran.

“On an island?” she asks anyway, fingers groping between satin, lace, cotton, and when Rio hums, low, warm, she decides lace.

“It’s a beach inside a cave, only there’s this big-ass hole in the roof. You gotta sail over from Puerto Vallarta, then swim down through this tunnel until it all opens up on this place. People call it the Hidden Beach, but that ain’t its name.”

She grabs out a bra, closing the drawers and turning back to move across the room, only to pause, the weight of his words sinking into the moment. She still can’t speak Spanish exactly, but she’s been picking things up, partially through the osmosis of being in a - - whatever with Rio, and partially because maybe she downloaded DuoLingo to her phone last year. Keeps it in a hidden folder, just in case Rio sees it one day and teases her, because there’s something in it, something fragile in the thought of learning for him, because it is for him, no matter how much she tells herself it would be good and useful to learn otherwise.

Still, she thinks, gaze darting back to his, watching him watch her, his gaze drifting from her face to where her robe reveals more cleavage than she’d usually choose to (again, a gift for him) and she thinks she can own this much at least.

“Playa del Amor. Well, playa means beach.”

He hums a low, drawling sound of affirmation, and Beth’s toes curl a little beneath her, her chest heaves, cheeks flush, and she wants to close the distance between them, wants to keep it, wants to straddle him like she did when she got home from that last vacation, god, like she did last night, but there’s too much in the words, resting thick and pregnant in their translation. Her pulse is in her ears, the thrum of her restless, wasting, wanting heart, and she swallows thick, looks away, and it’s only then that Rio speaks, his voice soft, gentle.

“Just meant it feels right. Place like that for us. Fuckin’ you on the Hidden Beach.”

And at least that feels right, feels normal, and Beth rolls her eyes, starts back towards the bathroom, but she steps deliberately sideways, puts herself in arms reach so that Rio grabs the knot on her robe, positioning her over him until she’s sitting on his face, and the first hot breath at her cunt has her dripping and god, at least this has always been easy.

Later, hidden and safe at work, she looks it up.

Playa del Amor.

Finds herself scrolling through pictures of floods of sunlight, staring as yawning earth reveals a perfect curl of sand, a tongue of vivid blue ocean. An oasis among relentless rock, a cradle of paradise hidden beneath clambering earth, gnarled tree roots, tangling, opportunistic weeds; protected by it too, from the wild tide of the Pacific.

Dreams of braving that ocean, sinking into it, facing the darkened tunnels that lead to the light. The cold of shadowed waters before breaking into the heat.

It’s too easy to see herself there then. Feel herself there. Drifting on her back, sun-warmed water gentle at her back while her chest, cheeks, thighs pink under the glare. Too easy to hear distant seagull calls, lick salt from her lips, feel sand at her toes, to see Rio swimming out to meet her, his body long, strong, ocean parting to take him.

In her head, he doesn’t kiss her, he touches her – her hands, breasts, back, face. Especially her face – fingers tracing her lips, her cheek, brushing her wet hair back, and Beth thinks:

Playa del Amor.

She thinks:

Beach of Love.

Send me a sensory prompt (Good Girls, The Umbrella Academy or Succession)

Also hi, hello, I'm doing a thing where I try to do a prompt fill ficlet every day. You can read yesterday's here.

#we'll see how long i last with this daily fill thing haha #but i have over 100 prompts in my inbox right now and i really want to get through some of them #and it's fun as a creative exercise!#obviously 95% of these are brio prompts so am v welcome of non-brio / tua / succession prompts rn #this was a nice one to write though #i miss C&C when i'm not writing ittttt #and it's been a while #anyway #i hope this hits the spot anon :-)#beth x rio #the center and circumference #fic asks #my fic #gg fic #nbc good girls #welcome to my ama

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ayellowcurtain · 4 years ago

Text

I can be your lover

Part 8

“No, my underwear!” Robbe rushes to hold his underwear in place, looking at Sander above him, sitting on his heels, completely surprised with the sudden stop to their make out session. They were moving fast, unable to kiss, just brush their lips together because they were too eager to get rid of every single piece of clothing from the second they got inside.

Sander laughs, looking up at the ceiling, still holding the waist of Robbe’s jeans, his thumbs quietly pressing deep against Robbe’s hips, he can feel his jeans sitting tight now that’s around his ass, and Sande is ready to pull everything off of Robbe’s legs.

“What? I have to take one at a time?”

Robbe tilts his head on the pillow so he can see Sander clearly. It’s a mind blowing experience seeing him like this again, slipping out of the bed to stand up, about to pull Robbe’s pants completely off his legs, shirtless, but with all the rest of his clothes still on and in place, his hair all messy from the make out session they had against the bedroom door, Robbe needed to hold it tight to make sure Sander was real. He looks freshly out of Robbe’s wettest dreams. He seems more fit than what Robbe remembers, his pants sitting as low as it can go on his hips while still buttoned.

“Yes...” Robbe whispers softly, resting his feet against Sander’s hips, hoping the weight they cause helps Sander’s jeans go a little lower.

Sander snorts, holding him by his calves, suddenly pulling him closer with one movement until Sander can wrap Robbe’s legs around his waist, the angle a bit off but still making Robbe feel exposed and raw.

“Robbe...I’m going to take everything off anyway. One by one, really?”

Robbe laughs, biting his lip and nodding his head, his freezing cold hands due to the anticipation touching the sensitive skin of his navel when he goes to adjust his underwear to put it back in place.

“Fucking hell...” Sander complains under his breath.

“What?" Robbe sighs, unable to concentrate on anything when Sander bends down slowly, putting his whole weight on his hands until he’s above Robbe again, the angle almost perfect with the new position, even though there are too many layers of fabric between them still.

His arms are a lot stronger and Robbe stares at his biceps right next to his face, holding it carefully, kissing the tanned skin with his mouth open, hearing Sander’s soft moans while watching Robbe go up his arm, gently biting his shoulder.

"You're so beautiful, fuck." Sander whispers when Robbe finally looks at him, so close he can almost taste it, makes him dizzy with want. Robbe grunts, wanting to kiss him for hours, tell Sander endless times how much he loves him, trying to catch up with all the missed opportunities to say it.

"Stop..."

"It's true, Robin." He opens his mouth and Robbe lies back down, proud to be able to notice the intention early enough to tease Sander with an almost kiss like he did with Robbe so many times in the past.

"I love you so much but," Robbe sighs, not sure how to word it. "I'm basically naked, Sander, and you're still fully dressed..." He whines, looking down, trying to find the button on the dark jeans so he can make things move faster already. It’s nerve-racking how Robbe can’t think straight when he starts picturing Sander naked, pressing their bodies together. It hasn’t happened in way too long but Robbe remembers like it was today. How good they feel together. And he wants it back, now, and for a long time.

Sander holds him by his wrist and with a calm that Robbe doesn’t own, puts both of Robbe’s hands over his head and keeps them there, intertwining their fingers, pressing the three hands on top of each other just enough so Robbe can’t reach anywhere else.

“You want me naked?”

Robbe nods his head, trying his best to look convincing enough for Sander to come down and kiss him already since he can’t really move with Sander over him, holding him like this.

“Okay.” Sander agrees easily, finally pressing their lips together for just a brief moment before he’s moving up, leaving a desperate Robbe needing more on the bed while he stands up again to unbutton his jeans, pushing them down his legs.

His jeans are a lot tighter than Robbe’s so he actually has to take his time to use both hands to push them all the way down, lifting one leg then the other to take it off his feet, dropping it carelessly on the floor. Robbe can’t help but stare at how tight Sander’s underwear is, almost as tight as his. Sander looks at him and lifts his eyebrows, not making such a scene as Robbe did, getting rid of his black boxers right away.

Robbe bites his lip not to make a sound that would give everything away: how badly he has craved Sander since he left, how badly he needs him right now, lifting his hips from the mattress to take his last piece of clothing off, letting it fall next to him on the bed, eager to hold Sander close when he finally comes back to bed, kissing Robbe, desperate all of a sudden.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” Robbe can’t really move, still lying half on top of Sander, with his head on his shoulder, watching how his chest is moving rapidly, unable to hold much air yet. He sounds tired but not too bothered by Robbe’s weight on him. Robbe bites his lip not to ask Sander to keep talking just so he can hear him again. He’s thirsty so he assumes Sander is too, in desperate need of a glass of water to wet his sensitive lips and throat. Both their bodies are still extremely hot and sweaty, starting to bother but not enough to make him find the strength in him to move. He looks back up at Sander, also looking at him, playing with Robbe’s hair all messy and damp. His lips are swollen and so inviting for just one last kiss.

They made a huge mess, more than usual, and Robbe is already ashamed thinking about how he looks, not excited to see himself in the mirror any time soon, he starts blushing just thinking about it. But it doesn’t seem to bother Sander, his eyes slowly moving to revisit every feature of his like he’s never seen Robbe this up close before.

“What kind of question is that? Of course you can sleep here.” Robbe looks at him, studying Sander right back, the words dancing in his mouth so easily, so certain, “Move in with me.”

He feels Sander’s body get tense, moving to the side a little and Robbe finally lies on the mattress, with Sander propping himself on his elbow, caught by surprise by his invitation but he doesn’t look upset by it, still so close to Robbe.

“Are you asking me to move in with you? Seriously?"

Robbe feels the urge to pretend he didn’t mean it, to apologize and change the subject and never mention it again. He stutters, feeling his whole body warm up instantly on the surface. He adjusts himself, pulling the sheets to cover more than just his legs.

“Yes. It’s been a plan since forever so fuck it, we’ve waited long enough and you’re home now and you hate living with your parents. Move in with me, Sander.”

Robbe pushes himself up too, putting his head on his shoulder, hoping he’s not confusing Sander yet again.

They stay quiet for a long time. Robbe is with a growing anxiety in his chest that is about to eat him alive whole with every second with no answer and Sander seems to be diggesting the offer, intrigued by it.

“Yes.”

Robbe opens and closes his mouth, frowning, surprised with how confident Sander said that one tiny word after needing so much time to think.

“Are you sure?”

Sander comes closer, lifting the off-white linen sheets like they’re aren’t naked under it, intentionally tangling their legs like it’s nothing, nodding his head without thinking, staring at Robbe’s lips, his hand coming to the back of Robbe’s neck, massaging it carefully.

“Yes. I’m so very sure.” Sander brushes his nose against Robbe’s, purring. “Things escalated very quickly, huh?”

Robbe presses his lips together, thinking of a way to make the offer less daunting.

“So let’s pretend I’m just giving you a place to stay while you look for a place of your own.”

“Robbe.”

“Hm?”

“Are you scared of living together?”

“No. No, I’m not.” Robbe pushes himself closer, putting his arm around Sander’s waist to keep him close, to reinforce his words.

“All the way or no way, remember?” Robbe laughs, dropping his head to rest it against Sander’s chest.

“Do you still live by that?”

“Yes? Of course! That’s like my life motto.” Sander kisses the top of his head and Robbe moves to get a kiss on his lips too. “When I tell my parents I’m moving out to go live with you, my mom will brag for weeks, fuck.”

Robbe smiles, brushing his nose against Sander’s cheek, looking at him. Robbe doesn’t like to assume things, or to think he’s anyone’s favorite but he’s pretty sure Sander’s mom likes him a little more than she likes the other boys.

She was always so nice to him since they were little, even offered to be his tutor when his parents were getting divorced. She kept saying she always wanted another son. Maybe she’ll have her wishes after all. While Sander was away, Robbe tried to keep his distance so it wouldn’t hurt even more, being constantly around Sander’s family as a reminder of how Robbe had let him go so easily. But she always texted, called to check on him, see if he needed anything.

“You know...that time when you almost moved in with us? I got home one day and she was looking at some things online, a new bed, paint to refresh my bedroom. We were going to share a room almost a decade ago. And we might share one now…”

Robbe sighs, trying to picture them, young and so confused, sharing a bedroom just a few months before things got really confusing between them with a high kiss at a party. He looks at Sander’s chest, still seeing their teenage versions in his head.

“Maybe, in the end, we made a mess with our decisions a decade ago all the way until now and this time we’re finally where the universe wanted us to be all along.”

Sander snorts, kissing his forehead, “You and your universe talk.”

“What about it? You don’t like it?” Robbe pushes Sander away but he comes right back to where he was, his hand under Robbe’s chin to make him look up, only an inch between their mouths.

“I don’t care how, the universe, Bowie, life, coincidences, I’m just extremely happy to be where I am. And I don’t want to be anywhere else, ever.”

Robbe sighs, looking at him, at how certain of everything Sander is every time.

He wishes he was like that and he’s so happy to have someone so close to him that he looks up to every day of their lives to learn how to be so confident that everything will work out in the end. Sander jumps in the dark like no other and Robbe envies that. He’s an amazing friend, the best Robbe has ever had, and he’s an even better lover.

“Can you say that again?” He asks with as much confidence and love as his body can have.

“I don’t wanna be anywhere else, ever but here, with you. It doesn’t matter where. I’m happy it’s with you.”

#wtfock #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen #sobbe #robbe x sander

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