#and i have a new bruise to add to the collection.

[scattered-winter]

my shins are so BRUISED

[appalachiancowboy99]

After Dark

Arthur Morgan x CurvyFem!Reader Established relationship, high honor, grumpy Arthur in desperate need of release, 18+, MDNI (Minors DO NOT ENTER)

Arthur comes back to camp later than usual, with nothing but a bad disposition and a desperate need to release his pent-up frustrations.

Warnings: longer read, sexual content (oral, unprotected p in v, rough sex), mentions of violence, mentions of anger, and dabbles in sensual fluff.

Gif by: @sunwingsunset

A/N: Thank you so much to @photo1030 for not only being my sounding board in the never-ending chaos that is my writing process but also for being such a wonderful friend through it all. So grateful for you, don't know what I'd do without ya, C! <3 Thank you so much to @rivetingrosie4 for being an inspiration for my little works and being so supportive of my creative endeavors, not to mention the kind generosity of your friendship! Forever grateful for to have met you! @tortureddpoett I'm so excited to explore this budding friendship with you! Thank you so much for showing so much excitement for my work, IT MAKES ME EXCITED (EEP!). It means an absolute ton to me <3 @mr-inkslinger your friendship has been an absolute delight to explore! Thank you for posting that toe-curling smut that always has me giggling and kicking my feet! So happy to have met ya! And thank each and every single one of you for liking my first drabble and expressing interest in this next one. I'm so sorry it's taken me forever to publish this post, but hopefully, the next ones won't take me as long. I'll forever be grateful for your patience and kindness <3 But now, enough of my babbling, y'all enjoy yourselves with this one- I know I did ;)

Fuck. From the second he opened his eyes, he knew that the day was going to be fucking awful; his neck had a crick in it, his head was pounding from what little sleep he’s received over the last few nights, and now he had to trudge back out into the goddamn muggy heat to work. One disaster after another had piled up; everything that could have gone wrong, went so terribly awry that he wound up farther away from camp than he originally intended and managed to add a solid fifteen-dollar bounty to the mounting collection resting atop his head. Dutch had sent him out on a wild goose chase, following a lead from Micah that, of course, ended up being a complete waste of time. And that meant he was coming back to camp empty-handed, which almost certainly meant he'd be on the receiving end of another one of Dutch's lectures on the endless responsibilities placed upon his shoulders. He dreaded it, wanted to avoid spiraling down another conversation that would end in Dutch questioning his faith in the ever-evolving plan he’s found himself working on these days.

As if he needed any of that horseshit tonight. All he wanted was a moment of peace and quiet, a chance to catch his breath after the disaster of a day he'd just had, but instead, he was headed back to camp with nothing but bruises, a bloody lip, and a bad disposition to show for his efforts. Trees and other bits of scenery whipped by in a blur as Arthur spurred his horse onward, his surroundings melting together into a muddy mess of shapes cast by moonlight. He passed through New Hanover, his furious pace leading him down the familiar roads of Lemoyne, reaching the clearing outside of camp. Lenny and John are the first to spot Arthur approaching the thicket of trees disguising Clemens Point's main entrance. “Hey, who goes there?” Lenny’s voice echoes through the forest, bouncing off the thicket until it reaches Arthur’s ears.

“‘S me.” Arthur grunts out through gritted teeth, clearly not in the mood for any chit-chat. Even underneath the shadow of leaves and limbs, the scowl etched upon his face is easily distinguishable, a clear sign for anyone with any common sense to give him a wide berth for the rest of the night. Lenny and John, both, had a pretty good idea of what might happen when Arthur steps foot into camp and they don't want any part of it. As a result, they give each other a little knowing glance and stay in the treeline, preferring to avoid the impending shitstorm and let Dutch or Hosea deal with it instead. He strides past them in a fit of frustration, dismounting his mare with a jerky movement before she's even come to a complete stop. Kieran spots him and hesitantly approaches. That poor fool. "H-Hey, Mr. Morgan. Would ya like me to unsaddle the 'ol gal here?" Kieran's question was nothing more than an innocent query, but his expression turned the young man into a nervous wreck. If looks could kill, Arthur’s certainly could; his steely eyes are set ablaze with annoyance and irritation as he casts a hateful glance in Kieran's direction. Even Kieran knew better than to talk to Arthur when he was in this state, knowing that it would only lead to suffering at the hands of his unbridled wrath. Kieran’s eyes immediately darted to his feet, desperate to avoid Arthur’s icy gaze as his fingers trembled with the frayed ends of rope in his hands. Quickly as to not start any trouble for himself, Kieran took hold of the mare's reigns and led her away to the field of horses, putting as much distance between himself and Arthur as he could. A slight pang of guilt runs through him when he sees the way that Kieran high-tailed it out of his line of sight. He doesn't want to be harsh to the boy, he's been a useful asset to the gang, but his temper is just too far gone for him to muster up an apology. As fast as the angering thoughts snapping through his mind, Arthur turns on his heels and storms into camp in search of Dutch. His boots furiously hit the grass and reddened Lemoyne dirt as he passes by a few of the wandering eyes from those still awake at this late hour. Charles casts him a wary glance, and so does Sadie, but neither of them cares to look long enough to entertain what's about to happen. He passes by his own wagon and heads straight to Dutch's tent. Dutch is nowhere to be seen, yet the lamp light inside casts its soft golden glow upon the closed canvas flaps of the tent, indicating that he might be inside. Not wasting any more time than he has to, Arthur approaches the tent, not bothering to stop and think until it's too late. His hand raises, readying to peel back the canvas flap, when all of a sudden he hears the sweet amorous sounds of lovemaking echo through the night air.  Molly’s sweet voice gasps out between each movement of their squeaking cot, calling out for Dutch as the unmistakable sound of skin slapping skin penetrates through the thin canvas walls, revealing exactly what’s occupying Dutch’s time tonight.

“Oh, Dutch. Don’t stop,” she encourages through strained, unabashed moans of pleasure. Dutch’s deep, husky voice murmurs back something unintelligible, but the increased squeaking of their bed and the filthy little noises coming from Molly are a clear indicator that Arthur should be stepping away to give them some privacy. Embarrassment washes over him, causing a faint rosy flush to heat his face and bloom across his cheeks. For once, he's grateful for the distraction from his current frustration. On most nights, he'd find comfort in your presence, seeking you out to vent his grievances as a distraction from the ever-present aggravation that seemingly follows him around these days. But tonight, he just wants to retreat to his tent, away from everything and everyone, to try to calm down before he says or does something he regrets.

He strides past the dying campfires and tables that are askew from daily camp activities, and his mind tirelessly races from thought to thought, stealing his attention away from his surroundings. If Arthur had even bothered to look, he would have spotted your sleeping form laid out upon his bed the moment he stepped inside. You had been waiting for him all evening. After working yourself to the bone doing laundry, dinner prep, and other camp chores for Ms. Grimshaw all day long, you wandered your way over to Arthur’s tent in search of a quiet place to sit. Part of you wished to find him seated right there on his cot, wanting to simply have a conversation with the man who has stolen your heart, but to your disappointment, he wasn’t anywhere to be found. So, you waited for him.. And waited until the very idea of waiting became too tiresome and you unknowingly fell asleep.

Sneaking away from the gang for private talks with him has been one of your favorite things to do since you joined the gang so long ago. Y'all have always had a knack for avoiding the company of others. But somehow in the midst of squirreling yourselves away, both of you have come to find that you'd prefer being alone together. Eventually, this led to many nights where Arthur would seek you out just to speak his mind, allowing you to see the world through his eyes for a short while. You have not only embraced Arthur's thoughts, but in doing so, you have captured his heart all the same. If it weren't for you, he's certain he'd have lost his damn sanity long ago.

Arthur takes that dusty old gambler's hat off his head and runs his fingers through his hair, taking a moment to calm himself down. His eyes glance over the things laid out upon his bedside table before catching a glimpse of your figure awash by the pale moonlight in his periphery. Your hair is sprawled out over the small blanket you've rolled up into a makeshift pillow; curls flowing like a roaring waterfall, laying a mess, and finally free from the bun that was atop your head earlier in the day. His eyes rake over your voluptuous figure, noting every dip and curve from your plump waist and hips to the ample swell of your breast hidden by a layer of clothing. The moment his mind registers that your presence isn't a dream, his eyes soften and his mind no longer races with anger. You are his peace, the only thing in this world that he cherishes above all else. 

Sighing softly, he finally discards his hat from his hand and places it onto his nightstand before working off his worn leather jacket and satchel, resting them on the back of the chair nearest his shaving mirror. And while he's on his feet, he takes the time to carefully roll down the canvas walls of his tent, unraveling them with the quiet precision of a mouse, and securing them in a few simple knots to hide you two away from the world.

It's quite dark by the time he wanders over to the cot, dark enough not to notice himself brush against your legs as he takes a seat on the edge of the old creaking bed. The familiar, welcomed-warmth of his body pressing against your shins rouses you from your restful slumber. Your eyes flutter open to find his figure perched next to you, shrouded in a darkness so thick that you are sure you're still dreaming. His head and broad shoulders are slumped over as he begins working off his dusty boots, caked with remnants of mud and manure.

"Hmm... Arthur?" Your voice floats through the quiet darkness, laden with fatigue and clearly carrying the lassitude of someone who could fall back asleep at the drop of a hat.

He quickly glances over his shoulder at the sound of your voice, his eyes already adjusted enough to the shadows to see your tired face staring back at him with confusion. He silently curses himself for waking you. "Shhh, Darlin'. Don't wake up on my account. I'll be done in just a minute," Arthur lightly grunts out the last word as he struggles to remove his right boot.

Even in your own weary state, the exhaustion in his tone isn't lost on you. Thinking it best to rouse yourself as quickly as possible to free up his bed for him, you sit yourself up and will yourself awake with a slight stretch. "'S okay. You need rest more 'n me."

"No. You was restin' 'fore I got here. Go 'head and lay back down." He isn't having any of your courtesy tonight. He's worn out, far too tired to argue with you about whether or not it's appropriate for you to share his bed for the night.

The rest of the gang, aside from John, Abigail, Susan, and Hosea know nothing about the true nature of y'all's relationship. Although, the rest of the girls have picked up on the changes you've brought about in Arthur since your arrival so long ago now. Seeing him get all soft and doey-eyed at you over these last few weeks has most definitely tipped them off about what y'all really get up to when you're out running errands together. But they catch wind of you sleeping in his tent tonight, it will all but confirm their suspicions. And yet, you just can't bring yourself to move from the comfort of Arthur's cot with him sitting so close to you.

"What time is it?" The question falls from your lips, carried on the soft currents of a gentle breeze pushing through the tent flaps. Fine sinewy muscles flex beneath his shirt as he leans over to work off his other boot and you are powerless to admire the shape of his body beneath.

A muffled grunt escapes his mouth the moment he finally frees his aching feet from the confines of his boots, "Late," he simply replies.

You take a deep, cleansing breath, allowing the tranquility of the night to settle around you like a soft, comforting blanket. Outside these walls, no sounds of chatter or lively activity can be heard, aside from the gentle hum of crickets by the riverbank and the faint sounds of a squeaking cot stopping abruptly. The gang is unusually quiet, the air filled with repose now that Arthur's returned safely to you. Only a few stragglers tend to the campfires, their focus solely on themselves, interested in anything beyond the flickering flames; not even the sounds of Dutch and Molly or Arthur's irritation can disrupt the peaceful bubble encompassing Clemen's Point tonight.

The plush heel of your palm rubs over one of your eyes as you flit them toward the tent entrance, watching how the wind slightly ruffles the bottom of the canvas. It's only then that you realize that Arthur has tied down the walls for privacy on your account. Normally, he wouldn't bother setting up the walls before collapsing on the cot for a few restless hours of sleep. But tonight, he's gone out of his way to ensure your comfort. Your heart couldn't feel any more full of love for this man by your side, a man who puts your well-being above all else, even above his own. Never did you think that love would have been like this for you: sitting in the comfortable silence of privacy for lovers when that luxury is rarely afforded for women like you. But despite your gratitude for his thoughtfulness, a pang of guilt gnaws at you knowing he made the extra effort while you took up residence in his bed, a cot that's barely big enough for the two of you given your plump frame.

In an attempt to make up for taking up so much space, you roll yourself forward along the thin mattress and quickly slide past him, crawling toward the foot of his bed where his trunk of clothing is kept. You've decided to give him his space for the night, even though in your heart, you'd prefer to stay. Before your foot even slides off the trunk to touch the soft grass below, you're reminded of John stopping by Arthur's tent earlier in the day.

Through a half yawn, you speak, not giving Arthur the chance to catch-on to where you're headed, "'Fore I forget: John stopped by while you was out."

Arthur slightly leans back as his fingertips mindlessly fumble with the buckle of his gun belt. The slight clicking of the metal rings out as he works to remove the clunky accessory from his body. His strong back brushes against you as he moves with the comfortable ease he's come to enjoy over these last few weeks of secretly being yours.

"What about it?" His concentration is split half between himself and the presence of your body behind him.

Your words don't register in his mind until he's completely removed the belt from his body. He figures it was that stagecoach job he reluctantly handed off to John; it had completely slipped from his mind until this very moment, much like yourself. The cool metal filigree atop his trunk moves under your feet as you rest them just shy of slipping off its edge, causing the hazy memory to play out behind your tired eyes.

-

You were just settling yourself in, resting your weary body on the edge of Arthur's cot, just as you're doing now. Little beads of sweat accumulated on your forehead from working out in the intensity of Lemoyne's miserably humid heat. Grimshaw had you and the rest of the women working on camp chores, which you hadn't complained of, since it usually occupies the time until Arthur's usual return. However, the day was far too hot for you to not complain about the harsh conditions she had y'all in. Eventually, evening came and you were finally finished with the laundry, allowing you a moment's rest to seek out the comfort of Arthur's cot.

In the midst of wiping your brow down with one of his neckerchiefs you'd secretly swiped, the hard thump of boots hitting grass caught your attention. You'd anticipated Arthur's arrival, but something didn't feel quite right. The boots didn't move with Arthur's measured stride; they scuffed the grass and dirt, signaling a different, but familiar presence. The moment you look up, you spot John standing at the entrance of the tent, not at all surprised to see you sitting upon his cot as if it were your own.

For a brief moment, his brow furrowed in a mix of frustration and exhaustion. It was as if he was caught between the two warring emotions, each pulling him equally. Clearly, he expected Arthur to be back already.

"He not back yet?" The gruffness of his voice has you believe the former, rather than the latter.

"Not yet," you say in kind, hoping to ease some of his burden. "Was you needin' him for somethin'?"

John did and the news certainly wasn't going to sit well with Arthur at all.

-

When the thoughts finally coalesce within your fatigued mind, you internally grimace knowing that Arthur isn't going to like the reality of the situation. Gentleness has always been your strong suit, especially when it came to dealing with half of the bull-headed men in camp. So, you lace your words with the softest tone you can manage, "Said it weren't as much as y'all had planned on: about fifty-dollars tied up in what little him 'n Charles found."

And you were right. The news doesn't sit well with him at all. All of the compiled frustration of working a nothing-lead and now knowing that the other job didn't pay well either boils beneath the surface of his skin until he explodes like a whistling kettle. Preventing himself from lashing out at you, Arthur kicks his boot toward the other side of the tent, knocking it into the chair. The loud thunk of its sole hitting wood claps harshly and causes you to flinch, startling you fully awake from the suddenness of noise and his movement.

"Every goddamn day it's some shit," he spits through his teeth.

Although you know he'd never intentionally hurt you, the anger in his voice sends a cold shiver down your spine and your stomach flips and churns in knots. Usually, you'd blame yourself, reprimanding your big mouth for even opening up to mention something that you knew wouldn't bode well for his weary mind. But you're in too much of a shock to even consider self-deprecation as an option. Your wide eyes search through the darkness, watching the shadowed outline of the man you love heave in a deep breath to steal his nerves. His shoulders slump forward and head hangs low as he rests his elbows on his knees, utterly defeated from the compiled anger and exhaustion coursing through him.

It's at this moment that you remember the job Dutch sent him on earlier in the day; Arthur didn't want to go and had very little sleep after working on yet another lead that barely got them anywhere. If it had been left up to you, you would've made Arthur stay right here in this bed to get some rest like he deserves. You would've taken care of him so tenderly, but, as usual, what Dutch wanted would have far outweighed any of your concerns. You've learned to recognize the pattern of these situations by now, and given Arthur's aggression, assuming that today's job didn't go quite as planned would be hitting the nail right on its head. You test the waters with a quiet question, "Lead didn't pan out today, did it?"

The soft shake of Arthur's head, coupled with the shadow of his palm running over his face tells you all that you need to know: no, it hadn't gotten him any farther than where he had started. Another useless effort. Your heart aches watching him struggle with so much weight on his shoulders. No matter how strong Arthur might be, he's just a man struggling to carry his own burdens, let alone everyone else's. Ever since settling down here, Dutch has placed so much responsibility on him that you've wanted to scold the man for even mentioning Arthur's name in passing. He's worked himself thin and thread-bare, barely having any time for himself outside of the time he spends on the road traveling from place to place at Dutch's convenience.

Empathy for the man that you've fallen in love with so long ago breaks your heart, aching in desperation to relieve some of his pain. Instead of walking away, keeping to yourself, and silently shouldering any of the blame for setting him off, you choose to stay the night. Despite knowing full well that the girls will have their gossip circulating by morning, Arthur's needs are far more important than any snickering comment or playful jest that'll inevitably come your way.

You scoot back where you were and lean toward him with less apprehension than what your words had suggested. Resting your delicate palm between the broad expanse of his shoulders, you feel him tense at the soft slip of your tender touch over his shirt. The tips of your fingers glide over his shoulder and silently take purchase on the taut muscle there. With a gentle, yet firm pull, you coax Arthur back toward you.

"C'mere. Lean back 'n talk to me..." Your dulcet tone pierces through his irritation, encouraging him to rest in your awaiting arms.

Arthur slowly reclines back, allowing himself to unwind in your embrace as his much larger body sits snugly against your plump bosom. Relaxing doesn't come easy for him. Hell, you'd be surprised if it had, given the high tensions between him and Micah these days or the tiresome back and forth between the two rival families in Rhodes. He has every right to be terse and tensed up like a snake ready to strike, but you aim to comfort him even if that means you risk getting bit. Silence hangs in the air between you, aside from the gentle breaths and the occasional strained grunt catching in the back of his throat while he struggles to get comfortable against you, due to the remaining stress insisting on clinging to his tired body. Your loving hands splay out over the firm expanse of his chest, feeling the steady and reassuring thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms as you try your best to soothe your brooding lover. It's as if your mere presence cracks away at the anger lingering in the stiff tendons and taut plains of muscle along his torso until he relents and finally lets go. His body relaxes back into you as if he were sinking into the plush, luxurious drapery and bedding found in the finest hotels of Saint Denis; much like the bedding of the room he'd paid for the very same night he had whisked you away to bed you properly for your very first time.

He's silent for a long while, almost reluctant to burden you with his troubles. So, you take it up on yourself to start the conversation by spilling what had happened to you earlier in the day, thinking it might earn a laugh or two, "Well, I'm sure my day weren't as rough as your'n," you hum. "But I did fall off the dock, landing my hind-end right in that water."

The image would usually cause a humorous snort to escape him, but the irritation still bristling at his nerves prevents him from reacting with anything else other than a huff of annoyance, "I told ya to watch your footin' out there. Ain't no use to nobody if you get yourself drowned."

Fortunately, as he chides you his words begin to lack much of the anger from moments ago. But you sigh softly anyways, relenting to his incessant need to protect you from life's dangers, despite being able to handle your own, "I know, I know..."

With a few buttons of that old blue work shirt popped open by your deft fingers, the smallest opening there is just big enough to slip your hand inside and rest it up on the soft but wiry hairs at the very center of his chest. "You shoulda seen me, though," you murmur as you lean down toward his ear, lowering your tone as you press your cheek to the side of his head. "Was drenched head to toe, clothes clingin' to me like feathers on a wet chicken."

He sulks, trying to stay mad at anything and everything he can to give into the bristling anger at the back of his mind, but he can't. No, not when he can clearly envision you all soaked and surprised from falling into that cold lake. A faint smile curls up the corners of his lips and then, just as he almost chuckles, he clears his throat, holding his laugh back. However, you catch on far too quickly for him to play it off so easily.

You gasp softly in mock surprise as if offended by the idea of him laughing at you, "Arthur Morgan. Are you laughin' at me?"

That's when his temperament breaks, giving way to the huff of laughter rumbling through his chest. "I ain't laughin' atchu, per say..." he counters. "Just maybe at the thought of what ya mighta looked like comin' up outta that water: madder 'n hell, hair clingin' to your head," and as if to illustrate his point, Arthur reaches his hand backward and turns his head to try and catch a glimpse of you in the thick shadows, barely making your face distinguishable to his eyes, as he brushes his fingertips over the bits of hair clinging to your forehead from the muggy heat.

Though you narrow your eyes in mock annoyance, you lean into his calloused fingertips, accepting the gentleness of his touch while a giggle of your own creeps up into your throat, "Oh? Is 'at so? Maybe next time I find you out on that dock, I'll think 'bout pushin' ya in 'n lettin' you see how it feels."

He huffs out a skeptical breath and raises an eyebrow at the very thought of you even trying something like that with him. It'd be a futile effort and one that you truly wouldn't consider without the clear consequence of him pulling you right down with him.

And just as soon as the laughter came, it was gone again, replaced instead with a comfortable silence that settles between you two once more, giving him some space to think about what's happened to himself today. Long before the days of your arrival, Arthur would keep to himself and dwell on the ever-present burdens troubling his mind, brooding for hours. But with you, he feels a safety that men like him are rarely afforded.

"Well, if ya think fallin' in Flat Iron's bad..." he continues, "Try goin' halfway 'cross the state lookin' for a man that don't exist. Then when ya find someplace to get a drink, ya end up catchin' a few stray hits from some drunken bastard."

A soft gasp enters your lungs at the revelation. Another fight? You lean over his shoulder, reaching to take his scarred chin into your hand. It's hard to see through the inky-black darkness of the night, but even in the haziness, your eyes can make out the bruising along his jaw, the harsh scrapes of knuckles cutting over his cheek, and the jagged cut on his upper lip. It isn't a rare sight to have him come back battered and bruised by some job from time to time, but that still doesn't quell the uneasiness in your heart at him going through such pain and aggravation.

Your eyebrows furrow in sympathy for your rugged cowboy, eyes softening to match as you breathe out, "Oh, Arthur."

He's quick to dismiss your concern with a soft sigh, pulling away from you to lean forward and distract himself from your sympathetic gaze, "Ah, don'tchu go 'n worry yourself over me none, Darlin'."

Being fussed over or thought of so tenderly still isn't something he's used to; he's shown you that time and time again. But it never deters you from trying to make things better, to make things easier on him however you can. Whatever turmoil Arthur's got rolling about in his mind is far from the usual and it takes patience to understand; a patience that he finds only you can give.

You reach your hand out toward him. The delicate ends of your fingertips reach up to brush over the nape of his sun-kissed neck, grazing over the ends of his slightly overgrown hair, silently making a note to yourself that you'll trim it for him tomorrow. His body shuffles slightly backward, leaning in to accept your touch while he slips off his suspenders: pulling them down his shoulders heavy with burden, before taking his time to unbutton that tattered old work shirt you're so used to seeing around his muscular frame.

"'Sides..." he starts. "I did have some good that came from today."

"What's 'at?" you hum softly with a lilt of dryness. "Hittin' that feller back?"

He can't help the chuckle rising in his throat at the dry sarcasm touching your words. Arthur shakes his head softly, "Nah, Darlin', " the last word strains from his lips as he rises to his feet with a groan, leaving the safe comfort of your touch as he stands to undo his pants.

He glances over his shoulder, peering down at you through the darkness with a smirk curling up at the right corner of his mouth. Watching as your sweet eyes follow his every movement, Arthur turns to face you, allowing you to gaze at him as he slowly pushes the brass button through the eyelet at the top of his riding pants. The fabric opens effortlessly, revealing the red cloth of his union suit underneath. The sight of him before you, suspenders hanging loosely on either side of his long legs and his pants aching to be peeled from his strong form has your lips parted in awe at the man standing mere inches away from you.

He continues from just seconds before, "Seein' you laid out on my bed, purdy as a dream."

After stepping out of his pants now crumpled around his ankles, Arthur lowers one knee upon the cot nearest your thighs. He leans over you, using his thick fingers to tilt your chin upward, meeting his crystalline eyes. "Was one helluva sight I could get used to seein'."

The low timbre of his voice sends a shockwave of desire straight through your heart and into the aching pit of your stomach. Your lips draw up into a shy smile, and a faint dusting of pink envelops your cheeks just like the moment you'd first professed your feelings for him under that canopy of trees he led you through so blindly. Although it hasn't been long since that fateful night, the closeness of your relationship has escalated so quickly that your head and heart dizzy at the mere mention of his name.

Arthur's calloused thumb brushes over the supple swell of your bottom lip, enticing you to part them just for him. You comply, of course, unable to resist how a ghost of his touch makes you so pliant beneath him. And when he leans down to meet your lips with his own, your heart swells with tender affection. Those warm, slightly chapped, but pleasantly plush lips are heady as they connect with a passion that stokes the burning coals of desire in the very base of your core.

"Been waitin' to use that one for a while, hmm?" You hum contently while blindly guiding your hands toward the flare of muscle encasing his ribs. God, how you could worship this man and never tire of feeling how warm, how strong he is beneath your palms.

"Depends. It workin'?" He murmurs, smirking cockily against your lips.

Your mind begins to spin as the calloused pad of his thumb dips from your chin and swipes over your jawline. His fingers splay out over the side of your neck, fingertips gripping you with tender passion to hold you in place. He could easily break you, bend you with his finger and thumb as if you were nothing more than a twig beneath his rough and weathered hands. Never have you felt so small and fragile, always knowing in your heart that you took up much more room than other women. But, when you're with Arthur, he makes you feel as delicate as the petals on a beautiful flower, something so precious and worth loving; it's so much more than you'd ever experienced in your whole life. He touches you so tenderly as if you were made from nothing more than ash, a veritable pile of matter waiting to slip through his fingers at any moment.

You want to hum your praises to your lover, to let him know exactly how much you've wanted this, how much you've missed him, how well he's kissing you, touching you... But you can't. There are no words. He's stolen them from you, drawing all the air out of your lungs with his lips, leaving you gasping for the air coated in his divine masculine scent: sweet tobacco, wood ash, and mossy earth. He encompasses you, wrapping one arm around your waist as he pulls you close to his body, all the while shuffling himself forward to join you on the small cot. Your back presses against the hard wooden frame of the wagon making up the other half of his tent. He presses against you, holding you close to his strong body as he slides his right hand from your jaw, trailing it down over the soft skin of your neck, and down to your chest, where he heatedly palms your breast hidden just beneath your blouse. To have him touch you like this, like a man frenzied and dying for a taste of intimacy, has your head spinning and your heart on the verge of exploding if it hadn't already; for all you know, you could've died the moment his lips crashed into yours, and all that's left is a heaven you'd only dreamt of.

A low growl of appreciation rumbles through his chest for the plumpness of your body. Most men do not know the fine pleasures that extra curves on a woman can bring. But Arthur sure does. And oh how he worships your full figure, despite your opinions about yourself. His large, calloused palm shifts his attention to your other breast, kneading you tenderly while his lips work from your mouth, and instead, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses over your jawline and supple neck.

His name is a breathless sigh across your trembling lips as you allow your hands to explore his body in return. Touching over the large expanse of his torso and gliding your fingertips over the worn fabric of his union suit, you desperately search for the button that would bare him wholly to you. In the time it takes you to undo one of his buttons, his skilled fingers undo two of yours. Button after button unthreads upon both of your bodies, though his hands are much quicker at ridding you of your layers, leaving them strewn about on the ground until he's stripped you down and laid you beneath him in nothing more than your chemise and bloomers to conceal your decency. Arthur then crawls over you, his movements deliberate and enticingly slow as he cages you in with his hands pressed into the thin mattress on either side of your head. Shadows danced and shifted restlessly, playing tricks on your perception as you try to focus on what little of Arthur you could see through the haziness, making the absence of light feel alive. To feel him above you like this has your stomach in knots, tightening with a firey passion that's ready to snap at any given moment. Hearts are pounding, thrumming wildly against your ribcages like birds desperate to escape the confines of your chests. You hear it, hear how his breath shutters with each wild thump of his heart, and you feel it in his breath as it puffs over your cheek. He's losing himself to you and you him, slipping so quickly that rational thinking is no longer of use. You need him and he needs you.

The flaps of his union suit hang loosely from his body, allowing your hands to reach in and press flat over his heated skin. He shivers slightly at the contact, his muscles tensing and flexing beneath the tender meeting of your palms placed upon his scarred, goose-pimpled flesh. Your fingertips ghost over a scar on the right side of his ribcage, causing your face to crinkle with sorrow for what hardship your lover, this great outlaw, has had to endure in his lifetime. The damaged tissue is the result of a nasty fight he had as a young man: when someone stabbed him with the broken end of a beer bottle; they had aimed to kill him, but he had survived. The spot still aches with the memory of Hosea digging out the shards of broken glass from the angry, bloodied wound. But somehow, the way your delicate touch brushes over that old scar with such love and care causes the outlaw's skin to tingle, and his cock to ache with the pride of knowing that you love him so.

He takes his time with you here, laid out beneath him like a perfect little thing he's captured and kept safe by hiding you away in the privacy of his tent. After the day he's had, he wants to savor every bit of loveliness he's blessed with in your presence, so he can't rush this with you, not now. Arthur takes his time admiring you, letting his eyes rake over what he's able to see, and feeling what he cannot. Leaning down close enough to your face to capture that seductive glint in your glittering, lust-blown eyes, Arthur searches for any change within them as he maneuvers his right hand away from the mattress to trail along your sensitive flesh. The rough pads of his fingers ghost over your thigh, caressing the plump deposit of flesh along your middle, snaking up over your collarbones, and over your neck in search of your delicate face before sealing your mouth with his own in a kiss so tender you whimper from the initial contact.

Shivers of anticipation roll through him as your body responds to his touch: back arching off the bed, hands pulling on the nape of his neck to hold him down and assure that his lips won't leave yours, and the way your bloomer-clad hips roll upward in search of some much-needed friction. God how he could spend hours with you like this, letting his hands roam over your body to make you shiver and plead for any ounce of affection that he can give you. Your needy state is only exacerbated by the slight tremble in your thighs as he snakes his hands down over the pillowy flesh, seeking out the waistband of your bloomers. Ridding you of the cloth separating your pussy from his line of sight is an easy feat: the clad, slightly damp undergarment peels away from your plump hips with ease at the help of his precision; the Lemoyne heat causes the clothing to stick to your slightly dampened skin, but dammit if the temperature pales in comparison to how heated Arthur makes you feel. He tosses them down onto the ground, and places his hands upon your knees, spreading them apart as he sits above you to admire the feeling of your plump body beneath him.

His hand is unhurried and exacting, gently brushing his calloused knuckles down over your inner thigh, then lightly petting them over your soaked need covered by a soft thatch of hair. He can't see you fully, but that does nothing to stop his mind from envisioning how your cunt glistens with slick, all for him. The moment he presses his fingertips to your seam, parting you with the practiced precision of a lover, he lets a low, ragged breath escape his nose in appreciation for how wet you are. You shiver and instinctively try to close your knees from the pleasant surprise of his touch, and fuck does it feel good to have him brush over your folds like that.

"Always so ready, ain'tchya?" He murmurs, a teasing lilt to his voice as he takes his time in savoring the feeling of your slick upon his fingertips.

Your hips involuntarily twitch, bucking upward into his hand, seeking out his fingertips to make him swirl them over your aching little clit. You want him to touch you right where you need him, feel him right on that little spot upon that nub of nerves that makes your mind swirl and your body careen into a blissful orgasm. But he doesn't give that to you, not yet. He wants to work you over slowly, savoring every little sound he can draw out of those pretty lips. You're far too shy to answer him directly, instead favoring to cover your face with your forearms as he takes pleasure in taunting you like this. But the moment his fingertips threaten to part your folds, you let out a delicate little noise, someplace between a whine and a prayer to let him know that you're in no mood to endure his teasing tonight, "Arthur... Please."

Oh, how he loves to hear the sound of you begging; he's already half-hard at the idea of you wanting his touch, let alone hearing how desperate you are for it. He answers your prayer with a long, smooth stroke of his thumb parting your puffy, wet folds. You keen at how just a simple touch causes your stomach to flutter and your slit to clench around nothing at all. Your thighs, thick with strength, covered by a layer of squishy softness, part for him, relaxing lazily as he guides his thumb over each of your labia.

It was nearly impossible to get you to lay like this for him a few weeks ago; you'd been concerned about the unsightly appearance of your inner thighs: scarred over with dimples and imperfections, as well as the slight discoloration of having them rub together after so many years of being a larger woman. Most women that you've seen naked, don't have the same ailments upon their bodies as you have on yours. Just the other day when bathing with some of the girls in the lake, you'd noticed that even on Karen's body, a woman closer to your size, still didn't have the scars or discoloration across her skin in the same way that you have. And that night that Arthur had you laid out for him for the very first time, he'd noticed that apprehension in you, taking it as having second thoughts. But once you had explained how you felt about your own body, he hadn't even given the idea a single thought; his own body is mauled up, covered in old and ugly scars, and carrying more than three colors from all his time spent out in the sun. So, he couldn't have cared less about some scars, a little extra hair, weight, or even the discoloration over your thighs. What he did care about, however, was making sure that you felt loved in spite of it all. And now, it feels no different. To have you spread your legs for him like this, without a single worry holding you back, is a goddamn treat.

Fuck how good it feels to have the soft press of his thumb tease over your cunt, tracing the delicate path between your weeping entrance, to your swelling bud with a pressure so teasing and light that you squirm to feel more. Your plush lips tuck between your teeth to hold back any sounds that give away what you two are doing in here after dark, but it's useless; the lewd sounds of his thumb circling over your clit echo throughout the tent: a dead giveaway to anyone that dare walk by. Holding your breath like this isn't easy, not when the pounding of your heart echoes in your ears and your chest feels as if it's being seared from the inside out. A ragged gasp finally inhales through your nostrils, desperately trying to fulfill your body's need for air when you can no longer restrain your breaths.

He huffs out a low chuckle in amusement at the state he has you in: clearly desperate and in need to have your clit rubbed just the way you like it.

"Hmm.. Hear that?" He rasps out before going silent, letting you hear the sounds of your own slick being spread over your soaked cunt. He only continues when he finally reaches your clit, circling over the throbbing little nerve-ending to make you sigh out in pleasure for him. "So goddamn wet. All for me."

In a blur of movements, Arthur's chapped lips and teeth skim over your knee, slowly working their way down over your inner thighs. He nips at you, earning a few little squeaks and giggles until he kisses over your plump mound. His thumbs take hold of either side of your cunt, spreading you open to let the night air hit your wet skin. It's pleasant like this, to feel yourself spread out beneath him like a meal ready to be devoured and dammit if he ain't starved for a taste. Being eaten out has quickly become one of your favorite acts of intimacy in recent weeks; his tongue is so skilled at finding spots on you, making you come so deliciously, that most days it's all you've been able to think about. Hell, it's all you're thinking about now as his head sinks down to your core and his hot breath fans out over your aching need. His tongue slips out of that perfect mouth and flattens out over your seam, lapping at you once to earn him that little sigh of pleasure escaping your throat.

Your hands immediately seek out his head, combing through his slightly sweat-dampened hair as he swirls the blunt tip of his tongue over your clit.

"A-Agh, Arthur.. N-Not so fast," you whine out in protest, yet your hips bucking up into his mouth says otherwise. But he relents, nonetheless, giving you a moment of reprieve before he delves back in at the same pace.

He's aiming to make you cum quick and hard: slithering his tongue over your clit with the precision of knowing exactly what side and spot makes you writhe beneath him. Just left and then a little upward beneath that little hood of skin and he has you singing for him. Explicitves roll off your tongue one after another in between sweet little sounds that praise him for what effort he's putting in just for you. To hear you, feel you crumble beneath him like this is better than any robbery or score he gets out on the road. But just before he lets you come, he pulls his head back slightly and puffs cool air over your clit, making you whine.

"Shh.. Shh.. 'M gonna let ya cum, Darlin'. Don'tchu worry 'bout that none. 'M gonna take real good care of ya," he hums lowly as his lips and bristly scruff brush over your quivering inner thighs.

His promise isn't far off from fulfillment, not when he sinks his tongue into your heat and presses his opened mouth over the entirety of your cunt. He sucks hard, feeling your walls constrict around the wriggling muscle of his tongue as he laps inside your spongey center. Your thighs tremble with need as he fucks you with his mouth and slurps up your slick, drinking in as much of you as he can and relishing the tangy sweetness of your delectable taste. You throw your head back against the rolled-up blanket you had been using as a pillow earlier in the night, all while he eats you out like a man who's desperate to consume you.

But the aching throb of his cock, constricted by the thin fabric of his union suit, is far too angry for him to ignore. He's got to have you, now.

As he shuffles back up to his knees, leaving your cunt longing to cum on his tongue, you flutter your eyes open and snap your head up to try and catch a glimpse of what he's doing. Clearly, you ain't pleased with him teasing you like this, but when you feel his fervent movements, you realize that he's trying to work off his union suit. He wastes no time it peeling it away from his torso, but the moment he starts to tug it down his thighs, allowing his weeping cock to spring free, he nearly topples over and just about slams head-first into your body. Thankfully, he catches himself in the knick of time, grunting out a few curses as he grows impatient with his incapability to slide that damn fabric off his legs.

Amid his struggle to bare himself, you can't hide the giggle creeping up your throat as he curses under his breath, frustrated with how the fabric insists on clinging to his muscular legs. You help him slide the old red union suit off his body by digging your heels against the back of his thighs and pushing it down the long length of his legs until it reaches his ankles. The undergarment hangs loosely off his feet, causing him to kick it haphazardly off the side of the bed, letting it fall onto his trunk to skirt down on the grass below.

The instant his turgid length brushes over your inner thigh it twitches with the anticipation of feeling your tight, wet walls clamped around him, milking every drop of spend nestled away in his balls; spend that he so desperately wishes he could drain right inside of you. For now, however, just a single brush of your fingertips against him is enough. He has to hold his breath as he guides your delicate palm over his velvety shaft to stroke the needy ache away; if he isn't careful, he'd cum just like this. He hisses, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth as your fingers wrap around him and your thumb seeks out the weeping slit of his blunt tip. Arthur is, by no means, a small man: his legs are long, torso strong and wide, feet and hands are like bear paws, and his cock.. God, his cock is big. You could use both of your hands to stroke him and still, there'd be enough room for his tip to be entirely untouched. But you make sure as you stroke him with one hand, you pay extra attention to his tip, smearing his drooling precum over as much of him as you can, even down to the dark and wiry curls along his base and balls.

He's trying so hard to hold himself back, but with each tender pass of your thumb over that sweet spot along the underside of his tip, the last remnants of his patience crack away. You feel him crumbling like this, crumbling into a frenzied mess of low-hummed breaths and grunts through gritted teeth, and you fucking love it. Before you can even think about the desire roaring in the cavernous pit of your stomach, aching to be quelled, he smashes his lips into yours so hard that you're sure one of you is bleeding. The pain of his busted lip splitting back open is an angry reminder of the frustration still lingering at the back of his mind; he's as tensed up, pent-up, as a taut rope ready to snap.

With a quick movement, he swats your hand away, preventing you from jacking him into a fast climax. Then, in one swift motion, he grabs hold of your thighs and forcefully yanks you toward him, making the round swell of your plump ass plant firmly against the hard front of his strong body. Your thighs spread out, squishing over and conforming to the contour of his hips, the intimate contact leaving you both ragged and breathless. Your heart drums a frantic rhythm in your ears, drowning out all other thoughts and sensations that belong to you alone. It's as if your mind has descended into a tangled web of strangled noises and glorious sensations that only Arthur seems able to untangle or soothe. The faint outline of his body nestled between your thighs is a constant reminder that nothing beyond this moment, beyond him hidden away with you inside of this tent, matters.

The hard length of his turgid pride parts your folds, gliding over the slick thatch of curls usually concealing your cunt from his eyes, but with his sight hindered, he can explore every single nook, roll, and crevice without you shying away. His weight bares down on you as he holds your legs into the crook of his arms, nearly bending you in half as he drags his cock over your seam. It feels so good like this, even though you can hardly breathe with the thickness of your thighs pressing against your already plump stomach, but when the tip of his cock knocks into your clit, it makes the strained pain well worth it. The back of your hand flies over your mouth as he continues on like this, pleasuring himself and you with each agonizingly slow thrust. Hearing your ragged, strangled half-breaths, he releases your thighs, leaving them to splay out lazily on either side of his hips as he leans down to steal a tender kiss.

Upon breaking his lips away from yours, the low hum of his voice finds its way through the haziness of your lust-broken mind as he murmurs against the shell of your ear, "Gonna take ya just like this..."

Chapped lips skim over your jawline and trail to your lips, where he gives you another tender kiss filled with gentle affection: polar opposite to the rough sex-driven outlaw you've gotten a taste of tonight, but aligning perfectly with the man you fell in love with all those years ago. Scraped knuckles skim against your slick heat as he slips his hand in between you both and presses flat over the thick, dark curls at the base of his throbbing length. His fingers spread wide over his pubic bone, holding his cock between his middle and ring finger, stiffening himself outward to seek out your clenched entrance. With a slight pullback of his hips, he guides himself to your slit, catching right on the taut muscle before pressing forward and splitting you open.

A soft cry hums in the back of your throat and he shushes you so tenderly, sliding his hands over your knees and down your shins to soothe the ache he knows you're feeling. You're so fucking tight, hardly different from the first night he took you and bedded you properly back at the Saint's Hotel. It nearly shatters him when your walls flutter around him, squeezing and pulling him in inch by inch as if you were carved out just for him to sink into. He stills only for a short moment, letting you feel him nestled up against your cervix before he slides himself out and enters you again with a sharp snap of his hips. Lingering anger and frustration from the shit day he's had still pulsates at the back of his mind, desperate to be released as the tension in his body rises.

The tight walls of your cunt clench onto him for dear life as jolts of pleasure and pain rack through your body.

Behind the shield of your palm, you cry out, "A-Agh, Arthur!"

You're trying your best to be quiet, to still your ragged breaths and hide your whimpers, but he's making it incredibly difficult. Each slow drag of his cock coming out of you with a satisfying pop, only to pierce you with a hard roll of his hips, sends you reeling. You're seeing stars, shaking from the pleasurable burn of the passionate fire he's stirring within you. Strong hands grip your hips, keeping you still as his thrusts guide you into a steady rhythm that makes the old wooden frame creak and groan with every subtle and sharp movement that your bodies make. Being discreet has left his mind entirely, no longer concerned with what sounds are coming out of his tent as he fucks you good and proper. No, he couldn't care less when the sounds of your slick pussy squelches as he presses himself flush against you and groans against the pulse point of your neck.

"Don't want ya hidin' them purdy sounds, Darlin'. Let 'em out for me," he grunts out between slow but hard thrusts.

Usually, intimacy like this is savored in the shaking breaths and whispered little sounds only audible to your ears, but tonight... Tonight Arthur is something else entirely. Primal. A damn, dirty outlaw. You love this new view of him, but you can't allow yourself to let the others hear. What if someone were walking by? Or Hosea or Dutch hear you two going at it? You wouldn't be able to look at them for a week! But he doesn't give you much choice in the matter: snaking his hand down between your bodies, his muscular forearm presses against your plush belly while his thumb immediately finds your clit.

"O-Oh, God," you whine as the pad of his thumb circles over you, followed by his name dripping off your tongue like the sweetest honey. "At's it... Such a good girl takin' me so deep. Mmm.. Gonna cum 'round me ain'tchu? Gonna give me a real good one, baby?"

God damn him if his mouth ain't filthy. The way he croons out those little praises and words of encouragement has your climax building faster than you ever could have anticipated. And the swirling of his thumb? It has you shaking, whining, pleading, practically begging for your release as he talks you through it, "C'mon, Darlin'... I feel ya squeezin' me real tight," he praises, "'At's it. Focus on me."

With one more swipe of his thumb over your sensitive clit and his cock hitting that sweet spot right against your cervix, you're tensing, digging your heels into the thin mattress, and cumming around him so hard that you see white. It takes everything in you not to scream, but the strangled sound coming out of you is loud enough to warrant some head-turning if anyone were awake. The moment your walls flutter and start milking him, he falls forward and drops down onto his elbows to cage you in. His thrusts are relentless as he takes his anger out on you in this way, using every movement of his body to release the bristling anger clutching onto his mind like a damn vice grip. No matter how fervent and frenzied, he's still careful not to hurt you, always thinking about how good he's making you feel while chasing his own release.

Arthur isn't a man of many words, but when you're gripped around him like this, clutching him with your arms, legs, and your fluttering pussy, he is downright mouthy. "Oh, such a good girl for listenin' to me. Shh.. Shh. I gotchu, baby. I gotchu."

His mouth hovers over yours, claiming your lips as he kisses you hard and possessively. Moans spill out of you, traveling through the expanse of his throat until it hums within his chest and he echoes one back. To talk like this with him, in a language only two lovers could understand, is far more intimate and pleasurable than anyone could ever know. Arthur is yours and you are his, no ownership or proprietary claim, but just the pleasant knowledge that both of you choose to love each other is enough.

With a few more rolls of his hips, he's nearing his own orgasm: length twitching and engorging as his balls tighten. In desperation, he quickly climbs off of you and pulls his cock out from your core. His right hand tightens into a fist around himself, and although you can't see it, you hear the lewd, effortless slide of his hand vigorously pumping over his tip like his life depends on cumming for you.

Finally, his orgasm hits him, working its way out of his tightened balls and spurting over your plump mound and belly. If he could see his spend on you like this, it'd be enough to make him cum all over again. But both of you are far too exhausted to even consider that so soon. You're still shaking, panting heavily as he lowers himself down onto you, not caring that his sticky spend is now covering the front of his body as well, as your sweaty bodies come down from such an enormous height.

His touch traces a slow, deliberate path down your leg until his fingertips reach the softness of your hip, where he gives your flesh a gentle but firm grasp. Reveling in the smoothness of your skin and the feel of your curvy form beneath his palm, he lets out a slow exhale through his nose. The heat of his breath spills over your neck and shoulder, doubled by the heavy breaths leaving his lips as he lazily peppers your clammy skin with kisses.

After a long stretch of quiet spent nestled into his hair, breathing in the comforting remnants of campfire intermingled with his musky scent, your breathing finally begins to steady. Slowly, your senses return to you one by one, like pieces of a puzzle falling back into place. Shock and disbelief jolt through your entire being as it finally hits you how easily he manipulated your body with his own strength and skill as a lover. You'd heard of men being rough with women, but never did you think it could be this pleasurable.

Your voice finally cuts through the relative silence, carrying a deep sense of satisfaction and astonishment with it, "Wh-here in the hell did that come from?"

An amused chuckle rumbles inside his chest, slightly huffing out of his nose as he slightly pushes himself off of you to gauge your reaction, "Reckon I were a little pent up. Why? You like it?"

To say you liked it was an understatement, but you'd like anything as long as Arthur were right there with you to experience it just the same. While his right hand slides up over the plump contours of your body, appreciatively grabbing at the plushness of your stomach and breasts, he lovingly brushes a few stray strands of hair off your forehead stuck there by the sweat covering your body. You hum softly in agreement to his question, deciding that you did enjoy this different side of him you hadn't expected, despite his rough exterior.

"Mhmm.. 'S always good with you," the loving words you murmur cling to his heart and earn you a pleasant kiss that tastes like the remnants of his busted lip.

As his lips trail back down over your jawline, his beard delightfully scratches over your sensitive skin, causing you to hum in appreciation for him loving you like a man who worships the very ground you walk upon. Your own body follows his lead, fingertips glide down the entire length of his back, tracing the contour of muscle that hint at the immense strength lurking beneath. You can't help but marvel at his shape, this man you love so dearly, and how his body was molded for love and carved from such a hard life. While your fingertips glide across his muscled frame, you can feel the subtle shift of his body as he adjusts himself on top of you, notricebly more relaxed than before: a clear testamanet to the calming eddect your touch has on him.

Curiosity peaked, you murmur, "You relaxed now?" as your fingertips idly trace the two little dimples that grace the base of his spine, just above the firm and muscular curve of his ass.

An amused smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, obviously enjoying the path your fingertips are carving out over his back. He'd never admit it, but he loves it when you grab him unabashedly, palming his ass like he so often does to you. The warmth of his cock brushing over your leg, hardening much faster than he expected for a man his age, tells you all you need to know.

He agrees with you, humming softly against your chest as he inches himself down to where his mouth hovers over the plump swell of your breasts, "Thinkin' that we just might need a little more time for relaxin', don'tchu?"

A/N: Big thanks for the divider from @saradika-graphics and the beautiful gif from @sunwingsunset, please go send them some love for their work! <3

Other creators that expressed interest and drew inspiration from: @subpopizzy , @cassietrn , @coltermorning , @redwritr, @zae-heeyyy, @twola , @amorgansgal

Please do go check all the blogs I tagged! You surely won't be disappointed!

As always, sending my love - M. <3

[luveline]

Hiiii, I don’t know if you’re up for any marauders requests- so no pressure!!

If you are though, I recently sprained my wrist pretty (really) bad at work and have been not great about taking care of it, resting, ect.

If it’s not too much trouble- could I get a lil thing about the marauders absolutely doting on reader over an injury? Like so soft and sweet it could give you diabetes.

Thank you!!!

hope this is okay sweetness! fem!reader, 2k

"She's trying to stand up again," James says, finger hooked in your belt loop. 

You glare at him down on the sofa. "Tattle tale," you scold. It's hard to maintain; he looks very sweet today, everyday, and more than handsome. 

Remus stands in the doorway to the living room, the smell of the honey tea he's making on his heels. "Why, dove?" he asks, sounding amusedly horrified. "Can't you stay still for ten minutes?" 

"I just thought I'd help with the tea," you say, taking a painful step toward him. James gasps and actually stands himself. 

Your eyes widen. James is more of a threat-giver than an enforcer. He loves telling on you or better yet enabling your bad behaviour, but if he's getting up it means he won't be allowing you any further self-detriment. 

"Be gentle," Remus says. 

James raises his eyebrows at you and crowds you, hands on your hips. He gives you a little push. "Sit back down." 

You sit, and your ankle feels better for it immediately, but you cross your arms over your chest and huff so they know you don't appreciate being bossed around. James laughs, more than aware. 

"It's for your own good," he says. 

Remus returns with your tea and you say thanks even though you're pretending to be annoyed with them both. "I would like to be allowed to get my own tea," you say, pleased when James sits back at your side with his own cup of tea, his arm heavy against you. "It's not as bad as you think it is, I promise." 

"You have a bruise bigger than Jersey on your ankle and…" James lowers his voice slightly, "I know it's hurting even when you aren't standing. You get a notch between your brows, right here," he says, tapping the space above your nose. 

"The less you use it the quicker it will get better," Remus says. 

"That logic only applies to injury," says a new voice. The front door closes, and after a second Sirius appears in his coat and jacket. "The more you use me, the better I get." He winks at you. 

You wink back. Delighted, Sirius peels out of his coat and shoes and swiftly takes the empty seat on your left. He kisses your cheek hello, his slender fingers tucked deftly behind your ear so he can turn your face to his. 

"Have you been resting?" he asks. 

"No," Remus and James say at the same time. 

"She's done the opposite," James adds.

"Yes, well, she's not perfect." He shakes his head at you hurriedly, mouthing, "You are perfect." 

You know he's joking but you get all melted, tight shoulders lax, head dipping back against the sofa cushions. Sirius hums his approval and strokes your cheek with his thumb. He's not usually the most affectionate of the boys, but when you're injured he acts like you're on your deathbed and deserving of the world's collective sweetness. 

"How was work?" you ask him. 

"Agony," he says quietly, and he's putting it on, trying to make you squirm. It's working. "I was worried about you." 

"I take offence to that," James says. 

"I know you're taking care of her," Sirius says, "don't be daft, I just know she won't behave. Especially if I'm not here." 

Half of a biscuit soars toward Sirius and hits him in the chest. Entertained, you follow its trajectory back to the source and find Remus in the big armchair, cup of tea cradled atop his knee. "What?" he asks, seemingly chewing the first half of the biscuit.��

"Sirius–" James warns. 

"Prick," Sirius says. 

Remus swallows his biscuit and takes a sip of tea. "Oh, sorry. Slipped." 

"Why have you chucked a biscuit at me?" Sirius asks. 

James takes the biscuit and eats it. You laugh from behind your hand. 

"No reason. Y/N, dovey, do you want a biscuit?" Remus asks you. 

You nod and start to stand to retrieve one, but two arms grab your waist. James' arm, tan, steely without any effort, stops you from getting any further. Sirius', less strong but twice as eager, pulls you into his side with a groan. 

"Please sit down," he says. 

You sigh and let your head drop onto James' shoulder. "I'm sitting. I just want a biscuit." 

Remus sits on the coffee table in front of you with a funny look on his face, a mixture of love and disbelief. "I was bringing them to you." He squeezes the tin closed in his lap, his eyes resolutely on yours so you're forced to meet his gaze. He's handsome, too, they all are, but Remus doesn't know it, unaware of the effect his eyes have on you, the colour like browned honey and the little specks of amber that surround his pupil. "I'll give you a biscuit if you promise to stop making it worse." 

"Really," James seconds, "we want you to get better, that's all." 

You slouch further into his shoulder, away from their doting concern. "It's not as bad as you think it is."

That's a bad lie. You and Sirius had been walking back up the garden steps after a red squirrel stakeout —the squirrels keep eating from Remus' bird feeders and therefore scaring away the birds— and you slipped in a strange way. You ended up sprawled out on your back and you'd burst into laughter, while Sirius looked down on you absolutely horrified. It was only later, an hour or so afterwards, when you'd been helped up and placed affectionately in bed, that your ankle started to ache, and you found you couldn't put any weight on it after all. Your panicked tears had terrified the three of them. They've been ridiculously lovely since then. 

"Maybe I could have another look?" Remus asks. 

It's a well-organised dance when you're together, and this part's no different. Remus hands the biscuit tin to James as he stands, and Sirius pushes the table back with his foot so Remus has room to kneel down in front of you. James opens the biscuit tin and knows your favourite without having to ask, offering it to you as Remus straightens out your leg. 

"Is this compression thing a good idea all of the time?" Sirius asks. 

Remus pulls it down, humming as you hiss in pain. "Oh, I know, dove. I'll be really quick," he promises. 

"It's not so horribly bruised," James says. 

"I hate that we're all looking at my foot right now." 

Remus squeezes your toes. If you weren't wearing a sock under the compression support you'd have to break up with him. 

"I think it looks less swollen," he says eventually, rolling up your sock and putting the compression back into the proper place. You gasp at the sudden movement and his brows crease in sympathy. "Sorry, dove." 

"Let's elevate it, right?" James asks. 

"Yes, I think so. I'll get you a pillow," Remus says.

He stands up, turns to leave, and then turns back to press a kiss to your temple. 

"Me too," Sirius says, kissing your cheek. 

Having refused to move from James' shoulder in your embarrassment, you're out of the way for James to kiss you too, and it's a good thing. Anymore sweetness and you'd probably melt into the threads of the sofa. 

"I'll owe you one," James says. 

Remus gets a pillow to prop up your foot. James becomes your dedicated human blanket. Sirius looks for a film to watch on the telly while discussing takeaway options, even when Remus claims that he's going to cook tonight. 

"Takeaway is too expensive," Remus says. 

"Cooking makes a mess that you'll insist on cleaning," Sirius argues. 

"Takeaway also makes a mess," James says. 

"We can't cook because I can't help," you declare. "And that's not fair. You guys will all be laughing and flirting in the kitchen and I'll be sat here by my lonesome watching Footloose."   

"Footloose isn't on until ten," Sirius says, looking at the TV info bar with a smile, "you'd be watching Night Rider." 

Remus holds his hand out from the armchair. It's miles from reaching you, but you know he's suggesting an alliance. "How about," he begins softly, "we have a takeaway and those two can do whatever they want." 

"Remus," James says. 

You stand up on your uninjured foot. The boys groan at your moving but don't argue, letting you limp to the armchair where Remus is sitting with little more than a chorus of defeated sighs. He puts his arms out for you, his hands and grip strong as he helps you down into the seat next to him. There's not really enough room for two, but he makes it, his arm crossing over your chest and under your arm to lock you in against him. 

"This is ridiculous," James says. 

Sirius shuffles across the sofa into the gap you've left behind. "We could always hide the menus," he says to James. "Neither of them know the numbers. Plus, she can't walk and he can't be bothered." 

Remus pulls you in impossibly closer. "That's true." 

The two boys opposite spring up from their seats, laughing as they begin plotting a cruel plan. You rub your fingertips up and down the length of the arm holding you, letting your head flop back into Remus' chest as you say, "They'll realise they like us too much to starve us soon enough." 

"I know." His hold on you relaxes. "I really do wish you'd stop putting weight on your foot. Please. It needs time to get better." 

"Okay," you say, a sucker for him when he talks so softly. "Sorry. No more walking around while it heals." 

"Don't be sorry, just get better quickly. I need reinforcements against their nonsense." 

"You love their nonsense." 

James and Sirius return looking pleased with themselves not long after, and an hour passes quietly. When the doorbell rings, you're unsurprised to find they've ordered your favourite takeaway. 

"You're predictable," Remus says.

"Well," Sirius says, lifting his chin, arms laden with cartons, "how else is she supposed to get better? She needs food." 

In an example of extreme overkill, Remus and James act as crutches, helping you walk the short distance from the living room to the kitchen table. You're surprised James doesn't just attempt to pick you up in a fireman's lift, as is his usual style. 

Sirius sets the table. Remus makes drinks. James doles out the portions of food, knowing what everyone wants without having to ask, and you miss being able to help. You're usually moving with them, an integral thread, ebbing and flowing in tandem. It's nice to watch them together, but you miss doing your part. James' hand warm on your hip as he eases you out of the way, or Sirius' childish attempts at tripping you up on the way to the silverware drawer. 

"Sorry for being so useless lately," you say, twisting the fork in your hand over and over. 

Three glares pierce you at once. "Who says you're useless?" James asks. 

"You're out of commission for the moment," Remus says agreeably, "that's far from useless." 

"I feel bad, having you wait on me. I know I'm making it worse all the time by refusing to just rest but I don't like you having to do everything for me, it's not fair." 

Sirius sits down in the chair beside yours, tucking himself in quickly. "You realise that we'd look after you forever, right? Like, if you needed this much help and looking after every day, that wouldn't be a problem." 

You shake your head. "Don't be silly." 

James clears his throat. "No, listen to him. He's right." 

"We don't mind helping you to the table, or carrying your washing downstairs for you, or any of the things we've offered to do for you since you hurt your ankle." 

Remus sits in the seat across from you with a pointed look. James joins him, a packet of painkillers in hand. He pops two out for you, saying, "You're not useless just because we've had to give you some help. And if you were useless it wouldn't matter. So don't say sorry." 

Remus nods. "Exactly. Don't feel guilty about an accident, dove." 

You look at Sirius unsurely. "You really don't mind looking after me?" 

He reaches over to handle your thigh. "No," he says, gaze soft, fingers squeezing into the fat of your leg lovingly, "we really don't mind." 

[ryrywrites]

Supernatural P Links

(divider creds: @cafekitsune)

minors, do not interact. the links below contain porn and graphic nudity. you are responsible for your own media consumption, understanding that the links below contain porn and should not be opened in public. I will block minors who interact.

A/N: Hi! 🤓 I've haven't made one of these before but I've been inspired by other creators on here so we're gonna give it a try. Supernatural won the vote by landslide so I'll post another poll soon on two different fandoms. The reader is female in these scenarios. If you guys would like me to make more FxF and MxM p link content, lemme know in the comments. If you guys have any links you'd like me to add to another collection, send them to my inbox (anon. If you're uncomfortable) and let me know what character you'd like to go with it. Also, comments and reblogs are always appreciated. (I'll be your best friend 🥹🙏🏻) Enjoy! 🫶🏻🥰

𝑺𝒂𝒎 𝑾𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓

❃ size kink with a bruising pace

❃ Sam loves worshipping you

❃ Sam fucks you in Dean's bed

❃ You both love the new loft kitchen

❃ Fucking you dumb

❃ He can make your legs shake and toes curl

𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝑾𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓

❃ Dean loves lazy sex on the couch

❃ Backshots in the motel

❃ After a fight, you and Dean make up a little differently

❃ He needs to taste you

❃ He can't enough of eating you out

❃ Sometimes, Dean just needs to have you wherever he finds you

𝑪𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒍

❃ Cas gets rewarded with raw doggy

❃ He loses his mind when you ride him

❃ Cas teases your pretty pussy

❃ You can feel him in your guts

❃ Cas decides to join you in the shower

❃ Mind bending backshots

[mygnolia]

get better! | 3. meet my neighbor ig???

SMAU! synopsis -› in which your neighbor and popular twitch streamer park sunghoon breaks his arm, so he switches to vlog style content that matches up with yours! now everyone’s curious why 1) you have a cute boy in your apartment, 2) sunghoon’s not on his grind anymore, and 3) when are you two going to date!?

(2.2K WORDS, cw: food, y/n collects smiskis and sony angels LOLL)

You open the door to see a fist about to rain bruises on your forehead- and Sunghoon doesn’t expect for you to answer so quickly. He immediately retracts his hand, an apology tumbling from his lips as he drops his head in embarrassment. You wave it off, inviting him into your apartment.

“Welcome to my humble abode.” You greet, turning to face him expectantly, waiting for him to say something.

Sunghoon stares at the bare walls. “It’s…very new.” He comments, unsure of how to take in the plants in one corner, fluffy rug, half built coffee table, and extensive video editing equipment all ready to go near your balcony.

“What do I get for being the world’s best teacher?” You start. “Will you even let me on your stream?”

He cracks a smile. “Of course. You’ll have your own verified twitch badge and everything, too. What did you need help with, by the way?”

“I need to unpack my wall decorations. You’re tall,” You mention, walking towards another labeled brown box. “You can help me hang up my pictures.” You reach for cardboard with ‘photos’ scribbled over in marker, setting it down in front of Sunghoon. “Those two.” You point, and his eyes follow. “I marked on the wall where they all go.”

Sunghoon at least knows how to keep quiet, working with an efficiency as he refers to the pictures you’ve sent of where you want everything to go. You both move floppy potted plants near couches and decorate them with proper rugs and throw pillows. You realize how much better it is to have a second person, even if he was down an arm. Your living space changes from something plain, and as Sunghoon describes, ‘new,’ into something more personable.

“Help me build this shelf.” You say, and he frowns, looking at his right arm in a cast.

“And How am i supposed to do that?”

His words make you pause, forgetting that Sunghoon can’t just build furniture for you. “Okay. Let’s build it together. Then, I’ll set up my figurines, and I’ll help you film.”

With a nod from the streamer, you make your way towards the box, slowly taking out the pieces as Sunghoon lays them out. He eyes them carefully, making sure they’re in the right piles and opening the plastic.

“Okay, it says….I need..Where’s piece 236?”

He sighs and leans over, reading the instructions properly.

“It says 23 and 6.”

You frown, almost hitting him when you turn around to scowl. “Close enough.”

It continues that way for a while, and you finally finish building the cute shelf, leaning it against the wall and starting to put the figurines on as Sunghoon adds succulents to your kitchen.

“Let’s eat.” You half yell half suggest across the spacious room. “I’m hungry.”

“But we haven’t even filmed anything.”

You grab your keys off the kitchen counter and ignore him. “I’m craving toast.”

He laughs, following you down to the elevator. “You eat like a Victorian child.” Biting your lip, you pretend to be offended.

“And you look like one.” You weakly retort.

You make sure to bring your recording stick and smaller camera, playing with the settings before you record. “Hi guys!” Waving to the camera, you pan it over to Sunghoon, tilting it up for the camera to catch a glimpse of the mysterious figure next to you. “We’re getting lunch!” Across the parking garage, you see the somewhat busy cafe, but as one couple leaves, you usher Sunghoon to take the spot, commenting slightly to the camera.

When done ordering, the food comes in a cute yplace decorated with small animal doodles. As influencers, you’re both aware of the plaster social media life you have to live, taking out our phones and snapping photos that scream ‘date.’

Sunghoon pans the camera over, and the device catches the steam from the thick fluffy bread as he cuts a small piece, showing to the camera before trying it.

You stare at him, waiting for any change in expression.

“It’s really good, ____. Try it.” He nods, agreeing with the 5 star reviews.

“I got my egg a little crispy on the end,” You tell the recording, holding up a piece you cut before eating. Despite the simplicity, the eggs are well cooked and seasoned, and the addition of small vegetables on the side makes for a light meal. It’s not expensive, and in your opinion, it shouldn’t be- it’s literally eggs and toast. After a bit of small talk regarding the menu, you both agree to stop the recording.

Sunghoon speaks up. “I might have to leave early. The groupchat is telling me they want to play League of Legends.”

You falter, confused. “But you can’t even play.” Sunghoon’s heard the line so many times and rolls his eyes, exasperated. “I’ll just sit on stream and cheer them ob, or something.”

While you’re in no place to direct him around, you definitely have the means to judge Sunghoon a little for the things he does. “You work, right? Not just streaming?”

“Of course,” He answers casually, wiping the table and stacking the plates. “I am just another computer science major with an internship.” His tone makes you laugh, and you mirror his actions to make sure your table is clean, before returning the plates and leaving.

Despite inviting a stranger into your home for business talk, you seem to get along despite your rough start online, and he seems to not take anything too personally; a huge relief for you. When back in your apartment, you grab your better camera, making sure it’s properly adjusted to the sunlight that shines through and lights your living space.

After a glance around the room to take in how much work you two did, he speaks up. “What about the shelf, and your figurines?”

“Don’t worry about it. I want the natural lighting in the video.” You refer to how you want to avoid filming late.

Sunghoon leans back, observing not only the brand but also how easily you mess around with the features, keeping a mental note of the model.

“Smile.” You tell him, pointing the camera up to Sunghoon. He flashes a grin, and the corner of your lips turn up as the perfect amount of exposure makes for a great video cover. He raises an eyebrow, and you turn the camera around, showing him how it turned out, and he’s satisfied.

“Cute.” He mumbles.

“You love telling yourself that, huh?” You shake your head, mock disappointment on your features.

“I voice the general public.” He defends, smiling as he watches you get out your laptop and open a word document. “What’s that for?”

“Ideas.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I have plenty.”

You patiently watch as he rummages for his phone through his pocket and finding his notes app. Sunghoon’s positive he’s come prepared, practicing a sweet tone in the mirror and styling his hair just right.

He scrolls and scrolls.

It’s empty.

“Plenty?”

“In my head.” Sunghoon plays it off with a sheepish expression, suddenly embarrassed. You laugh at his sudden change in demeanor, continuing to tease him.

“Thanks for all of your help, mister ‘hooniebee.’

“I was trying to come up with video ideas last night, actually! I just fell asleep before I could write it down.”

“And you didn’t remember anything, huh?” You grin at the way he shrinks on your pink couch, quick to jot down some of the lingering thoughts from last night’s brainstorming.

“I’d say we start off with a ‘simple get to know you.’ Sunghoon’s suggestion is the same as yours, and you’re relieved to share the same train of thought.

Your excitement to teach him is infectious, and Sunghoon understands why people like you so much. Even if your stuff is still in some boxes or in the wrong places, you really do live an almost perfect life, and your beaming personality is no different.

“When it comes to vlogging, you learn what people like to hear. For my audience, they love to know about some video schedule updates as I’m doing small tasks, or simple life updates and explanations. If you’re as boring as the internet makes you out to be, then you got to start overexplaining.” He scoffs, crossing his arms the best he can with his cast.

“I’m not boring!” Sunghoon counters, running a hand through his hair and making himself presentable. “Start recording. Your audience will love me.”

You smile, clicking record without letting him know. “You sure?”

He nods. “Pickles Fan Club will become my fans. Promise.”

You turn to the camera, flashing a bright smile.

“Thinking and thinking about… Hi everyone! It’s ___ and you’re here rent free!” Your introduction is cute, and Sunghoon realizes that when you pause, it’s his turn to introduce himself, and he panics.

“Buzz Buzz.” He hurries, a wave of embarrassment crashing over him. You laugh, motioning at the camera to cut this part out through your quiet laughter.

“That’s not bad at all!” You promise, turning to him. Sunghoon gives you a blank stare, and your optimistic look fades just a bit. “You just can’t sound like you hate saying it.” You advise. “Buzz Buzz…what you do call your fans?”

He pauses, heat rushing to his face. He glances up, noticing the way you raise your eyebrow as you wait.

“Bae-bees.”

A grin spreads across your face, and you can’t help but find amusement in the situation. “Bae-bees??”

Sunghoon rubs his face with his one hand, waving you off. “They like it.” He promises weakly. “You named your fans after your cat.”

“So be it.” You conclude, turning to the still recording camera. “Say it.”

He shakes his head, letting out a quiet groan of disapproval before sucking in a breath, flashing a bright smile at the camera, and you anxiously watch. “Buzzin’ over here is your favorite Hooniebee! Hi guys!” He offers a little wave, and looks at you for approval.

Your satisfaction is plastered all over your starry smile. “That was really good.” You praise, and Sunghoon smiles, suddenly feeling bashful.

You turn the camera back, and start talking about what you two plan to talk about in your video. You introduce the mysterious boy as your broken armed neighbor, and you two laugh about how you met, listening as he teases you and reads direct quotes of texts from his phone. You two have natural chemistry in front of the camera, and whether that’s from your personalities or your ability to perform in front of a camera, you’re not sure.

You continue to ask questions about him, almost like a podcast as you two exchange witty banter and comments. You talk about his college life, he shares some drunken interactions, and talks about how much he appreciates his fans for sticking along. You think it’s all very sweet, the way he talks about his ‘bae-bees’ with so much adoration. You chime in, agreeing with Sunghoon’s thankful comments.

“I think that’ll be enough for the getting to know you part! We should do a quick apartment tour.” You pick up the camera, adjusting any hair and making a face before panning it over to Sunghoon, who just waves. His still slightly awkward demeanor can’t be helped, but it makes him all the more swoon-worthy to everyone who sees him.

You ramble about what you’ve started to put together, reminiscing to your long time fans about certain pieces of memorabilia that you had to let go. Sunghoon follows you around and adds a bit of commentary, even if it’s only to make jokes or make fun of you for not being able to build an ikea shelf around him.

The video ends when your half finished apartment has been toured, and you cut the recording after some cheerful waves to the camera.

“How do you think?” Sunghoon looks over at you when you ask for his input, nodding.

“I think it went pretty well. Pretty natural, or at least I hope. I’m not too boring, am I?” Sunghoon rubs at his neck sheepishly, and it takes a refusal from you for him to look up.

Offering him a nod of a approval, you say, “You did great, everyone will love it.”

Finally looking over the recording, you realize you might have to raise Amber’s pay, for how much footage there is.

prev. | ml. | next.

TAGLIST OPEN! Send an ask to be added! @riksaes @sumzysworld @en-dream @jinnibug @nodiotter @lyxnneee @yeonjunning @eleanorheartschishiya @hohohobo @yvjw @jiawji @soothinglee @chaeyunloveeee @winuvs @xiaoderrrr @cupidhoons @cryingforgyu @ahnneyong @soakedteabags @tsukkisdoll @rickysgfundercover @graythecoffeebean @velvetkisscs @haechansbbg @hooniebaekgu @theothernads @illvding @dojaejunging @mumeimei @nenojaems @jakeyloveer @eclipse-777 @hanrinz

[percki]

on my knees

tags: 18+, mature content, MDNI, Gale x reader, f!Tav, 2nd person pronouns, act 3, semi-public sex, porn w/o plot, lap dance, explicit consent, bondage, restraints, dom/sub, switch Gale, oral sex (m! and f! receiving), lap sex, hand jobs, overstimulation, orgasm denial, praise kink

ao3 link

“Urgh.” Rolan stands up, wiping a smear of Lorroakan’s blood off the sleeve of his robes. “Your aasimar friend is… violent.”

“I’m so sorry for the mess, Rolan. We can clean everything up –” You glance around the upper level of the tower, at the holy fire, congealed mud, pasty mixture of water and ash, and a fair amount of blood. At the wizard’s broken body, his face swollen with bruises, his mouth agape, sprawled at the foot of his throne of books. “– Um, but it might take a while.”

Rolan waves one long-nailed hand in your direction, his discolored face grateful – if not a bit exasperated. “Don’t worry about it, my friend. You have already done so much for me – consider my debt forgiven, and all will be well.” You smile at that, watching the tiefling wizard grunt with exertion as he hauls Lorroakan’s body towards the portal. “And, erm – help yourself to any treasures you come across, of course. I’ll be… downstairs…” He pushes the corpse through the shimmering portal, and sends you one last earnest, sharp-toothed smile over his shoulder. “...Burying a body.”

With that, Rolan pushes up the sleeves of his robes (sorcerer’s robes, trimmed in silver, unbefitting for a wizard, but they suit him well nonetheless) and steps through the portal, no doubt bracing himself to break the news to his new employees. ‘Hey, so remember those adventurers that just came in? They killed Lorroakan, violently, and I’m your boss now. Surprise!’ You’re sure the staff at Sorcerous Sundries have endured worse surprises; working for Lorroakan sounds akin to an eternity of torture in the Hells.

Aylin sheathes her sword and crosses over to you, removing her helmet. Her ash-blonde hair spills over her shoulders, and her gold-streaked face glistens with blood and sweat. “I shall be at your camp, if you have need of me,” she declares, and inclines her head in gratitude. “You fought well – as you have before. I remain thankful for your assistance.” Less wordy than usual – Lorroakan’s death must be weighing on her. You don’t blame her.

“Thank you, Dame Aylin,” you say, and bow in respect. She smiles at that, silver eyes gleaming.

“Ooh, wait!” Karlach runs up to you, her arms full of wine bottles – no doubt pilfered from Lorroakan’s hidden stash. The woman has a nose for alcohol – she could find a bottle of Baldur’s Grape blindfolded, disoriented, in the middle of a rainstorm. Shadowheart is close behind, a new cloak slung over her shoulders and a fair amount of gold filling her pockets. “We’ll probably go back to camp, too – Fringe and I have to try all this wine.”

“To make sure it isn’t poisoned,” Shadowheart adds, green eyes twinkling with humor. “You can handle yourselves without us, can’t you?”

You grin. “Save a bottle of Mermaid Whiskey for me.”

“Blech. You can have it all.” Karlach sticks out her split tongue, her smile wide. “See ya!” She bolts through the portal head-first: dangerous, with the amount of alcohol in her arms and the fiery infernal engine in her chest. You hear a distant crash, and wince.

Shadowheart follows close behind, calling, “Save the Tyche Pink!”

You hear the rush of wings and look over – Aylin is gone, too, a flash of silver in the clear blue sky. You watch her fly, the wind buffeting her white wings – deva-like, altogether unnatural, inhuman, beautiful in an untouchable, deadly, frightening way – as she soars. The sunlight seems to collect around her, like a remnant of her celestial mother’s power lingers, still, even after the heat and rage of battle is done.

“And then there were two.”

Gale’s voice snaps you out of your reverie. You look up, meeting his eyes. Dark brown, deep, gentle, shining with a light all too familiar. He’s standing by the throne of books, his right hand resting on a copy of Folktales of Faerún: The Angelic Aasimar. 

You kneel over the ashes of the water myrmidon, sifting through the remains for treasure. Nothing. “I suppose Rolan will take a while…” You look around the tower once more, keen eyes picking out chests, display cases, bookshelves – anything that could hide a nice new set of robes for Gale, or a dagger for Astarion, or perhaps some armor for Wyll… “Will you cast Feather Fall? I want to look on the lower levels…” You trail off, reading something in Gale’s eyes. His fingers flex on the spine of the book, his shoulders thrown back, his lilac robes fitting his form well. Is he… posing? You smile and straighten, dusting ash off your sleeves, and move to his side, twining your left arm with his right, leaning comfortably against his side. “The Annals are in the vaults,” you say, knowing his primary objective here, halfheartedly attempting to lift his spirits. Thoughts of the Crown are dangerous – you have seen how easily the lure of power can corrupt, a thousand times (with Kagha in the Emerald Grove, with Minthara at the goblin camp, with Ketheric and Gortash and now Lorroakan). But despite your reservations, you know his ambition fuels him, that it drives his fire, that thoughts of greatness and respect do raise his spirits. “We could go down ourselves…”

Gale turns into you, resting his forehead on your shoulder, his beard scratching at your neck. He presses a kiss to your collarbone, and sighs deeply, inhaling your scent – blood and smoke and sweat, and the faintest hints of his cologne lingering on your skin. “I… Not yet,” he says vaguely, and kisses your neck again, deeper this time. Your breath hitches as he trails long, searing kisses up your neck, along the line of your jaw, leading up to your lips.

“Gale…” You whisper, voice low. “I –” He nips at your bottom lip, smiling against your chin, and you can feel your face heat up. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he says devilishly, oak eyes sparkling, looking up at you through thick, dark lashes. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, and you can feel the vibration of his voice against your skin, sending a chill down your spine. “I can’t believe…” He blinks, as if waking from a dream, and cradles your jaw with his hand, straightening to his full height.

You kiss him, this time, tasting blood on his lips, and you stop, examining his face carefully. A bruise is forming at the bridge of his nose, blood tracing a path down the apex of his lips to his chin. You frown, brow creasing in worry. “You’re hurt.”

“Hm?” Gale touches his face gingerly, delicate, careful fingers prodding the quickly-purpling skin. “Oh. Yes. That. It’s quite alright –”

“It’s not alright,” you reply. “Let me heal you.” You take his shoulders in your hands and guide him into a seated position on Lorroakan’s throne, his back reclined against a collection of Ramazith’s annotated tomes. You kneel before him, positioning yourself between his legs, and summon a simple healing incantation, your hand hovering over his nose, the blue glow of the spell reflected in his eyes. “Te curo,” you murmur, and watch as his skin knits itself together, blood drying, swelling fading, the bruise vanishing beneath your fingers. “Better?”

“Better,” he admits, and looks at you with intent in his eyes, his gaze dark and focused on your features. “My love,” he starts, then hesitates. His face turns a delicious shade of pink.

“Yes?” You lean forward, hanging onto his words. He adjusts his legs, his thighs bracketing your shoulders, and you feel the slightest thrill at your compromising position, you in your armor and him in his robes, you kneeling before him like a supplicant at an altar.

“Rolan may not return for some time,” Gale says. “We could…” He stops again, biting his lip.

You guess his meaning immediately – your thoughts are remarkably in-tune. You can’t deny that you hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t wished for… Well. For Gale. Your peaceful nights since arriving in the Lower City have been few and far between, interrupted as they are: by vampires, by nightmares, by Orin’s ministrations. It’s been some time since you and Gale had time to yourselves.

And now, it seems, you have all the time in the world.

“Do you want to?” You question, and his eyes darken, his pupils expanding infinitesimally. You lean forward, cupping his cock with your hand, and smile to feel him already half-hard beneath your touch.

“I – yes,” he breathes, and raises his hand to cast Mage Hand, the incantation on his lips, when you catch him by the wrist, holding him still.

“No magic,” you say breathlessly, and straighten back up to your full height, smiling down at him. “As mortals do, remember?”

Gale watches you intently as you undo the first few buckles of your armor, leather slipping between your fingers. He sits up, reaching out his hands to help –

And you push him back.

“Don’t move,” you warn him, and plant one hand securely on his chest, holding him in place, as you draw a piece of silken fabric out of your pack. You hold it up for him to see, and upon realizing your intention, his eyes widen, pupils expanding impossibly wide. “Do you want this?” You ask, and he confirms with a nod of his head. You narrow your eyes and lean in, your face centimeters away from his, your breath ghosting on his lips. “Say it, please, love.”

He swallows thickly, eyes locked on yours, and says, his voice a rumble in his chest, “I want you to tie me up.”

You smile, and reward him with a bruising, biting kiss. “Good boy,” you murmur, and relish the way his face reddens, his jaw going slightly slack at the praise. “Lean forward for me?” He acquiesces, already holding his hands behind his back, and you climb up into his lap to twine the silk around his wrists, your touch featherlight and gentle. You test the knot, and smile. Not too tight – but he certainly won’t get any ideas about spellcasting. “Does that feel okay?”

“Yes,” he says into your shoulder, his voice muffled by the layers of your armor. You stand back up and step completely out of your clothes, metal buckles and buttons clinking as your many layers fall to the floor, and then you stand before Gale in your undergarments, your skin rising with goosebumps from the cool air, his eyes roving a path up and down your figure.

You feel a little warm from the intensity of his gaze, but you steel your nerves and continue. You reach out with your senses, using the knowledge of the Weave that Gale taught you of so long ago, and you can feel a soft tinkling at the edge of your perception, the distant sound of music, and you pull it towards you. In one of the pleasure dens far below, a slow, sensual number starts up, and you filter the sound through the available space, filling the tower with music.

Gale’s lips part as he realizes your plan. “Love,” he starts, “I haven’t –”

You feel a twinge of self-doubt, standing there near-nude before a man who is completely clothed. You have no experience with this whatsoever – apart from what you have read and seen – and you’re not sure that Gale loves you enough to forgive you if you make a total ass of yourself. “This is okay, right?” You rush to ask, holding your hands out for his before realizing that he’s still tied. You tuck them behind your back, straightening your posture. “Um – I know this is probably unusual, but, you know, in the Quarta Sune –”

Gale grins, his dimples making a rare appearance, and the sight of it pulls at your heartstrings. “You are perfect,” he promises, lifting his dark eyes up to your face. “This is perfect. Please, keep going.”

The slight rasp of his voice goes straight to your core, and you step forward before you’re entirely conscious of your movements, looping your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. He leans into you with a groan, and you can feel his shoulders move, his hands resisting the bindings, and you pull back. “No touching,” you say softly, “right? This is about you.”

He lets out a frustrated sigh, his expression adorably resentful, and you laugh and kiss the bridge of his nose.

“Later,” you promise, and with that, you stand up, and turn away from him, facing the windows, the setting sun illuminating your skin. The music restarts, strings amping up, and you sway your hips to the tune, letting instinct take over. One, two, three, you breathe, feeling the rhythm run through you, and as the music crescendos, you drop down onto Gale’s lap, your ass just brushing over his thighs, hoping your undulating body looks sensual rather than spasmodic, and your efforts are rewarded with a delicious, blinding groan from behind you. You turn back around to face him – one, two, three – and lean in close, your scent intoxicating, his body warming your skin, and bracket his legs with your knees, one hand carding through his hair and the other slowly unbuttoning his robes, your knuckles barely brushing the velvet-soft hair on his chest. You slide your hands down the planes of his torso, and then, just as he’s leaning forward, again, anticipating your lips on his –

You step back again, turning, lifting your hands over your head and letting your hair down, smiling to yourself as you peek over your shoulder at his exasperated face. One, two, three. You let your ass ghost over his lap again, closer this time, holding there for a few moments longer than he considers tolerable, and just as his patience goes and his hips buck, you return to your starting position, looking down at him chidingly.

“Please,” he whispers, and you raise your brows, your hands going to the clasp of your bra. He watches, rapt, as you slide the fabric off your breasts and let it fall to the ground atop your discarded armor, your nipples peaking in the cool air. You repeat the motion with your panties, and you’re sure Gale catches sight of the soaked fabric as you toss it aside: his face turns a flattering shade of crimson, his arms straining against his silken ropes.

“How can I deny you?” You say, and with smooth, uninterrupted movements, you slide onto his lap, rocking your hips back and forth, tantalizingly slow, atop him. His robes slip open completely, and you can feel his cock straining against the fabric of his undergarments, barely brushing against the skin of your thighs. Your hands roam along the skin of his chest, thumbs swirling careful circles in the dips of his collarbone and shoulders, your palms warm against his skin. “You’re doing so well,” you praise him, and lean forward to kiss along the line of his clavicle, then slowly up his neck, sucking hard enough to bruise, tasting his sandalwood cologne, his soapy shaving cream, the sweat and salt lingering there, your tongue pulsing against his jaw. “So good for me,” you continue, running your hands through his hair, “you’re perfect, Gale.”

And then, surprising him, you slide off his lap and drop to your knees, slotting your body perfectly in between his legs, and in one swift motion, you free his aching cock from his undergarments and lean forward once more, fitting your lips around the head.

“O-oh,” he moans, straining to keep still as you take him deeper, your hands tracing patterns on the skin of his thighs, reaching up to his hips, your nails scratching lightly, and then, as you adjust yourself and push him back so as to get more leverage, you wrap one hand around his shaft and devote the other one to palm gently at his balls, still a touch too gentle. “Mmm – more,” he sighs, and you obey, licking a stripe up the underside of his cock and then fitting it back in your mouth, deep enough to brush the back of your throat, pre-cum salty on your tongue. You hollow your cheeks, looking up at him through lowered lashes, and his mouth falls open, releasing the most pleasurable moans and groans, sighs and mewls slipping between his lips, chanted noises that may be words – you catch the sound of your name, and please, and yes, in the chorus of sounds that escape his chest, rising and falling in octave with every swipe of your tongue and bob of your head. “P-please,” he says again, “please, let me –”

You guess his meaning, and reach behind him; the movement sending his cock to the very back of your throat, and his back arches in pleasure; and pull the strings of his bindings, untying his hands. The moment he’s free, he takes your head in his hands, cradling your jaw, and lets his fingers twine in the strands of your hair as you suck with renewed eagerness, sliding back nearly completely only to take him in fully again, the feel of his cock in your mouth dizzying, intoxicating, sending white-hot shivers through your body –

You glance down, and through the haze of pleasure, through the shadows of sunset, through the sweat and slick on your body, you see a flash of blue cupping your cunt, and you can suddenly feel the gentle, not-quite-there brush of the Mage Hand’s fingers against your clit. You war between pleasure and indignation for a moment – and indignation wins. You pull back, Gale’s weeping cock inches away from your mouth but still suspended in midair, and he huffs, putting his hands over his eyes, his pleasure cut short just on the path to climax. “Why did you –”

“No magic,” you repeat, and you can feel the Mage Hand dissolve. Gale peeks out from through his fingers, caught, and not the least bit ashamed. “Do I need to tie you up again? Completely, this time?”

“I –” His cock twitches, beads of precum leaking from the tip, stunning the both of you into silence.

You let a devilish grin slide across your face. “Oh. You want me to tie you up, love? Top to tip, completely trussed up for me?” You pull away from him and reach in your pack for more ribbon. “Red or purple, my sweet?”

Gale manages an arrogant smile, his face still flushed red. “Purple, of course.”

“Good choice,” you grin, and stand, running the ribbons through your hands reverently. “This will only take a minute,” you promise. “Why don’t you take those bothersome clothes off before I get started?”

He does, and you let your eyes run over his figure appreciatively for a minute before going to work. Hands on the ‘arms’ of the throne, the ribbon secured around a stack of encyclopedias. His legs against the respective ‘legs’ of the throne, straining slightly against his bonds. You stand before him, and he angles his hips up slightly, his eyes pleading.

“So cooperative,” you murmur, running your hands gently up his thighs. “So patient. So good.” You lift your hand to your mouth and spit on your fingers, holding eye contact, and he breathes shakily as you wrap your hand around his cock, leaning forward, mouthing kisses along his neck and collarbone. You start slowly, tantalizingly, pumping your hand along his length with a careful, measured speed that makes Gale’s breath hitch in his throat.

“Please – more,” he moans, his lips chasing yours. “Faster.”

You acquiesce, moving quicker, twisting your wrist the way you know that he likes. His breaths come faster, too, a mindless stream of yes and please and more coupled with your name falling from his mouth. You kiss him with bruising intensity, feeling his cock twitch in your fingers, his body straining against his bonds.

He comes with a muffled yell, his eyes rolling completely back in his head, and you kiss him fiercely as his come paints your stomach and thighs where you sit atop him. “Please – gods – please, untie me, let me –”

You smile against his lips and loosen the ribbons, yelping when his arms encircle you with surprising strength, lifting you up by your thighs and laying you out on the tile floor of the tower, the ground cold on your skin, your head canted back as Gale trails kisses down your thighs. “Ah – Gale,” you sigh as his fingers whisper up the inside of your legs, your skin rising with goosebumps. “I can’t –” You try to lift your head, to see where he is and what he’s doing, but your neck won’t cooperate. “What –”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Gale murmurs into your thigh, his hand lifting your leg to his lips, his beard tickling your skin pleasantly. “There’s only so long I can go without magic, my love. I thought –” Here, his tongue slides up to your cunt, tracing around your lips gently, and you moan, your boneless body arching in pleasure. “I thought you might enjoy feeling how I felt. Constrained. At my mercy.” His tongue winds a circle around your clit, and your breaths come faster, your thighs shaking madly. “Do you?”

“Do I – ah – what?”

“Enjoy it,” Gale says into your cunt, and the vibration makes you shudder.

“I – yes, I – please, I want to touch you, I want to –”

“Mmm,” Gale hums, his tongue working careful, restrained circles around your clit, dipping down to taste your slick. “Not yet.”

It’s been less than two minutes, and you’re already shaking, riding high, your eyes unfocused, as Gale takes you apart with his tongue. The painted constellations of the ceiling dance in and out of focus, and your moans echo around the circular tower, a mix of yes and please and Gale falling from your mouth, a reminder of the way you coaxed Gale’s orgasm from him with delicate fingers not five minutes before. “Gale, I – oh, gods, I can’t – please, I want to see you, I –”

The spell breaks, and you lift your head to see Gale’s face completely buried in your cunt, his sweaty hair spread out on your thighs, his eyes closed in ecstasy, and the image is enough to send you over the edge, a scream in your throat, your legs shaking wildly as you come, Gale’s tongue still working at you gently, until the sensation is too much and you kick him softly, signaling get off me, because your vocal cords aren’t working at the moment.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, and crawls up to kiss you, and you taste yourself on his tongue, salty-sweet and heady. “But we should probably go before Rolan comes back. I suspect we won’t have an opportunity to take advantage of his hospitality again.”

“Gale…” You wind your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, your eyes fluttering shut. “You might have to Dimension Door us out of here. I don’t think my legs will move.”

“I’ll carry you,” he smiles, and helping you stand, he laces his robes back up and aids you in buckling your armor. “Now come. There’s a bath at the Elfsong that’s calling my name.”

You sigh softly, leaning your head into his shoulder, and watch dreamily as he conjures the portal. “Wait – what about the Annals?”

“Oh.” Gale looks down at the lower levels of the tower. “I suppose we’ll have to come back tomorrow.” He looks almost downcast, but then the expression fades, and he’s just Gale again, smiling at you. “Let’s go.”

[accursedhex]

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐄.

A/N: It was a moment of weakness. I am losing my mind at this very moment and I need another drink. And just Perhaps, just Maybe… I couldn’t stop thinking about Mingyu’s hands.

GENRE: Smut. [ MDNI ]

T/W: Fingering, body worship (I suppose), marking, unprotected sex (please for the love of god wrap your shit irl), penetrative intercourse; Mingyu is obsessed with you. No, like literally raging stalker level obsessed. Let me know if there’s anything I should I add, thanks.

SYNOPSIS: You’ve been Mingyu’s muse for quite some time now. Though, you didn’t realize just how deeply infatuated the two of you have become. I am unsure as to how, seeing as his studio is filled with nothing but pieces of You.

W/C: 1.2 K

♫ : primavera

His hand around your throat feels a lot like a tender caress. 

Your mouth gapes, eyes fluttering, breath stuttering. You do nothing to stop him as his mouth smashes itself upon yours. Lips pliant, eager even as your hands grasp desperately at his form. Fingers tangling in the fabric of his clothes as he presses you against the nearest wall.

Heat radiates from his frame as it easily crowds over you, enveloping you. You felt as though you were being swallowed whole, consumed by his presence.

“Isn’t that what we all crave?” He would whisper in your ear, deft fingers tracing over every curve and divot of your body.

“To consume,” his fingers root in your hair. “To be consumed,” his breath fans over your throat with every syllable. “To consume; is to be,” words barely even a whisper as he sinks his teeth into your skin.

A shudder travels up your spine, to the tips of your fingers and down to your toes. His tongue laving at every raw mark he leaves, with teeth and tongue no inch of you is left unscathed in his wake.

He’d mutter nonsense and you’d devour every word like it was your religion. A devout follower, diligent in your prayers— his name falling from the tip of your tongue like a forbidden sacrament. You weren’t sure when you got here, or even how— at his mercy, at his beholding.

Infatuation; your pulse roared in your ears. Obsession; your lungs threatened to burst with every kiss exchanged. Call it what you will, there was no taste like his on your palate. There was nothing like the sound of his name pouring from your tongue; “Mingyu,” breathy and heady.

His grasp was bruising, and yet, somehow, he held you as if you were a delicate flower. Centering the both of you, there was a pull neither of you could fight. The same way the moon encircles the earth, you were his world, spun it on its axis. As if together you had hung the stars in the sky and gave life to everything beneath.

“Again,” he urges, hands making easy work of your clothes.

“Mingyu,” you breathe, he was your air.

“Again.” A hand slips between your thighs and you let your head roll back with a sharp breath of air.

“Mingyu.”

Maybe there was a madness to it all, the way his eyes pierced you as you fell into pleasure. You were his muse, pushing him over the edge of insanity. To find himself; his breaking point. He’s told you as much as you had laid many a night sprawled upon silks as he drank in your form.

“You’re perfect,” he voices his awe, thick fingers trailing against your core.

Your breath hitches as he collects your essence, sinking those digits into you.

Mingyu’s eyes are as dark as the midnight sky just outside, racing over your features. Looking everywhere the eye could see, tracing every line, every curve. From the arch of your brow, to the tremble of your lip, to the flutter of your lashes and the desire that clouded your eyes as he worked his fingers into you.

He had committed every bit of you to his memory. His paintings that flooded his apartment could attest to that, the sculptures that were eerily life like were tribute to you. 

“Can’t get enough of you.”

Your thighs spread, hips rocking forward against his hand. Fingers scissor and thrust into you, his mouth working a new piece of artwork upon the blank canvas on your skin. You could come undone upon his fingers alone any day, he made sure of that as he works you closer to your own edge. Nudging you, coaxing you, sweet words of encouragement stuck like honey.

“Always so fucking perfect,” his voice strained, much like his own clothed need as it prodded against your thigh.

He wished he could capture every sound in his work, it was the only thing his pieces were missing. Maybe that’s why it drove him mad whenever your voice bounced off the walls of his loft, with every gasp and pant of his name, every pitch and crack of your voice. The moans— “Fuck,” he grunts out at the way you squeeze around him and the moan that follows was icing on the cake.

“Close... so fucking close, don’t stop,” you labor out, praying your knees don’t give out as Mingyu continues to sandwich you between himself and the wall.

“That’s it baby,” he coaxes, nipping along your jaw. “Just like that, come on. Give it to me, mhm?”

With every slide, you could barely keep yourself together. His thumb coming to tease over your bundle of nerves, sending sparks up your spine, eyes rolling back as a plethora of noises fall from your lips unrestrained. It wasn’t long until you were tumbling over that edge, reaching that pinnacle you had so truly needed, the knot in your stomach snapping. Thighs quivering, knees trembling, you have to hold tight to him as not to collapse right there as pleasure ebbs the corners of your vision.

There’s a guttural noise that sounds from Mingyu before he’s all too easily handling you, spreading you upon his desk. It rocks, jostled by the abrupt force of two bodies bearing down upon it. He rids you of the tattered slip that had scantily covered you.

His hands are on you in an instant, from the swell of your chest, to the dip of your waist, and the curve of your hips. His hair mused, locks out of place, his shirt missing a few buttons as it hung from his broad frame. You could make out the rise and fall of his bare chest, the way every muscle rippled as he let his shaft spring loose, slapping against his abdomen as you follow down his happy trail.

You grab for him, fisting his shirt as your lips meld together. He finds you, still basking in the aftermath of euphoria but greedy enough for more. Your free hand wrapping around his length as it throbs under your touch, thumbing at the pearlescent substance that had gathered, smearing it upon the raging tip. He curses, your name on his lips.

“Please.”

“Please?”

“Mingyu.”

“As if I could deny you.”

The both of you let out a slew of swears, though, yours were perhaps a little less coherent as he bottoms out. He offers his condolences as he smatters your face in messy kisses, lips grazing the corners of your mouth as he loses himself in your heat. Your body bending and arching, tears springing into your eyes even despite the preparation.

He kisses the salt from the corners of your eyes, murmuring heartfelt apologies. Mumbled apologies, “I’m sorry,” followed by desperate words, “I can’t help myself.”

You weren’t sure who was more of a mess at the moment. Hips rutting against you with abandon, dark locks shadowing his gaze as he watches himself disappear inside you. You weren’t sure where he began and you ended, bodies molding together as you took the brunt of him.

“Fuck,” he exclaims hoarsely, “You were made for me.”

“Mingyu.”

“Again . . .”

“Again for me.”

“Please.”

“Mingyu . . .”

[jayke0]

Stretched Thin

Pairing: Blue Jones x fem reader

Summary: kinktober day 22, Virginity

Rating: 18+

Warnings/content: Blue taking reader's virginity, mild dub-con, Blue is his own red flag, p in v, unprotected sex, name calling (bitch), breeding, grinding, praise, a bit of exhibitionism, choking, crying, creampie, lmk if there's anything else I should add :).

Word count: 1,643

Credit: @automnepoet for proofreading ily.

…………………………………………….......................

"I can feel you staring at me."

Your eyes follow the shadow of the man standing next to you, gaze trailing all the way up his suave suit and to his face.

"Well, you're just so pretty, babydoll, it's hard not to." His large hand rests on your head and strokes down your back, settling between your exposed shoulder blades.

"C'mon, I don't even have my make-up on yet." An exasperated sigh leaves your lips as you lean forward in your chair to fix the choker accessory around your neck. "Do I really have to wear this? I mean, it doesn't even add much to the outfit." You tug at the material.

"Oh it does, it puts that pretty neck on show, sweetheart." The cold metal of his rings glides over your skin and makes you shiver a little, feeling his hand rest on your shoulder. "Anyway, it's not for you to decide." 

Blue always has two tones; he's either being sickeningly sweet, charming the new girls and customers, or he's snarkily threatening you through gritted teeth… and you'd been on the receiving end of both.

"Yeah, I know I know." You groan softly as you get up to collect your makeup from the other side of the room, but Blue follows you like a puppy, suddenly pressing against you and trapping you between your wobbling desk and his body, your ass pressing against his crotch in a way that has him groaning lowly in your ear. 

"Shit, Blue! Be careful," fingers gripping the wood, you balance yourself, "please don't mess around like this again… I have a show in a few minutes, you know that." Unfortunately for you, your tone isn't very convincing, as really all you can focus on right now is how close he is to you, how you can feel his arms encasing you and his breath on the back of your neck, so close you just want him to latch onto your skin and bruise it.

You gulp, as if to swallow the thoughts, but there's no chance that he can't feel your quickened heartbeat echoing through your chest. 

"You like this, don't you?" He finally speaks, breathily. "You always like it, when I do this to you." He growls in your ear as his hand wraps around your waist, running up and down your side. "I can feel when your heart beat picks up, honey, and the warmth between your legs."

You feel his hips slowly grind into you, the action making you groan louder than you would've liked.

"See? 'Atta girl." You can practically feel him grinning on the back of your neck as your hand wraps around his wrist in an attempt to set yourself free.

"Blue… c'mon, the other girls are expecting me—"

The man suddenly spins you around to face him, gripping your jaw tightly. "They don't tell you what to do, I do."

Your eyes flutter shut while a gasp leaves your lips, your legs squirming and trying to press together, but all that results in is Blue grinding his knee up against your core, which pulls a loud whimper from deep in your stomach.

"They'll find someone else." He mumbles as his eyes wrack over your already exposed body, hands holding your waist and trailing down to your hips to make you rock against his knee. "I can't wait a second longer to touch you. I gotta feel you. I gotta be inside you."

That makes your needy cunt throb, and then a pathetic whimper similar to a sob pass your lips. 

"Blue, I haven't—"

"I know honey, I know." He nods condescendingly, mocking your inexperience. "But if anyone's gonna take your virginity, it's gonna be me, ok? That's my job, and I've been waiting so fucking long to do it, sweetheart."

The man speaks through his teeth at you, something you'd usually find intimidating, but now all you can do is rock your hips against his knee faster. 

"Good girl, want you nice and wet so I can slide in easier, honey."

You can feel the hardness of his cock against your thigh, rubbing against the material of his slacks and probably staining it from the inside, but he doesn't care.

Suddenly, he's lurching towards you, and you feel his lips smashing against yours, tasting smoke and strong whiskey as he licks into your mouth and unbuttons his blazer to let it fall to the floor. His slacks are next to come off and join the clothes pooling at his feet, before he wraps his hands around the backs of your knees and pushes you up onto the top of the desk, which wobbles again under the weight. With a grunt, he pushes your legs apart to get a view of your arousal soaking through your underwear, making what little frabic that was covering your thighs fall against your tummy.

You look away embarrassedly and cover your mouth with your hand. "What if someone hears us? Or comes in?!" Your worries fall on deaf ears for a moment as the man pulls your panties aside and uses his thumbs to spread your pussy lips, a moan reverberating through his body. "That doesn't matter, they're used to it, babydoll; they're used to taking my cock." 

Fuck, you definitely should not be getting worked up over his words, but you can't help it, it just feels like basic human nature at this point, your body aching for this man and his seed.

"You been stretching yourself like I said, sweetheart?" The man's voice brings you back to earth and your eyes watch him loosen his tie, letting the fabric hang around his neck as he looks at you intensely.

"I have." You mumble softly, resting your shakey hands on his broad shoulders to feel the muscles under his shirt contracting just slightly with each movement of his arms. He nods proudly. "Good girl, just what I wanna hear, makes your cunt nice and ready for me."

Finally, he slides his underwear down his surprisingly wide hips to reveal what you've been wanting to see for months; his thick, twitching cock leaking for you, he's this hard for you, and the thought makes you wrap your legs around his waist to bring him closer.

Your boss steadies himself on the desk as it creaks, hands planted either side of your thighs as he starts up another kiss. His open-mouthed kisses are intoxicating, and you feel yourself getting swept up in the feeling of him sucking on your bottom lip as if you're being induced into a trance. "Shit, honey, maybe you're more of a whore than I expected." You feel him grin against your lips.

His hand wraps around his cock and  presses his blunt tip against your tight hole, sliding it up and down to coat himself in your endless arousal that's now coating your inner thighs. Without warning, he slides in, pushing through your tense muscles as you grip his shoulders tightly, hips jolting away.

"W–ait– shit—" you whimper through a soft sob, pleasure and pain concocting in the firey pit in your stomach.

"Shhh I know, just accept it. It's ok honey, Blue's here." The man grunts on your lips, still pushing deeper and deeper until eventually he's seated nicely inside you. "Shit, you're so tight, love it when cunts are this tight around me. Can you squeeze for me?"

You can barely think, let alone control your body, but you automatically react by clenching around him as he pulls out and his tip drags along a special place inside you that has you throwing your head back.

"Oh yeah, good girl, good girl."

Before your brain can even accept the praise, blue is thrusting into you at a jarring pace, fucking you more and more open untill your walls are gripping around him tightly and your nails are digging into his back.

"Bl-ue, h-oly shit-" is all you can stammer as you grasp him and lean your head back against the wall, desk legs creaking louder with every thrust. His pace is fast and painful, but it lights some kind of fire in you that has your cunt dragging him in further, wanting him deeper.

"You take it so good, gonna carve my shape into that hole… gonna fill you up." The man's breathes have gotten faster and moans are now falling from his lips with absolutely no attempt to hide them. "Moan for me, honey. Show 'em how good i fuck you, c'mon bitch," his hand slides up your body and wraps around your neck, making you whimper and pant loudly at the slight pressure.

The pleasure is growing in your lower stomach faster than expected, spreading throughout your nerves till you can feel it in your toes, making them curl as your thighs shake. You feel Blue split your legs open, using his elbow to push your knee against the hardwood.

"I don't think- i-imma… I'm close, Blue-" you yelp out, eyes struggling to focus on him when you look at him.

" 'atta girl, i knew you'd love it, love my cock inside you."

Blue leans forward and presses sloppy kisses on your lips again, "imma cum inside you, breed you like a real bitch-"

You clench again, head feeling dizzy as you teeter on the edge.

"Fill you up nice and good till I'm leaking out of you, knock you up so you're my whore forever." 

You hate him so much in that moment as your body shudders and your orgasm rolls through you, your hips jolting and bucking from sensitivity as tears start rolling down your cheeks, wetting that dumb choker.

Your walls throb around him as he mercilessly continues fucking into your wet core, pushing you to your limits until eventually you feel him bury inside you to the hilt, loud pants and groans coming from his chest as he spills deep inside you.

Your pants sync up as you both calm down, Blue resting his forehead on your shoulder as he licks the sweat on your neck.

"My good slut, all for me," he purrs. "I ain't ever letting you go, sweetheart."

...........................................................................

Prompts by: @/flightlessangelwings

Tagging people: @cowboymarcs @sad1st1c-wh0re @poopoobuttsy @boredzillenial @mllover260 @simpforbritgents @partssoldseparately @keira-kaz2y5 @theincredibleinkspitter @l-lune @red-hydra @queerponcho @summonthesoups @motleyfolk @steven-grants-world @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @minigirl87 @chichimisaki

(Lmk if you wanna be added or taken off the tag list and i will work my magic 👍)

[petersbaby]

HAPPY NEW YEAR MFERS <3 new year same depravity

Fucked up - drunk stepbro!eddie x reader

Warnings: male masturbation, female masturbation, mutual masturbation. also a little bit squishy and cute

-

“Tell me, say it.”

“Say what? You are really drunk right now.”

“Tell me you love me.” He slurs.

“I love you, eds. Are you satisfied now?”

“Yeah, well- no…”

“What else do you need?”

You’re pulled down to him after he takes you by the hands, falling right into his lap. He moves his hair to the side, exposing his neck and tilting his head slightly, looking up at you with glassy eyes.

“You need me to kiss your neck? Why don’t you try asking nicely, using your words?”

“Yes, yeah, I need you to. Please.”

In his mind, that sounded polite but it really was not. You give in anyway, the dumb but pretty, sparkling look in his eyes too much to handle. You lean in, attaching your lips to his neck. You kiss on it first, gently, placing them up and down the length of it. As the kisses began getting sloppier, he turned into a moaning mess.

“Fuck,” he breathes, barely audible.

His hands find a place on your hips, squeezing on them with the little bit of strength he had and you continue to go at it, taking the tender skin and sucking bruises into it. When you reach the bottom, where his neck meets his shoulder, you repeat it but with teeth this time. You sink them in hard, right in the sweet spot, licking over the site afterwards to soothe the sting.

“God damn it,” he curses, head falling back completely while you nibble and suckle on his skin, “please.”

You feel him squeeze at your hips a little tighter, trying his best to push them down onto him.

“No, I’m sorry. No more than that. You’re too fucked up.”

Panting, his eyes go wide while they stare at you.

“I’m not, I’m not. I promise I’m good.” He implores, trying to convince you to give him what he wants, which is you stretched around his dick and riding it mercilessly while he lies lazily and watches you.

You shake your head ‘no’, trying to let him down gently. “I can’t.”

You get up out of his lap, almost feeling bad for teasing him but you didn’t really mean to. He wants his neck kissed all the time, and it was innocent enough. It led to him wanting, no, needing more this time.

“No, stop it.” He reaches out and grabs you by the wrist.

“Stay.” He adds.

You pause, standing there for a moment and watching him clumsily reach down to his belt buckle and fumbling with it. You stare intently while he pushes his jeans down his thighs, starting to subconsciously rub your own together. Once his hard-on is free, he collects some spit in his hand and starts to stroke it, eyes not leaving you.

“Fuck, I’m desperate. Please take something off.” He whines, looking at you all needy and completely submissive. You sigh, quickly walking over to lock his bedroom door and then returning to where you were beside his bed.

He laid back against his pillows, shirt pushed up his abdomen and jeans still halfway on. He was almost frantic in his rushed effort to cum, stroking his cock and watching you pull your shirt over your head. You pull off your shorts as well and step out of them, settling on your knees at the foot of his bed. Close, but not touching.

“God, you’re so pretty. I love you, I love you.” He moans out.

You don’t respond, just placing your hands on your tits and pushing them together, kneading them. You slowly let the straps fall off your shoulders and then just take it off completely.

“Shit. Holy shit.”

Faster and faster. Harder. The slick sounds of him fucking into his own fist fill the air and he doesn’t notice it at all. You can’t say this didn’t turn you on incredibly bad, it was a sight to truly marvel at.

Sweaty, desperate, panting. Malleable. You have the power to get him where he wants to be. You know it’s wet, you can just feel it, and you reach your hand between your legs which are spread apart and start rubbing yourself over your panties.

“You look so good like this, eds, you’ve got me soaked.” You moan to him, shutting your eyes and imagining that your fingers are his instead. He’d do it in a heartbeat, too, but you just couldn’t take advantage of him.

He was drunk, and this was the most he was gonna get out of you, jerking his dick while you touch yourself right in front of him almost fully nude. It turns out he was more than happy with this.

“Yeah? God, I’m gonna- mmh, oh god.” He whimpers and whines.

You rub circles over your clit, teasing yourself, but eventually stop to pull your panties to the side and dip your middle finger in, making you gasp slightly. You use your arms to push your tits together while you touch yourself, giving him something good to look at.

“You’re so fucking- ah- so goddamn hot. Tell me i can, please.” He begs.

“I’m not stopping you, cum.” You encourage him, your finger pushing in and out of your pussy with absolute ease, slick dripping down it.

“Okay. Fuck, say my name. Please say it.”

“Cum for me Eddie, let go. Please cum for me, Eddie.” You moan, encouraging him.

He groans a little too loud and just a second later, you’re watching as his semen spills all over his hand and some also lands on his lower stomach. You can see his stomach and chest rise and fall heavily while he comes down from his high.

He’s a sticky, hot mess of sweat and cum and curls. You really, really wish you could just pounce on him, clean it all up with your tongue, but you don’t. You collect yourself, haphazardly putting your clothes back on as he watches you with wide, blown-out eyes.

“Where are you going?” He asks, speech slurring slightly again and his voice laced with confusion.

“To my room. I’ve got, uh… something I need to work on.” You reach for the doorknob, unlocking it once you’re decent enough to leave.

“Wait-“ he starts, lifting a hand as if to stop you.

“I love you too.” You smile knowingly at him and he smiles back, wondering how you read his mind.

You exit, closing the door behind him and hoping he cleans himself up before passing out and going to sleep. No time to be concerned about that, though, you had to go lock yourself in your own bedroom.

You take off your shorts once again, but this time you pull off your dampened panties along with them and lay down in bed. Spreading your legs, you reach between them, slotting two fingers inside instead of just the one.

You gasp and pant, fucking your fingers in and out of your hole, trying to stifle moans. You close your eyes and think back to just minutes ago, when he was fucking his fist in desperation and no doubt imagining it was your pussy.

You let your mind wander, subconsciously picking up speed until you found yourself on the very edge and soon toppling over it. From the other side of the wall, he hears the sounds of your moans as you cum just before drifting off to sleep.

[green-eyedfirework]

When Dick wakes up, he feels warm and content.  The scents of his family surrounded him, safe and protective and home, and it’s the best feeling in the world.  Dick stretches luxuriously, feeling the lingering ache of heat exhaustion, and curls more firmly around his siblings.  Counting heads is an automatic habit, and it’s only when he goes hunting down the source of surprise when he sees three dark-haired heads does he realize where he is.

Bruce, he thinks, elation and dread mixed together, but then he sees the white strip of hair.  That’s not Bruce.  That’s—“Jason?” Dick asks, confused.

Green eyes flutter open, and Jason gives him a strained smile, “Hey, Dickiebird.  How was the beauty sleep?”

Dick shifts up—dislodging Damian from on top of him—and stares at his nest.  Jason is stretched out along his side, Damian is in his lap, Tim is on his other side, but curled away.  The room is empty of anyone else, any other scents than him and his family.

Something in his heart beats to a steady rhythm of wrong, wrong, wrong.

Dick can’t smell Slade.  He expected to spend the whole heat with his mate, hoped that it would be enough to placate him, but he doesn’t smell Slade at all, only his siblings.

“You came back home,” Dick says to Jason, to distract himself from the growing pit of dread in his stomach, but the way Jason’s eyes flash only make it worse.

“I didn’t exactly have a choice,” Jason growls, tilting his head—there’s a bruise on his neck, green-purple, a claiming bite.  Dick goes cold.  “Looks like your mate wanted to collect all of us.”

The words are bitter, but underneath the venom is fear.  Dick knows that submission from claiming bites takes a couple days to fully shake off, so that new pack members don’t immediately challenge the alpha.  Jason makes no move to shift away from where he’s half-curled around Dick, even when Dick sits up fully.

Why—why would Slade do this?  Dick doesn’t understand—if Slade wants leverage, he already has Damian and Tim and Alfred, there’s no point in bringing in Jason, not when Jason is undoubtedly going to challenge Slade the moment the submission wears off.  Not when Dick is already giving him everything he wants.  “What happened?” Dick croaks out, because it feels like he has pieces of a puzzle that refuse to fit together.

“Ask the Replacement,” Jason says coldly, and Dick turns to Tim, heart clawing up into his throat.

Tim is not curled away from Dick because he’s asleep.  Tim is curled away from him because he’s crying, and Dick wipes the tears off his little brother’s cheeks with trembling fingers.  “Tim?” Dick asks softly.  What did you do?  “What happened?”

Tim ducks his head, refusing to meet Dick’s gaze.  “I—I thought he would be distracted with your heat,” Tim whispers, and Dick feels the crushing hollow of horror open in his chest.  “I—left.  I wanted to—to find Bruce, but he—he came after me.”  Tim shakes with a silent sob.  “He just—brought me back here.  He didn’t say a-anything about punishment.”

“And then he showed up and attacked me and dragged me back here too,” Jason adds.

Dick draws Tim into a hug and shoves all the furious words down.  How could he be so stupid—did he not even consider the risks—did he really think he’d be able to defy Deathstroke and get away with it—Slade was alarmingly patient over the past couple weeks, and now all of that is ruined—

“It’s okay,” Dick says with a calm he does not feel.  “Shh, baby bird, it’s okay.”

Jason’s level gaze shows that he knows it’s not.  Damian is watching him silently, and Dick knows that League training would’ve given him an idea of what angry alphas do to pack members who disobey them.

The fact that Slade didn’t punish him immediately, that he brought Jason here, that he waited for Dick’s heat to be over is not a good sign.

Slade is vicious enough when he’s running on blind rage.  When he’s calculating, planning and thinking things through?

Deathstroke could take out the entire Justice League, given sufficient time and materials.

“It’s okay,” Dick whispers, knowing in his heart that it’s not.

~#~

“Grounding,” Dick says numbly, “What do you mean by grounding?”

Slade just blinks at him.  “He’s not allowed to leave the house?  Restricted TV time?  No video games?”  Dick stares at him, and Slade huffs, “Kid, I’m not quite sure why you’re asking me.  Surely Pennyworth has better suggestions for you, he managed to raise the Bat.”

“Suggestions.  For me.”  It feels like his head’s been stuffed with cotton.  Dick can’t comprehend what he’s hearing.  “You—you’re not going to punish him?”

Slade quirks an eyebrow.  “He’s your brother,” he says in the same tone of voice of someone handing back a crying child to their parents.

“And—and Jason?” Dick forces himself to ask.  There has to be something he’s missing here.  He feels wrong-footed, like walking on flat ground after swinging on bridges and tightropes.  “Why did you claim him?”

“You were asking for him,” Slade says, and Dick can’t find a lie in his tone.  The statement is simple—like it’s obvious that Slade would do anything Dick asked him too.  Like if Dick was heat-drunk and calling out for his wayward brother, Slade would just...go and get him.

Dick feels abruptly lightheaded.

“Dick?” Slade says, alarmed, and strong hands close around his elbows and maneuver him until he’s sinking down on the couch.  “Are you okay?  Do you need some water?  Dick?”

Dick grabs the hem of Slade’s shirt before the alpha can leave, drawing him back onto the couch and fitting into his arms, curling up against him until Dick can feel Slade’s scent envelop him, protective and warm as the tears start falling.

“Dick?”

“Just need you,” Dick says softly, because—because he forgot.  Why he called Slade.  Why he asked Slade.  Why he trusted Slade, of all the alphas he knew in the world.

Slade’s arms wrap around him, gentle and strong.  “Okay, little bird,” he murmurs, and Dick allows himself to exist in his mate’s presence.

[6lostgirl6]

Can you do a request for me with Hannibal x Fem Reader where she starts seeing him as a patient and you reveal to him that you have kinda gray morals when it comes to murder and stuff like that and over the course of about 6 months or so you two start falling for each other but he tries to keep it professional until he can’t anymore and fires you as a patient which upsets you until he tells you why he did it (which was so he could date you)

Unexpected Romance

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Fem!Reader

TW: slight meltdown, hints of murderous thoughts, dependence, slight angst, arguing, fighting, happy ending

You sighed, walking out of the building that once held your third psychiatrist of the month, clutching onto the white paper labeled 'referral.' It felt like a slap in the face, sitting in a comfortable office chair and spilling your deepest secrets to someone you barely knew, only for them to refer you to someone else.

'I don't know how else to help you.'

They would question you, offering you a false sense of security, yet when their prescribed medications and deeply-rooted questions did nothing, they simply lost hope in rekindling your sense of morality.

You were...beyond saving...

You slammed your car door shut, flinging the piece of paper onto your passenger seat where it lay abandoned, seemingly mocking you that it would add to your collection of your previous referrals, prescriptions, and office information. You sniffled, staring at the leather of your steering wheel. The next second, you were screaming, crying, and slamming your fist against the steering wheel as if it insulted you.

"Fuck!" You yelled, clutching your sore knuckles, staring at the bruises that were already starting to form from the force of your rage. "Fuck..."

You sniffled, staring into your rearview mirror, hastily wiping away the tears that were streaming down your face, eyes bloodshot and nose threatening to plug up from your excessive crying. You tried calming down, taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself down. Your first psychiatrist taught you about breathing exercises.

Yet, those techniques didn't stop you from the plague that invades your subconscious. The images of your family murdered, blood staining every crevice...

You shook your head before glancing over at the piece of paper, sighing to yourself as you reached over, picking it up. The name of your new therapist stared back at you, promising you of more false promises and hurt.

Dr. Lecter.

A few weeks later, you were sitting in the waiting room waiting for your first session. Well, first session with your new therapist. You were picking your nails as you watched the clock, dreading the unavoidable. The minutes were ticking by, seemingly mocking you of your adversity.

You were anxious all morning, pacing in your room, dressed and prepared only a few hours ahead of schedule. The drive was hellish, thoughts of canceling the appointment, suffering a fee and turning back haunted you. Now, you were in the waiting room with a racing heart, the pattering of the raindrops outside distracting you.

'I am beyond help...'

"Miss (L/N)?" A deep-toned voice asked.

Your head snapped, mind clearing as you faced the person that had called your name. Standing by the door, keeping it open with a charming yet polite smile upon his face, was your new and fourth psychiatrist.

Dr. Lecter

"Sorry, yeah, that's me." You said, standing from your seat but keeping your distance, you simply didn't want to barge into his office. You gave him a small smile, still feeling uncomfortable with the beginning of your session. "It's very nice to meet you, Dr. Lecter."

"Likewise." He replied, stepping to the side with the door still opened for you. "Shall we begin with our session for today?"

"Of course." You walked past him, nodding in thanks before stepping into his office, maintaining from letting out a gasp of surprise over the vastness of his office. If you hadn't known this was his office, you would have guessed it was. The room screamed elegance and filled with decor one would see in an art museum.

"You have a lovely office." You complimented, looking around the room as Dr. Lecter closed the door and walked over to his desk, picking up some papers.

"Thank you, I quite enjoy displaying decorum through interior decorating." He replied, almost in a teasing way. "I apologize that you've been waiting a few weeks before we could start. Your psychiatrist had to send your information over from previous sessions."

"I wish it were longer, actually." You stated halfheartedly, finally taking a seat when he gestured silently towards one of his many available chairs nearby, nodding in thanks.

"Not very fond of sessions are you, miss (L/N)?" He asked, glancing your way as he shuffled through some of your paperwork, most likely your old medications and lack of diagnoses.

"I'm not particularly fond of wasting my time talking about my issues until the person trying to help me figures out I'm just incurable." You refused to return his gaze, fiddling with your nails. "They can't figure out what's wrong with me."

"There is no such thing as being incurable, there's only being overlooked."

"How do you figure?" You asked in confusion, looking up to watch him place down the papers and take a seat across from you. You didn't like the way he refused to look away from you, it made you...fuzzy.

"I believe your experience with your previous psychiatrists are, in better terms, unfit to handle someone like you." He paused for a moment, "You need someone that is able to understand you, discover your innermost self and I'm simply a better fit."

You felt your cheeks warm slightly, glancing away and unable to understand that fuzzy feeling you were feeling in your chest. "You make it seem so undemanding." You only glanced back when he called your name.

"You, my dear, are not incurable."

You were speechless, you didn't know what else to say. Something that would make him deter him away, but nothing could cross your mind before he continued.

"You are not beyond saving."

You stared at him for a while, the words sinking into your mind and chasing away some of the doubt that has haunted you for a majority of your life. You decided, against your judgement and the aching of your heart at the risk of more pain, you would give him a chance.

You nodded, which prompted him to give you a polite smile.

Time to restart the process.

At first, it was morbid curiosity.

When Hannibal was notified that he was being referred to a fellow colleague's previous patient, he was curious, very curious. He wanted to know the reason a respected psychiatrist, with an incredible track record, couldn't help a patient for once.

Therefore, he decided he would see the person behind his fellow colleague practically being close to ripping their hair out in stress. However, he was genuinely surprised when he opened his office door and saw you sitting in the waiting room. Your timid form playing with your nails with your gaze laser-focused on the clock that you didn't even react when he stood in your presence. Yet, you were oddly polite and if Hannibal didn't read your paperwork, he would have assumed you were an ordinary girl with her own issues.

However, you were...different.

He couldn't place his finger on what it was, but you weren't like anyone else he had seen step into his office. Your profile made it seem like you were a delinquent waiting to happen. However, you were polite, respectful, and had a deep passion for the arts similar to himself. He's never met an individual who shared a multitude of common interests with him. Perhaps, he underestimated you. He certainly wasn't prepared by how pretty you were and how close you two would become and he wouldn't forget your first session. When he had the opportunity to dig deep within your center and rip out your deepest secrets about yourself, in his own space.

Your gaze was focused on the window, watching the water droplets from the rain slide down the glass, the sleeves of your sweater hiding your delicate fingers. Those slim fingers that he couldn't stop staring at. You seemed so helpless, desperate for validation for the things you were going through, and he wanted to know the root of the problem.

Perhaps then, his curiosity would dissipate and he would have an easier time letting someone like you go.

"You must tell me what you're feeling if I am to help you, Miss (L/N)." He spoke softly, crossing his fingers and catching your gaze as you turned away from the window to return your attention with him.

“I feel…” You muttered with a pause, before turning your attention to the man across from you, “like I’m a danger to myself and others because of the things I think about.”

“And what do you feel?”  He asked, voice subconsciously matching your own.

“I think about hurting people, people that I used to care about. Seeing their faces twist in pain as their life drains from their eyes.”

“How does it make you feel? Those thoughts that haunt you, you mentioned that they plague you. Is it because you’re ashamed of them?” He mentally cursed himself, allowing his growing curiosity and obsession to take hold in order to discover you.

“They do haunt me but…it’s not because I’m ashamed of them.” You avoided the intensity of his stare, staring at the loose fabric of your sweater. “I’m ashamed of them because I like the thoughts.”

He swore he felt his heart skip a beat.

It has been six months since you've become his patient and Hannibal was plagued with conflicted feelings. Over the course of six months, Hannibal began to notice the ever growing affection he held for you. The soft moments between you during the break between sessions where you both would discuss your various common interests of art, music, and food.

He never thought he would find an individual so interesting, articulate, and extremely beautiful. He could still remember your lovely smile when he presented you with one of your favorite books he happened to have in his many collections of literature. He knew that he had fallen in love with you. Something he never quite expected to happen in his entire lifetime.

However, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Not when he was still continuing to be your psychiatrist.

A few days after your last session, he turned in his referral for your new psychiatrist and he prayed that you would allow him to reason with you when you find out what he has done in order to be with you properly. From your previous sessions, he knew of the abandonment you’ve feared, however, he didn’t want you feeling like he gave up on you.  

He was sitting at his desk, checking his watch as he waited for your arrival. His mind was repeatedly going through the possibilities of your reaction. Your consistent timing insisted that you would arrive any minute. He decided with a heavy sigh, that he would check the waiting room and hoped that you would accept his feelings.

You smiled to yourself, sitting in your usual spot in the corner of the waiting room. You arrived a few minutes early, yet it allowed you to have some time for yourself before you continued your session with Dr. Lecter. 

Despite the happiness you felt, you still felt a little nervous. For the past few weeks, you have realized something about yourself that you didn’t think would possibly ever happen. The fuzzy feeling that continued to tickle your mind all those months was the blossoming feeling of love. 

It left you scared, scared of the possibility of what it could do to affect the professional relationship between doctor and patient. The possibility of Dr. Lecter discovering your feelings and refusing to continue helping you. All due to the disgust of having someone like you fall for someone like him. It left you feeling defeated already, yet you will allow yourself to continue to be around him. To be around him and never letting your feelings show. 

The sound of the door opening made you stand, giving Dr. Lecter a smile which he gladly returned with a soft greeting. However, something in his face made you hesitate in replying. He seemed to have something bothering him and your heart skipped a beat. 

This couldn’t be what you think it is…

Pushing the thought from your mind, you quickly returned the greeting. 

“Afternoon, Dr. Lecter.” You said, stepping forward when he moved to the side to allow you to walk past him and into his office. “Something troubling you?”

The suit-clad man quietly closed the door, walking past you to stand near his desk, he leaned against the wood, hands perched on the surface. “We have something to discuss.” He finally said, gesturing to the recliner. 

“I think I can manage just fine standing.” You retorted, voice full of ice as your eyes hardened slightly. Your body tensed as you continued standing your ground, crossing your arms. “What’s the issue?” you asked, desperately trying to keep the hurt from your voice. 

“Please, allow me to explain myself, I do not wish for you to assume-”

“I think I’m assuming correctly, right? Just go ahead and tell me what you’re thinking.”

He sighed, glancing away, presumably gathering his thoughts. 

“I believe it is best if I am no longer your psychiatrist-” 

Crash.

Hannibal ducked when something was sent flying towards his head, resulting in a loud crash as the object practically combusted against the wall. In instinct, he was quick to cover his face with his forearm, protecting himself from getting hit directly. He was shocked for a moment, processing what occurred before hearing you rush towards him.

“How could you?!” You yelled, trying to hit him with raised fists, becoming more annoyed when your old physiatrist kept blocking your feasible attacks. “You said you wouldn’t give up on me! You fucking liar!” 

“I’ve never lied to you! Let me explain!” You couldn’t bother to see his reaction, his face expressing a mix of emotions of shock and desire. He never witnessed you become so angry before, especially at him. He found his fascination for you grew even more. “You’re only making things worse.”

“I don’t care, asshole!” You screamed, pushing him which didn’t even move him an inch as he stared down at you, gripping your forearms as you started crying. “Why are you getting rid of me!”

“You stupid girl!” Suddenly, you were pinned against the wall, gasping in shock at the warmth of Hannibal’s chest pressed against your own, your wrists pinned on each side of your head. “I only did it to be closer to you!”

“What…?” You were breathless, staring into his eyes that were full of darkness and something else you couldn’t recognize. His warm breath hitting the side of your face from his close proximity. “Then, why would you?”

Instead of answering, Hannibal simply leaned down and kissed you, warm lips pressed against your own, which quickly turned passionate. Eagerly, you returned the kiss, pressing closer to him as Hannibal let go of one of your wrists to grip the back of your head, fingers tangling into your hair. 

After a few minutes that seemed like an eternity, he slowly pulled away, gazing down at you while you tried catching your breath. 

“I’m in love with you, (Y/N).” He stated, fingers pulling away from your hair to instead delicately graze the soft skin of your cheek. “I cannot court you properly if I remain your psychiatrist.”

“Dr. Lecter, I-” Your eyes watered, ashamed of your previous behavior. 

“Hannibal, darling.” He muttered softly, stroking your cheek as he pressed his forehead against your own. “I accept you as you are and I want you to be mine, always. Will you consider that?” 

You smiled softly, sniffling as you nodded, resulting in Hannibal pulling you into a tight embrace which you gladly returned. “You already have me.” You replied. 

Spam Liking = Blocked

Taglist: Comment to be added!!

@prettywhenibleed

[iliketangerines]

mk1 rain and body worship work well together imo - could you do one where he makes love to an afab reader with a praise kink, perhaps with him being into dacryphilia? feel free to add any other kinks you think he's into ;)) i love the way you write, seeing anything new from you always makes my day!

look so pretty

a/n: omg, thank you, i'm glad my writing makes your day!

pairing: rain x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), dacryphilia, bondage, body worship, nipple play, pussy-eating, overstimulation, creampies, slight choking kink, use of sir/master, praise kink

Rain holds you close, his hands grabbing and squeezing every inch of skin he can grab onto

you whine into his lips, begging him for more, and your hips buck up into his

he just pulls back from kissing you, tutting at your impatience, and tells you to let him have this and to let him love you

he’s been wanting this since forever, and now that you both finally had the time, Rain was going to take full advantage of this opportunity

he has you tied up, hands bound up above you and to the headboard while your legs are tied to the posts at the top of the bed

it keeps them spread, and he loves to watch you squirm in his bindings as you moan out for him to please fuck you, please sir, you need it

he continues to kiss you after that, his hands wandering and grabbing onto your chest and pinching at your nipples

you whine into his mouth, and he leaves your mouth to press kisses down your jaw and suck a hickey into your neck as he continues to tease your nipples

he kisses hickeys into your skin, purple bruises blooming on your skin as he slowly makes his way down your neck before finally reaching your chest

he bites your tit, relishing in the way you yelp at the sudden pain, and he presses a soothing tongue into the bite mark

he continues this for a while, kissing your chest and biting you every so often to keep you in anticipation while his hands cup and squeeze your breasts

he finally latches his mouth onto your nipple, looking up to watch your reaction as he sucks on your nipple and teases your other with his hands

your head is thrown back, eyes squeezed shut as more of your whines escape your mouth, and your arms strain in his bindings

he chuckles at your pathetic attempts to escape his bindings, and presses a firm tongue into your nipple before sucking on it harshly

when Rain pulls back a few minutes later, admiring the way your tit is covered in his marks, he moves onto your other breast, lavishing it with the same attention

tears stream down your face as you beg him to please touch you, and the mage just chuckles into your skin and dips a hand down your body

he slides his fingers through your folds, collecting your wetness, but he doesn’t touch your clit, leaving you squirming in your bondage

he tells you that you look so pretty like this, all tied up and needy for him, and you whine, tears welling up in your eyes and eyes glazing over at the praise

Rain hums and moves on from your chest, satisfied with the ways your nipples are swollen and how his marks litter your body

he kisses down your stomach, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your stomach and your hips

you whimper in embarrassment, but he just tells you that he loves you so so much, that every inch of you is so perfect and soft for him

he bites into the fat of your stomach, and you yelp in pain, and he laughs against your skin

finally, he pulls back to admire his work

your body is covered in his marks, your pussy is dripping onto the sheets, and you look positively debauched

your eyes are glassy and have tears dripping down your cheeks, and he can see a slight redness to where the ropes are spreading you apart

Rain smiles at the sight and wishes he could keep an image of this forever

he focuses his attention to your needy pussy, and he spreads your folds with his fingers, groaning at the sight of your cunt clenching around nothing

he lifts up the hood of your clit with his other hand and listens to you whine as he continues to just stare at you

he can see the way your wetness drips out of your pussy and stains the sheets as he continues to just watch your pussy

the mage tells you to beg for it, beg for you to touch him

you blabber out incoherent sentences, asking sir to please touch you please, you’ve been so good for him, you need him so badly please

the words make his head spin with pleasure, and he squeezes your thighs as you continue to beg for him

finally, he shushes you, telling you that you did good, and he settles in between your legs

he nips at the soft flesh of your thighs first, sinking his teeth in before licking at the mark, and he makes his way toward your pussy

Rain’s drunk off of your sounds, your little moans and little thank you sirs, and it’s driving him crazy

finally, he presses a firm tongue into your clit, and your back arches off the bed at the stimulation

the mage laps at your clit, flicking it back and forth with his tongue, and you twitch in your bindings

he sucks on your clit, watching you as your chest heaves up and down and how you squirm on the bed and moan for him

Rain hums into your clit, and you let out a loud whine, asking him if you can cum, sir, please, sir

he mumbles into your skin to do better for your master, needing to hear you say that you fully belong to him, and you babble out nonsense

you sob out that he owns you, that he’s the only one who can make you feel like this, that you serve him

Rain smiles and tells you that you can cum as much as you want, and your back arches as you cum on his face

the mage happily licks at your release, moaning at the taste of your release

he continues his assault on your clit, and you whine as overstimulation settles into your body, hips attempting to jerk away from his

he summons two tendrils of water to wrap around your thighs and pull you back to him, sliding his fingers into your pussy and curling his fingers into the spot that he knows has you seeing stars

he summons another tendril of water to wrap around your throat, lightly choking you, and you can only let out broken sobs as he has you come over and over again on his fingers

when Rain’s finished with tasting you, he doesn’t even need the tendrils of water to keep you close to him

you’re a limp doll on the bed, simply taking the pleasure that he gives you with only the occasional moan

he slides back up to kiss you, brushing away your tears and grinding his cock into your sore pussy

he easily slides in, the mess of your wetness, his spit, and your cum allowing him to thrust into you smoothly

you’re so tight and warm around him, and Rain praises you, telling you that you’re so good for him, that you’re pussy is so prefect for him, made just for him to fuck

you whimper at the stretch, but Rain soothes you, kissing you softly to distract you from the pain

he summons his tendrils of water to tease your nipples, to circle and rub at your clit, to run their tendrils over your skin

it’s all too much, and you start crying again

Rain just continues to kiss you and fuck you with his thick cock, thrusting faster and faster into you until the wet sound of your hips colliding with his fill the room

you’re so warm and soft and compliant for him, and he never wants to leave this feeling

but soon enough, your pussy clenches down on him, and he moans into your mouth as you both cum at the same time

he fucks you through both of your orgasms, slowing down when he’s finished spilling his seed into you

he pulls back from your plush lips, panting and leaning his weight into one arm so he can brush away a stray hair from your face

you look so fucked-out and perfect like this, eyes red-rimmed from all the crying, and Rain wants to keep you like this forever

the mage however must tend to you now, and he slips out of you and unties the ropes keeping your legs spread and your hands tied above you

he carries you to a warm bath and washes you gently, hands ghosting over your skin and lips peppering soft kisses all over your shoulders

you whine as he wipes away the stickiness between your legs, still much too sensitive, but he shushes you gently

finally, he dries you off, pulling the water off your body with his powers, and he brings you to the large plush bed to rest

he combs your hair with his fingers and tells you how well you did for him, so good for your master, and you drift off to sleep feeling warm and fuzzy and loved

[sleeplesssmoll]

Can you imagine everyone in the suitcase getting together to prepare the Foundation Kids’ first Christmas 🥹🥹🥹

The gift exchanging and the cuteness would be the most wholesome thing! Little Santa hats for all! Honestly this became a long list of HCs and not all of them are related to Christmas. It'll be Crew member and Vertin interactions because it'd be a lot to do it both ways for every single character. My ears are open for anyone who wants to share their HCs!

Regulus (actually Apple) gives a Vertin a set of high quality paint brushes. She also gives her also a weird rotund plushy with this face

• _ •

This is the real one Regulus picked but she and Apple work as a pair. She says it's face reminded her of Vertin. Vertin will keep this new friend among her growing collection of oddities from her crew members. She keeps everything they give her, even if it's just a pretty marble.

Joshua gives her a DIY woodworking book and then brings up his bookshelf being broken (hidden agenda!) At first the others are like "wth?" but Vertin seems to love it. You know the little game pieces we see throughout the game to represent the characters? Vertin makes something similar with her new skill and they use them when developing strategies. Jessica and Sonetto like to help her paint them. Druvis gives her tips (since she's a wandmaker she has more experience). Also, Vertin does fix his shelf eventually and made a few adjustments so it won't break again.

I see Vertin as the type who can figure out those God awful assembly instructions with 70 different letters and numbers labeling everything. For tech stuff, Regulus and Joshua have them covered. They try not to ask X if they can help it because despite being a genuis he always adds an unnecessary feature. No I don't need my camera have a "brew coffee" function!

None of the "fix-it" people above can put together a proper meal though.

Madam Z is invited but couldn't make it (Constantine at it again). She sends Vertin a very elegant coat with a water proof enchantment to keep her both warm and dry. She she noticed Vertin's grown a bit taller and she'll most likely need a new coat.

Tooth Fairy also couldn't make it (helping Madam Z so she can get leave the office sooner and they can celebrate with wine). She sends Vertin a jar of candies and a finely crafted pocket knife. Why a pocket knife? No one knows for sure. Despite no one getting it at first, whenever they have a package they can't open, a freshly picked fruit from the garden, etc. they ask Vertin if she has her knife. Of course she does. She's Suitcase Dad lol. Tooth Fairy was predicting the future.

Sotheby will give her candies that are actually healing potions! It's one of her newest creations! They're more convenient than carrying potion bottles. There are a few...side effects but nothing too major. Vertin is extremely grateful for this and carries a few in her pocket at all times in case someone gets hurt. This usually ends up being herself (in combat) or Sotheby tripping and scraping her knees, palm, etc. She'll hesitate to take the candy herself (because what if someone else needs it later?), even when she's barely standing but heaven forbid one of her people gets a boo-boo or a bruise. It's frustrating as it is endearing.

Sonetto gives her a tin of her favorite brand of tea and a thermal blanket. Vertin's the type of person with a cooler body temperature. In winter, her hands are freezing! This worries Pupnetto even though the Foundation trains them to endure cold temperatures. However, most of the other members end up snuggling in the heated blanket, including Sonetto herself (she is slowly unlearning the Foundation's way of suffering pointlessly) but she will share it with Vertin when she does. Vertin doesn’t mind. Honestly, Sonetto is hot blooded (the opposite of her) so having her nearby makes it warmer anyway.

And Sonetto's always at her side. She doesn't worry about the cold.

Druvis gives Vertin a wand with her arcanum built into it. It's shaped like a pistol, similar to Schneider's but it's nonlethal. The "bullets" are infused with the slime from Druvis's thorns and can hinder enemy movements (inflict petrify status). This way she can "protect" Vertin even if they're apart. With more eyes on the Suitcase than ever, she believes Vertin needs to take extra precautions. Vertin takes very good care of the gun (though she's never had to use it in real combat yet) and when they do co-op missions with other departments it garners a lot of attention from the soldiers.

Druvis is not accepting requests at this time.

Blonney gives her an ugly Christmas sweater but her gag gift backfires when Vertin looks cute. Stupid yes, but cute. Also the fabric is very soft and Vertin seems very cozy inside.

Later, Blonney gives her the real gift. She was too shy to give it to her in front of the others but there's a hand written card thanking her everything she's done for her and Jessica. There's money in the card of course. Jen also gives her a little short story she wrote. Not a horror one, but a sweet one about a curious kitten going on misadventures and making friends. Vertin can immediately tell its based on the shenanigans she gets into with her crew members. Blonney doesn't stick around long (blushing too hard) but Vertin is moved by this. The crew members are represented by their Udimos!

Jessica gives Vertin a doll (think chibi) she made that looks like the Timekeeper and it has removable accessories. For Christmas, the chibi Vertin is wearing a Santa suit. Sometimes the doll goes missing from her shelf if she's gone for more than a day (work relates reasons). 98% of the time it's with Sonetto who crumbles like a guilty puppy if Vertin asks about its whereabouts. The separation anxiety is real. Vertin recognizes this and eventually says it looks happier in Sonetto's room. She asks Sonetto to please take good care of her (the doll). Vertin also makes more effort to "call" home or send a message with arcanum tech after this event.

She's not used to having people wait for her at home, but one day in the near future she will be.

[pomplalamoose]

I fucking love you you’re the only person who talks abt Luke and I need more stuff abt him PLEASE litreally anything will do

Really, this means SO much to me because the only reason this blog exists is an outrageous lack of Luke content, so now I'm making it myself😤

I didn't know what you would like to hear about so here's a random collection of Luke thoughts and ideas I had since August (mostly in collaboration with my girly @little-skywalker )🫶🏻

Also this turned out a little bit more nsfw than what I usually do, I hope you don't mind

• in my mind Luke is very good with children and they like him a lot in return

• so if you have been in a healthy and loving relationship with him for a while, he'll probably ask how you feel about kids of your own

• as someone who wants to avoid pregnancy at all costs I like to think he'd be very understanding about you feeling uncomfortable with giving birth to a child yourself

• because of this he'd be more than happy to adopt too

• especially because he knows what it's like to loose caregivers and grow up without knowledge about your real parents, he'd be so enthusiastic to raise orphans with all the love they deserve

• along with the ones already in his Jedi Academy, you'd have a shit ton of kids around

• related to this I can totally see him giving out fun stickers as rewards

• the children cleaned their rooms? Sticker. They did their house hold chores? Sticker. They did well at school? Sticker. They made him laugh? Sticker.

• he likes to give you some too if that's what you want

• (although for wildly different reasons)

• when he's in a good mood, Luke is a tease

• often about pretty innocent things like a stain of marmelade on your top or when you mispronounce a word lost in thought

• other than that he likes to gently pull your hair while he's sneaking up on you

• or to grab your nape with ice cold fingers after washing them

• he loves hearing you shriek his name and your indignant expression after

• when you're alone though, things quickly take a turn in a whole other direction

• he's never mean of course, but making you blush is one of his favorite activities

• he likes to mock the sounds you make in bed, sometimes even going as far as mimicking them

• he likes to pinch and squeeze your soft thighs, your arms and ass or your breasts until you swat his hands away

• when he discovers something new you like, you won't hear the end of it for the next few weeks

• he has a way of glancing and smiling at you suggestively while others are around that makes you fume

• Luke likes to see you in pretty lingerie, no matter whether you bought it yourself to surprise him or if he gave it to you as a present

• one can argue about his favorite colors in that regard

• my first idea was a nice pastel green to match his lightsaber

• until I realized his lightsaber is neon green

• the ultimate conclusion: Luke likes to see you in neon green lingerie

• (maybe go for black, you can't go wrong with black)

• Luke is ✨well endowed✨ and while not too big, he's still a lot to take

• I like to think you'd need to practice to get him fully inside of you

• he's always patient and careful with you though, and knows how to make it as pleasant as he possibly can

• he doesn't want to hurt you

• that said, sometimes he tends to forget himself while you are going at it

• when at first he was slow and gentle, he sometimes gets a little bit too into it and his thrusts grow rough, almost bruising

• he'll catch himself quickly and apologize, though if you liked it, he may be willing to change up his pace a little bit

• I'd like to add how insanely attractive that man is as well

• everything about him is good looking, even (or especially?) his hands

• they are simply made to be kissed and licked

• (imagine sucking on his fingers)

• also it'd be nice to just be held by them

• your hand would completely disappear in his

• and they are always nicely warm

• I'm sure that Luke is very strong as well

• he didn't train in that swamp on Dagobah for nothing

• we all have noticed his arm muscles

• that combined with his height, he's easily able to manhandle about everyone

• the children love when he picks them up to spin them around or to throw them up in the air as if they weigh next to nothing to him

• you like to be picked up as well, especially if he then pins you to a wall

• or down on his bed

• if he wants to cuddle there is not much you can do about it

• while I'm not necessarily into nicknames or other kinds of endearments, the thought of being called bunny by Luke drives me crazy

• I find it to be fitting in every kind of situation too

• it doesn't matter if it's said in a soothing manner or just casually during the day

• imagine him calling you bunny to admonish you

• OR when you're bouncing up and down on his enormous d-*gunshot noise*

[shmowder]

More Ex-husband Daniil. The day you hand in the divorce papers. how much angst? Yes.

-

The food has long gone cold by now, wax pooling at the bottom of the candles, halfway melted. Their fire flickers against the shadows of the dark room, the sun having bid its goodbyes hours ago.

How unnervingly still the world stood at the clock of midnight.

You blink the sleepiness away, an empty stare landing on the equally empty wine glasses set aside. Meeting your own reflection, distorted against their curved surface.

He said he'd come home early today.

Daniil gave his word, a promise whispered in the aftermath of the brief kiss atop your cheek as you stood by the front door, watching him put on his coat before heading out to work this very same morning.

His angelic eyes, the same ones you fell in love with years ago. A delicate smile painted on his lips, ones he couldn't keep off of you in between lectures during the long gone university days.

And like a fool you fell for it.

Again.

Fell for the passion in his voice as he spoke about his dreams, his work in Thanatica. His mission a crusade against death itself. All death.

The wooden chair creeks as you adjust your semi-numb legs. You don't dare look at the clock. You don't want to know how many hours have already passed with you sitting here, waiting for him.

Always waiting, staying in place, making yourself smaller to make space for him, pushing your dreams and obligations aside so he may overindulge in his own. Accommodating his self-made circumstances, bending to the whims of the prodigy of your generation.

There once was a day when he spoke about you just as passionately, a day when you still earned the right to his now stolen heart.

That day–like many others–was put on the shelf, collecting dust, reduced to a treasured memory, a security blanket you drape over yourself after every fight. Telling yourself he wasn't always this negligible, he wasn't always this harsh. He's just been cursed with a brilliant mind, you can't possibly understand, so make up a million excuses to justify his change of heart.

He vowed, till death do us apart.

The clicking sound of a key turning through the lock stands out amidst the quiet room. The creeking of the door pushed open follows.

He looks beyond exhausted, like he just escaped from the afterlife.

Pushing his own body to the brink of collapse and work through the long hours of the night. Always the last one to depart and first one to arrive.

Pushing aside your concerns about his health and mind. Saying how he'd know better, he's the doctor after all. Qui non proficit, deficit. His efforts are necessary.

Pushing the last thread of the patient you have until it snaps. Barely glancing your way with a raised eyebrow as the first words of his mouth are, "You should've gone to bed."

Swallowing down the acid in your throat, you give him the benefits of the doubt. Asking what took him so damn long to walk home?

"I had to attend to something important in the labs; a new sample is showing great potential." He hangs his coat, loosens his cravat, and doesn't add anything more.

A growing crack spreads through the walls of your mind. The dam finally breaks down.

An argument giving way into a yelling match, accusations are thrown around, vulnerabilities are targeted under the pretence of self-defence.

His brutal mind, your bruised heart.

It's nothing out of the usual, really. Those fights are becoming the norm as of late. Ones which and up with both of frustrated even more, storming away and slamming the door.

Dankovsky would think he memorised this ugly song and dance. Just like always, your anger would eventually fizzle out, and just like always, his pride would deflate down with time.

It's been done many times. The two of you break out into an argument, hours, days, or even weeks pass with total silence except for the passive-aggressive remarks until the original problem dulls and fades out. Politely swept under the rug so business as usual may resume.

After you're done with that tantrum, maybe the two of you can finally have dinner together like a civilised couple before the untouched food on the table gets more stale than it already is. Then he'll gladly tell you about his day, his annoying coworker who forgot to bring their pen and ended up borrowing his, finally ending his speech by asking about yours.

Dinner quietly passing with time.

As the soft mattress sinks below your weight, he'll close the book in his hand and take off his reading glasses to set them aside.

Looking at your turned back, a sigh leaves him, a semi-apology following close by. Empty promises of doing better easily slip past his lips, and maybe at that moment he spoke them with complete sincerity, maybe he really meant them.

You begrudgingly turn around, and he pulls you into his arms, lets you bury your face into the nook between his neck and shoulder.

And for a moment everything is fine.

Except maybe, not this time.

You never make it past the argument. He never makes it into your shared bed tonight.

No, Instead you're still sitting at that dinner table with him opposite of you. Explaining the documents in your hand, your signature already at the bottom of the divorce papers.

You're drinking in his expression of shock. Barely speaking a word as you talk, eyes wide looking at you in disbelief.

He doesn't put up a fight, he doesn't process his emotions fast enough to, he doesn't fully register the situation to reply back.

You almost feel bad, seeing him taking it lying down.

It didn't feel like winning to you, especially since he wasn't even playing, merely staring at the chessboard with an absent mind.

Until denial comes crashing down.

"Is this a tasteless joke? You can't possibly..."

He prays. He doesn't believe in god, but he prays deep down for it to be an awful dig at him. Please heavens above let it be one of your bluffing insults that was taken too far.

It's not.

He's lost in his own mind, what changed? You always came back so why not this time around?

You always waited for him.

The gold metal band glistens under the candlelight. You slowly slip the ring off. Dropping it into the table's tray, it clinks as it slots against its identical pair, the ring he forgot to put on this morning, the sound echos in the room.

You get up to leave, and he looks ready to drop to his knees. Painfull regret painted across his features.

For a brief moment, you're reminded of a younger Daniil. One who wore a similar anxious expression while studying for the finals, books scattered around, papers covering the floor as the two of you laid atop his dorm room's bed. You remember holding his hand, promising that everything will be fine.

You recall a sweet kiss, one he planted like a seed of hope as he brought your hand up to his lips.

Staring at the shadow of a man you once knew in front of you, a man of many talents and knowledge, a man lost for words, beaten, broken down.

Fists clenching against his coat, lips dry, eyes staring at you, waiting for your next move, begging for a reveal that confirms this is all a facade. For you to turn the lights back on, sit by his side, share dinner and forgive his sins for the night.

You don't wait for him to reply. Swiftly leaving the papers in front of him, you head towards the door.

The locks clicks in place behind you, the night air fresh in your lungs. Not a single star in sight amidst this cloudy night.

[galaxy-ficsa]

LET’S GO WORLDBUILDING!!

The Magic System

The lore I’ve crafted & certain are heavily inspired by Undertale & some of it’s AUs. Familiarity with the subject matter is recommended, but not required. ANYWAYS Enjoy the read!! :)

What Are Souls?

A Soul is composed of an individual's essence housed in a physical shell! If someone (or something) is sentient, it has one!

Souls take the rough shape of a heart, pointing upright or downward, depends on the species.

When a Soul shatters, its essence, the magic inside, is released into the surrounding atmosphere. Just as there is moisture in the air, same applies to magic.

Soul Magic & Attributes

Those in-tune with their own Souls can tap into magic! The more someone relies on Soul magic, they stand less of a chance of surviving without their Soul.

HOWEVER, stronger Soul magic makes a Soul last longer after it’s host dies. Pros & Cons!

Outer magic ISN’T from a Soul (ex: enchanted artifacts/clothing) & will always harm the body. Effects are unpredictable, can damage a limb, senses, or even an organ.

Soul magic doesn’t have this side-effect, but takes significant time to master.

Soul attributes reflect what a host expresses with their Soul magic. All Souls start grey before gaining color. DOES NOT define a person with one word!!

Standard Undertale Soul colors apply as Soul attributes, only expanded to include more shades & hues.

No two people express the same Soul attribute the same way, & a Soul can have (at most) two Soul attributes at a time.

Hate is a Soul enhancer, further increasing Soul magic power as their host becomes spiteful & psychotic. Hate’s appearance depends on how the host perceives it. Hate hosts have their sclera, blood, & bruises turn black.

Sensitivity opposes Hate (NOT a counter.) Inherited after a traumatic incident, their host is more emotionally-susceptible & responds to triggers. Can represent anxiety, PTSD, other mental health problems.

Sensitivity can become Hate if the host self-deprecates. Both are NOT Soul attributes, merely add-ons.

As long as there’s reasoning for a Soul-wielder to wield the magic they do, go nuts! However, Soul magic doesn’t come easy, not without a cost…

So I Have a Soul, Now What?

Soul magic can be harvested & made physical with the right tools or spells. Similar to a machine that collects moisture from the air & renew it into water. This is how enchanted artifacts & clothing are made.

If Soul essence is meshed into a new body, it will gain their memories. Soul “copies” may not carry over every aspect, such as their personality, especially if their previous life wasn’t a happy one.

Soul spells are dangerous practices that can grant a variety of effects “efficiently” (ex: sudden Soul attribute inversion, swapping Soul magic, reviving the dead with your owl Soul.)

Soul surgeries recreate Soul spells with “safer technology” - but good luck affording them!