#and then wash your hands one more time after that EVERY time you wash your hands

[callmegallifreya]

I shall tell you a secret about your wool, your cashmere, the delicate fainting fabrics two whom heat is a death knell.

Necromancy is real.

Also, your dead wool may be better for it.

Also-also nobody here has actually said how to clean it without killing it so I'll add that too.

So - within reason, the doll's jumper is not going back to an adult, but hear me out here.

If you have washed your jumper a tad too warm, or on a normal wash setting, and perhaps it is now of a more suitable size for a child, a lot of the shrinkage may be caused by felting.

Felting is when the wet fibres, with the scales that make up the outer layer lifted by detergent and heat, lock to each other like tangled christmas lights. The more you agitate them, the more felted they get. This is why the delicate cycle on your machine doesn't so much churn up your woolens as it does let them soak and gently wavepool side to side occasionally to circulate the water.

Felted or boiled wool has no gaps. When all of the fibres have locked together it is windproof, nearly waterproof, and will never unravel. You can cut a hole in felt and it will only get bigger if you tear it bigger. Depending on the degree of felting it may be thicker now too.

With that out of the way, what is the necromancy side of this?

Well, if you get it wet again, depending on the level of felting, your wool will stretch right back out.

If you see a new wool garment, you'll see the washing instructions say "reshape when wet". This is because just like your hair, if you let it dry in a funny position it'll stay that way. We've all accidentally let one dry on a radiator or over a corner and ended up with a very odd shaped bit of fabric.

Felting is just a very funny position for wool. It's basically matted, wet hair.

I've seen recommendations for using hair conditioner and other products here to help loosen it up, which I haven't tried - certainly give it a go, especially if your jumper is more delicate or only a little felted. It may come back to life with no/very little further intervention. I've had great results with sheer brute force.

Disclaimer: I am a limp noodle and my idea of "pull hard" is not the same as everyone's.

Get that jumper absolutely drenched in your solution of choice (I do it after a wash so woolite, there are lots of guides and recommendations online for best results), grab it on opposite sides and pull. Enlist a friend for even better (and more even) results. Pull in the direction of the knit and across the knit but not diagonally if you can avoid it.

There will probably be concerning ripping noises if there's any more than a tiny bit of felting, like velcro pulling apart. It's fine. Keep pulling. (Steady pressure, don't yank)

Don't forget to do the arms in both directions too, you want them wide enough to get your own arm back inside them.

Stop when your clothing is the size and shape you want it to be. You can even try it on to be sure and wear it like shrink-to-fit jeans since wool is marvelously insulating and will be warm even when wet once you get over the problem of putting on a cold wet jumper.

Now, this is not a total fix - if you only a little shrunk it, it'll be good as new. If you shrunk it a lot it's probably gone down a couple of sizes even after you've stretched it back out like you're trying to tear it in half. You also need to remember to do this after every time you wash that particular garment. But hopefully some of you will save and wear some beloved items that you thought were gone forever.

Have fun!

Oh, and to clean your wool: -Pick up a wool-specific detergent (I use Woolite, there's lots) - and either

a) bung it in your machine on a delicates/wool cycle and be done with it, reshaping whilst wet and drying flat so the weight of it doesn't stretch it in funny ways over your airer (do not tumble dry, see felting above) or

b) hand-wash, which is a whole lot of swishing and squishing it about in a sink or bucket with the detergent and water at a comfortable temperature for you to stick your hands in. Avoid scrubbing on or with anything (no brushes, no stain remover balls, none of that) and if you have a stubborn spot grab two sections of the fabric and rub on each other like you're charging a defibrillator - as little as you can manage until spot is gone or you start to worry about the texture changing (felting again). A scrub with your hand from the inside can also sometimes get a stain loose by forcing the detergent up behind it and if you do felt it it's not as visible. Rinse a lot and wring out hard, then reshape and air dry it flat.

Here, a cheater course on caring for natural fibers!

1. Wool. Treat it like it has the delicate constitution of a Victorian lady and the conviction that baths are evil of a 17th century noble. (If I get in WATER my PORES will OPEN and I will CATCH ILL AND DIE.)

2. Cotton; easygoing. Will shrink a bit if washed and dried hot.

3. Silk; people think it’s like wool and has the constitution of a fashionably dying of consumption Victorian lady, but actually it’s quite tough. Can be washed in an ordinary washer, and either tumbled dry without heat or hung to dry.

4. Linen; it doesn’t give a shit. Beat the hell out of it. Historically was laundered by dousing it in lye and beating the shit out of it with wooden paddles, which only makes it look better. The masochist of the natural fiber world. Beat the fuck out of it linen doesn’t care. Considerably stronger than cotton. Linen sheet sets can last literal decades in more or less pristine shape because of that strength.The most likely natural fiber to own a ball gag.

[sparks-and-smoke]

Hello! Could I get a fic about Bucky accidentally finding the reader’s Christmas gifts to him? Maybe he tries (and fails) to act surprised?

Thank you (ps I know it’s after Christmas, sue me)

Aww~ I don't care that it's too late for the holidays. It's cute! Merry Christmas (belated)

Characters/Pairings: Bucky x reader (code name honey)

Content/Warnings: none it’s just goofy holiday fluff

Author Note: merry late Christmas, this may or may not be loosely based in the Fate Stone AU I have brewing. (which since you are my beta reader ;) you already know about it.)

You are a notoriously bad gift giver, Bucky had been warned many times. He didn’t really care. As long as it came from the heart it couldn’t possibly be that bad. He could put up with socks or a cheesy mug as long as it came from you. But this was worse, so much worse. 

“Sam, I don't even know what to do with it.” Bucky rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands, confiding in the only other person he knew that wouldn’t immediately tell Honey. “Can I be honest here, it’s hideous.”

Sam was keeping a pretty good poker face over his mug poker but the situation was undeniably funny. “It can’t possibly be that bad.” But Bucky’s mortified face said it all. “Why were you spying on her gift away?”

“I didn’t mean too! Necessarily. She hid it in the bottom of the closet, man. She didn’t even hide it well... I’m a spy, I notice things. Plus it was pretty hard to miss.” The blanket had been tucked away in the back of the walk-in closet under a few other things. But the obnoxious colors of the corner peeking out from under the folded jeans had caught his eyes. They didn’t own anything in orange. Anything.  

His honey had gotten him a blanket, which would normally have been so very sweet seeing how Bucky hated being cold, but it wasn’t just a blanket. It was one of those viral blankets, the ones that are loosely based on 70’s rock band merch with lighting and thunder clouds rolling in the background. It’s featured pictures of Alpine, every goofy spastic picture of the cat that his girl could find with her name in the boldest font Bucky had ever seen. Honestly it hurt his eyes, and as Bucky went about describing it to Sam the other man damn near fell out of his chair. 

“That is perfect. No really I think she might be a genius. I’m gonna need a video of you opening that one.” Sam goaded.

“You're not helping.” Bucky growls, guilt twisting in his guts like a worm, but Sam was too busy laughing to try and give a shit. “How am I gonna act surprised now? Let alone be excited?”

“I don’t dude, I guess you need to start taking an acting class.” Sam wiped the tears from his eyes.

~~~~

Bucky watched with crinkled eyes as you opened your gifts from him. A nice wool winter coat because all you owned was a puffer, and while it was adorable on you and always kept you warm you always said you wanted something dressier for date night. And in your stocking an assortment of your favorite treats, skin care you were low on, and that perfume that you had been drooling over since October but always talked yourself out of because of the price tag. Bucky had been making a list since your birthday, keeping tabs on what you lingered on in stores and what you sighed at as you scrolled. He knew his girl and he knew her well. And the way you lit up with every item told him he hit it out of the park. 

“Do you like it Honey?” he asked, his chin propped on his hand. His face couldn’t have been softer or voice more full of love as he watched you glow with joy. 

“I love it. How did you even know what eye cream I use?” 

“It wasn't that hard doll.” Bucky laughed, it sits in a clear box on your vanity of course he knows. 

“Here! Open yours.” You hand him his stocking and the present wrapped in pretty silver paper, looking so excited you may vibrate across the floor. He plastered on his best game face as his stomach did a little flip. Do not ruin this for her Barnes. 

He starts with the stocking. Pulling out body wash and a cologne scented with that smoky bourbon and apple scent you were fond of, along with a small batch roasted coffee and some new gloves. So far so good, and he made sure to kiss you. “I love it honey.”

“Yeah, but you haven’t opened your big one.” you say with a twinkle in your eyes that makes him wanna melt into the floor. Should he tell her, confess he saw it? Risk it and pretend he loves it? 

“You’re right I haven’t.” he corrects himself with a smile picking up the package. It was instantly heavier than he remembered and as he tears open the package he has a brief (very guilty) moment of hoping that maybe he was wrong…

But no there it is. That hideous blanket that he knows instantly from the look on your face he is gonna end up snuggling under for the rest of time just to see you smile the way you are right in this moment. He opened his mouth to tell you thanks as genuinely as he could muster but honey was already biting her bottom lip. A fit of giggles falling out of her. “You already saw it didn’t you!” she managed to get out between chitters. 

“What?! No- I…” 

A pillow from the couch flew at his head. “I knew you would. You little sneak, you do this every year!” Honey chastised as Bucky dodged another swing with the pillow. 

“Hey! Whoa!” Bucky's arms go up in a weak attempt at blocking her little onslaught. “I didn’t mean too!”

“Bullshit James Buchanan!” thump, a hit to his ribs. “You did it on your birthday.” Whack, a bump to the top of his head. “You somehow sniffed out the tickets I bought to Coney Island.” one more swing but this time Bucky caught the pillow, pulling you into his lap with it. 

“I did not do it on purpose!” he defended, but he was beaming. Eyes crinkling in the corner as she glared playfully. “I didn’t!” 

“Yeah, you just somehow stumbled upon the blanket I hid under the laundry in the back of our closet.”

“I was looking for my coat!” 

“On the ground?”

Bucky was caught, because yes he had been looking. He always did. The man couldn’t help it, he always was just too curious. “Yea, I thought so you little rat! Do you like it?” she asks earnestly. And Bucky feels that gnawing feeling again, trying not to let it show on his face. 

“It’s… super fluffy.” he tries to deflect, hating to lie to honey, but her face is already breaking into a grin. What the hell?

“You hate it.” she beams. “It’s hideous huh?”

Bucky frowns, slouching back in his chair. Did she want him to hate it. “Uh, yeah it is..” 

“Good thing it’s not your actual present huh.” 

Bucky's eyes narrow. “You little-” She did this on purpose, hid the most outrageous thing she could find just to punish him for spoiling presents. Clever girl. Weeks of fretting over how he was gonna pull this off and SHE KNEW THE WHOLE TIME. With a giggle honey climbs off his lap and back behind the couch, pulling out a slim package from the cavern behind, and Bucky’s face nearly splits in half. 

“Here. Merry Christmas.” She offers him the parcel with a kiss, sitting in his lap as he unwraps it, and he feels his heart flutter a little. It’s a scrapbook. Full of pictures of him, her, Alpine and their friends. Taken by everyone who has known them the last few years. There isn’t a lot, he doesn’t like taking pictures, preferring to take them. So she must have scoured their friends' phones to find all of these and Bucky can feel tear picking the backs of his eyes. Good tears. 

“Thank you Honey. I love it. I love you…”

[the-odd-shu]

Fluffy scenarios for clear skin

Another Lab Illustrator Reader installation!

Masterlist

Previous:

Characters: Jayce, Viktor, Gender Neutral Reader (Reader uses they/them pronouns)

Established: Jayce/Viktor/Reader (POLYCULLLEEE)

Reader to Jayce: Do you ever look at Viktor when he's thinking and want to kiss every inch of his face?

Jayce taking a slow sip from his hot drink: No. I think he would bite me if I tried.

Reader: Maybe. But whenever he pouts, his eyes go all thoughtful and distant, and I can hardly control myself.

Jayce: Please continue to control yourself. I don't want to have to write an accident report because you lost a nose.

Reader sighs again: Would you bite my nose off if I kissed every inch of your face instead?

Jayce no-rizz Talis then proceeds to choke and nearly perish on his drink.

In summary, Reader's partners sometimes give them cuteness aggression.

Just the image of Viktor doing that adorable pouting face, and Reader calmly setting down their pen, getting up, crossing over to Jayce's desk to get rid of their cuteness aggression via kisses on poor Jayce instead.

I kind of like the idea of them doing this instead of crowding Viktor when he's clearly trying to think. Whereas Jayce is just constantly on the look out for touch and validation, so it works out great for him. He melts under the attention, more than happy to put his notes aside for a moment in favour of a rather lovely excuse for a break.

They're quiet about it, but sometimes the movement will pull Viktor out of his musings regardless, and he'll just frown at the pair of them acting like idiots.

And if he insinuates he's feeling a little left out, you bet Reader is going to calmly drag him close and touch temples with him - a deeply personal Zaunite display of affection - which would have a whole new adorable expression appearing on Viktor's face and would send Reader IMMEDIATELY into going back to attack Jayce instead of smothering to poor, overwhelmed man.

In a similar vein of thinking, it would definitely be manadatory for Reader to give into it, just once.

Maybe Jayce is conveniently out of the room, and maybe Viktor is just RIGHT THERE, PLAINLY in sight. And maybe, just this once they SIMPLY CANNOT contain themselves. Viktor is right there and they're not getting any work done because they can't tear their eyes off him.

So they give in, and pepper Viktor's adorable pout with kisses. And the man is just BAFFLED! It takes him a moment to understand what is happening, and then he's letting out flustered strings of words in both his mother's tongue and Piltovern Common, and he's shoving them away by their cheeks.

Reader of course isn't deterred, and just ends up grabbing the hand to kiss his knuckles. Viktor glares down at them with a look of resignation and burning red ears.

Jayce comes in like: what did I miss.

Reader: Turns out he doesn't bite.

Viktor: Not yet. Don't tempt me.

Jayce is rewarded with a forehead touch for simply existing that time round - the significance is not lost on him and he feels touched.

Viktor's that choatic boyfriend that hears you complaining about a colleague one too many times, and then proceeds to inconvenience them in the most subtle and irritating way known to man, all whilst giving you a shit-eating little smirk as he sits back and watches the world burn.

"That fucker giving you trouble Darling? No worries, I stole all of his left socks and buried them in the staff room plant pot after hours."

"They said what about Jayce?" A beat of silence.

"Viktor?! Where are you going with that washing up liquid."

"Nowhere." Very obviously makes his way to the kitchen.

Said co-worker that was talking shit then begins complaining that every cup of coffee they make tastes like soap!

Someone talks shit about their partners:

Jayce 'can we talk about this' Talis: "here is a thirty page essay as to why you're wrong, and I have a PowerPoint slide prepared with additional evidence if you will please take a seat and allow me to reeducate you."

Viktor who will resort to psychological warfare to get his point across correcting them, whilst also blatantly gaslighting them into believing that Jayce and Reader can do no wrong, and they were in fact crazy for insinuating such cruel things about either of them to begin with.

Reader who stabs first with their artist-grade scalpel, and asks questions when they're incapacitated and bleeding out on their floor: "Say that again, to my face this time. Go on, I dare you."

(There is a reason why Jayce and Viktor ((the pacifists)) do not teach Reader how to use any of the hextech devices. They will commit murder and refuse to regret it whilst Jayce sweats bullets and Viktor stares on, mouth aghast by the sheer brutality of said murder).

"He deserved it," Reader will explain simply.

And Viktor will go, "perhaps, BUT YOU COULD HAVE LEFT HIS HEAD ATTACHED!"

Jayce who's trauma raises its head when his partners are cold. Blankets. Warm drinks. Heating on full blast. That snow storm did a number on him and he HATES the winter because of it.

Are you shivering? Is Viktor? No stress, he shall simply have to BECOME the blanket to keep you both alive and well. It is as sweet as it is heartbreaking.

Viktor who's upbringing in Zaun sometimes makes him precious with food. Not because he was starving, but because sometimes he couldn't have as much food as he wanted, simply because money was tight growing up.

Maybe he has a sweet treat, and ends up breaking it into threes to share with you and Jayce.

Maybe there's only one tea bag left, so he settles for water, despite having REALLY wanted that cup of warm tea.

Maybe he's waiting for seconds for dinner, but there's only enough left for two more portions, so he says he's not hungry anymore.

Viktor who will sometimes feel the gnaw of hunger but make a hot drink to soothe his stomach instead of actually eating something, because its only so far into the day, and if he doesn't eat now, then he won't be as hungry later-

Safe to say, his partners notice. And Jayce keeps the kitchenette well stocked with drinks and snacks alike, whilst Reader will stop by a bakery or cafe in the morning to bring him a proper breakfast, as well as breakfast for themselves and Jayce so he doesn't feel like he HAS to share.

[depravitycentral]

Demon Slayer Dick Headcannons (ft. the Hashira)

Tw: yandere, mentions of kidnapping, breeding, cumplay kinda, fem reader, MDNI

Featuring: Giyuu Tomioka, Kyojuro Rengoku, Tengen Uzui, Sanemi Shinazugawa, Obanai Iguro, Gyomei Himejima

It’s pretty – a pale color and perfectly smooth, feeling almost virginal with how perfectly unmarked it is. And of course, it is virginal – that much will become uncomfortably obvious the first time you touch him, Giyuu letting out a near pained grunt after a mere thirty seconds as his orgasm washes over him, embarrassment settling in his stomach because oh god, you must think he’s pathetic now.

Giyuu’s never been one for masturbation, and so the skin on his cock is genuinely extremely sensitive, having had very, very little experience being touched. Just a brush of your finger against his length makes him sputter a bit, Adam’s apple bobbing harshly as he gulps, embarrassment starting to creep up his spine because god, something so small shouldn’t feel so good, especially when it’s just over his robes, not even skin-to-skin contact. He’s bucking his hips at the smallest touch of your thumb against his tip, something like a whimper escaping him when you kitten lick at his base, peppering kisses up the length until you suckle at his tip and see the way his eyes roll back.

When he gets hard he gets rather embarrassed, always trying his best to be subtle about it and not draw attention to it, but the way he cowers over and tries to cover his groin with anything nearby is not nearly as smooth as he’d hope, his cheeks flushed ever so slightly pink over the bridge of his nose.

(And of course, the staring – eyes drilling holes into your body, trying desperately to not ogle at your clothed breasts or the sway of your hips, though he can’t resists a few glances that you’ll almost certainly notice.)

His balls are ever so slightly smaller than expected, not enough to be noticeable at first glance, but they easily fit together in your palm, the area sensitive enough to make him tear up a bit, biting his lip and trying to worm out of your grasp. But don’t be fooled – he likes it, something vaguely sounding like a whine slipping from his lips when you retract your hand, and if he’s especially needy for your attention and touch, he’ll even physically grab your hand and put it back, sucking in a breath and forcing his body to relax.

He's generally very quiet when he’s orgasming, the only visual cue being the way his face twists up into something entirely unexpected from the stoic, emotionless Hashira – he’s gasping, eyes fluttering closed and his eyebrows screwing together.

His body shakes, his abs visibly clenching and unclenching, his thighs flexing and his hips bucking in small, almost imperceptible thrusts, as if his body’s unsure of whether he wants to run away from the pleasure or get closer, impossibly close to have more and more of you. His cum doesn’t taste too bad – a neutral, musky flavor, though luckily without too much saltiness or bitterness.

This is great news for you, because while Giyuu won’t admit it, the feeling of your mouth on his cock has his whole body going slack, his vision becoming a bit splotchy because the sensation of something so warm and wet moving against him has every rational thought leaving his brain.

He’s normally not very adventurous or expressive in bed, trying hard to not turn you off and struggling to become relaxed enough to actually enjoy it, but something about the sight of you on your knees, looking up at him while his cock appears and disappears past your lips has him losing all control, a small moan of your name falling from him while he lightly thrusts his hips, not caring if he looks pathetic or depraved. Not when you’re mouthing at him, drool spilling from the corner of your lips, tongue prodding at his slit and suckling on his tip, as if you’re trying to coax the cum out of him. His cum is runny, and tends to stain things.

(Something alarming when you realize just how many of your clothing items have very, very similar mystery stains.)

He’s not picky about where he finishes, feeling grateful that you’re touching him at all, really, but if he had to choose, he’d pick inside of you because it just feels more intimate that way. It feels right, primal even, and he’ll often have to take a few minutes between rounds simply because his orgasms crash through him with such intensity that he can’t form a coherent thought for a few moments afterwards.

His favorite way for you to touch him is when you’re straddling him, riding him and pressing your hands against his chest for leverage. He generally likes positions where you’re in control more, finding himself enjoying the passive, observing role while you take the lead.

(It bruises his pride a bit to confess it, but there’s something so, so very arousing about the idea of being a mere object and tool for your pleasure. And when you’re scooping your hips atop him, grinding and bouncing on him like he’s nothing more than a toy to get off with, Giyuu finds his breath gets heavy, his palms sweaty, every clap of your ass against his thighs bringing him closer and closer to his inevitable orgasm.)

He likes the way you can make the pace and angle exactly what you need, the way he can feel every inch of your cunt sucking him in, and of course the visual. The way you look at him with sultry, pleasure-filled eyes, your lips parted in that pretty ‘o’ shape that he sees when he closes his eyes at night. He has a perfect view of his cock appearing and disappearing inside of you, his skin glistening with your slick and a pretty little ring of white sitting against the coarse black hair of his pelvis.

His hands will grip onto your hips tightly, almost too tight, the only way he can anchor himself in the moment, living and tangible proof that you’re really here with him, touching him, wanting him, and he’s gripping onto you as if he’s afraid it’s all still just a fantasy.

But you’ll see the way his eyes are constantly darting to your bouncing chest, unblinking and fascinated as he watches your nipples grow hard, the plap plap noise of your skin smacking against your ribcage making him practically drool.

(His grows even redder if you grab his hands and use them to cup your breasts, telling him in a breathy, slurred voice to touch me, please Giyuu then you’ll be taken aback by the way he immediately squeezes and gropes, kneading and pinching at your nipples with a voracity that makes your hips stutter. And when he leans in to kiss you, his tongue immediately pushing past your lips and tracing your teeth, just know that it’s a matter of time before his orgasm hits. A matter of seconds, really.)

He likes the intimacy, and how he can feel even more connected and close to you, all the while seeing the way his cock makes you feel.

It’s a solid five inches with average girth, a few thick veins decorating the underside of his length. Kyojuro’s average in nearly every way, with the stark exception being his stamina.

His refractory period is nearly non-existant – he seems to be always hard in your presence, always sporting at least a semi any time he catches a whiff of your scent or hears even the echo of your voice. And it’s obvious, too, in his uniform – there’s always a tent of some sort in his pants, and the truly unfortunate thing is that Kyojuro doesn’t seem to care. He’s not making any effort to hide it when it’s just the two of you, even subconsciously moving his haori back and jutting his hips out ever so slightly so that you’ll notice and perhaps even be enticed by what you’re seeing.

He’s not especially meticulous about grooming himself, feeling that sex should be natural and as you are. To shave would be removing a part of his authentic self, and so there’s always a rather thick bush of dark, curly hairs sitting at the base of his cock, brushing against your clit and making you squirm when he’s got you settled on his lap, warming him while he cuddles you and presses kisses against every inch of your skin he can reach.

(This of course also extends to you – he prefers you don’t shave or wax, and once you’re trapped under his roof he simply won’t let you, denying you access to anything sharp enough to cut. And he’ll make his appreciation for your natural body very, very obvious, even going so far as to bury his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply and sighing when he’s knelt between your legs, letting your scent engulf him as he licks his lips and dives into your cunt.)

He’s decently sensitive, always letting out these pleasured little sighs, a boyish grin sitting on his face every time you touch him because oh, isn’t this heaven, feeling your pretty lips and fingers and cunt on him, just as he’s so longed for?

His cum is warm. Like, unnervingly warm – he’s always running a few degrees warmer than you it seems, every cuddle and press of his body against your own feeling startingly hot, and when his cum lands on your skin it’ll feel like fire. Not painful, but right on the edge of it. It’s thick, too, having the consistency of melted ice cream and leaving a sort of residue on your skin that he’ll gladly lick off of you.

(Cuteness aggression tends to affront him after he’s orgasmed, still out of breath and staring down at your disheveled, messy state underneath him, his cum staining your skin and sweat lining your brow.)

His stamina is off the charts, capable of fucking you for hours on end and holding off his orgasm if he concentrates hard enough. However, his refractory period is also quite short, leading to him instead preferring to come multiple times and not edge himself as strongly, thinking that the act of orgasming for you is proof of how deeply he’s attracted to you, how strongly your touch and words and presence affect him.

And he’ll make you very aware of when he’s orgasming, too – he’s loud, groaning your name and all sorts of praises, that same breathless laughter falling from his lips as he buries his face against the crook of your neck, fingertips pressing against your skin so hard that bruises form the next morning.

(Which he’s inconsolable about, really, the next morning fussing over you and promising to never do it again, only to get lost in the pleasure a few nights later and leave you with fresh bruises. He’ll always beg you to scratch down his back as he thrusts into you as repayment, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the pain-tinged pleasure, proudly wearing your scratches as a badge of love. He’ll even brag to Tengen about it, proudly proclaiming that he’s able to pleasure you so well that you simply must mark him as yours.)

His favorite way for you to touch him is when he’s fucking you in a deep, intimate mating press. He likes the fact that he can get as deep as physically possible in this position, always angling his hips to brush against the front of your walls and against that spongey spot that makes you whine his name, the sound making his head spin and his tongue coming out to lick at his lips.

He loves feeling the way you clench down onto him, the grip you leave on him almost making it hard to pull out and push back in, and idea of you never wanting him to leave you only furthering his thrusts, becoming faster and more bruising.

He’ll have you hold one of your knees against your chest, the other tangled in his hair while he supports himself on his elbow, holding your other leg up while his other hand permanently rests against your clit, drawing circles and tracing the kanji of his name over and over again. The sound of his hips and balls clapping against your ass encourages him to move faster too, and the sight of your breasts bouncing and jiggling underneath him makes his head dip, enveloping a nipple in his mouth and sucking.

(Sucking hard enough to leave you squirming, almost as if he’s expecting something to come out – the mere thought makes him groan, teeth lightly nibbling at your skin and his hips stuttering ever so slightly.)

He just thinks the positions blends the perfect mix of intimacy, eye contact, physical touch, and pleasure, and this is his go-to position that he’ll always default to any time the two of you are naked with one another.

You can request something else, asking him with a sultry hand on his chest to take you from the back or let you ride him, but you’ll always find yourself eventually back up in this position, his sweaty chest brushing against your nipples as he moans and begs for you to tell him you love him.

It’s a girthy six inches, with a near comically large, bulbous tip. It’s the kind of cock that makes you immediately freeze, simultaneously intimidated and immediately salivating, and he knows it. He’s a fan of all things extravagant, and this certainly extends to his cock – there’s a rather obnoxious piercing sitting right underneath his tip, the small metal ball framing an acidy green gem that manages to brush against your g-spot perfectly when he’s got you bent over.

It’s a pretty pink color when he’s flaccid, but when he grows hard it turns to a deep near fuchsia color, never quite making it above the ninety degree mark because it’s simply too heavy. He takes great care in grooming himself, always making sure that he’s impeccably trimmed and clean. He likes to leave the dark pubic hairs in interesting designs and patterns, all sorts of shapes gracing his navel.

(He loves when you trace a fingers along the perimeter of the hair, his skin erupting into goosebumps at the feeling, his cock stirring to life because the tasing sensation is simply too much for him.)

He even takes the time to very carefully trim up his balls, wanting to make sure that everything is pristine and perfect when you touch him – he wants you to be impressed, after all, and he waits with baited breath the first time you see him nude, eyes watching your each and every expression because he wants to see exactly what you’re thinking and feeling.

(This happens every time he’s naked before you, even if it’s the hundredth time – he’ll even ask if you like what you see? Maybe you should taste it, too, to get the full picture.)

His cum is thick and tends to stay where it lands, often not dripping and instead just drying against your skin or lips or shirt or panties, wherever he feels the urge to finish. And he likes to mix it up – his favorite places are of course inside of you, your face, and your ass, but he’s game to try anything you’d like.

He likes to finish inside you when he’s feeling especially worn down or overwhelmed by his job, clutching onto you and groaning in your ear as he pushes himself as deeply as possibly and letting go, filling you with so much that it leaks out of you even with his cock still plugging you up.

He likes to finish on your face, too, because it’s just so dirty and taboo and you look so naughty when you’re looking up at him with your tongue lolled out, a flare of possessiveness and adrenaline making him feverishly fist his cock mere inches from your face, groaning out an uneven take it as he lands spurt after spurt in stripes across your face.

And of course, your ass – he loves to watch the fat bounce back against him as he fucks you, smacking at it and grabbing it in fistfuls, spreading your cheeks apart to get a better view of his cock fucking into you. And seeing it stained with his cum, even a bit dribbling down and settling into the folds and pockets of your cunt makes him whistle, giving himself just a few more strokes to ensure he’s given you every drop he can.

He’s loud when he’s finishing, always narrating what it feels like, groaning your name and even breathlessly laughing, still partially in awe because he’s fantasized about fucking you for so damn long, and you’re even better than he’d been hoping for. He also tends to thrust throughout the entirety of his orgasms, going even harder and faster, losing control for a few seconds because the pleasure is blinding him and driving him to fuck into you harder, faster, deeper, anything to prolong the pleasure your body is giving him.

His favorite way for you to touch his cock is when you’re giving him head while he reciprocates, in a somewhat modified 69 position. However, unlike the traditional, Tengen prefers to be on top of you – he likes the way he can hold onto your thighs, keeping you perfectly spread for him so that you can’t close him out or run when he gets you closer and closer.

Besides, the way he can (very) carefully thrust lightly down your throat from the angle gets his ears ringing, the sense of dominance he feels over you making him drool against your clit. He likes the depth he can get, and although he’s conscious of choking you, the small gagging noises you make when he goes just a hair too deep have precum dribbling against your tongue, his cock pulsing against your lips.

His favorite sexual experiences are when you’re both getting something out of it, and so he’s a big fan of pleasuring you simultaneously. But with this position he gets the most control, able to tease you and nose at your clit all the while letting his own pleasure steadily build.

And when he comes, something about the physical position makes him feel like he’s genuinely coming down your throat, cum settling against your uvula and dripping down your throat. It’s romantic, he thinks, and when your hands come up to grasp onto his thighs Tengen feels shivers roll down his spine because oh, you’re just so fucking cute.

He likes it, and when you pull off to take a small break, stroking at his cock, he likes when you run his tip along the outline of your lips, your cheeks, you jaw and collarbone, even your nipples if you can maneuver it. It makes him groan, licking long, flat stripes against your hole, a thumb working diligently, frantically at your clit because you’re getting him so very close and he needs you to come before he does.

It’s just a guilty pleasure of his, and while he won’t often request it, it’s his go-to when he’s been away from you for long missions, desperate to kiss you and taste you.

(And due to his near non-existent refractory period, it’s the warm up to fucking you good and proper.)

Sanemi’s overall thoroughly average in terms of length and girth, but the thing that sets him apart is how genuinely heavy his cock is. When you’re holding it in your palms, it weighs against your skin, feeling thick and intimidating, throbbing hard enough for you to feel. He’s got no experience before you, and when you first slowly exhale and marvel at his sheer weight, he grows embarrassed, terrified that you don’t like what you’re seeing.

(He won’t explicitly ask you if there’s something wrong with it, but he’s carefully watching your reactions, holding his breath and managing to mutter out a quit staring just to simply end the insecurity swimming in his chest.)

He’s scared that you’re disappointed, cheeks tinging pink and struggling to look you in the eye, but he’s putty in your hands the moment your skin touches his. When he’s got you bent over, hands groping and grabbing at every inch of your body that he can reach, you can feel how heavy he is inside of you, too – it’s impossible to ignore the way he’s bullying into you, stretching you and feeling like he’s practically in your throat with how overwhelming the sensation is.

Matching his length, a pair of sensitive balls sit firmly underneath his base, always a rosy pink color and twitching alongside his length when he’s especially hard. They’re extremely sensitive, however, and while Sanemi will never, ever tell you to stop touching him, you’ll see the way he clenches his fist and squeezes his eyes shut when you play with them just a hair too hard, the strained groan that falls from his lips sounding more pained than he wants it to.

He likes it though – you just have to be gentle, and if you really want to see him melt, gently suck on one and let your tongue loll around it like some sort of musky candy – it makes his cheeks go red, his lip stuck between his teeth and his hips twitching because oh fuck you look so damn good drooling all over him like that.

His cum is hot, and there’s a lot. He’s pent up – he doesn’t masturbate often, instead letting all the rage and irritation fester and channeling it into swinging his sword. And so, each time you touch him, Sanemi has so much to give you that it inevitably ends up leaking out of you.

If you’re on your knees for him, all pretty and staring up at him through doe-eyed lashes with pouty lips, he’s coming down your throat, grasping onto your hair and simply keeping you there, cum spilling out from the sides of your mouth because there’s simply too much and you can’t swallow quickly enough to keep up.

When he’s folding you into a mating press, mouth hot at your ear as he gasps and groans and growls, when he eventually calls out what vaguely sounds like your name in a slurred frenzy along with fuck and yes yes yes, he’s coming so much that it physically forces him out of your cunt, the sheer volume filling you up so well that there’s not even room for him.

And Sanemi absolutely loves to see you covered in it, too – he never suggests the idea because he doesn’t want it to feel disrespectful, but he absolutely loves to finish on your face. There’s something about the way you look underneath him, with your tongue lolling out and your palms pressing against his thighs as if bracing yourself that gets him throwing his head back, his orgasm ripping through him with enough force to leave his knees almost collapsing underneath him.

(And if you were to lick your lips and then reach out to lick him clean of every last drop? Well, please don’t say anything about the way he whimpers, a few sad, pathetic little spurts of cum ooze out, a last ditch attempt to give you absolutely everything he can.)

He’s a dribbler, cum oozing from the tip in a steady stream that never seems to end, and when he’s coming he always blindly reaches out to grab something to ground him. More often than not it’s you that he’s clutching onto, his grip tight enough to leave slight bruises (that he will feel incredibly guilty for the next morning). It’s to ground him, to remind him that you’re real, that you’re with him, that you’re not merely a figment of his imagination or some poor, pathetic stand-in that he can fuck and desperately pretend is you.

His favorite way for you to touch him is when you’re seated on his lap, straddling him with nothing separating you. He loves fucking you, of course, something primal and animalistic in him satisfied with the knowledge that he’s claiming you from the inside out, but there’s something equally pleasurable – if not more so – about the intimacy of simply holding you and feeling your cunt slowly and steadily grind against him.

He wants both of you completely nude, your tits pressing against his chest and your lips attached to his and he slowly guides your hips, a hand clutching at either side as he brings you forward and back, the wetness of your folds coating him in a thick layer of you and letting him slide easier.

It’s heaven to him – the perfect vantage point, though he’s much too embarrassed to admit why. Truthfully, it’s because the position almost feels like you’re holding him – he’ll often just wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you as tightly against him as possible, listening to your heartbeat and trying to match the rhythm of his breathing with yours.

Often, if he’s feeling particularly vulnerable or if he’s just returned from a long, grueling mission, he’ll slip a nipple into his mouth, gently suckling and biting, closing his eyes and focusing on the way that you’re so very warm and soft in his arms.

It’s comfort thing, more than anything else, as if being with you in such a raw, intimate way means that he’s safe, comfortable, loved and wanted. It’s sappy and he’d rather die than admit it, but you’ll notice the way his eyes grow red, tears prickling at the corners because it just feels so damn good to hold you like this.

He’s a bit shorter than average, coming in just slightly under five inches, but Obanai has a pretty significant girth – significant enough to get you gasping the first time he fucks you, the feeling of being so stretched out leaving you gasping for air.

You’ll always be able to tell when he’s close to coming because everything literally throbs – you can feel him pulsing inside of you, the sensation making you squirm because it’s so very arousing but so very weird against your walls. And it’s a constant, too – from the moment he gets hard, it’s constantly pulsing against your palm, his cheeks bright red and embarrassment running through him but he just can’t stop, too turned on by the sight and smell and taste of you, and his body is betraying that.

He’s pale everywhere on his body, delicate skin that’s shockingly soft and so, so very sensitive – one touch against his chest gets him shivering, every nerve in his body feeling on fire because all he can focus on is the fact that you’re willingly touching him and you’re so much softer than he’s imagined.

(And he’s extensively imagined. Frequently.)

His cock is pale, too, with hardly any color differentiation from base to tip. As he gets near his orgasm, the tip turns a pinkish color, the blood rushing in and leaving him dizzy, and his entire navel area turns a pink color too. He’s pale enough that if you try hard enough you can even see a few of the near-surface veins dipping down under the tuft of dark hair on his navel. And it’s a rare occurrence that Obanai shaves – it’s not for lack of trying, but rather that he’s simply worried that he’ll look strange without the hair to cover himself, worried that you won’t like what you’ll see if you can see the entire expanse of him.

(He’s insecure that he’s not perfect enough for you – that his cock is too small or his balls are shaped strangely, and a single compliment about it from you will have him going wide-eyed, swallowed hard and a large, insistent glob of pre-cum oozing from his tip because oh god, do you really mean it?)

His cum is watery and, quite frankly, doesn’t taste great. It’s remarkably bitter – your face screws up the first time it lands on your tongue, the sight making Obanai shrivel up in embarrassment, mortified that you’ll no longer want to touch him.

(He immediately tries to change his diet to almost exclusively foods he thinks will make him taste better, even swallowing his pride and approaching Tengen about it, embarrassment making it difficult to spit out the words.)

He’s a shooter, the arc looking truly pornographic because he tends to throw his head back when he’s coming, eyes squeezed tightly shut and almost a grimace overcoming his features, all while hips jut out and cum practically pours out of him. He prefers finishing on your stomach, simply because there’s something about the sight of you stained white that makes his possessiveness flare up. If it’s a particularly powerful orgasm (as they all are, when you’re the one touching him), he’ll be out of breath, cheeks still flushed pink as he hovers over you, mesmerized and letting his thumb dip into the cum, smearing it across your skin.

He likes it best when the two of you finish at the same time – simultaneous orgasms, if only because Obanai knows that as you get closer you tend to reach out and grab for whatever is nearest to you, and he’ll purposefully maneuver himself so that you’re clutching onto him, the sight of you moaning for him and shaking hurtling him towards his own orgasm.

(He’ll often scoop up a bit of his own cum and your slick, mixing them together with his fingers, swallowing heavily and letting his finger brush against his tongue, eyes rolling to the back of his head because the taste of you together is making his cock throb again, slowly rising up to ninety degrees, desperate to give you more more more.)

His favorite way for you to touch him is a slow, intimate handjob. He’s typically a little bit harsh when he’s touching himself, his tugs leaving his arm sore, his fingers clutched so tightly around his shaft that it’s nearly suffocating. And yet, when it’s your fingers wrapped around him, Obanai finds that there’s something indescribably sensual and passionate about the soft, slow strokes you give him. The softness of your fingers combined with the way you carefully, almost hesistantly grip him leaves his head spinning, the pleasure somehow feeling much more acute despite the lessened stimulation.

He likes the way your thumb comes up often to brush over slit, collected the precum and letting it guide your hand up and down, up and down, his toes curling and his fists clenching because you’re being such a damn tease, making his hips buck up over and over.

And there’s something about the eye contact that gets him panting – the attention leaves him squirming as you let your eyes rest on him, the intensity making every brush of your fingers against his sensitive skin amplify a thousand times.

He wants you to talk to him, to let your voice get all low, to call him all sorts of possessive petnames that only fluster him more, a pointed thrust against your fist with each name. My pretty boy is his favorite, even as embarrassing as it is, and if you lean in and kiss along his collarbone and jaw, complimenting him about his looks, his ability to care for you, how he makes you feel he’s immediately gasping, abs clenching wildly and his balls visibly clenching as he paints your hand white with cum, the liquidy consistency making it run down your knuckles like rivers, dripping down onto your thighs and making Obanai suck in a breath because fuck fuck fuck you’re still going and it’s so sensitive, too sensitive but he doesn’t want you to ever ever stop-

He wants to feel cared for, wanted, loved, and even something as simply as you jerking him off with a few well-timed flutter of your lashes and purred words leave him putty in your hands.

It’s big and Gyomei knows it. Easily a solid seven inches and thick enough to leave your fingers barely touching when you wrap them around his girth, even when he’s not fully hard. The skin is slightly tanner than the rest of him, with his tip flushing into an even darker shade matching the two low, heavy balls that sit snugly underneath his shaft, hefty enough to feel substantial in your palms as you cup and squeeze at them.

Tufts of dark hair decorate his navel, the curls thick and almost coarse, tickling your nose as you take him down your throat and tickling your clit as you oh so slowly inch your way down on his lap. Even the sight of him flaccid makes you suck in a sharp breath, nerves starting to eat away at you because there’s absolutely no fucking way it’s fitting inside of you. It just looks too heavy and big and full, veins protruding along the sides in enough detail that you can practically see them pulsing.  

And really, your fears aren’t unwarranted – Gyomei can feel the movement with every step he takes, the sensation of his cock brushing against his undergarments and his balls pressed against his thigh always leaving him slightly uncomfortable, always consciously aware of the feeling. (He’s extremely grateful for the loose nature of the Demon Slayer Corps uniform pants – otherwise, the bulge would be unbearably visible, even when he’s completely soft.)

All things considered, it takes Gyomei a long time to orgasm. He’s not terribly sensitive (not for a lack of experience – he has none, he’s just genuinely not the type to immediately buck his hips and gasp at the slightest bit of stimulation), but finds that steady, consistent pleasure is the golden ticket to finding his high.

Specifically, pleasure that involves a lot of lubricant: spit, slick, hell, even blood when you’re on your period and needing something to help relieve the pressure. He likes how smooth it all is – the slick schluck schluck sound of him rolling his hips into yours makes his knees weak, the wet feeling of your cunt clenching down on him enough to get him groaning lowly and grasping onto your hips hard enough to almost leave bruises. He’ll refuse to fuck you until you’re absolutely dripping, wet to the point of insanity because he’s been fingering you for what feels like hours and you can’t handle the teasing anymore.

It’s only then, after he’s brought you to your high some three times with his tongue and the pads of his index fingers that he’ll finally, finally press inside, moving slowly and chanting what sounds like prayers intermixed with your name under his breath, almost as if you’re some god he’s thanking over and over for the feeling of you.

It takes him a while to get off, but there’ll be a few signs that he’s getting close – his thrusts turn from deep, slow, almost tentative, to quicker and more clipped, the actions somehow feeling needier and more desperate because he’s holding you in place and his breath is stuttered as he gasps and exhales, pleasure hitting him like a tidal wave and sending his eyes rolling back.

He produces an almost obscene amount of cum with every orgasm, ropes spilling out in long, rather impressive spurts. It’s thick, almost viscous, leaving a residue against your skin that he’ll oftentimes idly rub at when he’s pulled you against his chest, cock still nestled inside you as tears flow down his cheeks from the intensity of it all. It’s bitter, almost earthy, and while Gyomei doesn’t expect you to swallow, you’ll be earned with the smallest, quietest little whimper once he hears you audibly gulping.

His favorite way for you to touch his cock is when you’re simply riding him. There’s something about the way you grip him in this position that makes his toes curl, his voice getting a hair deeper because it just feels too good. He likes the way you control the pace – sex feels better to him when you feel good, and having you dictate the speed, angle, and depth gives Gyomei an insight into exactly what you like.

(And he’s committing every detail to memory – the sounds you’re making, the way your nails bite into his chest as you steady yourself, the way your ass bounces against his thighs over and over, the tensing of your legs as his tip brushes against that spot that makes you gasp and moan his name…)

He likes the way he can feel more of you in this position, too – the curve of your ass pressing against his balls, the slight pressure pinching and giving him just the slightest bit of pain that makes blood rush south, cock throbbing inside of you because god he wants you to go even harder.

He can feel your stomach pressed against his navel when you lean forward in this position, your muscles growing tired and starting to give out, the softness of your skin against the overly sensitive area right above his shaft making him grasp onto your hips and thrust upwards, meeting you halfway and mumbling out your name as you whine.

It just feels more intimate this way – like you’re using him, like his body is just a tool for your pleasure. And really, that’s exactly how Gyomei sees it – his cock is your cock, and he’ll thank the heavens each and every time you so much as look at it.

[wordbunch]

a/n: to all my moots and friends, no you didn't see me post this and yes im still your comfort lotr girl!!! to all others, hello & welcome to my newest obsession yes I have been corrupted. ENJOY!!!!

emperor Geta headcanons

warnings: toxic behavior obviously lol, mild nsfw-ish mentions, this man should be taken with caution by all means

this man loves like he was starved and then brought to a feast - he inhales and devours every inch of you, every texture, scent, sound, personality trait, quirk, he will eat you UPPPP in every sense of the word; he wants his senses full of you and he can't ever get enough

he is definitely a very obsessive and possessive person, observant, sharp, witty. also when it comes to prayers and sacrifices, he means business - he dead seriously prayed for a wife who was headstrong, intelligent, passionate and fearless; someone who could match him in every way, whom he could verbally spar with, word for word, but also someone who'd have his back unconditionally as he doesn't really have many people to genuinely rely on. he wanted an equal, and he was also hoping for someone either his age or even a bit older - he was afraid of having a childish partner who wouldn't properly fill in a tremendously important role

he is 110% a switch and it fully depends on what kinda day he'd had and the mood he's in

contrary to many interpretations and rumors, he isn't horny 24/7!!!! like yes he IS insanely attracted to you, but his days can be so impossibly draining and tedious so sometimes he would just rather lie down with you and have you close, than do anything else. also, he doesn't do quickies or anything of the sort; he likes to go all in and take his sweet time with you, or let you have your way with him. he enjoys being dedicated and not distracted in bed with you. all in or nothing for this man. and yes he is vocal.

one thing that makes him feel absolutely AMAZING (and you realized quite quickly thankfully)is when you draw him a bath - yes it must be YOU specifically who does it - and then either give him a shoulder rub or wash his hair, or both. he will become putty in your hands and relax more than he can explain in words. pamperrr him sometimes 🥹😭 he finds it so thoughtful that you do this for him at the end of a taxing day; after all, there is nothing in the world he wouldn't do for you.

speaking of, when Geta notices something is off with you, he won't ask if he can make you happy again somehow, he will ask you to name what you want him to do, and he will do it. you are the only person with that effect on him.

most definitely is turned on by someone who is smart and witty and perceptive. also he has very keen eyes and he can read even your slightest signals, even in a crowded room, especially in a crowded room, and he also appreciates when you can read him without him having to verbalize anything to you

the most Protective Person of all time, God forbid someone looks at you wrong!!!

showers you with gifts

you will LOVE this - he likes when you match in some subtle, or obvious, way, like the same pattern on your robes, the same gems on your jewels, anything that shows off your bond and shows that you belong to him and he belongs to you completely. 🤍

almost weekly he has night terrors and horrible dreams either about his childhood/how they were treated by their father, or about something awful happening to you. you always do your best to comfort him, knowing that you're the only one who can do that and the only one allowed to see him in such a state

so you whisper sweet nothings to him, like promises you would never hurt him in any way and that you will always do your best to protect him and love him

touch starved, touch obsessed, cannot sleep without you in the bed, cannot sleep when you are on a journey somewhere and misses you terribly; can barely wait for you to return and then grip you in his arms and just breathe you in

obsessed with your scent

very often you are his impulse control and you just have the power to center him when he's losing his grip on a situation

he is so used to being in control (or having to be), that he will really spiral when a situation is getting out of hand and he feels not powerful enough to stop or change something. he is really bad at holding it together when shit is going down, and half the time he seems to be two steps away from a breakdown. honestly, sometimes you just have to let him rage, panic, and vent it out in whatever way, and he will come back to himself- and to your embrace-shortly.

he needs your approval and appreciation like air. if you don't think he is doing a good job, if you don't think (and show) he is smart, capable, if he isn't the center of your universe, nothing else matters at all

he will combust if he doesn't have at least a hand on you at all times

sometimes he still can't believe how you love him - people who touch him usually either want something from him, fear him, despise him, or all those - your gentle touch is an unfamiliar, yet welcome sensation; he can't get enough.

let's be real he can get anything he wants from you when he looks at you with those gigantic brown eyes, but somehow he seems unaware of that (and you already give him everything anyway)

if big gatherings and constant celebrations aren your thing, he will not let you out of his sight and, as much as you need him there to comfort you, he needs you on his arm to feel happy, safe and fulfilled. you just complete each other. 💛

as much as he enjoys every single loving nickname you give him, especially if you call him 'your' anything - your love, your darling, your heart, your pride and joy - but even more he will melt if you just call him by his name, as one of the very few (if not only) person who utters it with love, softness, adoration...unlike many who spit it out hatefully like poison

Geta feels veryyyy smug and proud of himself when he does an act of service for you, such as giving you a massage or bringing you a drink - look at him, he gets served things left and right, but he remains SO devoted to you only.

well, was that something? leave it to me to humanize the worst (actually historical) person ever and give him some PROPER FLUFF🫠

[strawberryblue-blog]

Beg for you —Hector Fort.

summary: You and your friends go to a college party where there is a man who flirts with you but you don't want anything to do with him (or maybe yes)

warnings: Yes. +18. smut, sexual tension, argument, enemies to lovers, college romance.

words count: +2.1k.

#SEXYNOTE: Merry Christmas (late) to my readers. I wanted to thank you all for your support. I love you all so much 💙🦋

The evening breeze hit your body as your friends laughed at a gossip told by one of them, you had been talking, dancing and having fun for several hours. The bottle in your hand kept emptying as the hours passed and you began to feel like going home.

You had a big exam tomorrow and you had only come because your friends had asked you to but you were supposed to be studying. You weren't a prude either, you liked to go out to parties and enjoy yourself with your friends but tomorrow was a big commitment and you couldn't miss the most important exams of your first year.

"Someone has a hot admirer" squealed your friend towards you, pointing to the group of boys behind you.

As soon as you turn a little, you see the boy in a round with his friends while his gaze is paid on you. Shameless. Looking at you like he wants something. Something you won't give him. He smiles flirtatiously and raises his glass to you, as if he's toasting you.

In return, you raise your hand and flash your middle finger right in his face.

"More of a stalker than an admirer, I'd say" you mutter rolling your eyes, turning back to them. Your friends laugh.

Since you had arrived, the boy had been staring at you and you were already starting to feel uncomfortable. You didn't want to be here but it was the first time you had been invited to a senior party and your friends had used your stalker to come.

It was a party in the backyard of the football team's fraternity house and he was the football team's captain. Hector Fort. Star player and leader of the college football team. A walking cliché who you don't want to get involved with.

"Come on, Y/n" says another amused one. "He's just a man, one who's interested in you!" she complains and the others agree.

"Following me around after class, inviting you guys over to blackmail me, texting me without my consent? I don't think so" you reply, listing situations.

Hector has been interested (or so they say) in you. After hitting you in the head with the ball in gym class, he had tried to approach you but you wanted nothing to do with him.

"Just play along a little longer, so we'll get invited to parties and we can hang out with cute and famous guys" your friend asks pouting.

"You can have it if you want, I'll pass" you say finishing your bottle.

No way. You're not attracted to him at all, not even with that tough guy look. He would never be interested in someone like you nor would you be interested in someone like him. You're just not compatible. It's probably some bet with his friends like the typical ones they make every time with a new girl. You won't spend your first year of college with a broken heart or being the mockery of the entire college.

"Did you hear that Karen slept with the History teacher?" one of them asked changing the subject and you obliged as they started whispering about it.

"I'm going to the bathroom, I'll be right back" you comment as they continue to tell the gossip. They nod and wander off into the crowd.

It's not hard to find the bathroom, since you know the place. It's not the first party you've been to here, but like all parties, you have to wait at the door for the bathroom. When finally the young man who was inside manages to get out, between stumbling and complaining, you enter the bathroom. Inside, you do your business and wash your hands.

A knock on the door makes you sigh. You've only had a minute of peace.

"Busy" you squeak and go about your business.

You can barely hear the music and you splash your face with water as you feel a slight dizziness. Damn. You shouldn't have drunk, you'll have a headache tomorrow. But you were a little stressed and finished the first bottle in one gulp when your friend gave it to you.

Again, the door rang again. But you didn't say anything. That it would hold, it was only a second and you hadn't been in for long.

"Busy!" you yell again as you feel the door ring again and someone opens it.

Just as you want to interject your body to stop it, a manly figure enters the bathroom with you and closes the door behind him, locking it with the latch. Shit. You hadn't done it, the door was open as if you had planned it. Your eyes see the boy leaning against the door with his hand on the doorknob.

"What are you doing?" you ask confused, you try to grab the doorknob but he gets in the way.

Your air starts to go short and you become defensive, especially as a shiver runs down your spine. It's dangerous to be around people like him, more so at a party, drunk, stoned and crazy.

"Let me out" you ask in fear. "Or I'll scream" you swallow saliva.

Hector smiles sideways, playing innocent.

"You're even cuter with red cheeks" he mutters molly, trying to generate something in you, which is nausea.

It's an involuntary act. Your cheeks turn red from the alcohol, of course. You lower your face somewhat embarrassed but remember that he won't generate anything in you. You raise your brow high again and look at him.

"I'm going to scream if you don't move" you insist crossing your hands across your chest, looking to protect yourself. "Let me go."

Although you don't feel safe, you don't feel insecure either. But you can't trust him, he's a man, an enlarged and predatory one and you don't know him at all.

"Does playing hard to get work for you?" he asks with a smirk still leaning against the door with his body relaxed, as if he enjoys this.

You bite your tongue beginning to rage. Suddenly you feel warmth in your body, as if you are suffocating. Even your teeth screech from talking back to him.

"Does playing an idiot work for you?" you lash out at once. He laughs.

"What do you want? I have to go right away" you say raising an eyebrow.

Hector bites his lip and takes a step towards you, which leaves you motionless for a few seconds but then you also take a step backwards away from him. You get defensive, not letting him make another move.

"Talk to you" he mutters taking another step. "Or maybe... not talk" he licks his lip again and you grimace.

"I have nothing to talk to you. We have nothing in common to talk about. I've already told you that, Hector" you reply exhausted.

All the times he had tried to get close to you, you hadn't let him. He used to look for you after school, when he had lunch with the girls, while you were running around in gym class, he had even gone to your room but you never answered him. He could keep insisting that you weren't going to give him what he wanted.

"Says you" he takes another step towards you and you take another step back.

Even though there is still distance between you, you begin to feel your stomach churn. He's only a foot away from you and you fear he's getting closer. The atmosphere is tense, desperate and suffocating. It was obvious that your primary interest was to get out of here, but you were certain that Hector was not going to make it easy for you.

You take a careful breath, without even moving, you don't want him to notice that for some reason you are starting to get nervous. His closeness is dangerous, everything about him is.

"We could have a lot of things in common if you wanted" he smiles sideways as he takes another step.

And you try to take another. But you don't really take it, because the space between you and the sink is gone. Your body slams against the marble countertop behind you and you are pinned between it and Hector.

You swallow as the distance between you is minimal, you can almost feel his body brush against yours. Your startled eyes watch his smug eyes, his sideways smile as if he is flirting with you and his poker face. A small bead of sweat begins to descend on the back of your neck and you swear you've never been so tense and nervous as you are right now. You have no escape.

"As I said there's nothing you and I could have in common" you mutter harshly.

Playing hard to get (even though you don't really do it) was always easy for you. You didn't come to college to flirt with football players or men in general, you're not a saint either but you don't need to get involved with people like him to feel better or more valued. College jocks are a cliché like the typical American movies, they are handsome, applied, talented and kind, they can have any girl at their feet. Sleeping with them is a privilege and if they choose you and you can't refuse. Who the fuck imposed that rule? You are free to choose who you want and not want too.

"If you want I can prove it to you" he raises his perfectly delineated eyebrow.

One of his hands takes a lock of your long hair and begins to play with it, crossing it through his fingers as his gaze drifts to your mouth and back to your eyes. Your heart is pounding and even though you want to run, you just stand there.

You look at him with a 'surprise me' face waiting for his demonstration as you roll your eyes. He cocks his head slightly, smiling before he moves completely closer to you.

His hands hold your hips and then circle your ass, lifting himself off the floor ignoring your complaint. He sits you down on the wash counter and positions himself between your spread legs, hugging your waist as his lips impact against yours.

For a second you are in complete shock, your hands refuse to touch him and your lips don't move. But he kisses you regardless. You want to push him away and hit him, to scream that he's taking advantage of you but you can't do any of that. Because your hands wrap around his neck and you kiss him back. Hard and passionate.

His torso melts between your body and you kiss like there's no tomorrow. Your hands caress his curls and his hands roam down your back and waist, caressing you. His tongue takes over your mouth and leads you into a wet, sensual, needy kiss. You're so deep inside yourself, you can't think straight. You can't even think at all.

He pulls away a little to let you breathe, your mouths red and wet, he smiles and you want to smack him across the face to wipe it away. But more so, you want to kiss him. You move to his mouth to kiss him and Hector runs his face, preventing you. Your shaky breaths mingle and you hear him laugh. Is he making fun of you? Is this a joke? After having followed you for weeks?

"If you want to, you have to ask me nicely" he whispers brushing your lips.

You deny, rolling your eyes. "I won't beg for you" you spit.

Your hands still hold his face and Hector's hands squeeze your waist, urging you on. But you wouldn't beg for him. You never would.

Relax his lips and you feel hungry. Hungry to be the one to lick them. Damn. What the fuck is wrong with you?

Your whole body is on fire. You feel every muscle in your body tighten with every passing second. The sexual tension between you is so obvious that it embarrasses you.

Feeling attraction for Hector embarrasses you.

"Fuck, Y/n, kiss me" he asks even more moving his face closer to yours but not touching you.

He wants to kiss you but he won't. He wants you to. And neither will you.

"Kiss me" he whispers again, his eyes are pure fire and his husky voice makes your hair stand on end.

You smile a little at how desperate he is, his body sticks closer to yours and you know he won't delay any longer. He can't. Not with you provoking him. Your legs wrap around his waist and you squeeze him, gasping when your bodies brush, you grab him by the collar of his shirt but don't move closer. He watches you. He sees you. He admires you. And that makes you feel good.

"You really want to have me at your feet, don't you?" he questions as his hands roam over your chest.

You gasp as his finger trails down the hollow of your breasts, teasing you. This is a game. So you're going to play. You relax your lips as you move a little and feel his bulge against your body, he grunts and in return squeeze one of your tits. Dirty and dangerous. You moan feeling the wetness between your legs.

Your hands move down his back and you grab his ass, squeezing it tightly to start rubbing against him. You both moan looking straight into each other's eyes. But you still do nothing. His face brushes against yours again, millimeters away, almost all of yours.

The heat is suffocating, the tension is too much. You feel like you're on fire, literally. But you won't be the one to give way. Not against him.

"Will you really make me beg for you?" he says the opposite way you said it.

It sounds desperate, needy. But you are too, you just can take it longer.

"Please..." is heard in the room.

It sounds like a plea. And it's not yours. It's Hector's.

He just begged you. He really did.

A small smile forms on your lips as your hands run up his taut back. He asked for it, he'll have it.

And you kiss him wildly again. His hands never stop molding your tits while your bodies rub together with need. Everything about you screams fire. The two lost in temptation, kissing, touching each other.

Everything in your head was a sign, You kept thinking that being here was a mistake. Kissing Hector was a mistake. But you couldn't stop doing it. You had promised that you wouldn't sleep with him, that you wouldn't even speak to him, but this was the complete opposite.

Maybe the attention he'd been putting on you had made you feel something different these days and maybe this was nothing more than simple attraction. You prayed it just was. Because it definitely you weren't going to look at him again after this. Fucking in a party bathroom? This was going to be fucking news.

You should never have listened to your friends when they said to play along, this was too much. His hands peeled off your pants and he didn't even take enough time to appreciate you, you didn't even care. It was just sex. When you were naked enough for him to enter you, he did so without even moving his clothes. It was obvious that they were both desperate. The tension was too much in your bodies, you needed to release it one way or another.

It wasn't a myth. Hector was huge. His cock barely fit in your center, making you writhe in pleasure as your hands held onto the counter. Your body was leaning against the mirror as Hector penetrated you again and again, erratic and wild. Her moans were loud, you were sure that if someone was outside they could hear you and it was damn embarrassing.

But you couldn't care less, you wanted to feel something that would take you out of your head tonight and Hector was definitely making you feel something. For a moment there were no worries in your head, no exams, no prejudices, there was nothing. Just him fucking you like an animal. Your mouths joined and panting, trying to withstand his blows while pleasure invaded you.

The way he was touching you, his fingers wrapped around your breasts as his onslaught kept pounding your center. He was eager. So were you.

Hector knew exactly how to please a woman, you were witnessing it and even you couldn't believe it. Damn it. Tomorrow there would be so much gossip about you but you didn't care. You wanted him to fuck you so hard, you wanted this tension to end.

You were afraid the washboard would break under you because of how hard he was fucking you, your body slamming against the mirror as his back arched. You tried to hold him tight so he wouldn't hip you, he was wild. His lips kissed your neck, your shoulders, he bit your skin, your lips. Your nails scratched his skin, leaving the marks impacted like a struggle.

The waves of pleasure were beginning to make your vision blurred and you couldn't even think, you were clouded in his presence. Hector was grunting and your moans were sure to be heard on the other side but the music was too loud, you didn't care. If anyone else wanted the bathroom? Fuck them.

You weren't going to leave this moment right now. You couldn't leave Hector. For tonight, you were his. And he was yours. That was all that mattered.

[mirainwonderland]

Leon Kennedy X afab!reader

Content: fluff, a little angsty, coming home for Christmas, established relationship

AN: listen I know it’s the day after Christmas mind your beeswax it’s a state of mind

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*<>*<>*<>*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

Coming from a big family didn’t really make it easier, but even if you didn’t really have your parents around, at least you weren’t lonely. Your grandparents were everything you needed anyway, and it felt good to be back in your childhood home, surrounded by cousins, uncles, and aunts you hadn’t seen for a few years.

You were a little worried how Leon would react to coming home with you for the holidays. He knew what it was like to have absent parents too, but unlike you, he never had a big family or extravagant Christmases. In fact, you weren’t sure he celebrated until you came into his life and forced your love of the holiday into his space.

He never seemed to mind though. He was a hard man to read, but you were pretty sure that he enjoyed the little lights you set up, and the Christmas tree you made him get for the apartment. As for your family, they welcomed him like he was one of their own— but you knew they would. And even if he didn’t say much, he looked more relaxed than you’d seen him in a long time.

The snow filters down outside now as you sit quietly in the living room, looking up at the lit tree, the only luminance piercing the silent night. Your ankles are crossed, your arms folded over your knees as the angel that has been keeping her yearly vigil at the top of every Christmas tree seems to look down on you, like she’s happy to see you again.

It’s fifteen minutes to midnight, but you can’t sleep. It’s almost as if the little child still inside of you is waiting to catch a glimpse of the jolly old man in red. To hear his footsteps on the roof and the jingle of the bells on his sleigh.

It’s not footsteps on the roof that creep up on you, however. You don’t really hear the shuffles across the carpeted floor until a deep voice, rough with sleep, stirs you from your nostalgia.

“Whatcha doin’, baby?”

You turn your head to see Leon behind you, squinting a little at the soft light, like he’d just woken up and hadn’t found you beside him.

“Hi.” You answer with a fond smile as you tilt your head back as far as it will go, watching as he comes around to sit cross-legged next to you. “Can’t sleep.”

Silence falls between you as you both stare at the tree; a comfortable, familiar silence. Christmas Eve was always a busy day in your house, ever since you were a little girl. Now that everything was quiet, and the chaos had died down, you realize how much you rather missed his quiet presence. Your shoulders lean, letting your head plop down on his shoulder.

“You know…” You murmur quietly, breaking the silence. “…when I was little… I almost always never slept on Christmas Eve.”

He listens quietly as nostalgia washes over you, taking you back to a simpler time where Christmas was magic, and all you had to worry about was whether that toy you really wanted was under that tree.

“So, I would sneak out here, and just sit and look at the tree… a little part of me hoping that I could get a glimpse of old Saint Nicholas.”

“And did you?” You don’t see the subtle, sleepy smile, but you hear it in his voice.

“No.” Your voice bubbles with a quiet laugh. “But that’s only ‘cause grandpa said he wouldn’t come unless everyone was asleep.”

The vibration of a warm, grounding laugh in his chest made you feel like the fire simmering low in the grand fireplace. You snuggle a little closer against his warm side and his head rests against the top of yours as his hand comes to brace on the carpet around you.

“But I always watched her.” You point to the top of the tree, where the faithful cherub looks down on the room with her hands folded so reverently in front of her. “I always wondered what it was like to talk to an angel.”

“I think I know.” You feel Leon’s eyes on you, and you turn to see him looking down at you with an unusually soft look in his eye. It makes your heart pound in the back of your throat.

In truth, you couldn’t never really understand what you’ve done for him by coming into his grey world and introducing him to sunlight. What it meant for you to drag him into your grandparents house and make him drink eggnog and eat stupid gingerbread men. To have snowball fights with your younger cousins and listen to your grandfather talk about his orchard. You couldn’t know any of that, and Leon wouldn’t tell you.

Not for a long time anyway.

But suddenly you wonder about him, and you wonder why he never seemed to talk about Christmas, or care about it, or even notice it’s passing until you came along and dragged him into it.

“Leon?”

“Hm?”

“You’ve never told me about what Christmas was like for you growing up.”

You don’t know for sure, but you’re almost sure feel a small chill breeze through the atmosphere, almost as if someone had opening a window and let in a gust of winter air. He’s silent for a moment, and you begin to wonder if you shouldn’t have asked.

“There’s not much to tell.” He finally says with a casual air. “They weren’t all that exciting.”

“Why not?” You feel your heart twist up a little in your chest, and you lift your head to turn it and look at him. He doesn’t mirror you, watching the lights on the tree instead as they cast shadows over his profile.

“Didn’t you get any gifts? Eat any apple pie?”

His lips purse and he gives a little shake of his head, making your heart a shade bluer for his sake. He looks so casual about it, like he made peace with it (or he buried it away), and it hurts your feelings.

“A couple times, but not very often.”

You let your head swivel back toward the tree, forehead crinkling as you frown about it the more you think about it.

“That’s sad.”

“Not really.” He finally turns his head to look at you. “I’m here now, and this is nice.”

Fingers brush your cheek and turn your face toward him as his thumb gently irons out the crinkles in your forehead.

“What’s with that face?” He hums in the back of his throat, his voice deep and coaxing as he tries to chase away the shadows clouding your pretty face.

“Because you sound like you were lonely.”

“I’m not anymore though, am I?”

Slowly, you shake your head.

“See? I’ve got you.” His thumb brushes gentle patterns against the apple of your cheeks, watching the way your eyelashes flutter with each movement. “And that’s more than enough for me.”

He must have seen the way your eyes mist over, cause he gives you a reassuring smile before he leans in to leave a quiet kiss against your nose. His fingers crescent your cheek to touch the bottom of your chin, blue eyes flickering over your face in the low light of the Christmas tree.

He watches you for a moment before he tilts his head to kiss you, on your lips this time, tugging on your chin to bring you closer. Your eyes close and air floods into your lungs as though a spark of some long lost Christmas magic came to bless you again.

His lips part from yours with the gentlest sound in the quiet living room. Pinching your chin between his fingers before he lets you go, he takes your hand in his and motions with his head in the general direction of bed.

“C’mon. Santa Claus can’t come unless everyone’s asleep.”

With a smile, you follow him to your feet and let him thread your fingers together to pull you back into the dark, quiet house. You glance back over your shoulder, meeting the eye of the angel that faithfully guards her tree. Your grandparents have gotten older, your cousins have grown and had children of their own… but she’s never changed. She stays at the top of her tree, quietly watching, quietly blessing.

A suddenly, you catch a glimpse of what it must have been like for a group of shepherds all those thousands of years ago.

Glory to God in the highest,

And on earth, peace, and goodwill to all men.

As for Leon, he never had to wonder. Because as he crawled back into bed next to you and felt you snuggle into his side, he knew what it was like to have an angel under his very arm.

[bewaryofpity]

luke first star of the game, you know what that means ?

sub!luke blurb 😈

it was cute, really. the shy grin on his face and the way the tip of his ears turned red after praising him drove you insane.

it started innocently with a peck on the lips that carried away into completely smothering his face with kisses. hands roaming his body to ease the tension on his muscles after such a good game.

but the way luke whimpered when you ran your fingers through his curls almost made you drop to your knees in the entryway, and you knew you had to show him how proud you were of him in a different way.

he wasn’t expecting it, he was content with laying on your chest and cuddling with you, but he didn’t fight at all when you led him to his room and told him to prop up against the headboard of his bed.

luke’s thoughts were completely clouded by your slow kisses against his mouth, tongues slow and passionate. his hands firmly gripping your thighs when yours ghosted over his lower stomach, teasing him by snapping the elastic band of his boxers.

“mh, you sound so sweet baby.” you whispered against his lips as a whine left his mouth, his cock hardening against your core through his pants.

so you pulled his shirt off before trailing down painfully slow and leaving kisses all over his body, nipping at his abs to mark your territory. and when you reached his sweatpants, you had to tease him through the fabric because the way he threw his head back against the headboard with a shy moan made you even more eager to pleasure him.

you wasted no time pulling his sweatpants and boxers down to his knees and kissing up his length, hand wrapping tightly at its base. you licked the bead of pre cum falling from his tip while your hand moved up and down his length to draw more.

and the please he cried made you moan around his tip, vibrations stimulating him in all the right places while you took him whole in your mouth. your lips were warm and your tongue lapped at the vein running on the underside of his cock.

when your tongue started leaving kitten licks on his slit, luke couldn’t hold back from whining too loudly.

“i love your pretty sounds but be a good boy and be quiet for me, you don’t want jack to see you like this, no?” with eyes closed he nodded his head quickly, urging you to keep going.

“i want you to look at me while i make you feel good.” you spoke softly, cock jumping at the cold air hitting his tip.

luke knew he had to oblige otherwise you wouldn’t let him come, but the sight of you smiling at him with your plump red lips was making it hard to hold back from cumming.

his hips bucked as you took him in your mouth again at a fast pace this time, tip touching the back of your throat and pleasure washing over him. one of his hands came to grip at your hair, trying to slow you down because he didn’t want to come too fast but you pushed his hand away.

“please, slow down i’m gonna—“ he didn’t even finish the sentence as you hollowed your cheeks and sucked on his tip, and when his cock twitched inside your mouth it wasn’t long before he started spilling down your throat.

with his back arching away from the headboard, luke tried his best to stay quiet but the way you were sucking him dry and tongue licking every drop of his release got him whimpering loudly against his will.

your wetness pooled in your panties ever more as you looked up at him, curls sticking to his forehead, chest heaving and lips red from biting them. he looked so cute all spent like this. it almost made you come back to his half hard cock.

“so good to me, lukey. such a good boy for me” you said while you propped yourself to his height again, eager to leave kisses on his neck and maybe suck on the skin to let everybody know how good he is to you.

one of your hands cupped his cheek to turn his head in your direction so you could kiss his untended lips, earning an ever so sweet whine from him as he tasted himself on your tongue. when you pulled away, his lopsided smile made your stomach flutter and your hand moved on its own accord back to his dick.

“think you can give me one more?”

[sir-sunawani]

Starling

Omegaverse

Alpha!Crocodile/Omega!Reader

Inspired by @hannahbarberra162's Emperor's Prize

CW: A/B/O, yandere vibes (unsure if full blown yan yet) yeah we full blown yandere babes, dub con (possible non-con I am so by the seat of my pants with this), rough sex, rough everything kind of, mdni

Chapter 6: Not Quite

Your legs are parted wide, rough hands keeping them parted even as your hands paw at the mass of black hair between your thighs. You don’t have the strength to deny him, and certainly not the power to stop him, and so he drinks freely. Lapping, licking and plunging his thick tongue deep inside you, enticing your body to sate his endless thirst just a little more.

Each precious drop is a rumbled hum of approval and when you couldn’t be brought to orgasm fast enough he split you open with a thick finger, curling it inside your small body and sucking on your clit until your pleasure dripped down his arm.

He’d stop long enough to lick the sweet nectar from his forearm, harsh and focused eyes on your weak and exhausted form.

But no matter how much you came, he didn’t stop, mouth between your folds again. Fingers pressing into the tender meat of your thighs, teeth pressing angry marks into your skin. He was going to eat you, one of these times, you were certain his teeth would be too sharp. His hunger too desperate, and his appetite too insatiable and he could bite clean through-

You suck in a breath, legs and arms flailing, smacking into the mountainous form beside you.

Crocodile’s eyes are on you. Sleepy, but focused, he settles beside you after being sure you didn’t injure yourself flailing next to him. You are covered in sweat and slick, you can feel the thick liquid squish between your thighs.

“I don’t know if you had a nightmare or a wet dream,” his voice is soft, but his tone is aggravated. You’re certain he doesn’t like not knowing, and unfortunately you can’t clear things up for him. “Get cleaned up. Put what I taught you to use.”

“Y-yes sir.” You nod. You were too drowsy and too disoriented from the powerfully real - whatever it was - to offer up much else. Sweat and slick at least were easier to clean off than paint, so if you didn’t do a perfect job it wouldn’t matter.

You took enough time to wash your hair along with everything else, and put on the pajamas that the tailor had made for you. They were styled after the shirts you’d been borrowing from Crocodile, loose and silky, but a little more properly proportioned to your size. You weren’t sure why they needed to button down the front like his shirts did, but you didn’t argue.

It was free clothes, and they were your clothes.

They’d been skillfully made, and fit wonderfully, but aside from trying them on when they arrived, you hadn’t worn them since. You didn’t have anywhere to go, and there was no sense in getting dressed just to stay in the office room with Crocodile.

You haven’t been told you can’t wander the castle, but every morning you have breakfast, and then he has you sit in his lap while he works. You know the cage for what it is, but it’s still warmer, and more kind, than anything you knew before.

You weren’t paraded around the tents, surrounded by guards and attendants, a piece of art to ogled by everything with a pair of eyes. You weren’t covered in paints and forbidden from warmth, wearing thin, barely there clothing even when the winds blew. You were at a different extreme, perhaps, but it wasn’t bad.

What else would you do anyway?

Ask Crocodile, a pirate, for money so you, a priceless omega - a rare jewel even if you weren’t the Starling - could bandy about the Grandline hither and fro? You had no skill at either a trade or hobby. You had no way to find, or purchase, suppressants in some vain, and dangerous attempt to hide what you were.

It was a wonder he hadn’t bit you the day you were brought before him.

Instead he treated you more humanely than anyone else had. Maybe not kindly, and certainly not as an equal, but his touch was pleasurable. His voice was soothing, and his scent was alluring.

Omegas were meant to cry in desperation beneath Alphas. Alphas protected them, and made their heats bearable, and omegas gave Alphas a point of focus. Something to care for and protect, so that their desires didn’t drive them to folly.

Or maybe they were only driven to madness because of omegas.

You climb into Crocodile’s lap without him beckoning you once you’re done with breakfast. You can feel the relief in his scent. Regardless of the hows and whys of it all, you were grateful he was an Alpha. You were grateful your instincts knew more than your mind, and that you were beginning to understand the subtle differences in his scent depending on his mood.

He could control his face, and to some extent his tone, though he seemed to mind both less when it was just the two of you. Maybe because on some level he knew he couldn’t hide from you.

Maybe he didn’t want to.

His hand cups your jaw firmly and you still in his lap. You feel a soft shift and gasp as something teases your skin beneath the shirt. It settles at your nipples, and you know it has to be him, but he releases your jaw and his hook is resting on the desk.

“What…?” You sigh, the gentle caress making the flesh stiff.

“It’s just my sand.” He says evenly. “No one else will know.”

You sigh softly the smooth sand dancing over your nipples and sending pleasure into your chest. It feels good, and you want to squirm, but you’ve been sitting carefully before now. Sure you shifted and adjusted throughout the day, getting up sometimes to stretch, the action spurring Crocodile to take a break more than not.

And he did play with you, sometimes, but not like this. Not while he worked, and since the first time, it hadn’t been while people were coming in and out.

But the people came in, and the sand did not relent.

It wasn’t enough to bring you to the brink. It wasn’t enough to force you to make noise. It wasn’t enough that it was impossible to stay still.

It was enough that you couldn’t look anyone in the eyes when they came in. It was enough that you probably looked like a small little pet in his lap, more than you’d looked the days before. It was enough that your slick was definitely staining the seat cushion.

“Your chair,” you whisper as the most recent intruder into the room leaves.

“It’s fine.” He assures you.

“I… I…” You aren’t sure what you want to say, so distracting is the constant and unending pleasure against your chest. Never enough pressure to hurt you, and it’s not rubbing you raw despite the hours that have gone by.

“You were so distressed this morning, I wanted to be sure your pleasure was comfortable today.” He explains, tilting your head back until you were bent back and squirming beneath his gaze. “You don’t smell distressed.”

You shake your head as best you can in this position. “Not distressed.” You gasp, your thighs pressed together, rubbing back and forth.

“If you want relief, you can ask for it.” He sounds so bored, his tone, his eyes, but his scent is curled around your throat like a set of teeth.

“Please.” You whine and you feel everything shift. The soft shuffle of sand moves your legs until you’re straddling his lap, your back to his chest, and his tip presses into your leaking cunt. The swirling sands lower you onto his cock, his fingers in your mouth, letting you drool and whine against them as the simple act of penetration has your eyes rolled back in a subtle orgasm.

The chair scoots a little closer to the desk, pinning you between it and him. He reaches between your legs, teasing your pulsing clit with a single finger, making you shiver and tremble against him. Holding onto his arm you ride him as best you can in your position, the wet wriggling motion of your hips was nothing compared to the way you twitched and gripped him internally.

It was enough for you to cum harder, however, tucking your face against his upper arm and crying your pleasure into his sleeve.

“Good girl.” He hums softly, letting you suckle the tip of his finger. “Stay still. There will be more people, but as long as you don’t cum, they won’t know.” He lies so sweetly you’re willing to believe it. It was obvious what your position was right now, even with the desk obscuring the truth of it.

Your skin was flushed, and you couldn’t calm down that much. You had been in his lap for days before now, but this was the first time people would see you trapped so. You might not be up on his desk, riding his fingers with nothing more than the size of his shirt concealing your body, but none of his people were fools.

The clown maybe, but even he had uses enough that Crocodile kept him around.

Crocodile did not keep useless things.

Stuck between him and the desk, his throbbing cock sunk deep into your sensitive pussy, there was no place for you to hide from those that came in. They might not be able to see him speared inside you, but you couldn’t hide your face behind anything in this position. He helped you tuck against his chest, his hook arm pressed across your shoulders so he could easily work around you.

Everyone who came in knew.

As embarrassing as it was, no one dared to say anything, and most didn’t even dare to meet your gaze once they understood the situation.

Everyone was exceptionally efficient that day.

Once he was certain there was time enough before the next person, he’d tease your clit and have you cumming against his thick cock. The sands teasing your chest never stopped, no matter what, but he didn’t finger your throbbing clit unless the office was empty.

If you came, it was for him, and him alone.

By four o’clock, no one was coming into the office at all. Word had gotten around, or people could smell the thick scent of pleasure even if they were only betas, and no one was willing to risk stepping inside. But you had your hands on the desk, one of your legs carefully looped inside his hook, your right thigh in his hand.

He moved you like a toy. His hips hardly moved and he made you ride him, the sand still teasing you even as you sobbed from overwhelming pleasure. Everything from shivering little pleasures that barely felt like orgasms, to toe-curling delights that had you moaning like a whore between his arms, you felt them all through the course of the day.

No matter how hard or how gently you came, he could keep the same steady pace. Occasionally licking heavy strips against your neck and shoulders. He inhaled full huffs of your scent, alternating between growling and purring, seemingly edging himself as he forced pleasure from every inch of you.

The soft chime of the clock indicates the end of the day, and he presses you against his chest, large hand easily splayed out over your torso. He scoops both of your legs into the crook of his hook arm, nearly folding you in half before thrusting up into you.

Soaked in sweat, slick staining his pants, the chair, and pooling on the floor, you’re relaxed only because you’re too exhausted to be anything else. He pushes a moan from your dripping lips with every thrust, thick tears falling down your cheeks and you babble pleasure, hands pawing at every piece of him you could reach.

Your shivering limbs kick and curl as a pleasure you can’t deny floods through you. You’re almost sick from the exertion, the heat and euphoria of it pushing back the pain in your twitching limbs. Hot liquid fills you as Crocodile’s cock throbs against the sticky grip of your cunt.

You can’t clean yourself up afterward. Your limbs are limp and your brain is in a thick fog. You’re burning up, but the cool air of the office makes goosebumps rise along your skin. He cleans you up, so you assume, the deep melody of his voice is a soft tone, a praising song that soothes your heart as much as your aching muscles.

By the time dinner is brought to the office, you’re cradled in his arm, letting him feed you.

“Your heat will be soon.” He says, and an understanding dawns on you.

“You… it effects you?” You feel like your question is answer itself, but he nods.

“My… apologies.” He says gruffly, putting another bite to your lips. “I am not in the practice of denying myself that which I desire, and my attempt to soothe your nightmare did not go as I had planned.”

“Will this be your first time too?” You question carefully.

He nods, bringing the cup of water to your lips. “When the government started gathering up all the omegas they could, what was rare became even more so. Most Alphas never find an omega, and most omegas are never bonded, since the dragons shuffle even the lowliest of you around like borrowed pieces of jewelry.”

You go quiet and so still that he doesn’t try to get you to eat more, simply staying still with you as the seconds ticked into minutes.

“You’ll,” you swallow thickly, nerves dancing against your spine. “Claim me, during my heat, won’t you?”

“… Do you want me to?”

Tears rush up your chest, choking your lungs. Your face twists and he pulls you close, rocking gently back and forth. “I don’t know.” You sob softly.

He promises you nothing, neither removing your choice in the matter entirely, nor assuring you that he’ll leave you to have one. Instead he just soothes you, letting you cry for all the reasons you need. It’ll be your first heat with an alpha. It’ll be your first heat that isn’t attended by Celestial Dragons. It’ll be the first heat where your nest isn’t provided to you, where your location isn’t decided for you.

No one will bend the will of your instincts in the direction they want, and you’ll be navigating everything on your own.

It was terrifying to a certain extent, but… with him by your side there was something that soothed you. An almost manic thought that seemed absurd, but it was powerfully grounding. It didn’t matter how you thrashed against the inevitable, he would not let you escape, wouldn’t let you be swept away.

You were already between his teeth.

[yakamozz3]

More Sasuke smut 🫦

ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖✶ ✦　.　　. 　 ˚　. ★⋆ .   　　˚　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

❝backshots (≧◡≦) ♡❞

༄ 𝒻ℯ𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔：sasuke uchiha x reader

༄𝒯𝒲／𝒞𝒲：18+ mdni, established relationship, fem!reader, pwp, choking, not proofread, possible dacryphilia, p in v sex, unprotected sex

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭: pent up after a mission, sasuke just needs some stress relief <33

ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖✶ ✦　.　　. 　 ˚　. ★⋆ .   　　˚　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

Sasuke fucking you from behind while you were practically trembling underneath him from how hard he’s been fucking you, was truly a sight to see. Him coming home from a mission and being kind of pent up was nothing new, but today the usual greeting at the front door of your shared home that consists out of a big hug and countless kisses, ended up in you on your shared bed on all fours.

To him you just looked too fucking pretty, even from behind. The way you just arched so perfectly for him taking ever last inch of his thick cock into your drooling cunt until you couldn’t take him any further, the way your cute pussy clenched around him and even gripped his cock while creating a white circle of your juices on the base of it and even the way your ass shaked with each of his hard thrusts. He loved it. No, he savoured it. The feeling of your warm gummy like walls tightening and clenching around him made his mind just go blank, and you could feel it. His large hands that were holding you in place by your hips and occasionally smacking your ass, with fingers that were now digging even deeper into your soft skins than before.

sasuke started ramming his cock even deeper into your warm walls, his one hand traveling from your waist to your neck, forcing you up as he lowers himself down so that he’s next to your ear. Whatever filth hes whispering into your ear right now, you didn’t hear tho, you didn’t even register it because of how cock drunk you were. You were a complete moaning mess, lewd sounds escaping your plump parted lips with each of his sharp thrusts. His huge dick bullying his way into your pussy just felt too good, his cock filling you up to the brim making every single thought that was left in your head completely disappear.

With each sound you made, each one of his thrusts and each time your pussy clenched around him so harshly, sasuke felt his own release getting closer and closer. Planting kisses alongside of your neck, your tear stained cheeks pressing against his head he picked up his pace one more time until he was practically railing you as if there was no fucking tomorrow.

You were a moaning mess already but the fast pace of sasukes hard thrusts and the sensation of his lips against your neck, his balls that were slapping against your poor clit ultimately sent you over the edge. With a loud moan that escaped your lips and your legs on the verge of giving up, your pussy clenched one last time around him, drenching his thick cock in your juices as he fucked you through your orgasm. As he fucked you through your high, his own released finally washed over him. With one last thrust he came inside of you letting out and almost guttural groan as he does, painting your walls white with his thick creamy cum as he nuzzled his head into the crook of you neck.

[winchesterwild78]

Broken pt 3

Master List

Characters: Jensen x Reader (wife)

Warnings: a little angst, funeral, fluff

A/N:  Idea given to me by @cheekygirl2309. This one is a little different than what I usually write. It has angst, lots of angst to start, and infertility issues. It's going to be a short series.

Minors DNI 18+

The next few days were a blur. Jensen took a leave of absence from work to be by my side as I navigated my loss. 

He did his best to keep me from slipping into a deep depression. 

I laid on our bed, exhausted but couldn’t sleep. My heart was broken. The last few weeks have really felt like a test to my soul and I wasn’t sure how much more I could take. 

“Sweetheart, I made you some breakfast.” I rolled over and looked at him. He was smiling but I could see the pain in his eyes. 

“I’m not very hungry.” I started to turn away and he let out a frustrated sigh. 

“Y/N, baby you have to eat. You need your strength. Come on, just a few bites.” 

“I said NO! I’m not hungry.” 

Jensen’s eyes went wide and he took a step back. He set the tray down and turned to leave. 

“Jens, I’m sorry.” I sobbed. He crawled into the bed with me and pulled me close. I cried. My fingers gripped his shirt. 

“I just don’t know how to move on. Jens my daddy is gone. How do I get through this?” 

Jensen held me tight, hand rubbing the back of my head, “It’s okay baby. I’m not an expert but this isn’t something you get through, it’s something you just learn to live with by taking it one day at a time. I’ll be there for you and by your side every step of the way. I promise.” 

I held on to him tighter than I had. I was terrified I was going to lose him too. I wanted to be left alone, but I wanted him by my side. I’ve lost people in my life before, but this loss, the loss of my father was profound. 

It felt like a hole has been left in my soul and nothing will ever fill it up. 

“Baby, please eat. I’m worried about you. We have to leave tomorrow for the funeral and I need you to have your strength.”

I nodded. I knew I needed to eat. My mom and sister were going to need me to help and I would be no good to them in a hospital. I knew my dad wouldn’t want me to grieve my life away either. He’d want me to grieve and move on. I slowly sat up. 

Jensen sat up and grabbed the tray and handed it to me. 

I started with the toast, then ate some bacon, then the eggs. Before I knew it I had eaten the whole plate. Jensen smiled. “Don’t look so smug.” I softly chuckled. 

He threw his hands up in defeat, “I didn’t say a word. Thank you for eating, baby.” I nodded, he leaned over and kissed my lips. 

After I ate I felt a little better. Jensen took the plate in the kitchen and I got some clean clothes to take a shower. 

I walked in the bathroom and turned on the water. Turning and looking in the mirror I saw how drained I looked. 

I jumped in the shower and let the hot water run down and around my body. Like a warm hug it enveloped me. 

There was a knock at the door. A slight smile tugging at my lips. “Hey baby, do you need anything?” I heard Jensen’s voice through the sound of the water.

“No, I’m okay baby, unless you want to wash my back.” Jensen smirked. He didn’t want to take advantage of me, but he missed me too. 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, baby. As much as I want to, I think I should let you shower alone. I’ll be waiting for you.”

I let out a shaky breath. I was so torn. I wanted to be with him, but I understood why he said no. It still didn’t make it hurt any less. 

I finished in the shower and grabbed the towel. As I stepped into the bedroom I saw Jensen down the hall. A sly smile spread on my lips. 

“Jensen, can you come here please.” “Yeah, babe. Just one second.” I heard Jensen walking down the hallway and waited for him to come into the room. 

“Yes baby…” He stopped in his tracks when he saw me. I looked at him, and dropped my towel. 

“Damn, sweetheart. You’re killing me.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “You’re making it hard to say no.” 

I stepped closer, “Then don’t.” I kissed his lips softly. His fingers delicately run up my body. 

“Are you sure about this baby? I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this.” 

I kissed his lips, cutting him off. “Yes, Jensen. I want this, I want you. I need you.” 

Jensen laid me back on the bed and hovered over my body. He looked down at me, eyes full of questions, and so much love and a little pain. He cared about my father too. We both hit the jackpot with in-laws, so it was like he lost a father too. 

“Are you sure, baby?” He asked one last time. I nodded, “Yes”. 

He captured my lips in a need filled kiss, his hands on my body and his lips trailing down my neck. 

Jensen was gentle with me. Every minute we were in the bed his focus was on me, satisfying me. When he finished we both felt lighter, and closer than we had in a few days. 

Jensen cleaned us both up and pulled me into his arms. I placed my head on his chest and rested my hand there too. “Thank you, Jens. That was incredible.” 

He kissed my head, “Yes it was, baby. It had been too long.” 

We laid in each other’s arms for a while before getting up and starting to pack. 

The pain of losing my father was still there, still very raw, but Jensen was my calm. I knew he would do what he could to help me work through this. I knew he’d be by my side the whole time. 

The next morning Jensen and I boarded the plane to head to my mother’s. Abby was meeting us at the airport and we were staying at her house. 

We were going to stay with mom, but her house was already full with other family members, and Abby offered us her guestroom. 

The flight home was uneventful. A few people recognized him, but I guess seeing me they figured now was not the time to talk to him. There was however a little girl who recognized him and came running up to him. Her mother called her name and tried to get her to stop. 

“Hi!” She squealed. Jensen smiled down at her as her mother came running up. “Mary, I told you to leave him alone. He doesn’t want to be bothered.” 

Jensen offered her a soft smile, “It’s alright, so, your name is Mary?” She nodded, her big blue eyes sparkled and her blond hair falling in her face. “Mommy named me after your mommy.” Jensen chuckled, “Is that right?” 

“I am so sorry, she saw you on the plane and it took everything I could to keep her in her seat.” 

“It’s okay, really. So Mary, tell me something. Have you watched the show with your mommy?” She shook her head no, “Mommy said I had to be bigger, but I saw you on TV and when I was a baby you held me.” 

Jensen looked confused and then at her mother, “I went to a convention when she was a baby. We took a photo together and you held her in the picture.” 

Jensen thought back, “Wait, this isn’t Mary, born on my birthday Mary?” Her mother smiled and shook her head yes. “Oh my goodness. I remember.” Jensen smiled at me and told me all about the convention and how she was crying right before the photo op, but when he took her she stopped. She was also born on his birthday. 

The mother looked at me and saw how sad I looked. She offered a soft smile, “Mary honey, come on. Let’s let Jensen and Mrs. Ackles get to their destination.” “But mommy…” The little girl protested. 

I looked at Jensen and then at the little girl. He was always so incredible with children. I bent down to her, “Hey Mary, how about I take a picture of you and Jensen?”

Her big eyes went wide and she smiled, “Yes please.” Jensen smiled at me and he scooped her up in his arms. Her little arms around his neck and the biggest smile on her face.

I snapped the picture and motioned for her mom to get in one too. “Are you sure?” She asked. “Absolutely. His fans mean everything to him.” 

She nodded and stood on one side of Jensen and Mary still had a grip on his neck. I took the picture, the mom thanked us again and Mary kept her grip on him. 

She wouldn’t let go of him and she kept telling him he had to come to her birthday party. “Jensen, I am so sorry. All she’s said she wanted for her birthday is to see you again. I was going to take her to a convention, but I just read you had to cancel the next convention.”

My heart sank, my father’s death was the reason he had to cancel. I looked at Jensen and saw the regret in his face, “I’m sorry. He doesn’t like to cancel convention appearances. He had to because my father just passed.” 

The mother took my hand, “Oh honey, I’m so sorry. I understand. Please know we are thinking about you.” I nodded. “Thank you, I appreciate it. Why don’t you tell me where the party is going to be and I’ll see what we can figure out.” 

The mother looked stunned, “Are you sure?” “Of course. I can’t make any promises, but we will try.” She gave me the information, we said our goodbyes and headed out. 

Jensen held my hand and squeezed, “Are you okay baby?” “Yeah, just thinking about how wonderful you are and how we need to figure out how to get you to that little girl’s birthday party.” 

The next few days were a whirlwind. Today was the day of my father’s funeral and I stood at the full-length mirror and stared at myself in the black dress Jensen bought for me. 

Jensen walked up behind me and snaked his arms around my waist, placing a kiss on the side of my head. “You look beautiful, baby. Are you ready?” 

I took a shaky breath in, “As I’m going to be. Will you stand up there with me today? I don’t know if I can deliver this without you by my side.” 

Jensen turned me to face him, “Sweetheart, I’ll be by your side every step of the way, today and forever. If you can’t get through it, then I’ll take over. You’ve got this baby.” He placed a soft kiss on my lips. 

Jensen held my hand as we walked into the funeral home and I walked towards the casket, where my father was lying. I stopped walking when I got about halfway. 

Jensen gave my hand a light squeeze, “We don’t have to go up there baby.” I looked at him and tears filled my eyes, “I have to, Jensen. I have to say goodbye.” He nodded and placed his hand on the small of my back. 

My steps felt heavier as I walked. Each step felt like I was walking with concrete boots. 

My breathing was shaky, as I made it to the coffin. I looked down at my father. The man who held my hand as I learned to walk, the man who helped patch me up when I fell off my bike, the man who taught me how to give a mean right hook. He looked so peaceful, like he was in a deep sleep. 

I touched his hand. The warmth from his touch is now long gone. “I love you daddy. I’ll be okay. I have Jensen, and he’s been great through all this. He actually got my stubborn ass to eat something. You were right, daddy. He’s a really good man, and he loves me so much. When you get to where you’re going, give grandma a hug for me, and if it’s not too much to ask can you maybe put in a good word for us. We want to give you a grandbaby. I love you so much, daddy. Good bye.”

I placed a kiss on his forehead as the tears began to fall. Jensen held me and kissed my head. “It’s okay baby. I’m here.” 

The funeral started and I was next up to speak. With my paper in hand I walked to the podium with Jensen by my side. He leaned over and kissed my head, “You’ve got this baby.” 

I took a deep breath and started to read from the paper. Recalling story after story of my father and his love for his family and friends. As I read through the paper my chest began to tighten. I could feel the panic rising in my chest and I couldn’t get through the rest of it. Tears fell fast and heavy. Jensen held me, grabbed the paper and started reading the rest of it. 

By the time he finished I could barely stand. Jensen helped me to my seat. The rest of the funeral was a blur. People came by my mother, my sister and I offering their condolences. Jensen stood by my side the whole time. 

His presence grounded me. 

“Y/N, I’ll see you and Jensen at the luncheon.” My sister said. I looked at her and then at Jensen, he knew I couldn’t do it. My breathing became faster and erratic.

“Hey Abby, I think Y/N and I are gonna head out for a few days.” She nodded. I looked over at Jensen confused, he squeezed my hand.

I hugged mom goodbye and told Abby we’d lock up after grabbing our stuff.

Getting in the car Jensen held my hand. “Jens, thank you for helping me. I don’t know how I would have gotten through that without you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. It’s my job to protect you and help you. Now, you and I are getting away from everything for a little bit. You need a quiet place to clear your head.”

“Where are you taking me?” “We’re flying to the cabin in Colorado. It’s quiet, and you will have me at your beck and call for as long as you need.” 

“Jensen, what about work?” “My leave is open ended. I can end it whenever I want. Right now I’m not leaving you in this alone.” 

Jensen placed a soft kiss on my lips, “Come on baby, let’s get going.”

A few hours later we were pulling up to the cabin. It was lightly snowing. It was beautiful, perfect, and peaceful.

Walking into the cabin, Jensen carried our bags to the bedroom and then brought in some firewood. He started a fire as I made some coffee. 

Sitting on the couch side by side we had a blanket draped over our legs. Watching the fire and sipping our coffee, the room was quiet and peaceful. 

Jensen looked over at me, “Are you okay baby?” I smiled softly, “Yeah, I am now. This is just what I needed. Thank you, Jens.” 

“Sweetheart, you’re going to get through this. The pain won’t be this bad forever. It won’t go away, it will just get a little easier every day. I promise baby.” 

I stood and straddled his lap. His hands rested on my hips as I kissed his lips. “Jens, I love you so much. Let’s go to bed.” 

He lifted me up and carried me to the bed. Laying me down he stepped back and looked at me, “God you’re so beautiful. I am the luckiest man alive.” 

I smiled and blushed, “I’m the lucky one, Jensen.” 

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[gilverrwrites]

Take your mind off it

Tim Drake/Reader, 750 words A/N: This is an amalgamation of 2 requests, one for Tim gently eating out his people-pleasing gf, the other for Tim eating out his gf to comfort them after a rough day. I also want Tim between my legs carnally so I can't fault you. Though I've gotta say, Tim is one hell of a hypocrite. He might not be a people-pleaser, but he sure as hell take on to much work and suffers in silence about it. Warnings: Very minor mention of overstim.

The mattress creaks under Tim’s weight as he crawls over you. He’s naked and damp from his post-patrol shower, dark hair scraped back away from his face, cheeks reddened from the steam, and lips pressed into a frown as he examines your heavy eyes and bitten lips.

“What are you still doing up?” It’s not that he isn’t happy to see you still awake. The city had been quiet tonight and he’d been hoping to find you awake if only to help let off some pent-up energy, but he can tell just by looking at you that something is wrong.

“Just couldn’t sleep.” You sigh, a smile cracking on your lips as Tim plants his hands on either side of your head and leans in for a kiss.

His breath is hot on your skin, but after a moment cooled remnants of his wash begin to drip onto your skin making you writhe from the ticklish sensation. You try to bat him away, but he remains firm, eventually grabbing your wrists and pinning them to your pillow. He hovers over you, watching you through wispy, envy-inducing lashes as you struggle to escape his grasp.

“Why can't you sleep?” He quizzes, look on his face tells you he already has the answer. “Have you been overthinking again?”

That knowing expression twists, becoming playfully smug as you sheepishly nod, admitting defeat. His grip doesn’t falter, but eventually, his manner softens as you fill him in on the day you've had. He kisses your neck as you lament about how you’ve once again stretched yourself thin trying to do everything for everyone. His hands slip beneath your sleepwear, and he savours the way your voice hitches as you admit that you’ve no idea how you’ll keep all the promises you’ve made. The problems are so quintessentially you, he can’t help the affectionately sly smirk that spreads across his lips as he starts to kiss his way down your chest.

“You need to learn to say no.” He scolds quietly before hooking his fingers into your bottoms, and without hesitation you lift your hips, allowing him to pull them from you. It should go without saying but he feels the need to tack on; “Not now though! Unless you don’t want to, but I really think that right now you need to relax. Things won’t seem so dire if you get some rest and take your mind off it.”

“You’re right.” You hate to admit it.

Only because he always responds quickly with; “I’m always right.”

There’s no time to dwell on it, however. The moment Tim starts to inch between your legs, you spread them without hesitation, a shiver rolling up your spine when you feel his thumb brush gently along your slit. He rolls the calloused bed against your clit with paper-light pressure until you start to roll your hips, silently begging for more.

You’re in no state to be goaded, so he doesn’t make you wait any longer; quickly sinking his thumb between your lips and into your entrance in one quick movement before putting his mouth to good use. There’s no teasing, no clever comments, just Tim, watching you through adoring blue eyes as he laps at your cunt.

He starts slow, lolling his flat tongue against your clit in lazy, slow motions, soaking up your juices and thoroughly enjoying the way his satisfied groans make you grip his wet hair harder and harder with every hum.

His cock is rock-hard. Unconsciously, he ruts it against your shared bed-sheets but primarily he keeps his focus solely on your clit, fucking your tight pussy with his thumb in short, relaxed pumps between sucking and licking at your sensitive bud to ensure your stimulation. When you start to really squirm, he ups his tempo, locking his free arm over your stomach and chasing after you when you begin to lift your hips. He all but purrs into your heated sex when your grasp in his roots tightens, the resulting vibrations push you over the edge.

You shut your eyes tight, pussy constricting even tighter around his thumb as you reach your climax, but Tim’s eyes are wide open, focused on your blissful face and the way you call his name as your legs shake and your core gushes down his neck. He keeps you in his grip, working at your cunt until your body falls limp, legs still twitching as he boarders overstimulating you. Your answer to his next question will be the deciding factor on whether he crosses that line. “What are you thinking about now?”

[scumashling]

Caretaker and Whumpee's First Meal Together

Past non con drugging, former Whumpee Caretaker

Caretaker has gone to painstaking lengths to make sure every aspect of the dinner is perfect, from the meat to the crispy potatoes to the dinner cocktail. It is, after all, Whumpee's first real dinner since they got away from Whumper, and after everything they'd been put through, and how skittish Whumpee still is, Caretaker wants more then anything for it to be a good one. The dinner is going well. Whumpee talks with their hands a lot, bright eyed and friendly, if a little nervous, a tight smile across their face. All seems well, except as Caretaker digs in they notice Whumpee isn't. They seem distracted, less interested in eating the meal and more into cutting it up into bite sized pieces and shuffling them around the plate. Whumpee is also spending an unusual amount of time observing the glass that holds their drink, holding the beverage up to the light, only taking scant, small sips, as if trying to taste for something.

"Is there something wrong with the food?" Caretaker asks, crestfallen at the idea that the first meal they prepared had failed to impress. Whumpee's eyes dart up, the forced grin they'd been wearing all night stretching further.

"Oh no! You did such a good job, Caretaker! I'm very grateful." They reassure caretaker. Their voice does not sound genuine, words coming out in rapid fire as if they'd rehearsed them in their head. God damnit.

"If you don't like it, I can make-" Caretaker sighed. Whumpee's left hand slams downs on the table before Caretaker can finish, the right still clutching the glass in their hand tight. The way they slightly tremble shakes the table and sloshes their drink, voice quickening to a high pitch. Caretaker detects a strained note of panic, despite Whumpee's efforts to mask it.

"No, no no no, please don't bother yourself with that, you must've worked so hard and I'm so thankful for everything you've done-its just-I just-" Whumpee's eyes zip back to the glass in their right hand, studying the liquid inside.

It has been a long time since Caretaker had been with Whumper. Sometimes, the memories seem so far away that Caretaker wondered if the whole ordeal had happened to someone else, or if Caretaker had simply made the whole thing up. It didn't help that Caretaker had spent most of that horrible time drugged out of their mind, courtesy of Whumper, unable to move, barely conscious yet all to aware of what was happening at the same time as Whumper hurt them.

It suddenly dawns on Caretaker that Whumpee fascination with the glass might not be out of politeness in the face of an inedible meal. They were looking for signs, strange taste, a strange fizz, if the liquid was cloudy, searching for bits of pills or oil floating on the surface. Caretaker remembers doing the same.

Caretaker knows what they have to do. They stand up, striding to the other side of the table.

"Can I see your drink?"

Caretaker doesn't wait for Whumpee's permission before taking the glass from their hand, downing about half of the glass of the dark red liquid, and promptly plucking a bite sized piece of meat off their plate and eating it up. When Caretaker sat back down, they could see Whumpee's eyes had gone wide, their shoulders bunched in anticipation as if they expected Caretaker to explode. They both waited in silence for a minute, until Caretaker offered them a small smile.

"You should try some. It's really good. And you're so skinny."

When Caretaker failed to explode or collapse on the floor and Whumpee was sure it was safe, they exhaled, their shoulders relaxing, and they tentatively took piece of meat from the plate and began to chew. Their eyes immediately lit up in delight and they had another, and another, and another, washing each bite down with the drink until the whole meal was gone.

[saulocept]

an introduction to intimacy (i)

pairing: botw! link/f(reader)

rating: m

summary: You knew what you were getting into when you first married him. You just didn't know it'll be like this. Luckily, or unluckily, he's there to refute it.

notes: there's a hint of spice near at the end, but it's nothing too explicit. there might be a sequel, depending on the inspiration.

Marriage isn’t easy. You’ve always known that, of course – some sort of knowledge hidden in the depths of your mind, vague enough to never cross your thoughts. Until now. If you’re perhaps smarter than you’d been, you would’ve thought twice before jumping into it and agreeing. You’ve got a general idea of what you’re getting into: your new role as a wife, the responsibilities expected of you, but you’ve never once thought it’ll be this exhausting.

If you’d known any better, you wouldn’t have jumped into it as easily as you had. Blame your mother for instilling all these ideas onto you, and blame your friends for romanticizing the Hero of Hyrule. He’d be a perfect husband, they’d told you. With how sweet and caring he is to strangers – people whose name he doesn’t even know, imagine how sweet he’ll be to his own wife. Bah. You’d imagined, indeed, and now you regret it. Not that it isn’t too late for regrets, but still. It’s not like this is something you’d wanted to happen in the first place. This has been, after all, a marriage of convenience, rushed and impulsive, something you had actually no say in no matter how much your mother tries to pretend otherwise. It hadn’t been your idea; it had been your mother’s, tinged with desperation as she tried to find a way to settle your father’s debts after he ran away from your mother and you, eager to hide and start life somewhere else.

Looking back at it now, it’s a bad idea, but at the time, there’s very little you can do. Stuck in a house where your mother resents you for reminding her too much of the man who’d left her, the choice had only been to get away. And so you’d agreed. The marriage had been quick, private, with little ceremony. Attended only by your mother and a handful other villagers, there were no vows spoken, no kisses shared. Everything was stiff and formal, quick and hasty. Before you know it, you’re being driven off into Hateno Village, with all your belongings packed into a single rucksack, your old life growing further out of reach with each second.

Three year later and you’re stuck in a house as cold and hollow as the one you’d left behind. You doubt there’s any real love involved between you, not even an ounce of fondness or attraction. It’s not that Link isn’t nice. He’s nice, exactly like a hero is nice. He’s helpful, considerate. He washes the dishes, puts them back the same way you’d left them. He fixes his bed every morning so you don’t have to. He doesn’t leave any mess behind for you to clean up. He’s exactly how your friends describe him – the ideal man, a hero.

But they don’t know that he could be distant too, cold as ice. Perfect and flawless. Like a statue, meant to be admired only from afar. This close, everything you know about him falls apart. He’s like a ghost in your home, a phantom presence you’ve learned to coexist with in the course of three years. He wakes early in the mornings, long before you, and sleeps late at nights, in the room across from you. He’s never around enough for you to share your meals with, or for you to get to know. You can’t remember a single time where you’d sat across from each other on the dinner table and talked. Even when the two of you had shared your meals together, which was rarely, perhaps a once in a blue moon occurrence, he was quiet, mostly just keeping to himself. He’d eat his meals in silence, and you’d do the same, listening to the clatter of the tableware as you do so. Some days, when you’re feeling particularly friendly, eager to get to know him on a more personal level, you’d strike a conversation, telling him things about your old life, asking him about his own in turn. He’s never offered much about himself, and after a few times, you’d finally given up on your attempts to get him to open up to you more.

But he listens. He always does, even as you ramble on with your mouth full of food, getting carried away with a that he hasn’t asked for, or even cared enough to know. You wonder if he finds your life more interesting than his – highly doubtful and you’re sure of that, or if he’s just humoring you, trying to be polite to make you feel better, but he listens. Or maybe he just knows how to look like he is. With how quiet he is around you, you never could quite guess what he’s thinking. Or feeling.

 Even now, if pressed, the only thing for certain that you know about him is that his name is Link, and that he’s the Hero who saved the world from the Calamity a hundred years ago. Things that could be found just from listening to the people alone. Nothing personal, nothing intimate. You never knew how he was raised, never knew the kind of village he’d grown up in. The things he likes. The things he dislikes. Whether or not he’s really okay with this arrangement.

You do know, however, how he likes being away from home. Years of observation have made you jumped to that conclusion, at least. You could almost count the hours he’s here in your home – his home, one that he’d graciously shared with you; just one, sometimes three, and only to rest and recuperate. He never stays the whole day, not even a half. Most nights, he doesn’t come home at all, preferring to spend the rest of his days elsewhere, without your company to keep him.

Not that you could blame him, of course. He was probably forced into this as much as you had been, and the only reason he’d agreed with this was because he was too nice and couldn’t find it in his heart to say no to your mother, with her crying and whimpering. Oh, well. You suppose there are worse men out there for you to marry. At the very least, he doesn’t hit you. Or scream at you, or take his anger out on you in all the worse ways one could imagine. You’ve heard of tales from your old village, where women escape to get away from their husbands’ anger. You suppose it’s only luck that you’re not considering the same course of action.

Still, that doesn’t make this life any less lonely than it is. Surrounded only by women your age, married happily to their own husbands, sometimes even with children on the way, makes you feel envious. All your life, you’d never imagined you were going to be married to anyone, preferring to live a life of solitude and freedom, but now that it’s the kind of life you live, you can’t help but feel some kind of resentment. How different your life would’ve been had you married for love and not convenience? If you’d listened to your heart instead of your mother?

Two years ago, back when you were younger, more impatient, you were certain you would’ve been happier with running away, living somewhere in the woods, alone and free. As old as you are now, you’re not so sure anymore; besides, it’s already too late to change courses, and it’s not as if Link is a bad husband. It’s not a bad life, by all means. You live in relative comfort, and the people in the village are as nice as you’ve always imagined. You’ve got food, shelter. In fact, you even have people you call your friends now: two women around your age, married and with children, eager to visit you in your empty home to keep you company when their own husbands are away and their kids are busy with schooling. They stay until the sun begins to set, and the three of you would do all sorts of things together, trying to pass the time: sewing the tattered clothes from your respective husbands’ closets, gossiping about the other villagers, exchanging details about your lives as married women.

They’d egg you on and tease you, pressing you for more details about your life with your husband, asking you all sorts of things: whether or not the hero’s good in bed, if he’s that good of a kisser as they’d imagine him to be. You don’t have an answer for any of that, and it’s the truth; ever since the two of you had got married, there had been no chances for intimacy. You’ve never even kissed, not even once, nor have you ever held his hands in yours. The most he’s ever given you as an act of affection is a nod and a polite smile – which isn’t an act of affection at all, according to anyone who’s ever had a shred of romance in their bones.

Realizing you’re speaking the truth, your friends give you a look of sympathy. The teasing soon turns into consolation, and you can’t tell which is the worse. He's just busy, they tell you. Maybe he just doesn’t have the time; he’s a hero, after all, and a knight too, at that. He’s already got so many things on his plate. You know all of this, of course, and more. They always forget to mention how this is a transaction, a marriage of convenience, something he doesn’t even have to like, or even reciprocate. Or maybe they’re just trying to be considerate, not mentioning it in your presence. Everyone in here has no doubt learned of it; it’s not as though it’s a secret anyhow. Not like it changes anything.

-

It shouldn’t be surprising to learn that he’d do something like this. It should be unthinkable, to discover that someone like him would cheat, but the truth sits in front of you nonetheless. There’s no refuting it, not when all the signs are here, flashing in front of your eyes. How he never seems to be around lately, how his clothes seem to smell differently now, not like the usual, at least, and certainly not the one you’ve grown to memorize. The red marks at the collar of his shirt, obvious to nearly no one else but you. Isn’t this, too, a kind of truth?

Still, you’re not sure why you care. There’s no reason why you should feel this way, as though you’ve been hollowed out and left empty. No reason why dread sits in the bottom of your stomach, heavy like lead, or why your heart hurts, as though a thousand needles pricked it all at once. It’s not as if he owes you any loyalty, and it’s not as if you love each other. You’ve established that, early on in your marriage. You’ve never talked about it, not explicitly, but it’s always there – a lingering knowledge, something you both know but have never said out loud.

And yet it doesn’t stop you from feeling this way. You’ve tried to rationalize it, sitting there on the dinner table, holding his tunic in your hands, glaring at the very obvious lipstick stains on the collar, feeling both angry and heartbroken at once. But there’s no reason to, you know there’s no reason to feel like this. You don’t love him, you’re sure of it. You can count all the times you’ve shared a conversation with him with one hand, and it’s not enough to justify whatever feelings of possessiveness you have over him. As far as you know, he can do whatever he wants. And so could you, for that matter.

And yet it doesn’t stop your heart from hurting. Nor does it make your anger abate even for just a second. You hold the tunic tighter in your hands, glaring angrily at it, not sure what you want to do with it. You’re meant to sew it, initially; it had looked to be in poor condition the first time you’d laid your eyes on it, tattered and ripping at the seams already, but now you want nothing more to do with it. Another irrational thought, one you’re supposed to quell, crush beneath the weight of all your other worries.

You exhale a breath, stand up, leaving the tunic where it is as you fetch a drink.

-

He comes home for dinner that night. Another rare occurrence, one you don’t even dream of happening, especially now that you’ve learned of the truth. You imagine he’ll be out and about at this time, busy making love to whatever mystery girl he surrounds himself with. Wide-eyed, naïve. Doe-like and innocent, she’d be younger than you for sure, this mystery girl whose only mark of existence is the lipstick stains she keeps leaving on your husband’s clothes. Even just the thought of her makes you annoyed, though you’re not quite sure why.

You’re quiet as you serve dinner, quiet even as you sit across from him and eat. Normally, you’d at least try to make some conversation, just to ease whatever awkwardness lingers in the air. He wouldn’t speak, like always, though he’d listen to you go on about your life even if he’s heard the same story more than once. But you don’t. Not this time. With your mind circling back toward this so-called mystery girl, you can’t even bring yourself to speak. Or enjoy your dinner. Each bite seems almost bitter, the taste of blood lingering on the tip of your tongue long after you’ve swallowed a spoonful down. It takes you more than a few minutes to realize that you’ve been biting your tongue this whole time, stewing too much in your own jealousy to pay proper attention to your meal. Hurriedly, you excuse yourself, grabbing a nearby kitchen towel to wipe at your mouth.

He doesn’t say anything as he watches you go, though you could feel his eyes on your back, eyeing your every move. You don’t have to look back to know that he wears the same expression as always. Opaque, unreadable. Far out of your reach.

-

You find him in your room after dinner. He sits on the edge of the bed, his hands on his lap, staring at something on the floor. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he looks like he’s deep in thought. You lean against the door, cross your arms over your chest. Taking a glance at your surroundings, just to confirm you are indeed in the right room, you clear your throat, catch his attention. “This isn’t your room,” you say stiffly, your voice flat, empty.

He looks up at the sound of your voice, eyes boring straight through yours. The blue of his eyes seems even brighter in the semi-darkness, piercing as he continues to stare at you, through you. Does he know then? Does he know that you know? Does he know how you feel about it? “I know where my room is.”

You raise an eyebrow, purse your lips together. “There’s no reason for you to be here.”

He shrugs, looks away, casts a curious glance around him. He takes it all in, at once, as if for the first time. “I came to visit.”

You frown. He’s never come to visit your room before, at least not when you’re around, and you can’t imagine why he’d want to now. Not when he has something else to keep himself busy – someone else. “I don’t see why there’s a need to.”

His voice grows quieter, nearly a whisper. Still, every word rings loud against your ears, echoes and reverberates in the hollow of your soul. “I came to check up on my wife.”

The words catch you off-guard, and for a second, your mind blanks out, unable to find the right words. He’s never referred to you as such before; you can’t confirm if he’s ever done so in front of other people, but it’s not as though you’re outside often enough to ask. And even if you are, it’s not an appropriate question. Still, that doesn’t make you any less surprised. “Your… wife?”

He nods his head, gives you a lopsided smile. You’ve only ever seen this smile of his on a handful of occasions, and it always makes you feel conflicted each time. A flutter in your heart, a knot in your stomach, a sudden jump in your pulse – things you could never quite explain how, note even to yourself. “There’s only one of her, isn’t there?”

You snort, unable to keep the bitterness out of your voice, your words. “I don’t appreciate you thinking you could fool me again, mister.”

“I see.” His voice grows quieter, softer. He lowers his head, stares at the floor. He doesn’t speak for a second, and once again, you could never quite tell what he’s thinking. “That’s why you’ve been quiet.”

You scoff, feeling your temper rise at his sudden shift in attitude. Still, you’re careful to keep your voice flat, refusing to give in to the heat of your anger, the excruciating burn of your jealousy. “I don’t think you know me as much as you claim to.”

He lifts his head, looks at you. He meets your eyes this time, and something in his gaze pins you to your spot. You’ve never seen him look at you this way before, and something about it makes you yearn for it and deny it at the same time. “I’ve watched you,” he says. His voice is calm, steady. Soothing, almost, though it only does the opposite for you. “You didn’t see me, but this afternoon, after you ate your lunch, you laid on the couch and napped for an hour.”

You shake your head, look away, crossing your arms over your chest. “You watching me like a stalker doesn’t prove you know enough about me.”

He doesn’t falter. “You take your coffee with three sugars and no less because it’s too bitter for your taste.”

He’s right, like he’d been right the previous time, and yet the same problem remains. You exhale a sigh, growing more exasperated by the second. “I don’t see what that has to do with any of this.”

His eyebrows furrow. A hint of irritation flashes in his expression, rare and quick as a lightning bolt. Frustration creeps into his voice, makes it rise just the slightest bit. “That I know you as much as I claim to.”

You shake your head, exhale another sigh, shoulders slumping in resignation. There’s no point to this argument, is there? The boundaries of your relationship had been clear from the start; you knew what you were getting into the moment you’d agreed to the marriage. “Even if you do, we’re still strangers.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then he stands up, takes a step forward, and another, then another. Until he’s standing in front you, just barely out of reach. “Are we?”

“Yes.”

He takes another step, closes the distance between you until there’s none. “Even if I know everything about you?”

Does he? Even the thought seems almost unbelievable. Laughable, too. He has too much on his plate to bother learning everything he can about you. And even if that were true and he truly did do all of those, what difference would it make? Still, you can’t help but be curious, one eyebrow raising as you keep your eyes on him. “And what do you know about me?”

He nods, smiles. A different kind this time – tiny, a subtle twitch at the corners of his lips. One you’ve never seen before, and yet one that sends an unexplainable thrill through you. “That you’re jealous.” It’s a statement, a simple fact, one that makes your ears burn in offense.

“There’s no reason for me to be,” you snap, glaring at him. Heat rises to your cheeks, and you take a step back, attempting to mask it in the semi-darkness of the room. He follows after you, takes another step forward when you take a step back, refusing to let you maintain that distance you’ve been trying to keep. The game continues on for approximately a minute before you finally hit the wall, rendering all chances of escape null. You glare at him instead, annoyed at the look of amusement flickering in his eyes. “I know what I got myself into when I agreed to marry you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Look,” you begin, taking a step to the side, refusing to play his game any longer. He doesn’t let you, stops you before you can go any farther, placing both his hands on either side of your head, caging you in. “I’m not sure why you’re here in my room right now, but I’m not going to be your entertainment tonight just because you’re lonely and in mighty need of company.”

He looks almost surprised at your implication; you catch the widening of his eyes, the shock that flickers behind them, just briefly before it fizzles out, disappears once more. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

 “It’s not worry,” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose in exasperation. Has he always been this annoying and you just never even know it? Is this a side of him you would’ve killed to know a few years back? You would’ve been certain of the answer years ago, but now you’re not so sure. Everything’s too confusing, conflicting, and you’re not sure what to think, especially not when it comes to him. “It’s called—”

“Jealousy,” he finishes for you. He gives you another small smile, and it looks smug, victorious. You’ve half the heart to wipe it off, and the other half to kiss it away. You’re not entirely sure where the thought comes from, and it makes the heat in your cheeks rise, grow warmer.

You glare at him instead. It’s easier to mask whatever embarrassment you feel with anger; it’s familiar, comfortable, and it’s something he expects. You open your mouth, try to protest, but he stops you this time, refuses to let you speak. He shakes his head, presses a finger against your lips, shuts you up. His smile grows wider, and he leans down, close enough that he could look you in the eye. This close, the blue of his eyes seems infinite. Mesmerizing, as though it would swallow you whole if you forget to look away. He removes his finger from your lips, moves to cup your cheek, cradling it in his hands. Your vision swims. Your breath steams. Your heart stops. There’s a split second where everything grows still as he touches you for the first time.

Every feeling after this is magnified. The warmth of his hands burns like liquid heat against your skin. Your flesh sings. Your bones ache. You feel like a livewire at this moment, coiled and very much alive. You fear you’ll explode, turn into sparks if he touches you any longer.

You take in a shuddered breath, lifting your head just a bit, enough to meet his gaze. When he looks into your eyes, could he tell how badly you enjoy this? How much you’ve yearned for it, subconsciously, and in secret? Whatever he finds there must not be satisfactory enough because he’s leaning even closer, just enough that his breath steams against your cheeks. He’s close enough to kiss, to touch, the way he never is for the past few years.

You could tell him to stop. You won’t be his plaything tonight, and you’ve made it clear from the start. Just because he’s the hero doesn’t mean you’d bend to his whims, even if he has you at his mercy. He traces your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, and every retaliating thought in your mind disappears, along with every half-formed protest you might have. The gentleness with which he touches you opens up a valley of desire in the pit of your stomach, hollow and greedy. It makes you lean against his touch, like a moth waiting to be burned.

He leans in, brushes his lips against yours. Tentatively, like he’s waiting to see how you’d react. Seeing as you’re not pushing him away, he leans in even more, and kisses you fully. There’s hunger with the way he kisses you, mirroring the desire that sits in the hollow of your stomach. You grab the hem of his shirt, balling it into fists as you pull him closer. He responds by cupping the back of your head and pulling you against him, kissing you more greedily.

You don’t know how long you’ve kissed, but you’re breathless by the time you’ve pulled away. Catching your breath, you give him another glare – a last show of strength, even if it’s futile in the end, especially with how putty you are now in his hands. “I’m not going to be your plaything tonight.”

He shakes his head, looking almost annoyed at your comment. “You’re not.”

He doesn’t let you protest anymore. He leans down, latches his lips on your neck, peppering kisses all over: the underside of your jaw, your pulse, the curve of your neck. Your skin singes and burns with every kiss, but he doesn’t stop there. He kisses his way down: from your collarbone to the slant on your shoulder. He runs his tongue along your skin like he’s eager to taste you, and it sends another spark of thrill through you. You let out a shuddering breath, not quite expecting that; absently, you reach up, grab hold of his hair, tugging on it just so, and it only spurs him on, feeds into his ego. Impatiently, he pops the buttons of your blouse, not caring that he’s nearly ripped it off in the process. He doesn’t apologize. Instead, he moves to kiss his way down your body: the valley of your chest, your breasts, your navel until he’s kneeling down in front of you. With your skirt in the way, he’s unable to go further. Hurriedly, he tugs it down, pulls it off your ankles, then throws it somewhere in the room.

“Hey!” you protest, but he simply ignores you. Or maybe he’s just simply too far gone to care. With you left only in your underwear, there aren’t much obstructions left. He runs his eyes up and down your form, and something in his eyes makes you want to cower and hide. There’s greed in there, mixed with something else, something you can’t quite name. Hunger, perhaps? Or maybe even desire? Either way, he doesn’t let you linger on the question much longer.

He’s much gentler this time, slower than he’d been just a while ago, when he was practically ripping your shirt and your skirt off of you. Now, it feels as though he’s got all the time in the world. He tugs at your underwear, pulls it off your ankle, no longer impatient. He takes his sweet time as he leans in and presses kisses on the inside of your thighs, each one leaving you more breathless than the last. Soft, teasing, each one a kind of agony that only makes you yearn for more. You’ve lost count after the first one, every rational thought pushed out by the impatience to feel something. You glare down at him, only to find him already watching you, his gaze glued to your face, drinking in every reaction you make. You’d have blushed if you’ve still got some semblance of dignity left somewhere in you.

“Hurry up,” you say, the words a breathless rasp as they spill out of your lips. He gives you a dark look, but he listens anyway. He inches his face closer to your bare cunt. He doesn’t give you a chance to complain this time. He buries his head between your thighs, catches the trickle of arousal spilling out of you with the tip of his tongue. Heat rises once more to your cheeks. There’s a part of you, embarrassed and shameful, that wants to run away and hide, push him off you. There’s another part that wants him closer, wants all he could offer. Right now, you’re not entirely sure which is which.

And he’s still going torturously slow. It feels intentional, mocking. He moves with the patience of a saint, all his earlier impatience forgotten in a flash. You hate it, but you can’t bring yourself to speak when he blows against your cunt, making your mind blank out. “Link,” you say, your voice thick and raspy. You’ve never imagined you’ll call for him like this – a mix of desire and desperation, and it’s so unlike yourself that you’d have laughed if you hadn’t been

You glare down at him once more, and you could almost swear that he gives you a smug smirk in response. He doesn’t let you dwell on it any further; he dives back in, surprises you this time, delving his tongue deep into you. A shudder leaves you, and your eyes flutter shut, your head hitting against the wall behind you. You could barely register the pain; there’s a dull throb in your head, but all is quickly lost in the sea of pleasure that surrounds you.

You tug a fistful of his hair, hard enough that it’s sure to hurt, and he responds by burying his tongue deeper, lapping you up like a man starved. Every part of you feels hot, every nerve ending alight and on fire. You should tell him to stop, but your body aches for more. Your hips buck, involuntarily, against him, and he lifts one of your legs to rest it upon his shoulder. He places his hands on either side of your thighs, keeps you in place as he furthers his assault, delving into you over and over until he rounds in on that spot that has your legs shaking, the entirety of your body overwhelmed with feeling. “T-there!”

He doesn’t stop. Eager to discover what’s made you tick, he only grows rougher, hungrier, zeroes in on that spot over and over until your mind is spent with pleasure. Your stomach tightens, coils. Everything’s too much, too sudden, and everything in you breaks at once. With a sharp cry, you fall apart, limbs shaking, legs trembling. He’s there to catch you, keeps his arms around you as he holds you steady against him, his tongue ready and waiting to catch every drop that spills out of you, his throat bobbing with each swallow.

And then it’s over, and he’s leaning back, wiping his mouth the back of his hand. You stare at him dazedly, too busy trying to catch your breath to pay him proper attention. You could barely find it in yourself to move. Every part of you feels paralyzed. Your chest rises and falls. Your mind is still empty of any thought; distractedly, you watch him as he picks himself back up, stands up so that he’s in front of you again. You swallow the lump in your throat, lick the dryness off your lips as you find the right words. Nothing comes. All that spills out of you is a breathless noise that falls somewhere between a croak and a whimper, nothing that resembles anything coherent.

He doesn’t speak either. Instead, he leans in, presses his forehead against yours, cups your face in his hands once more. You’re just about to ask him a question before he’s kissing you once more, soft and slow, coaxing. Like he’s trying to apologize. Or maybe he’s tempting you to follow his lead. You’re not sure which is which, but he’s convinced you anyhow, and so you lean in, and kiss him back.

[worldly-fluster]

WARNING: ANGST

So. As I've said in Zayne's, I'm gonna make this one (or try anyway) very very much angst.

--Rafayel-- Part 4 of 4

Last but not least, Fishy.

This is gonna be a little different from the other three, there might be death, but in the end there will be some comfort. I can't have angst without a little comfort in the end or I feel big sad lol.

Rafayel-

•He could get used to this.

•Your smiles and laughs that seem to be for only him.

•You can match his jokes with your sharp tongue and funny humor. He adores when you give him that confident look paired with your hand on the hip and flick of the wrist.

•This is what he knew you could be.

•Not like how he found you.

•Never again. No more silence, stares into the void with no sparkly shine in your eyes. Blank and waiting for something.

•Oh if he got his hands on whomever did that to you before he met you...

•He loves that he can finally help you be yourself now, and always.

•Honestly he just wants to stay with you, but then you would have missions. Constantly.

•This time was supposed to be a normal mission. Like all the others.

•You told him a day, two at least. And you'll be back. You even gave him a bag of yours so you would have a reason to come back to him, instead of straight home.

•He waited for those two days. Before he got a message from Thomas.

•Thomas told him to look at the news, and what he saw made his skin wash in a cold sweat and his breathe leave him.

•It was the place of your mission, they were talking about the casualties and how many are yet to be recovered.

•They showed videos of the carnage. He felt sick.

•He called, texted, and yet no answer. It felt like a cruel prank, like a punch to the gut by the tail of a whale.

•Where were you, were you okay?...Maybe your bag that you left had something to help? He doesn't know why he thought that but he needed to do something other than panic.

•He refuses to believe you could be gone. Not again.

•He opened it and didn't find much, your favorite plushie, a large hoodie, a notebook, a plastic bottle full of sea shells and sand-wait the notebook? Maybe it has something right?

•He opened it to a random page and...wait...why...No. No.NoNoNo that can't be it.

•Why would you give him this? This is talking about how to help him feel better after you d- No, there has to be something else. Something he's not getting.

•You can't be, no way, not yet. You're supposed to grow old next to him. You can't leave him alone again.

•No way would you know-...wait, this is the bag you gave him every time you went on a mission like this...

•But there were times when you would just give him the bag for no reason- there has to be more to it right?

•He reads just a little more.

•What...he can't...he can't breathe, it feels like the weight of the ocean is on him again...

•He throws the book across the room and picks up his phone again and before he can call you again, his phone rings.

•Its you.

•He hardly lets the phone ring twice, only because of his initial shock, when he answers.

•"Where the hell are you?! You-! You need to-! I can't-! Why..."

•He can barely get anymore words out before he chokes on the words, his pearly tears streaming down his paler than normal face.

•"I-I need you...to come here. Now. Please."

•He hears your soothing sweet voice telling him you'll be there in a few minutes, you were already on your way when you called back.

•It feels like years to him before he hears you walking up to his door.

•He has it open before you can make it to the threshold. He's a mess, his hair all over the place, his clothes wrinkled and front slightly wet, his face a little puffy and red from tears.

•His shaky yet strong arms are around you in seconds.

•"You're not leaving me again. Not for work, missions, or just out with friends. I can't- won't let you out of my sight until the ocean dries up. And even then I can't stand it, you're not going anywhere..."

•You can see behind him over his shaking shoulder, the bag you left is on the floor opened. The notebook can be seen practically torn in half on the far side of the room.

•You have tears in your eyes as you realize he read it's content, there isn't any going back from that.

•You hug him back as you say, "I wouldn't have it any other way, honestly."

•He hugs you close to him for what seems like hours, breathing in your sent, feeling your warmth. Knowing that sooner or later he will have to let you go...but that can be later. Not now, he wishes never.

***😁 @an-ever-angry-bi ***

[indagonightmare]

"Omg I'm sooo OCD" (person enjoying their hobbies and interests)