#black lip remedy

[dramarnathandentalcare]

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For more information read the full blog here: https://www.dramarnathansdentalcare.com/dark-lips-remedy/

[cursingtoji]

summary: clan leader!gojo needs a favor from your clan but as the leader you refuse, so he proposes to give you a child since your husband is unable to.

"and what am i to do when the child comes out with a white head of hair and blue eyes?"

“if that happens…” he undoes the knot that holds your kimono together and pushes the material down your arms with no resistance from you, “…then i’ll kill your husband myself and marry you.”

nsfw ahead cw: historical au, infidelity, pregnancy, creampie, child birth, satoru is pathetically in love. featuring samurai bodyguard geto and toji.

“i thought we had solved all our business with the gojo clan” your husband says from the door he leans on.

“and i did” you emphasize the i since the head of your clan is you and only you went to the clan meetings that got things solved. you tapped your lips a little bit more to place the reddish pigment looking at the mirror, “but satoru summoned this meeting and gave no details.”

“satoru huh?” your husband points, not letting go unnoticed the fact you used his first name without formalities.

“all right” you take one step back checking if your kimono is proper, “see you tonight” you peck his lips lightly to not ruin the tint on yours and proceed to the carriage outside.

for years the gojo clan and yours avoided each other due to some very old beef that no one remembers or even was alive when it happened, so when your mother passed and you assumed as the new head you soon decided to reach out to make peace with the current head of the rival clan and a friendly relationship was restored. more often than not you two met, sometimes with other clan members or even other clans when necessary, but today gojo insisted on being just the two of you.

toji, your bodyguard, opens the carriage door when you arrive and give you his hand for you to step out.

to avoid any issues the place of the meeting was always the temple middle way your residences. from time to time your families attended the prayers there, that’s when your husband saw satoru for the first time.

“where’s his wife?” he asked the first time you pointed the white-haired man as the clan head after you made peace.

“he doesn’t have one.”

“fiancée then?”

“i don’t think so” you both watched discreetly as he greeted the monks.

“i find that quite odd. what about the black-haired man?” he pointed to geto, gojo’s bodyguard, “could they be involved romantically?” geto leaned to whisper something to his master, a little bit too close if you might add, a few more inches and his lips would be touching satoru’s ear. his romantic life was no business of yours but you didn’t like the idea of him having any partners, didn’t seem right, though deep down you knew it was very unlikely for a handsome man like him to be alone. both men somehow found your curious gaze.

“geto” you greet the known bodyguard as you enter the temple, and he bows to you, your bodyguard nods at him as well and you’re guided to the secret room.

the conversation went on for almost an hour, satoru served you tea when he noticed you finished yours, which was unusual for a clan head to do such a mundane task but he always insisted no servant join on your private meetings. you always thought he was particularly paranoid about spies, but that suspicion was dismissed when you had your first meeting with other clan heads and he didn’t oppose the people that stayed in the back of the room waiting for their master’s orders.

“satoru we went over this on the last meeting, why am i here?” you are getting impatient, satoru always seemed relaxed when he was at the temple like it’s the one place people don’t come to him with problems, so he tended to do things without any rush at all.

“so impatient…” he smirks, “i was getting to the point but fine. i need your doctors for a few weeks.”

because of the many wars and the necessity to heal mainly the samurai your clan became specialized in healing techniques and remedies instead of combat.

“is someone injured?” you raised your eyebrow, it wasn’t likely for satoru to ask for something like this when he could’ve sent a letter.

“no. but we are expecting a conflict soon and—”

“let me stop you there satoru” you raised your hand and for a second you saw a glimpse of annoyance cross his features, “we don’t get involved with battles anymore, the healers go through extensive training and i can’t risk losing them in battle.”

“so instead of putting their knowledge into practice you rather keep them locked in a room reading books?”

“they are busy with research at the moment” you raise your chin unwilling to budge on the matter.

“is that so?” he tilted his head smiling “and how many people does it take to figure out your husband is infertile?”

you widened your eyes, this is way too personal of a matter for someone else, especially another clan head, to know.

on the other side of the door, geto and toji guarded the room, they were close enough to listen to the conversation and without turning his head geto looked at toji with his eyebrow raised, to which toji only nodded confirming the rumors.

“you’re not the only one with little birds across territories, sweetheart” his smile only seems to grow.

“that is no business of yours. besides, lending you my healers will only harm my clan and, as i said, put them at unnecessary risk” you managed to find your composure back and avoid the infertility topic.

“don’t you trust i have the best warriors? you seemed to when we came to your aid” he reminded a time you asked for their men.

“i paid for that.”

“and what makes you think i won’t?”

“we don’t need money.”

“i’m not talking about money” he drops the volume of his voice.

“listen, satoru—” you rise to your feet sensing the tone of this conversation is off.

“i’m listening, for a very long time i’ve been listening” he rises as well and takes a few steps in your direction, “you know what i listen to? the rumors about your family threatening to make your brother head of the clan if you don’t bear an heir soon.”

you take a step back.

“or the resources you’ve been spending to research a treatment for your husband. tell me, darling, can he even get it up for you?” he is too close now, you can see all the details of his insanely blue eyes.

“he— that’s not a problem” you accidentally confess.

“of course it’s not, look at you” his finger brushes your cheek and the touch makes you burn under your skin, “i could give you a child” he lowers his head to your ear, running his lips on it, “a healthy, smart, beautiful child” he presses his hand on your belly over the thick material of your clothes, “and it wouldn’t even be an effort” he presses his hardened member on your hip.

“and what am i to do when the child comes out with a white head of hair and blue eyes?” you look into his eyes challenging him to a solution.

“if that happens…” he undoes the knot that holds your kimono together and pushes the material down your arms with no resistance from you, “…i’ll kill him myself and take his place as your husband.”

you gasp, not expecting such an answer from the man you always watched trying to find a way to avoid violence.

satoru kisses your jaw then your cheek and when he gets close to your lips you turn your head, your conscience only now, in this intimate act, attacking you.

“he’s not fulfilling his duty” he whispers, letting go of the knot on his kimono, taking your hand and putting it on his chest. you open your eyes, not even aware you had closed them, and see his sculpted torso, so close to you, so warm…

“it’s not your fault, can’t you see?” he raises your chin, “it wasn’t meant to be, unlike us” you know he’s just telling you what you want to hear, but in his voice everything made sense.

“you’ll see” he picks you up and lowers his body with you back to the mat in the middle of the room, his kimono is still around his arms while yours was forgotten somewhere else, leaving only the very thin, dress-like, white undergarment that pretty much showed everything.

satoru lowers his head to your chest, his tongue wetting your nipple over the material, “i bet you’ll become even prettier” he replaces your breast with his hand, big and hot, and goes to the other nipple, “with your breasts heavy and a big belly” he sucks on you, hardly, you put your hand over your mouth.

satoru raises your legs over his shoulders, “your feet will get tired” he kisses the inner thigh, “but you’ll still come and see me” you thought it sounded like a question, it was a statement.

his head goes down, as he kisses your folds your back arches, he licks a stripe ending on your clit and flickering it.

satoru starts to lose himself, he gets too intoxicated by you, almost forgetting time is running against him here. he doesn’t have much longer until your bodyguard gets suspicious and calls for you, and by the way your hand is tight against your mouth he doubts you’ll be able to give a proper response.

he wants to make you cum before he shoots his load, suguru’s intel told him you asked one of the doctors if the woman needed to come to increase the chances. it doesn’t take much medical knowledge to interpret that question.

you cum on his tongue pulling him out of his dreams where he imagined himself doing that every night after those boring fucking meetings he has to attend at every slight inconvenience in his clan.

“it’s gonna be okay, just relax for me” he pushes his length slowly before you get the chance to see his size. you whisper his name behind your hand and he can’t stand not seeing your whole face, so he takes your hand out of the way and kisses your wet lips pushing his tongue and swallowing your moans as he goes deeper and starts to pick a pace.

satoru holds back a curse, reminding himself he’s in a sacred place and although anyone would say that’s ironic given what you’re doing in the temple he would argue that’s even more sacred than what most people prayed for.

you start to feel his weight down on you as he trusts get sloppier, he’s still kissing you, holding your lips with his when he twitches and fills your insides, in your drunk mind you think it’s so much more than what you’re used to.

after he catches his breath he pushes himself up and out of you, you allow yourself to close your eyes for a brief moment but you open them wide again when satoru pushes his cum back into you with his finger, “keep it deep and warm for me, yes?”

one hour later you pass through the door your bodyguard slides open for you to enter your chambers. on the way there you realized there’s no chance he and geto didn’t grasp on what was happening inside the room.

“toji?” you call before he can close the door and go to his personal room, he stops, indicating he listens although he doesn’t respond with the formality others usually do, “i trust you won’t share with anyone what happened today” you speak firmly looking the tall man behind you over your shoulder, his scar stretches slightly with his smirk, the man bows and closes the door.

they said it was a road accident, the horse got spooked and ran, by the time they found it there was no rider so they searched your husband and found his body down the mountain.

the ritual was long, you wore the traditional widow clothing, accepting the kind words of the clan members and the prayer of the monks. though you really were sad, all this pity was making you sicker than…

“at least you didn’t have kids, no child deserves to grow up with a dead father” an old lady says to comfort you while holding your hands.

“excuse me” you turn around walking slowly to not raise suspicions and as soon as it is just you on the other side of your home you bend your torso and throw up all you’ve eaten before the funeral.

you cough and when a tissue enters your field of vision you immediately take it and clean your mouth.

you feel your stomach empty but the light volume below it reminds you of whose fault it is.

you raise with the tissue on your lips to say thank you and the sight of the white-haired man makes you choke.

“shh, it’s okay, i’m here as an ally, to give my condolences to a friend in grief” there’s absolutely no seriousness in his tone.

“what about the war?” you ask through heavy breathing.

“that was child’s play, don’t worry, your healers will return safe and sound in a few days” he puts his hand on your shoulder to calm you down, you do.

satoru takes a second to drop his sight to your belly, it has been a month since your last encounter, and by your sensitive stomach he knows that one time was enough for you to get pregnant.

“do you think you can hide it for another month until the wedding? then when the child is born we’ll just say it was a premature birth” god, your former husband’s body was barely cold and gojo is already planning the wedding and what to say about the baby.

“why now?” you look up at his mischievous eyes, he knows what you’re asking truly.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, it was an accident right?” he touches your face, brushing away a tear that came out, more of a natural body reaction of your gagging than a sadness reaction.

“satoru, tell me” you demanded.

“i just reflect a little you know? when i said i would kill him you never asked me not to. besides, i don’t want another man to think they own what’s mine” his eyes are darker, you think he’s talking about the child in your womb but by the intensity of his gaze, you realize he’s talking about you. “if you need anything tell suguru, i’ll have him staying in the village until we announce the wedding.”

“no, i have toji, don’t want anyone suspecting geto’s intentions” you defend.

gojo doesn’t seem to like it, but he doesn’t argue either, “either way, i want to see you. meet me at the temple in five days, we’ll talk about the arrangements” he leans in and kisses your forehead before turning away and then back “i almost forgot” he reaches for something inside his sleeve and pulls out a shiny golden bracelet with gems and puts it on your palm, you know you can’t wear it now but god it’s gorgeous, “came from the west especially for you” he puts his hand on top of yours and leaves it there for a long moment as you look into each other's eyes. satoru is fighting the urge to kiss you, if someone catches you he can’t say he’s comforting his recently widowed friend, so he forces himself to let go of you and go head back to his village.

the midwife instructs you to push harder as her helper dabs a wet cloth on your forehead. you’re squatting, on your knees giving your all to push the baby out.

finally one last push is all that it takes for the little one to come out, you want to lay down and close your eyes, but you need to see the baby first so you mumble something with your arms open, the midwife cleans baby’s face through crying and screaming.

“it’s a boy” she whispers putting him in your arms. satoru enters when he hears the cries and kneels in front of you. behind him are both suguru and toji, who aren’t allowed to enter but the men are also very eager to see the child they can’t help but try to peek.

you balance the boy in your hold for a little bit till he stops crying and when he opens his eyes you see the blue sky.

“give him to the father, we’re not over” the midwife says.

“what?” you, satoru, toji and suguru ask. the last two get an angry look from the midwife and remove themselves from the scene.

“the next one will come out soon” she puts new towels below you.

“two children? at once?” you ask in disbelief then look at satoru who can only smile apologetically.

after god knows how long you’re finally allowed to rest as the babies were cleaned and fed. the second one was a girl, with identical blue eyes as her brother and father.

“i can’t believe you put two kids in me” satoru is outside the wooden tub, breaking all tradition by helping you bathe after the birth.

“can’t say i’m sorry for that” he rubs your shoulders, “you were incredible” he confesses now that there’s only the two of you. satoru refuses to even let your feet touch the floor, he takes you out of the tub once the water starts to cool down, placing you on a dry surface and getting on his knees to dry your feet, you reach out to touch his face.

“i love you, satoru” you blurt, overwhelmed by your feelings for the man who was once your rival.

he looks up from his position, taking the hand on his face and kissing your palm, then your pulse, he kisses inch by inch of your arm until his lips are on yours, “i love you.”

"pay up, pretty boy" toji approaches geto.

"excuse me?" suguru looks up from the sword he's polishing now that gojo dismissed him for the rest of the night.

"i said it was gonna be a boy."

"yeah and then a girl came out right after so the bet was invalidated."

"there's no such a thing, the boy will inherit it all anyway" toji crosses his arms, geto laughs, fishing a coin from his pocket since he knows toji will say anything to win the bet.

"and what makes you say that? there's two clans and now two heirs" toji snatches the coin as soon as he sees the silver glow.

"that's just how it has ever been" he turns his back to geto who drives his attention back to his sword.

"things are changing old man.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

[heyitsgigisadventures]

DIY Hair Thickening Treatment | DIY Hair Treatment, DIY Thick Hair

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[cryptidcasanova]

Lover Boy

Mob!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: It's the Bridgerton carriage scene, but make it mob!Bucky.

Warnings: Angst, light Smut, Language, Possessive Bucky.

3.5k

The poll results are in, and I couldn't help but think this might be a good way to remedy both sides.

You were mortified.

One hand fisted against quivering lips, and the other gripped at your clutch. As if anything else could go wrong tonight. Shaky steps guided you down the carpeted stairs.

There was another gala, another meeting of the power players in town. And it was another night wasted at the hands of James Barnes.

You hated how much you cared for him. You still cared for him even after all the stunts he pulled to pull you away from the Maximoff heir. Always had.

Ever since you were kids, you remembered having that love-sick look in your eyes. You grew up with inner-circle families and were friends with Rebecca, Sarah, and their brothers. And Bucky? Well, shit, he was always there with his dark hair and curious eyes. It was hard not to fall for him.

Even as you grew up, numbing yourself to the reality of the business and the choices that came with it, you couldn't ignore him forever. You knew that Bucky was raised to be powerful, honorable, and frightening. You knew the stories – of all the beautiful women who couldn't tie him down longer than a night or two. You knew how he flaunted some new girl at every event. It was hard not to overhear them whispering among the men.

'What about her?' and the laugh on his hips saying, 'She's just a family friend. Don't worry about her; I'd never be with her like that.'

You knew he would break your heart, and still. You loved him.

Again, mortified.

He was your first kiss on some lonely night when you couldn't help but ask him. But that had been ages ago. He was grown now, the head of the family and the king of his empire.

But there was something different about tonight, something predestined that started long before you stepped outside your door. It started out as Sam's idea weeks before, in the same bar where you ended up every weekend.

He wanted to try and get you to mingle among the local 'rabble-rousers' as if he pretended not to be one of them. Your laugh at his suggestion pulled Steve and Bucky's attention from across the bar.

"You want me to do what, exactly?" You teased. "Throw myself in the way of wealthy investors and scout out the competition? That's much more up Nat's alley; there's a reason why they call her the Black Widow, you know –"

"No, nothing like that," he shook his head, that charming grin on his lips. Once Sam got an idea, it took a lot of work to dissuade him. "Look, there's more to this life than watching shipments and making small talk with the hens in town." He paused, knowing all the time you spent logging backorders and saving face with the mercs' wives. "I want you to be happy. We all do."

You leaned against the bar, pressing your palms against the hardwood.

"So you think it's time for me to settle down?" You challenged with a smirk. "Get married to some silver-spoon jerk upstate?" Sam's smile turned close-lipped as he noticed the other's approach.

"We could help you find a good one." At least he sounded hopeful.

"In this town?" Steve overheard, tapping his beer on the hardtop. "You're gonna need all the help you can get."

Your sneaking suspicion grew as they hounded like vultures. You looked from Sam to Steve with weary eyes. The only one with less enthusiasm was Bucky. Bucky, who usually was primmed with pressed shirts, was tired. His hair fell into his face, his shirt wrinkled, and his tie long discarded at one of the tables.

"You want to help me find a man?"

Bucky looked to his friends with a hooded expression, letting his hand reach out before him. With the click of his tongue, he softly smirked.

"We'll help you find a man. Have we got a deal, doll?"

It was a business handshake, one full of promise. And as soon as you grasped Bucky's hand, one you'd come to regret.

You didn't expect their advice to work so well…or so quickly.  

At the gala, Bucky strolled over with that sly walk and pressed navy suit, conveniently carrying your favorite drink in hand after Pietro ordered you both dirty martinis. You never cared for the drink, but you weren't about to tell him that. But trouble started when Bucky slid between you with that close-lipped smirk.

"They must have made a mistake at the bar," He explained with a shrug. "I remember you liked these. Here, doll." Bucky said, swapping out the drink in your hand before sliding away. No one could fault you for your eyes lingering on him as he walked back to Sam and Steve.

Later in the night, when you were dancing along and finally falling into a rhythm with Pietro, Bucky interrupted again. It was the turn of the tides, the slow pace of the music building, until it felt like one of the underground clubs.

All the weeks spent flirting and learning more about the Maximoff family were crumbling before you. You were a fool to think it would last.

The music built to the familiar strum of old songs you used to listen to, and before you knew it, Sam, Natasha, and half the crew surrounded you on the dancefloor, pulling you away from your date. And it was all orchestrated by Bucky, leading them like a pack of wolves. You knew that look, the suave pull of his hand through slicked-back hair. And then, before you knew it, you were dragged away from the dancefloor.

"Hey," Pietro called over the music, pulling you to the side. "I like you. I do, but this isn't working."

"Wait –" You tried, reaching for his arm. But he was quick to deflect, and embarrassment warmed your cheeks.

"Whatever you're looking for," his eyes moved from Bucky and dropped when you noticed. He looked down with a sad smile. "Whoever you're looking for, I hope you find it."

It felt like a knife twisting in your chest.

"Please don't go."

But it was too late. Your plea was lost as he pushed himself away. Everyone saw it. All your friends' efforts and your attempts to find the one were wasted. Your feet carried you away too fast to notice the somber look Steve gave Bucky.

"You're running out of time, punk."

The city lights passed in a blur as a taxi drove you farther from the gala. The searing ache in your chest left you confused.

For years, you dreamed of Bucky Barnes, hope a dangerous feeling companion of yours. But you knew how he felt. You were nothing more than a friend; he had made that abundantly clear. But you couldn't cut the tether, even while someone else caught your interest. Pietro Maximoff was handsome and kind and loved his sister more than the world. But with Bucky's interruptions, it was no wonder why he didn't want to get involved.

But it still hurt.

A sob was swallowed back, but you couldn't stop the tears from rising. You were pitiful. It was the last time you'd ever ask the guys for help.

But the thought was gone with the sudden screeching of brakes. It made you hold on to the headrest in front of you. Trying to peer around at the commotion, you didn't expect to be cut off by two black SUVs. A moment later, a ringed hand banged on the taxi's hood.

"Get out of the car."

You knew that voice. And as you looked through the windshield, you could see Bucky Barnes peering back.

He was as poised as he was at the party, and the sharp look had you bracing the seat. The bitter spark of rejection caught the light, burning into brutal frustration. You didn't want to talk to him. You didn't want to see him. Not now.

"No."

He tilted his head to the side at the challenge.

"Get out of the fucking car." Bucky gritted. "I need to talk to you."

His voice was teetering dangerously into territory you had only heard about. It was his back rooms, no nonsense voice that snapped you back into the moment. Like hell it would work on you. So it was to be a standoff, one that that you weren't ready to back down from.

Once Bucky realized your position, he took a new approach. You could hear his intentional steps against the pavement as he reached the driver. He didn't say anything but dug into his pants pocket, his fingers flicking through his wallet smoothly.

"Unlock the car," Bucky ordered, pressing cash bills against the window.

The immediate click of the locks didn't help your bellyache, nor did the split second of peace you had before Bucky forced the door open and pulled you out of the cab.

"Are you crazy?" You barked, forcing him to release you as the cab sped off in the other direction.

But you were left in the middle of the road in Barnes territory, the sweep of their dark SUVs cutting off any chance to get out of this conversation.

"What's gotten into you?"

"I didn't want you to leave the party." He explained, his words softer now. "Not like that."

You couldn't believe him. You followed their advice to try and bag a good guy, but to what end?

"What?" You dared to challenge. "I don't know what you want from me. I'm not in the mood, James."

The curl of his name lingered, making your intentions clear. You never called him by his first name. And Bucky didn't like it one bit.

"Let me take you home."

As if you had a choice.

You choked on a frustrated snarl, wanting to hide and cry away your worries and wanting to claw at him like a villain. You hated it. You hated the pressure of his eyes, blue and dark against the night, to get in the car.

So you lifted your head high, took a steeling breath, and walked ahead of him. You were separated from the rest of the world in the backseat of his company car. The divider was a saving grace. You didn't want one of the drivers to see you like this.

But Bucky followed behind so quickly, getting in and closing the door before you could protest for space. You chose to stare out the window instead of looking back at him. The car lurched forward, and you took a moment to find balance.

"You're unhappy."

"No shit."

"Please," He started, turning his shoulders in toward you. Even out of the corner of your eye, you knew he wouldn't let this go. "Please talk to me. Don't close me out. I hated seeing you leave like that. Whatever Maximoff did, I'll fix it."

"You can't fix it!" You finally said, turning to him and gripping his shoulder in frustration. "You say you want me to be happy, to find someone, and then manage to scare off anyone that has the potential to do it." As your voice raised, heat radiated from your cheeks down your neck. His eyes were wide, listening to your grief. "He left because of you. It's not like you have feelings for me. What's the matter with you?"

You couldn't stand to look at him, not when he was so close. His cologne burned your nose, and you desperately needed him to get out of your system.

"Doll," Bucky breathed. He inched his way closer, not letting the anger of your words settle over him. "What if I did have feelings for you?" You would almost call his stare desperate. And then you confirmed it as his shoulders dropped, turning toward you. "It's all that I've wanted to tell you. And I can't see you with him." He admitted.

He moved with purpose all night, not intending to ruin your time with Pietro but to show you that he was the one who needed you. He should have been the one to hold you between dances and order you fine drinks. He should have picked you up so that you would never dare to get in a yellow cab.

But you weren't some wilting flower. You knew the risks of your following words.

"We're friends, Buck."

You held yourself together. You were strong and brave and gripping your heartstrings.

"Yes," He agreed. "But we…"

And for once, he was at a loss of words. The years wasted pining after him would finally be out in the open. You could finally be free of his torment. His eye contact was overwhelming; if he looked away, you would disappear.

"Look, We've been friends for a long time." And with an ounce more of bravery, you sighed. "But I'd like to be more than friends." You admitted. "I want to be so much more than that."

You were waiting for the other shoe to drop. But Bucky leaned closer in earnest, over the seat and bringing his face close. There was no teasing, no torment in his expression.

And with the tip of his chin, you were lost, pulled tight into a kiss and letting it blossom as cold metal snaked around your waist. You dreamed of his touch, and it burned down your throat like honey whiskey.

When you opened your eyes, Bucky had moved. He was no longer in the seat, now chest to chest with you. He was kneeling in the cramped space, the divider shielding you from the driver and the outside world.

"Do you know why Sam offered to help in the first place?" His words were slow as he pulled away, loud enough to hear. "Do you know why Steve jumped on board and corralled us to join? It's because he is tired of me dragging my fucking feet."  

"Bucky-"

But he closed the space for another set of slow kisses, deep and intentional.

"I've been an idiot." He admitted. "The guys know how I feel about you. I think they've always known." Another kiss as you pulled back, gripping the shoulders of his jacket. Expensive fabric under your fingertips, hot breath against yours. You were dizzy.

"And you agreed to help with this idea." You noted.

It wasn't a question, no challenge in your words. He agreed to help find you a man. Bucky took a hefty exhale.

"You know the business. It's not safe –" but you raised your hand with a groan, not buying his excuse.

Your fingers brushed over the curve of his chin, the sharp line of his beard a welcome sensation. God, you only ever dreamed of this. You savored the feel of him, your hand moving up his ear and combing your fingers through his air. Buck's eyes were darker than you've ever seen, his open mouth curving up in awe.

"'s not safe." He whispered. "I'm not gonna put you through that."

It was a weak defense. You knew the coterie of mercs, the warehouses, the shipments. You knew all of it and were aware of the danger. But it wasn't like you could cut ties and leave your life behind. You weren't sure you even wanted to.

"You wanted me to find someone else?" You dared to ask. The whisper died as he shook his head.

"All this deal did was make me jealous." He affirmed. "And tonight," His eyes raked down your frame. He never did finish his thought as lust washed over him. A breath passed between you two. "I never meant for you to hurt over it."

The limited space lets you mimic his actions, noting his heaving chest, blue eyes, and the pout of his kissed lips. How he kneeled down in front of you, crowding your space, made you dizzy. While your mouth curved up into a wanton grin, you couldn't help but chase another kiss.

Each touch melted the last of your anguish. The night was long forgotten as soon as he pressed forward, flattening you against the back of the seat. While you pulled up for air, his other hand moved to cup your chin. And then, with your eyes locked on his, he tilted your chin, eyes staring into the roof of the sedan as you felt lips against your jaw.

Hot, languid kisses burned against your pulse. The scrape of his teeth and burn of his beard drove you wild. And as he pulled back, his hand released your chin, following a mesmerized pattern down your skin.

The palm of his hand cupped your neck, down your shoulder, pulling down the thin strap of your dress. Your soft skin was on display, and Bucky's expression was wonderous. But his hand continued mapping, cupping the curve of your breast. A tactful squeeze left your head falling against the seat, a soft gasp on your lips, and your hand blindly reaching up to cover his. With a sharp breath, you found his eyes again. His pink lips were parted, eyes pleading with you.

You knew Bucky was a man of action, but this was uncharted territory. Your nod and an affectionate squeeze of his hand pulled him from his reverie.

He needed more, craving your skin. And as his hand fell from your chest to a solid grip on your ankle, you craved his exploration.

Shallow breaths were traded for deep, hungry kisses. Years of longing, of yearning for his touch and affection, finally were coming to a head. The brush of his tongue left your mind reeling, and regardless of the heat, a trail of goosebumps followed the path of his hand. Under your dress, he lingered over the smooth skin of your calf, over your knee, up your thigh, and to the meat of your hip. Rough, dexterous fingers carved prints into your skin hot enough to burn.

You refuse to miss a moment, eyes fixed on Bucky's as his palm covers the top of your thigh, the intention sitting heavy in your stomach. A live wire of nerves, you can feel him from the heat of your cheeks buzzing down to your toes.

And then, palming where you needed him most, your mouth dropped open with the softest of moans.

Bucky's eyes are wide, but it doesn't last as he finally lets himself get lost. As his eyes close, you admire the curve of his nose and his soft, dark eyelashes. But Buck is greedy, and as he peels his way under the cloth of your panties, you, too, close your eyes. Fingers are nimble, caressing your dripping seam under the dress.

You're a vision.

Convulsing under his touch, rogue pulls off his fingers drip honey down your thighs. Your breath is heaving, and your chest is dangerously close to falling out of the dress. Bucky finds refuge by rubbing slow, devastating circles against your clit. Every hitch of your breath and moan spur him on until you are staring at him with such reverence he thinks he'll collapse.

There's a magnetism, the long-lasting chemistry drawing you nearer to him. He swallows your moan as he slides a finger inside. You're in a desperate frenzy, pulling him close and arching into his body. He spurs on a need you've never had, demanding his smoldering kiss as you shake in his arms.

He's all you've ever wanted. You're crazy to think it could have ever been anyone else.

And then the car jerked to a stop.

There's a breathless laugh as he pulls away, Bucky's forehead resting on yours. You kept a hand on his cheek, thumb brushing his chin. Maybe, if you just ignored it, the outside world would go away.

That is, until you see a porch light turn on from your periphery. You try not to let embarrassment flood your system as you realize your situation, with one of your closest friends knuckle deep in the back seat.

Bucky doesn't share your distress.

He pressed a kiss to your cheek, finally pulling his head back. Bucky smiled. His fingers lingered longer before pulling away, leaving you empty and wanting.

You must have looked as desperate as him, finally looking down at the brutal strain in his pants. But you had no time to overthink as his fingers carefully plucked at your dress strap. He was putting you back together, smoothing out the burn of his touch as he sat up.

If you begged, you were sure that he'd ravage you right there in the seat. But you tilted your head to look outside. You needed a distraction, anything to regain your good sense.

As you focused on the brownstone, you knew where he took you. You were in front of his house – the Barnes family house. He said he was taking you home.

"This isn't my place."

His smirk reached his eyes, and as he pulled open the door and jumped out, his gaze was fixed on you.

"For fucks sake, doll," Bucky's eyes were soft, still blown out. He held a hand out. "We've known each other our whole lives. I'm crazy about you. Are you gonna come up with me or not?"

And with an ardent stare, as if he hung the stars himself, you reached for his hand.

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ How they dream of you at night

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Tartaglia

(tw: just slightly sad)

✧ “In the hidden corners where the gods' gaze does not fall, there are those who dream of dreaming” - and one said person, Pierro, can be found within the grand Palace of Snezhnaya. He solemnly sits by the window, his icy blue eyes gazing off into the dark winter night of this snowy land.

He often does that, when the night becomes silent and the world is still. Pierro wishes he could dream, yet 500 years of cursed immortality can corrode one’s mind into feeble numbness. Thus, the Fatui Director substitutes his dreamless nights with daydreams of you. Silent fantasies of your voice, images of cupping your jawline, a tender caress to your form. The jester’s daydreams are the only thing keeping him sane, preserving the memory of your skin and love alive in his mind. 

And even if his nights are bleak and dreamless, he would rather settle for maladaptive daydreams. When the Jester gazes at the fake stars of Teyvat, hanging by the firmament as a lifeline, so does he yearn to daydream of you - living in the day just for the memory of your embrace. Alas, only the harsh nights of Snezhnaya are witness to his wistful gazes. 

✧ For Il Capitano, the world is full of battles and wars; conflicts initiated by the ignorant ones, those who care naught for the innocent. Therefore, the only moment of solace that the Captain can afford is in his dreams. Dreams in which his vision is not haunted by the bloodshed of battlefields, but instead by simple dreams of you. 

In those dreams, the world is plain and quiet. He often sees you in it, occupying his thoughts. Sometimes you’d talk and ramble nonchalantly, occasionally he’d see you collecting small chamomile flowers by the grass. Those dreams are uneventful, yet for the Captain, such peacefulness is a luxury he cannot afford. An image of you and him by a quiet valley, a gentle breeze idling by, and having all the time to relish each other’s endless conversations. No thoughts of warfare, only the unwinding sound of your voice.

The Captain is not ashamed to admit he dreamt of you. In fact, he’d candidly say it during the most random of times - “I saw you in my dreams again.”

You’d glance at him and muse - “Oooh, really? Maybe you just miss my company!”

The Harbinger's mask remains pitch black, devout of any expression that might tell whether he reciprocates your little teasing. But besides the occasional clank of chains from his helmet, a low chuckle will escape him. Therefore, The Captain would lean to sit closer to you, his body less tense whenever he is in your presence. Even your silence is a remedy to his soul.

“Perhaps I do. Perhaps I really do.” 

✧ Il Dottore hates dreaming. Sleep, in its entirety, is a redundant form of rest that the human body requires. An utter waste of time. Thus, as a scientist who modified his own body to perfection, it’s unsurprising that he can go on for days without sleep. The Doctor can be efficient with his time, although that’s not why he semi-biologically modified his body. It’s because he hates dreaming of you. 

You are always there in his dreams, along with his younger self. The nostalgic warm sunlight of Sumeru basks onto you, and in those dreams, he sees you in the familiar hallways of the Akademiya. Dottore does not consider those dreams pleasant, since they make him uneasy of the grave past. He doesn’t like seeing himself so simple and young, in his Akademiya uniform. He doesn’t enjoy seeing your tender smile as you clutch your books closer to your chest and lock your gaze with him. He doesn’t like how his dream self always yearns to come closer and embrace you tight. As if young Zandik could’ve held you one more time, and all his troubles would dissipate by the warm sun.

Yet no matter the place or outcome of the peaceful dream, every time that young Zandik tries to reach for your face or seek your lips, you’re always an arm-length away. The hallways of the Akademiya loom threateningly, pulling you further away from him, your warmth becoming unreachable. How naive. He should be better than this. Now he sits up in bed, awake and hands clenched around his hair with trepidation. He hates how his body wants to cry for the memory of you in his dreams. He really hates dreaming.

✧ The fact that Scaramouche even possesses the faculties to dream is what made him the individual he is today. Whether he curses his ability to do so or not, it doesn’t matter. He is no longer the naive Kabukimono he once was, in fact, he doesn’t even require to mimic sleep as humans do. But only you know the truth. During still nights, when the two of you doze off under the warm futons, the Balladeer’s hand would unconsciously grip yours, then followed by silent sobs.   

In his dreams, he sees many events unfold. Sometimes, he sees himself left to live in the squalor like a common critter, discarded and abandoned. Sometimes, he sees the familiar Tataratsuna huts. But more often, he sees you there in his dreams. Back in the warm plains of Yashiori Island, you let him rest his head on your lap. You are dressed in a snug kimono that the fabric's comfort etches onto Scaramouche’s memories eternally. In his dreams, he rests idly in your embrace, by your lap, while you caress his hair. 

Those dreams are delightful at first as if his memories as Kabukimono reinvoke themselves and immortalize the softness of your body and the soothing motion of your hands in his subconscious. But quickly, those dreams shift into agonies. Sometimes, in those dreams, you turn and desert him, while he is left on his dirtied knees to plead for your return. Sometimes, those nightmares show him that it is your heart that can ebb the Tatarigami within Mikage Furnace. And just before he's forced to rip your beating core and relive another memory, he awakes.

“Scara?! Scara…?” - you whispered in the dimness of the night, shaking him awake. “You were crying in your sleep. Another nightmare?”

The Puppeteer said nothing. He lay awake, startled as tears involuntarily streamed down his cheeks. With twitching eyes, he quickly clings around your waist, burying his face against you to conceal his tears. No words needed to be exchanged as his body shook, while you hushed and hugged him. This was the reason why Scaramouche avoided dozing off into sleep ever again.

Regardless of the content of his nightmares, he’d never admit you caressed his hair and soothed him the same way you did in his dreams. 

✧ Pantalone is in bed, restless. Turning from side to side, or readjusting his pillows becomes a futile endeavor to find solace when his bed is lacking you. You are out there, on an expedition, busy exploring Teyvat. Your trip might take another few days, yet Pantalone is alone in a bed that often nestled you close together. Where do your feet take you, the Harbinger ponders to himself. Hence, while you are away, the Regrator is forced to make amends with the bedroom that feels considerably empty, considerably cold, considerably foreign - all because it's missing you. 

In the late, voiceless hours of the night, his dreams blend with his yearning for you. He misses pressing your entire form against his lean body, as it often allows him to fall asleep easily. With you in his arms, chest pressed to another, he knows - you are safe. You are with him. Unfortunately, you are away, and the night feels unwelcoming. For now, Pantalone has to clutch a pillow in his sleep to substitute his feeling of holding you. Even as he sleeps with worry, he hopes somewhere out there, in a foreign land, you are dreaming of him the same way he’s dreaming of you. 

✧ When Tartaglia drifts off into dreamland, his mind is still half-busy with thoughts of you. So much so that his plans blend into his dreams. Thoughts about what he should buy you while he’s away on a mission. Ideas on where to purchase your favorite local specialties. Or perhaps how he should surprise you when he comes back home.

His brain is so enthusiastically occupied with plans to bring you souvenirs, that his dreams come up with countless scenarios of how you’d greet him upon arrival. He’d envision your joyous surprise, endearing pouts, or teasing smiles. And sometimes, if his dreams are more daring, Childe might accidentally dream of some sweet rewards that will leave him waking up in a cold sweat, panting, and body craving. 

Either way, he is rushing back to you the moment his mission is over. His dreams of you might leave him hot and bothered, but your love in real life is much more tantalizing than anything his desperate dreams could conjure up. 

[cosmicanakin]

ִ𓂃⋆ A HUNTER'S REMEDY.

੭୧ . . . dean winchester x female!reader.

ᯓ trapped in a motel with dean, you find unexpected relief from restlessness through helpful distractions.

warning(s) smut┆friends with benefits┆s1 dean┆thigh riding┆strong language. 𓇼 i swear i have BAD dean brainrot. he just won't leave my head no matter what i do. gonna watch supernatural tonight for spooktober<3 eighteen plus! adult content | minors do NOT interact.

　✧⠀ ⠀⠀　𓈒　⠀⠀ ⠀૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ꪆৎ masterlist

you sat across from dean at the rickety motel table, your eyes occasionally flicking between the worn pages of john's journal and dean's focused expression. it had been hours since sam left for the library, promising to return with more information about the case, and the sun had long since dipped below the horizon.

your leg bounced restlessly under the table, a nervous habit you'd developed over years of hunting. the original plan had been to hit the local bar—a much-needed break from the constant research and hunting—but sam's extended absence had relegated you and dean to more case work.

"would you cut that out?" dean's gruff voice broke through the silence, his green eyes fixed on your fidgeting form. "you're making the whole table shake."

you mumbled an apology, trying to still your movements, but the restless energy continued to course through your body. your relationship with dean was... complicated. best friends who occasionally crossed lines that friends shouldn't, but neither of you ever complained about it. it worked for you both, somehow.

"i can't help it," you whined softly, shifting in your chair again. "we've been sitting here forever."

dean watched you for a moment, his tongue darting out to wet his lips — a gesture that shouldn't have affected you as much as it did. "come here," he ordered, his voice dropping an octave lower.

you hesitated, knowing exactly what that tone meant. "dean..."

"now," he demanded, pushing his chair back slightly from the table. "you clearly need help focusing, and i know exactly what'll help."

heat pooled in your lower belly as you stood, making your way around the table to where he sat. dean's hands found your hips instantly, guiding you to straddle his right thigh. you could feel the heat of his skin through your thin black leggings as they pressed against the rough denim of his jeans.

"there you go," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "now be a good girl and help yourself while i work. maybe this'll help with that restless energy of yours."

your breath hitched as he pulled sam's laptop closer, acting as if he hadn't just given you permission to get yourself off on his thigh. his free hand remained on your hip, encouraging you to move.

slowly, you began to rock against him, the friction of your leggings against his jeans creating the perfect pressure. dean continued scrolling through newspaper articles, but you could feel the tension in his body, the way his thigh flexed beneath you every so often.

"that's it," he praised quietly, his eyes still fixed on the screen. "just like that, sweetheart."

your movements became more desperate as the pleasure built, your hands gripping his shoulders for leverage. the material of his flannel bunched under your fingers as you ground down harder, the thin fabric of your leggings doing nothing to dull the sensation.

dean's grip on your hip tightened, guiding your movements when they became erratic. "focus," he reminded you, though his voice had grown hoarse. "sam could be back any minute. wouldn't want him walking in on his brother's best friend getting off on his thigh, would we?"

the thought should have made you stop, but instead, it sent a thrill through you. you buried your face in dean's neck, muffling your whimpers against his skin as you chased your release.

"fuck—dean," you breathed, your hips moving faster.

"i've got you," he assured, finally looking away from the laptop to watch your face. "come on, baby. let go for me."

your orgasm washed over you suddenly, your body trembling as dean held you steady. his free hand stroked your back soothingly as you came down from your high, your breathing gradually returning to normal.

"better?" he asked, a knowing smirk playing at his lips.

you nodded, still too blissed out to form words. dean pressed a quick kiss to your temple before gently nudging you to stand on shaky legs.

"good. now maybe we can get some work done before sammy gets back."

you returned to your seat, noticing how dean adjusted himself in his jeans when he thought you weren't looking. the restless energy was gone, replaced by a pleasant buzz that made focusing on the journal's pages much easier.

when sam finally returned an hour later, arms laden with books and local newspaper clippings, neither you nor dean mentioned how you'd passed the time waiting for him. but every time your leg started bouncing again that night, dean's knowing look across the table made heat rush to your cheeks, and you couldn't help but wonder if you'd need another "study break" before the night was through.

[lxvvie]

Soap who's down badt for you.

Soap's an absolute horndog for you, and as someone whose primary love language is physical touch, he'll take every opportunity to express himself.

We've established that Soap doesn't leave much to the imagination around the house. If he doesn't have to, he won't cover up. Much. Especially in bed. Johnny's the one who'll greet you when you're up and around in the morning by hugging you from behind so you can feel how hard he is, as in he's pressing his cock against your ass and you hear a playful and husky, "Mornin', bonnie."

You can ask Soap what he's thinking about, and you'll get that rouge-ish grin, and "Bending you over, bonnie. What else?'

Similarly, you can ask Johnny what he's doing or about to do and he'll go, "About to touch myself to you. ❤️"

Soap is banned from helping you do your self-care and/or maintenance routine because it almost ALWAYS turns into sex.

Same for bathing because you're trying to get clean, Johnny—"I'm helping you get clean, though."— Because fingering you and sucking your nipples is definitely doing the job, huh?

Johnny has also called you on multiple occasions, but instead of getting a response, you hear the telltale slick of him stroking himself. Cheers, bonnie!

Johnny has no issue beating the shit out of an asshole if need be, which means you've seen your fair share of split lips, bruised cheeks, and black eyes. You know how he says you can remedy that, bonnie? "You coming on my face." Oh, dear god—

Let's talk about the times Soap's the one being fucked and how fucking LOUD he is. DELIBERATELY SO. The entire neighborhood could hear him. Goddamnit. Shut the fuck up, Johnny! "Nah," is what he'll say because why shouldn't everyone hear how good you fuck him, how much he loves you, and how much you make him cum? And in the end, you're looking flustered while Soap's sated, smug, and probably (read: more than likely) down for more. Hope they're ready to hear him again.

Johnny who wants your attention on him and loves to give you a show. And a show is what he gives you. Better than whatever the fuck's on the telly at the moment. To be fair, you weren't paying attention, but you were very focused on the horny bastard right next to you, giving you a repeat performance from his phone call earlier that week.

And after he came, you've swiped some of his cum on your finger and fed it to him, baby blues staring you down and all, Soap takes your hand and leads you to the bathroom to help him... clean up. "Like actually clean up, Johnny?" " 'Course, bonnie." Spoiler alert: you didn't clean up. Goddamnit, MacTavish. But would you want him any other way?

[whiskeyskin]

Slow Down

Premise: Astarion discovers that disgustingly quick efficiency at sex, isn't always how everyone wants to enjoy it.

• Astarion x gn!Tav • M rating •

Astarion POV, gn!Tav, doggy, riding, slowing down, enjoyment, bloodplay/bloodlust, feral need, no mention of specific gentials.

2.7k words

Another blinder by @casualya 😙👌 you bless us daily with scrumptious pictures!

•°•°•

Astarion pumelled inside Tav, relentless and frenetic. The energetic pace and precise angle perfected over 200 years. A hand pressed down on the small of their back, the other pulling back on their hip.

This was his favourite position. Turned away; it was easier when they were turned away.

No eye contact. Less need for his practiced veneer. He could just 'get on with it' and be done quickly.

He could also pretend to 'clean himself off' while they were recovering from the earth shattering orgasm he'd just gave them. Keep up the charade till the end.

Their moans were rough, throaty and tense.

"You feel so good, darling." He parroted his old lines, "I want to come darling but I want you to come with me. Are you close for me?"

"Mm, not really." Tav admitted, an awkward tenseness in their voice. Astarion's thrust stuttered slightly, but continued.

He was ever a professional.

He blinked several times, furrowing his brow, "Do we need to change positions, love? I need to feel you come on my cock." He moaned through a bitten lip, slowing his pace.

Tav gave a pleasurable gasp, "Yes, please. It feels good, it's just-I find it difficult to come like this."

Astarion rolled his eyes behind their back, "Then we have to remedy that. Tonight is for out collective ecstasy, remember?" He crooned, gently extracting himself from inside them.

Irritated, Astarion pasted on his flawless veneer and recused himself from the situation, while his body piloted automatically.

Dissociating for him was like meditation, there were no thoughts. Nothingness. A great expanse of blackness and there he cocooned himself. Safe and removed inside.

His body had learned to respond to the stimuli around him, without needing him to be present.

Of course, some part of him was still present but not any part that mattered. No part that he hadn't painfully trained himself to repress and ignore.

There he waited for it to be over, in his safe pocket of void. Soundless. Wordless. Guiltless.

Of course this time would be different to his usual seductions. He would have to keep up a constant charade.

At the Palace, after the act, unlucky target would be taken away; to what they expected to be a bath, that would never come. However, if Cazador was feeling particularly cruel, he'd wrench them out, kicking and screaming before it was finished.

A foul part of him was grateful for it. That he didn't have to finish. That he didn't have to listen to their admissions of love, or satisfaction. Just their horrified screams, as a terrifying Vampire Lord threw them naked from the bed and dragged them behind him towards his study.

He would cower silently and stone-faced, as their blood-curdling howls would fade down the hallway, until the heavy doors shut. Even then his Vampiric hearing would pick up the sounds of panic and violence.

They'd beg him, plead with him, scream at him to help them, save them, intervene.. do something. But he never did. He never would. Never could. Not again.

Suddenly, an unexpected lurching motion tipped him over with a thud. Coming back to true consciousness, he blinked heavily as he realised he was splayed back on the forest floor.

Tav was holding his forearms over his head, "Told you I could." They smirked, slightly breathless.

"So you did. I'm impressed." Astarion replied, not missing a beat.

"I asked you to slow down, you didn't listen. So now, we're going to do this my way. So, you're going to lay back like a good pup and enjoy yourself. Got it?" There was assertiveness but amusement in their tone as they released his arms to reach between their bodies.

"I don't really think I have a choice." He tried to keep his voice steady but there was a wobble; he could hear it.

"Oh, don't worry your pretty little head, Astarion," he felt the tightness of their walls envelope him again, "Ahh.. it's our collective ecstasy, right?" They licked their bottom lip and placed their hands on his chest.

Astarion didn't answer. This was one of his least favourite positions.

He always felt exposed underneath someone face-to-face. Being giver, or receiver, it felt like he was close to scrutiny like this.

Still. In order to gain their trust further, and assure protection from Cazador - either by human shield, or sword - this was what he had to endure.

Tav began to rock on him, an easy, drawn out pace. Not at all like his urgent trists. He preferred a fast approach. To make them come as soon as possible. He had it down to a fine art but there were always outliers to any experiment.

Astarion grabbed their hips and tried to buck up but he was quickly thwarted.

"Uh-uh, not happening. We're going to slow down, and build this up nicely. Sex isn't about making people come quickly, it's about the journey together."

Tav placed their hands over Astarion's and slid them higher, to hold their waist. They rode him at what felt like a snail's pace, their hips fluidly rolling. Astarion resisted the urge to roll his eyes again.

They took him from tip, to bottomed out tortuously slowly. And while it did feel good, it wasn't going to end soon.

Astarion huffed out in frustration but disguised it with contentment and lust.

Dissociation was peering over his shoulder, inviting him to step away and let it take the reigns.

"Ah, darling. That feels wonderful. Riding me like that."

"Sweet one, this isn't riding. This is the introduction, the prologue, the handshake. I know you're used to it fast, but just bare with me. Just enjoy the sensation."

He squeezed their waist and sighed, "Alright, I'll bite. Well, again." He smirked with an eyebrow flex to himself.

"Mm, that did feel good. Bet it tasted better."

"It did," Astarion relented, "You are rather delicious."

"Better than the bear that got you drunk?"

"Yes, you taste far sweeter than a bear. Satisfied?" He teased, thrusting upwards to meet them. The corners of his vision began to settle and fuzz.

"Slowly." Tav breathed, using their hips to control his speed, "Tell me what I taste like."

His vision cleared and he blinked.

What a question.

One that pulled him back from the edge of nothingness, back to Tav's face above him.

What did they taste like?

It wasn't something he recognised. It wasn't a flavour, it was almost a feeling.

"You taste so sweet, darling. Like honeyed fruits." He placated, keening for good measure.

"The way you suck on my neck doesn't say that. What do I really taste like?"

His face twitched, "I don't know if I could put it into words." He lied, pinching his lips in frustration. At both the questions and the intrusion into his coping mechanism.

"Try."

He couldn't contain his eye roll this time but played off as teasing, "Um, you taste amazing. Like nothing I've ever tasted before."

Tav remained silent, still rocking themselves on his cock. Astarion felt compelled to continue.

"You taste like.. rich wine and sweet fruits.. like summer berries fresh from the bushel, like warm days by the riverside, like splashing in the cool water." He began, unsure where it would go.

Tav's pace increased slightly, harder pressure pushing him into the ground.

"Good man, that's better. What else do I taste like?" Their hands wandered his chest as they moved on him, languid strokes from root to tip.

Something akin to a shooting sensation buzzed from his pelvis. It was unfamiliar, but not unknown.

Enjoyment.

He allowed himself to indulge in their question, "You taste like sunshine and freedom, like the moment before lightning hits," jolts of electricity zappped to his tightening groin, "Your blood tastes like everything I miss from my mortal life, it's like the smell of warm rain quenching dry earth. The feeling of purest limitlessness."

The words left his mind and flew through his mouth before he had time to comprehend how foolish it sounded. But Gods, every word was true. Feeding freely on Thinking blood was a rush that had no competition. But feeding from Tav, was something else entirely.

Tav began bouncing, rippling their spine and hips to pound against him. Bringing a hand to play with themselves illiciting a soft whine.

They looked at him through a hot stare, pinning him to the floor, then looked down to their bodies. Astarion followed their gaze.

If he had breath to steal, it would have been willingly surrendered. Seeing their meeting, the sight of his pale cock, covered in slick, disappearing inside them. Their hand teasing their own release, the other pressed low against is abdomen.

Their soft flesh bounced against the momentum of their riding, he could feel the jiggle beneath his hands.

"When you feed on me it feels like dancing with adrenaline itself. My whole body feels alive but numb at the same time. I can feel you, can feel my blood pumping through your body. I can feel me within you, surrendering to you," Astarion's grip tightened, pressing bruises into their rolling hips.

"You could drain me dry, and leave me for dead and I'd still beg you for one more bite. To feel like that again. It's worth a little death." They smiled coyly down at him, tracing their fingertips against his lips, parting them to reveal his fangs.

Astarion about choked on his own saliva, through a wanton gasp.

A devilish glint sparked in their eye, as they tested the sharpness on the pad of their index finger. They gave a short gasp of pain as it punctured their skin.

Astarion's tongue instinctively flicked against the small rivulets of blood out of desperation. The taste of blood, combined with the pleasure of sex, unlocked some feral part of him that had been dormant for an age.

Groaning and baring his teeth, he slid a possessive hand up their sternum, and felt their heart hammering through their chest. He suckled on the tip of their finger as they rode him but it wasn't enough.

The thought of their hot, sweet, delicious blood pumping through their body. Blood that engorged their swollen sex. Blood that would sustain him, nourish him, make him feel happiness. A happiness he had barely been able to explain since their first feed.

Tav laid their other hand on top of his, "Can you feel how hard my heart's beating? How much I want this? How much I want you, Astarion?" They keened, as their eyes met in passionate gaze.

A noise that didn't quite come from the sane part of his mind erupted from his chest as he felt Tav squeeze his cock with their inner walls.

Astarion desperately gripped their hips and tried to wrap one arm around their body.

"More.. more." He moaned, roughly.

"Blood, or sex."

"Both." He spluttered, frantically clawing at them, sitting up to re-arrange the pose, "Both!"

"Yes, yes." They uttered, breathless.

Pressed body to body, buried deep inside, Astarion sank his fangs into the slope of their chest.

Hot, delicious blood spurted into his mouth, coating his tongue and throat, as he took long pulls and swallowed them down.

The sensation was overwhelming, their life force rushing around his undead body, their walls squeezed tightly around him. He could feel the ministrations of their hand stimulating their release between their slicked bodies.

Tav gasped and moaned against his ear, which they gently nipped and licked on.

Astarion's eyes rolled back into his head, as his jaw tightened, biting harder. He was paralyzed with an overabundance of pleasure, rendering him inert as Tav shot out a cry and continued bouncing down on his cock.

Their pace became erratic, breath hitching as they gasped against the cool night air. Rabid cries of ecstasy echoed through the night as Tav's orgasm hit them.

Small, tense noises roughly eeked from his throat, as a sudden tightening gripped what was left of his soul like a vice, before a violent torrent of orgasmic energy flooded through him. His head jerked back, blood dripping down his chin. Chest hollowing, his eyes found Tav's, connecting them in the moment at the centre of the storm.

The world stilled for the briefest of moments, filled with the warmth of their gaze.

A cry of rapture died in his crimson coated throat and he came inside them, painting their walls with his seed. Tav bottomed out as he filled them to the brim with his cum, rocking their hips against him, over and over, coaxing every last drop.

"Agh, stop please.. mercy." He whined, as his head hit their shoulder, wrung dry from overstimulation.

He still smelled their blood from where he'd not shown enough care, in his hedonistic state, to stem the flow. He thought to cover it with his hand, but Tav had beaten him to it, still holding him upright with the other.

They softly leaned forward to lay him back down on the bedroll, in which he thunked back, gracelessly.

Half-hard and still inside them, his head swimming with the afterglow of his unexpected orgasm, Astarion tried to descend back to Faerûn.

Tav's blood was pumping through his ears, the loud whooshing noise drowning out the insect nightlife that crowded this part of the woods.

A quick kiss touched the tip of his nose, then he felt Tav extracte themself off him and lay beside him. The cold night air now stark and unwelcome, when compared to their warmth.

"Now that was collective ecstasy." Tav said finally, with a wearied but playful lilt.

"Mhm." He replied, unable to apply his brain back into conversation. He heard them moving around to grab a cloth for their puncture marks and a little clean up.

Several moments passed him by, staring up into the darkened starlit sky. He felt he was still up there, in the Astral, after the viciousness of cumming that hard - and after so long.

A pair of soft lips traced over his shoulder, peppering the area with kisses, and for the first time in over two decades; he didn't feel the urge to flinch.

"Are you still with us, Astarion?"

He shook his head, "Unfortunately not."

"Oh, dear."

"I'm quite unavailable for conversation at this moment in time."

Tav giggled softly, "Was it the combination of feeding and ear fondling that tipped the scales for you there? I know you were rolling your eyes when I slowed the pace down. I'd heard ear stimulation was part of Elven foreplay, I thought it would add a little something for you." Tav discarded the bloodied cloth, to join the one stained with cum and rolled onto their side to face him.

"It did." He nodded, angling his face to them. He found his new marks on their skin, they were a lot more vicious than those he'd made on their neck, evidence of his animalistic need. "It's never quite felt like that." He admitted, feeling a little sheepish.

"I told you. It's the journey that gets you to the destination." Tav smiled down at him, leaning on one hand, the other resting on his chest.

"That you did." Astarion felt embarrassment creeping up the sides of his neck and flushing his cheeks, as he felt the true gravity of how low he'd left his defences.

"Astarion, are you blushing?" Tav tucked their chin in, shocked.

He turned the corners of his mouth down in disgust, "Of course not! Vampire's don't blush. We don't have any blood." He pointed out.

"Well, you do right now and that's definitely a rosy tinge in your cheeks." They teased, rubbing their nose against the aforementioned red cheeks.

Astarion flinched away, "Stop." He snapped, frowning.

Tav held up their palm, "Alright, I'm sorry. You're not blushing, it's just a trick of the light. Astarion, the Rakeish Vampire-Spawn, does not blush."

"Certainly not, perish the thought. You're delirious with the after effects. The lack of blood has gone to your head." He pouted vehemently, recoiling from the thought he'd actually enjoyed himself.

Enjoyed the sex he'd used them for, that it hadn't been anything more than what it needed to be; a tool in his arsenal of manipulations.

Blushing? He was blushing?! Gods below.

"And the missing blood has gone straight to yours." They teased.

Astarion glared at them but only half meant it. He was still too happy to be miserable. But he had no doubt that the ravages of self-loathing and despair wouldn't give him restbite for long. He may as well enjoy the feeling while it lasted.

"I can promise you, that blood is headed only one place and intends to make you scream like that at least another twice before morning. Especially now I know exactly how you like it," He moaned, pushing them over effortlessly, "This journey isn't over yet, darling."

•°•°•

[astralis-ortus]

placebo effect

✱ boyfriend!bc × fem!reader

— maybe the actual remedy is his smile.

w.count → 1.2k genre → fluff warnings → reader is sick :(, mild cussing, kissing, cute pet names (baby, love, princess) and generally very much in love it makes me sick >:( heh a.n → based on this request! kinda speeding through this (immediately worked on this after i posted the last fic), but i am in need of just pure fluff so here we are, a few hours later. heh♡ ⋆ see masterlist

being sick felt like shit.

growing up, you’ve always been the kid with perfect attendance. be it in school or throughout uni, you’ve always made the effort to attend every single one of your classes—and one of the reasons was all because you rarely ever got sick. maybe it’s because of your parents’ good genes, or likely due to how your mom made sure you always took your daily vitamins, but you’re always known as one the healthiest kids in the class.

that record, however, ended after you graduated a few years back.

you’d like to blame it the shift of environment—you know, given that you literally flew thousands of miles away to chase your lifelong dream, but considering you also moved states away from home for uni… that likely wasn’t the case.

“hey there, sleepyhead.”

a soft groan rolled off your lips when you felt your bed dip to your boyfriend’s weight, his fingers gently ran through your surely messy hair. your attempt to crack a peek at chris wasn’t quite a success, considering how even the slightest bleeding light from the gap behind your curtain was quick to trigger the soft throb in your head to return, fetching another set of low whimpers out of you.

“it’s okay, baby. i’m here. how’s your headache?” he hummed; pads of his fingers now gently pressed against the base of your head as he attempted to relief any pain that might still linger.

chris, your angel of a boyfriend, had been taking care of you since your condition started to decline the day prior. despite your stubbornness about still going to work (which didn’t end well, considering you were sent home by lunch anyway), chris didn’t even peep a word and readily picked you up from work, all geared up with your favorite porridge and cold medicine he picked up on the way.

“it’s fine as long as i don’t open my eyes,” you meekly answered, voice still noticeably very different from your usual cheery ones. “which reminds me, we do need a black out curtain, hun.”

his chuckle filled the rather quiet bedroom, involuntarily tugging the corner of your pale lips into a smile. “we’ll get them after you’re all better, baby,” he assured, hand that rested on the back of your neck now pressed against your forehead, “fever’s pretty much gone. think you could sit up for a bit? gotta fill your tummy with food before the meds, love.”

you know he’s right—you do need to eat, but with the way you’re currently feeling, protesting at any request to shift your body was the only available option.

“can i just eat later?” you pursed your lips, attempting to appeal your plea with a dash of cuteness you knew chris have a hard time standing his ground against. “maybe sleeping more will help…”

“nuh uh, no can do, princess,” chris gently tapped his finger on the tip of your nose, “you need the meds. the food too, but most importantly your meds. i don’t want your suffering to prolong just because you didn’t get your meds on time,” he reasoned, pads of his fingers now gently massaging the top of your head and in turn made you sigh in relief. chris always knew what to do whenever you complained about a headache, and you’re grateful for that.

“fiiine,” you exaggerated, reaching out your arms as a signal for chris to help you up. even with your eyes closed, you knew he had that proud grin etched on his lips when he gently pulled you to sit straight. you winced at the ache, but voiced no complaint as chris planted a light kiss on your scrunched forehead.

“a sec, okay? i’ll bring the radish soup for you,” chris left another kiss on the top of your head, grinning at how excitedly you reacted to the kind of food he had prepared before you heard his disappearing footsteps.

you forced a peek around the room, noticing the dim lighting as chris kept the curtains closed for your comfort. after a quick scan of your and chris’ bedroom, one you’ve been spending a little too much time in for the past couple of days, your line of sight then rested upon your locked phone. a single tap on the screen, and the action easily made your brows furrow.

“babe—”

“chris, it’s 10am on a thursday,” you pointed out as soon as you heard his voice from just beyond the slightly ajar door, “didn’t you say things has been hectic lately?”

“well, yeah,” he shrugged, careful footsteps finally returned to your side, followed by the dip on your bed, “but you’re sick. getting you back to health is a lot more important to me than anything else.”

“christopher,” you groaned, pursing your lips in protest, “i told you to not do things like this! you’re important, what you do is important. you can’t let me stop you from doing all that!”

“but i’m not letting you,” he replied nonchalantly, blowing on the spoonful of soup and rice before he feeds you. “it is my decision. i want to take care of you, and nothing is more important for me than you. as simple as that.”

“but—”

“no more discussion on that matter, baby,” chris warned you, stern gaze immediately shutting off any complaints about to leave your tongue. “it’s on me. you’re my girlfriend, and to take care of you is what i need to do, because i love you and i want all the best for you. okay?”

maybe it’s the fever returning, but you could feel your cheeks warming up.

“…fine.”

with his lips blooming into a content smile, his hand returned to the steady flow of bowl-cooling off-feeding you. he’s happy, and it’s apparent through the way his gaze lingers on you every time you take another bite, slowly finishing the bowl of food in his hand.

maybe it’s your head fooling you with some kind of placebo effect, but you do feel better—simply by watching the tenderness in his face every time he looks at you.

“all done,” he cheerily announced after you took your last bite, gently wiping the corners of your lips with the pad of his thumb. “be back with the meds, okay? just a sec.”

his movements immediately ceased when he felt a tug on the t-shirt he’s wearing, eyes immediately returning to you in worry. “yes, love?”

you quietly looked at him, suddenly feeling a little shy—but why would you be?

“…you.”

“huh?” chris blinked, head involuntarily tilted to one side in confusion. “what was that, love?”

oh god.

“i really wanna kiss you,” you reiterated, lips slightly pursed in embarrassment, “but i don’t want you to catch the cold. but like—you’re just so adorable. why are you like this? i’m—"

any thoughts you had immediately vaporized as soon as you felt chris’ soft lips on yours—smile apparent against your lips. his warm hand gently cradled your cheek, and despite it being short, chris successfully left you feeling dazed.

“…wait,” you eventually blinked, face burning in embarrassment when you realized the cheeky grin he’s sporting just inches away from your face. “christopher! you’re gonna get sick!”

“well, what do you expect me to do?” chris shrugged as he walked backwards, away from you,

“my girlfriend said she wanted to kiss me—how could i say no to that?”

“gosh—christopher!”

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

[dramarnathandentalcare]

8 Natural home remedies for dark lips

Dark lips are a common beauty worry for many people, causing them self-consciousness and discomfort with their appearance. While there are numerous factors that might lead to black lips, there are some simple and natural treatments that can help lighten and brighten them.  This blog discusses eight amazing home cures for black lips that will help you acquire soft, pink, and healthy-looking…

[blushweddinggowns]

It had started like a normal night. Sharing a pillow, Steve playing with Eddie’s rings as they playfully argued over something stupid. Eddie had just been going into the true differences between black and death metal when Steve fell asleep, mid-lecture. Eddie didn’t mind though. If anything, he kind of liked watching Steve sleep, how peaceful he looked. But that didn’t mean he could do it all night.

Eddie sighed when he sat up, flicking on the bedside light as he fumbled for a book. He was still wide-awake, probably hours away from sleep yet. Getting lost in a Tolkien book was the best remedy he could come up with. 

He started reading, glancing down at Steve here and there as he went. He always shifted in his sleep when Eddie moved, nearly like he was unconsciously seeking him out. He ended up curled around him, his forehead pressed against Eddie’s hip. One arm thrown over Eddie’s lap, the other draped behind his back, nearly like he was hugging him. Not that Eddie minded. It felt nice, warm. A pleasant weight that made Eddie feel good in a way he couldn’t quite articulate. 

Though… if Eddie was being honest with himself, he’d have to admit that it was a bit much. It was too domestic, on the cusp of a weirdness that Eddie shouldn’t ignore. 

But he did. 

“Eddie.”

Eddie hummed at the sound, not looking up from his book, “Yeah?”

It wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary for Steve to sleepily mumble out his name. It was usually to be a little shithead and pout at him until Eddie got him water. But Steve didn’t answer him, he just made a small noise before rubbing his head against Eddie’s side, still fast asleep. 

Eddie didn’t think much of it, besides a passing thought that he was too cute for his own good. God, whatever guy did end up with him was going to be one lucky son of a bitch. The second he got out of this town, Eddie was sure guys would be all over him. He just hoped he picked one that deserved him.

Eddie went back to reading, fully expecting Steve to stay quiet for the rest of the night. 

But around half an hour later Steve was mumbling something again, something that Eddie couldn’t quite make out. Though he knew he’d heard it.

Eddie glanced down at him, vaguely amused. If this was the famous “talking in his sleep” thing then Eddie was going to give him so much shit for being a drama queen. He set his book back on the nightstand, shutting off the light as he settled back into bed, draping an arm around Steve’s waist as he waited for more. 

It was dark in the room, with just the barest sliver of street lights peeking through his closed window. But it was enough for Eddie to get a good look at him. Steve's brow was furrowed, his eyes moving underneath the lids as he slept. 

It looked like an intense dream, one that Eddie could sympathize with. He reached out, brushing a bit of Steve’s hair back, smiling to himself when Steve’s face started to relax. He always looked so calm when he was asleep, nearly sweet. Eddie just hoped he wasn’t having a nightmare-

“Mm, Eddie, m-more.”

The hand Eddie had in his hair stilled, his mind not quite catching up to what he heard.

What did he just say?

Steve sighed as Eddie stared at him, his lips parting just enough to murmur, “T-There. Right there.”

Eddie’s eyes widened as Steve started to get louder, too loud for him to mistake what was happening for anything else. 

“Mmph, Eddie,” Steve whined, so clear it was almost startling, “Want it. Want you.”

from this fic

[imsilay]

VENOR

NSFW! mdni +18, cw: stalking, stalker!König (idk lol lmk id i have to add anything)

word count: 1.3k

summary: His obsession for you was overwhelming. So yours too.

pt.2 posted! here

cr: dwisesz on twt (sir is that seat taken?)

There was something about the way you talk, move, look, glance at him; and he was enhanced by you. That was why he wanted to watch you all the time. You were his only entertainment, his deep desire and obsession. His obsession was too strong and he was powerless against it. He just couldn’t resist the craving he had for you. So he was ignoring all your personal boundaries just to keep observing you.

He watched you in awe as you walked around your home where you're the most relaxed and vulnerable. The black, silky nightgown you were wearing was making his head spin. The way the dress moved along with your body as you got ready for your night routine was impressive. First, you'd make a cozy spot for yourself. Then, you'd put on some music to play in the background while you read and drink some tea.

He watched you carry the absurdly large pillows to your nest. Your petite form was sinking into the couch that was filled with pillows and blankets. He crossed his arms and leaned back against his chair. He was glad that he had enough time to set multiple cameras in your house when you were at work. The perfect angle to see you was the camera on your bookshelf. Your body was directly towards it and the nightgown slid up to your thighs. You didn’t seem to have a problem with it. But he had a problem, a huge problem. He had a fetish for the delicate skin of your thighs. He wanted to mark them so bad. The bite marks he’d leave on your thighs would make them look more gorgeous. But it’d make him look like a madman, right?

He continued to observe you but it was hard to pry his eyes off your thighs. The next stop was your breasts. He felt his cock throb at the sight. Your nipples were noticeable thanks to the thin fabric and you, for not wearing any bra at home. He swallowed thickly and his arms tensed against his chest. How he wanted to bury his head between your soft breasts… Using your chest as a pillow after a horrible nightmare would heal him. You were his only remedy.

Then his gaze shifted to your neck, which he wanted to kiss and suck hickeys on. A soft sigh drew his focus on your neck and his shoulders stretched. What happened? Were you not feeling good? Were you cold? Concern gnawed at his heart as his whole body tensed. But it was nothing he was expecting. Your bottom lip was captured by your pearly teeth and your legs now crossed. Your thighs pressed together and rubbing slowly. He narrowed his eyes trying to process what you’re up to.

“Verdammt.” he hissed as he closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with frustration. His mask was hiding his flushed face but nothing could hide the massive bulge on his pants. “Bitte Liebling, tu es nicht.” (Please darling, don’t do it.) he mumbled and looked back at the big screen in front of him. How could you be so cruel? Teasing him like that… Your body squirming as you stubbornly continued to read that book. Was that the reason you were pulling down your panties and spread opening your legs? “So hübsch.” (So pretty.) he mumbled at the sight of your wet cunt.

You must feeling so comfortable with satisfying yourself in the living room because you had no problem letting out loud moans as your fingers rubbed at your clit. He couldn’t resist his painful arousal anymore. It was okay if he satisfy himself along with you, right? It wouldn’t harm anyone. He unbuckled his belt swiftly and unzipped his pants. His cock spung free and hit against his stomach when he pulled down his boxers. The tip of his cock was red and dripping precum from all the time he was holding back. He groaned and tipped his head back as he fisted his fat cock with his large hand. That man was big. From head to toe, everything about him was big.

Your desperate and needy whimpers were filling his room as he jerked off the perfect view of your pussy. “I bet your small fingers can’t even reach the spots that make you squirm.” he mumbled a he focused on how desperately you fingered your greedy cunt. “I could do that for you, Maus. I’d finger your pretty pussy until you can’t cum.” he mumbled between his whimper and groans. His thumb drawing circles on the sensitive tip of his cock while fantasizing about what he’d do to your pussy. When your moans turned into cries he knew you were close. Your hips twitching and your head pressed to pillows. He was also close and he cum along with you imagining how good it’d feel like cumming inside you.

You stayed there for three more minutes before getting up and taking a cold shower. He cursed himself for not being able to put a damn camera in your bathroom. He waited until you get out, trying not to break his own neck for that great mistake. He finally took a deep breath when you got out of shower but he chocked on his breath when he saw you in only a short towel wrapped around your body. That fucking towel wasn’t even covering the half of your body.

“Mein Gott.” he breathed. The towel dropped when you stood in front of your closet to pick up your pjs. His cock got rock hard instantly. He didn’t even tried to convince himself to stop. It was all your fault for being so hot when you bend over to pick your panties up. His hand stroking his thick cock as he watched you get dressed. You liked to watch yourself from the mirror as you get dressed. It tortured him the most. The way your underwear clinged to your hips making them look harder to resist.

He felt like a pervert when he released another load of cum. His hips bucking up to fuck his fist. The comfort of being home allowed him to whimper and moan as loud as he wanted. He watched as you climbed on the bed and covered your body with blankets. His hand was still his twitching cock, watching you as you got ready for sleep. Now it was his problem that he was still rock hard… He got up and kicked his pants out, removing layers as he walked to bathroom. A cold shower was what he needed to suppress his animalistic urges now.

You smirked when the notification sound came from your phone. Your back was turned to the camera so he couldn’t see what you were doing. “How cute.” you murmured. The camera that you placed on his bathroom was working perfectly, providing you the most mouth watering view. He was showering, and he was moaning your name as he fucked his palm. Your finger brushed against the screen of your phone. Did he know you were a sucker for him? Did he know the necklace you bought for him came along with a tracker? How would he feel about you stealing the keys of his room? Which he never let you in. The curiosity was eating you alive. So you'd find out what he was hiding tomorrow. You continued to watch him shower until you fell asleep.

a/n: please support me by reblogging, if you liked the content ofc <3 your comments also makes my day :* and i love to reply all of them :>

yes, i finally did it :> imma post it now but i’m not satisfied with it. so i might delete sorry (:

tag:

@entityunkown @elichisstuff @mikisworls

for some content: You two are close friends so you got keys to his house and he do too. You know he’s in love with you -not that he’s too obsessed- but he doesn’t knows. The said room is that he keeps locked is the room he watched your home and was filled with your belongings, photos, videos etc…

taglist?

[honeyed-hedonist]

Pairings: Aged Up!Damian Wayne x Reader Word Count: 3.1k Summary: You're always just a phone call away for Damian, so he calls when he needs you. And tonight? He really fucking needs you. Warnings: SMUT--MINORS DNI. unprotected sex, creampie, degradation, size kink if you squint, face slapping (once), oral (male & female receiving), orgasm control (kind of???), basically just 3k words of Dami tearing you apart in the best way. A/N: Hello again! Posting another old fic on mine. I still blame @heli0s-writes for sending me on a Damian Wayne spiral. I will never recover from this and it's all her fault. Enjoy :3

IF YOU LIKE THIS STORY, PLEASE REBLOG IT.

It’s late. It’s always late when he calls you—3am and you’re answering the phone, the pitch of his voice deepened and gruff with need. A need that only you can satiate. “Come over, darling.” You’re out the door before you end the call, hailing a cab to the manor, pulse racing because you know what’s coming.

The path you walk when you reach the gate is so familiar, you could do it with your eyes closed, feet carrying you to the front door. There’s no need to knock or ring the bell, the second your shoes hit the porch Damian swings it wide open, the cowl stripped off, blackened liner still smeared around those beautiful green eyes. He’s looking at you like he wants to tear you apart, but you’ve always had an affinity for pretty, dangerous things. 

A step closer and you catch the way the warm light of the entryway bounces off of the thin gold chain hanging around his neck. It sparkles, and your mind conjures up the image of it swinging above your face when you’re folded in half on his bed. It makes you clench, taking another step while your eyes make the slow trek downward, his bare chest and rippling stomach that cuts to narrow, defined hips has your mouth watering. You know what they feel like against your tongue, beneath your fingers.

There’s no need for words, his calloused hand closing around your wrist to tug you inside, the heavy door shutting with a definitive click that reverberates off the walls and arched ceilings of Wayne Manor. He’s already hard, you can feel it when his arm snakes its way around your waist to pull you even closer. And then he’s crouching down, sweeping his other hand behind your knees to lift you into his arms.

You’re trapped in the heat of his gaze, the salty, earthy smell of his skin--still damp with sweat from his night spent in triple-weave kevlar. Fingers dance up the back of his neck, tangling into that silky, black hair, and his chest vibrates with something akin to a growl. It sends your pulse rushing between your legs, desire warm and heavy in your belly as he walks you up the stairs towards the master suite. 

The second you’re past the threshold, you reach for his face, wanting to feel his hot mouth on yours, but he doesn’t budge, the corner of his lips quirking in an amused smile at the whine that comes tumbling out of your throat when you try, and fail, to kiss him. “Patience, beloved.” Damian is gentle when he sets you down on the lush, thickly weaved rug that spreads out from beneath his bed, forefinger and thumb coming up to pinch your chin. His nose brushes yours when he speaks again, breath hot and sweet as it fans out across your face. “Be good.”

You watch with baited breath as he settles himself on the edge of the mattress, thighs spread open, palms flat against his knees, his posture perfectly straight. He looks like a king on his throne, and you’re prepared to bow at his feet. “You’re very overdressed, don’t you agree? Perhaps you should remedy that.” The tone of his voice leaves no room for argument, your hands falling to the hem of your sleep shirt, tugging it hastily over your head. Your shorts are your next target, swiftly yanking them down your legs. Shoes, socks, and bra all join the pile of your discarded clothes after that, and Damian hums his approval. “Much better.” 

Lifting one of his hands, he points to the space between his feet. “Come.” There’s no hesitation from you, moving immediately with a step forward, but then he scoffs, eyebrows drawn down in admonishment. “Really, pet? Is that how you’re meant to approach me? As my equal?” His words make you short circuit, brain muddled with the fog of submission, because you will always submit to him--it’s not even a question at this point. He’s in charge, he owns you, and he knows it.

Dropping to your hands and knees, you crawl towards him slowly, eyes trained on his face, trying to read him--but Damian has mastered the art of impassiveness. His calves brush against your shoulders as you wedge yourself between his legs, the only sign of his pleasure is the tent in the front of his joggers and the rumbling in his chest. It’s enough--has you salivating from your place on the floor, eagerly awaiting instruction.

He leans forward, strong hand circling your throat, fingers tightening until he can feel the ripple of your swallow. “Have you missed me?” He asks, but you know better than to open your mouth, choosing instead to nod your head. Damian hums thoughtfully, free hand stroking at his slightly stubbled chin. “Hmm, I’m not sure I’m convinced. Why don’t you show me?”

“Yes, sir.” You answer, and he relents, releasing your throat to lean back on the bed, propped up with his arms extended so he can watch you--he’s always watching you--calculating, observing, learning. Damian Wayne knows all of the ways to take you apart, and all of the ways to put you back together again, but now he’s testing you, wants to see just how much you’ve learned since you began spending nights in his bed.

Shaking fingers dip beneath the waistband of his sweats, tugging them down his thighs until the heavy weight of his cock springs free, slapping against the hard plane of his stomach with a dense thud. You moan, how can you not? He’s impressively large, perfectly curved towards his bellybutton, nestled in coarse, dark hair, thick and throbbing just for you. His head is shining with pre, glistening in the orange glow from the roaring fire in the hearth nearby. Your eyes meet, faux innocence batting up at him from beneath your lashes. But Damian knows better, knows how filthy you are, and he’s losing his patience.

You let your hand circle the base, tongue dragging a hot, wet line beneath his length until your lips close around the tip, precum tangy against your tastebuds. You moan again, eyes rolling back. The musk of his night perusing the city is still fresh on his skin, and he always tastes so god damn good like this. Dirty. Natural. It spurs you onward, his tip popping into the back of your throat as you take him all the way down. He reaches out after that, fingers gentle against the skin of your neck, his cock seated so fully inside the wet heat of your mouth that he can feel himself beneath your esophagus when you swallow. It makes him grunt, satisfied with your efforts.

It’s all the encouragement you need to move again, cheeks hollowed as you suck him off. The only sounds in the room are your labored breaths and the nasty, wet squelch of your mouth on his cock. Damian’s eyes are blown black, watching you like a predator tracking its prey, hand shooting out to curl into the hair at the crown of your head and shove you down until your nose is pressing against his taut abdomen. He holds you there, testing your limits, keeping you still, voice strained with his pleasure when he speaks. “Swallow.” He commands, and you oblige, whimpering while your thighs shift in an attempt to alleviate the ache in your cunt. 

“What’s wrong, pet? Do you want to cum?” Damian smirks at the desperate look in your eyes before he answers his own question. “Too bad.” He mocks your arousal, knowing all you really want right now is for him to fuck a hole right through you, but he needed to feel your warm, wet mouth first.  And Damian will never apologize for having his needs met, because he always reciprocates in kind. Especially with you.

He volleys with you back and forth, letting you have control before ultimately usurping you to fuck your face. When he’s satisfied, your cheeks are hot, the remnants of the mascara that you carelessly forgot to wash off is smeared down your face, and your chin is covered in your own spit as he yanks you free from his cock by your hair. “Tch--look at you, such a mess.” Damian’s free hand breaks the string of spittle connecting your mouth to the tip of his dick and smears it across your face. He’s not gentle, and you don’t want him to be, moaning open-mouthed when his palm cracks across your cheek. “Get up.”

Your actions are instantaneous, done without pause or thought, rising to your feet with his hand still fisted in your hair. He stands, too, spinning you both around until your calves hit the mattress and he shoves you backwards. You fall gracelessly onto his comforter, and he gives you no reprieve, no chance to catch your breath before he’s peeling your thighs apart to inspect your slit. Your panties are an encumbrance, one that has him growling as his long, dextrous fingers tear the fabric clean off, ripping them away to toss on the floor. 

He wastes no time, hands framing your pussy to peel your lips apart, leaning forward, he takes a deep inhale, the tip of his nose bumping against your throbbing clit. It makes you jolt, body bowing off of the bed, but his eyes cut to yours and you still immediately, knowing that he’ll stop if you don’t behave. “You have the most beautiful cunt, and she’s all mine.” Damian hums, mostly to himself, pink tongue slipping out of his mouth to circle your clit slowly. Your hands fist his expensive bedding, knuckles bone-white as he begins to work you over with his mouth.

He’s an expert at many things--knows over a hundred ways to kill a man with his bare hands--and can get you to gush against his mouth in a matter of minutes. Damian plays your body like a fine-tuned instrument, hits all the right notes to make you see stars. He curls those long, rough fingers of his against the velvet walls of your pussy, free hand applying pressure at your belly, while his plump lips suction against your pulsing clit. Barely two minutes in and you’re already hurtling towards bliss, whining and whimpering and writhing--all for him. 

“Dami, please!” You want your release. Want to cum all over his handsome face. He can feel it in the way your cunt grips his fingers, fluttering in time with the expert swipes of his tongue. He knows it’s only a few more licks until you’re careening into your orgasm. His eyes meet yours between the valley of your breasts, glittering with mirth as you cry out, begging shamelessly for him to let you cum. And then, like the menace he is, Damian releases your clit with a wet pop, effectively slamming you into a brick wall, your orgasm slipping right through your fingers with a pained cry.

Tears of desperation brim in your eyes and he tuts, rising to his feet, forearm wiping your glistening arousal from his lips and chin. “Do you have no shame? Begging like a common whore.” He’s on you in a flash, joggers discarded, fully naked as his hand once again finds your throat and he snarls above you. “Your orgasms belong to me, beloved. I decide when you deserve to cum, and tonight, you’ll be coming all over my cock. Do I make myself clear?” 

He expects an answer, but you’re transfixed, completely mystified by his overpowering, eclipsing presence above you. Damian makes you feel small. It fogs your brain, makes it hard to do anything other than mewl, thighs parting to accommodate his hips as he settles above you.  “Tch--useless little thing. All you’re good for is being my tight hole to fuck, isn’t that right, pet?” You nod, helpless and desperate beneath him, every nerve ending in your body thrumming like live wires. It’s a fact that he captializes on, slapping the mushroomed tip of his dick against your drenched slit, the wet sound that reaches his ears making him moan.

There isn’t a sound on Earth prettier than hearing Damian Wayne moan for you, your mouth falling open as you gaze up at him in awe. It’s the perfect opportunity for him to sluice the middle fingers of his left hand over your tongue. Ever the obedient pet, your lips close automatically, suckling as those same fingers push so far back they make you choke. Through your bleary eyes, you can see the sadistic smile that graces Damian’s face. It’s dangerous, and it sends a fresh rush of arousal leaking from your cunt. 

It’s almost like he can smell it, and he probably can, his irises disappearing until all that’s left are the whites of his eyes as he inhales deeply. There’s no warning, no preparation, just his gaze rolling back to meet yours when he snaps his hips forward with perfect aim, his cock stretching you open and filling you in a way only he can. It makes you scream, your back beginning to arch, but Damian is right there, pulling his fingers from your mouth to grip your throat and pin you back down against the mattress.

His pace is unforgiving. It’s brutal and deep, carving his way into your body with harsh thrusts that have the headboard knocking flecks of plaster off the walls until they cascade down like rain onto the comforter. “You. Belong. To me.” He spits it through gritted teeth, and it’s not something you’ll ever deny. Your relationship may be unconventional, but you wouldn’t trade it. Any time spent with Dami, to you, is a gift, especially if it means he’ll fuck you absolutely boneless in order to reassert his control on those nights when he feels like the world around him is spiraling. 

You take it all--every thrust, the gnashing of his teeth into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, the suffocating grip around your throat, the drizzle of spit that falls onto your waiting tongue when he pries your jaw open. Anything Damian dishes out, you take without complaint, because while he craves control, you crave subjugation--the metaphorical yin to his yang.

Your voice is hoarse when you try to speak, breath stuttering with every powerful roll of Damian’s hips, barely heard over the lewd sounds of being fucked open. Each strike of his cock inside of you hits that spongy mound of tissue, dragging his silky, hot length against it with each withdrawal. It has you climbing right back towards your inevitable peek, the only question is-- will he let you finish this time?

“Dami--m’gonna--please, m’so close, baby.” You wheeze, and he smiles, teeth blindingly white even though the haze of your oxygen deprivation. You find some reprieve from the deliciously pleasurable pain when he finally peels his fingers back from your throat, hands sliding to your shins to fold them up and into your chest. His pace never lessens, he never slips out, following the bending of your body, the new angle allowing an even deeper stroke inside your gummy walls. It has you keening, hands clawing at his chest, his gold chain bouncing against the backs of your palms.

“Very well, I think you’ve earned it.” Reaching between your bent legs, Damian’s thumb slices through the lips of your cunt that are spread wide around his cock to seek out your clit. He’s precise, circling the aching bud in a way that makes you choke, throat vibrating with a squeal. You’re close again, rapidly approaching your release, so fast you can barely keep up, the pressure in your belly building to an unbearable tightness. This time, when you meet his eyes, the malice is gone, replaced with what you can only describe as devotion. “Go on, make a mess on my cock, cum for me.”

That’s all it takes, his permission coupled with the expert swirl of his thumb and the perfect drag of his cock have you seeing stars, bursting with a cry of his name. You scream, back arching up, chest to chest with him as he cradles you close. “I know, beloved, I know. Let it all out.” He coos, still thrusting wildly through the resistance as your pussy tries to shove him out with each fluttering pulse. Damian can feel your cum weeping out around him, it wets his thighs, dribbles down the seam of his sack, drips down onto the mattress. It makes him groan, balls tightening as he reaches the point where he can no longer stave off his own release. 

With a low moan of your name he pumps into you once, twice--the third sending the first spray of his cum deep in your womb. You can feel the pulse of his length as he bottoms out with a grunt, forehead pressing against yours, breath hot against your mouth. Jet after jet of semen coats your insides, filling you up so full it almost hurts. You whimper out, and Damian shushes you, cupping your face to plant a soft kiss against your lips. “Shh,” he murmurs. “You did so well for me, my darling. Such a good girl. I’m so proud of you.”

All you can manage is a hum, Damian’s fingers carding through your sweat-slicked hair as he peppers soft kisses over your cheeks, the tip of your nose, your forehead. This has got to be your favorite part, because while he knows how to completely wreck you, he’s also right there to pick up the pieces and stitch you right back together again. 

He carries you into the bathroom, runs a bath for the both of you, coddles and keeps you close until the pair of you are falling into his freshly stripped bed beneath the sheets. His arm is slung snugly around your waist, his lips on the back of your neck as you settle in preparation of sleep. “I’d like you to move your things into the manor.” His voice is soft, there’s a hesitation there that is so uncharacteristic it nearly shocks you back from exhaustion. But again, all you’re able to offer him is a hum of acknowledgement, wiggling further into the warmth of his body, heavy eyelids closing as your consciousness wanes and you drift. 

You’ll tackle this moving in business when you’ve got a clear head and a full belly, but the prospect of taking the next step in your relationship with Damian brings you the most pleasant, peaceful sleep you’ve had in years.

[kyluff]

— ↺ Bewbs

✎ luffy + zoro + sanji x reader !

✦ summary ➠ boob blurbs

✦ warnings ➠ nsfw, boob stuff

✦ note ➠ i 🫶 luffy

✪ Monkey D. Luffy

“Luffy, don’t you think that’s enough already?” You whine out, back arching and fingers clawing at his black hair. You don’t know how much more you could take of this, Luffy has been at for what felt like hours. He’s been licking, sucking and even nibbling at your swollen nipples.

“Mm mm!” He let out a hum in response, a sound of disagreement at your question. You don’t know what has gotten into him, he didn’t even say anything when he got home from his adventure on the new island you arrived at, just shoved his head under your shirt and forced it off soon after.

He’s been going at them ever since.

He let go of the first nipple, leaving a stringy connection of saliva from your flesh to his lips, then attacked your neglected one. You glanced down at him, mouth slightly open from the pants slipping past, you could see his eyes softly shut.

He looked totally content with the situation, his hold around your body tightened. He wished to be closer to you even though he was as close as humanly possibly.

“Luf, starting to get sore.” But he didn’t respond, his suckling only continued on in a steady speed. You sighed, and looked closer at the man between you chest. Drool was leaking from where he was attached to your mound.

“Luffy? Hey, get off.” You shook his head in an attempt to pry him off of you, he didn’t budge quite yet though. Fed up, you gripped the roots of his hair and tugged back hard, only then did he pop off from you. He didn’t move, only let out quiet breaths of snores.

“Hey, are you sleeping?!” This guy could really nap anywhere, anytime. Even while he was going at your boobs like that.

✪ Roronoa Zoro

“Does it feel good?” The green haired man behind you questioned, adding a quick pinch to the nub that was pressed between his strong fingers. “Hm?”

You nodded, you grasped the fluffy sheets from underneath you. He had you sat on his cock as he leaned against the headboard of the bed frame and had you placed between his legs with his arms wrapped around you, poking and prodding at your chest.

“Don’t pinch so hard please!” You pleaded with the man, bringing your hand up to pry at his fingers. He was to strong for you, you could feel the hardness of his muscles under his tanned skin.

“This is your own fault, you know?” He chuckled lightly, he was enjoying this whole thing. “You just had to wear that stupid, slutty bikini, huh?”

You moaned at the mention of your earlier activities and the clothes your were wearing. It was an extra hot day on the ship and a small bathing suit seemed to be the best remedy. Zoro didn’t agree.

“I can’t lie though,” He exhaled on the back of you neck and cupped both of your boobs, starting to squish your tits, the fat of them toppled out of the space between his long fingers. “You look so hot whenever you wear it.”

“But it’s only for my eyes, got that?” He explained, ending his sentence with a quick smack to your meaty breast.

✪ Vinsmoke Sanji

It was supposed to be a punishment, but to Sanji it wasn’t much of one. Because he enjoyed every and anything you did.

You had his hands tied behind his back and his eyes covered with a black cloth.

“Sit,” You demanded your lover who listened carefully to your instructions, you helped guide him, he then nestled into the open space in your legs. “Go.”

As soon as you said that singular word, he eagerly began to search for your nipples, his treasure. His lips slithered messily along your flesh, blindly going in all directions.

“Would you hurry up?” You rolled your eyes, acting as though you didn’t love this. He did too, you could tell by how he let out little cries at your words. “You’re pathetic.”

“Y-You’re so mean!” He mewled, then returning to his previous actions.

“Ya well, that’s what you get for calling other girls pretty!” You were still bitter from Sanji hitting on another woman, right infront of you too!

You and Sanji walked into a new store, it had all these unique cooking tools and ingredients, right up Sanjis alley. The lady working at the till kept going on and on about all of the new items they had in stock, and when you finally got your boyfriend to leave, he said ‘goodbye pretty’.

“I told you I’m sorry!” He tugged harshly against his restraint, relentlessly trying to escape so he could touch you to his satisfaction.

“Sorry, but,” You paused, enclosing his slim build in your plush legs. “You’re just going to have to show me how sorry you are.”

[norrizzandpia]

hii this is inspired by lando’s trip to Finland, I’d like to request fem reader freezing and lando constantly trying to warm her up! Something fluffy something heartwarming I think would be cute💕

Hi hi i love this!! Hoping to be back for good actually this time yall <3

My Coat, Your Coat (LN4)

Summary: Y/n is freezing. Lando is her boyfriend. There’s only one remedy.

Warnings: language and like two sexual inference

“It’s cold as shit out here.” Y/n whined, her arms shaking as they hugged her body in an effort to warm up.

Lando, standing beside her, looked down to meet her eyes, smiling softly at her pink cheeks before pulling her into his body, “I’m sorry, love. Although, would this be a bad time to say I told you so?”

What he’s referring to and what has Y/n pouting is the moment they had spent earlier that morning in their hotel room as they got ready for the day. Lando had been zipping up his last layer as Y/n stared at herself in the mirror, holding two coats on hangers and holding them up to her body as she tried to decipher which one she should wear. One coat was significantly thinner than the other and, unfortunately, the thinner one was the cuter one in her own words. Lando had tried to lecture her about what would happen if she wore the thinner one, trying to save his girlfriend from misery, but she hadn’t budged. All she done was roll her eyes and shake her head as Lando spewed off words at her.

“Beauty is pain,” She had said, Lando giggling at her and the inevitable complaining he would have to deal with later. It was a good thing he loved her as much as he did.

Now, as they stood tangled together amidst the snowy mountains, she continued to shake her head, “Yes, this would be a bad time.”

He shrugged, hugging her tighter and resting his head on the side of hers, which was nuzzled in the crook of his neck, “Does this feel better?”

She nodded, her hands in a ball between their chests as Lando’s body swallowed hers.

They stayed that way for a few minutes, Lando deep in conversation with their friend in the midst of it all. When he had fallen into talks with someone else other than Lando, he turned back to his girlfriend.

“I have another coat in my backpack, baby. I can go get it if you let me go?” He chuckled, but Y/n just groaned.

She pushed her head up a centimeter, just enough for her eyes to peek up at his, “Can’t you just shimmy over there while still holding me?”

His gloved hands pushed back the hair in her face before he kissed her softly, lips cold as ice yet warming at the touch.

“I’ll be one minute, I swear.” He gave only for her to shake her head once more.

He looked away for a moment, looking back down at her right after, “How about this, you let me get you the coat in my backpack and we take a hot shower when we get back to the hotel.”

His suggestive eyebrows went right over Y/n’s head, “Why would a shower matter to me? I take one everyday. That’s nothing new.”

He dipped his head down so his lips were right above her ear. He whispered, “You would be in the shower, I would be in the shower. I would be doing non-shower things to you.”

Y/n blushed, letting her body detach from Lando’s immediately. The boy laughed at her before moving away, going to rummage through his backpack to look for the extra layers he brought, knowing she would end up needing them.

He pulled the black puffy jacket from his bag as well as a scarf, running back over to her shivering form. She smiled at him as he pulled the coat and scarf around her, situating them on her body in an effort to salvage the outfit she had been so excited to wear. He knew she would still be stubborn about the way her clothes looked even if it risked hypothermia.

She looked down, nodding after a moment, “Much better.”

The jacket was rather oversized on her, coming from Lando’s closet, and the scarf covered the majority of her face, yet she still looked pretty as ever to him. In a moment of fuzziness over her smiling at him, Lando’s hand cradled one side of her face, moving it toward him so he could kiss her temple.

“Glad I could help,” He whispered against her skin.

Y/n giggled, “You’ll be doing a hell of a lot more tonight.”

Lando nodded as if she wasn’t joking around, face stone cold with seriousness, “Hell yeah, I will.”

[clarencethemouse]

Daydreams

requested from @hulkingharbor

note: I'm attaching this to the Bleeding Light lore because I love the character I made, and this scenario is eating me alive :))

this is a long one. Sorry not sorry

Summary: Kurt doubts his beauty and worth. Ready takes it upon themselves to prove how much he means to them. Angst and fluff (kinda spicy but also not). Gender-neutral reader.

The mansion roof was a lonely place, but good to relax one's mind. Good to let creativity flow without the judgment of coworkers and students. Good to drown out the never-ending plaguing thoughts with bird chirps and whistling wind.

But no better remedy to stress is a best friend.

You and Kurt stopped conversing on the roof a long time ago. All that was left was a stagnant, yet calm silence. You lay on the bare concrete, letting each spinal joint decompress and muscles settle. Kurt sat next to you, staring off into the horizon, which was turning into a marvelous spectacle of purples and oranges.

You turned on your side, facing him with your body and eyes. He didn't notice you, but this didn't phase you. All you needed was to see him.

"You're so beautiful."

The words barely escaped, the whisper sticking in your throat. Kurt's head whipped down to you. Those perfect golden eyes flashed with confusion. "Pardon?"

A soft smile graced your cheeks. Your eyes couldn't help but light. "I said you're beautiful."

Kurt's eyes fell from you. You watched his jaw clench and muscles agitate. Several moments passed before he spoke again, and the one-word response grated on your mind with his frustration.

"Why?"

"Why am I talking?" Your grin faltered.

"Why are you doing this?" His accent tainted his words thicker, his telltale sign of nerves. You pushed yourself up to level with his face. "Please stop lying."

"Love, I'm not lying-"

Kurt's nearest hand hit yours away as you tried to touch him. "I'm not in the mood. Stop."

"Kurt, I'm not lying!" You ducked around to peer under his insistently ducked head. "Why would I lie? Have I ever lied like that before?"

"Because... stop." He scooted away from your gaze. His tail flicked in agitation - he never used that with you. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Your lips settled in a horrified frown. "Why do you think I'm lying? Please talk to me."

Kurt did not talk to you. He disappeared without another word in a cloud of purple and black smoke.

You threw your hands up, head whipping around the perimeter of the roof. "What the fuck?" You shouted to the sky. No response. No Kurt. You shuffled together your papers and pens, throwing everything into a haphazard pile in your arms before booking it down the stairs.

Nothing tugged at your heart more than to find Kurt immediately, but you couldn't function with your supplies so loose in your arms. Shouting for him all the way, you threw open your bedroom door and let the papers and pens fall to the floor just inside. Only mere feet back down the hall, Rogue chased you down.

"Y/N! Are ya okay?" Her powerful hands landed on your shoulder, concern painted across her lovely face.

"Have you seen Kurt? He just ran away from me after we had an argument. I'm worried for him."

"Oh, nah, I'm sorry, sugah. Do ya want me to find 'im for ya?"

You huffed a strong sigh from your mouth, propping your hands on your hips. A dull lump was forming deep in your throat. "No. This is my problem."

Your next stop was his bedroom. It had to be. His only other safe place was the roof, which he would never hide on if he thought you could still be there.

Your breath quickened with every nearing step to his door. With the number of times you'd made this walk in happiness, in giddy readiness for a late-night movie or jam session to grade papers, the growing pit of fear in your stomach should not be so frightening. Never before could you fathom dreading his bedroom.

Your knuckles made a quick rhythm against the door, calling his name one more time. You hated to risk invading his privacy, but you were desperate just to see him; a fulfilling conversation aside.

Slowly the door creaked open, revealing his empty bedroom. After a quick sweep of the visible areas, you backed away to retreat before a soft sniffle hit your ears. Barely, just beyond the edge of the couch, a dark spade lay pathetically on the wooden floor. As quietly as possible you closed the door, tip-toeing to the side of the couch. The side of Kurt's body revealed itself by the side coffee table.

"Please go away."

"Not until you talk to me, Love." You crept closer. The air between you fizzled. He was contemplating leaving again. Your body lurched to the floor, landing one hand on his bicep. "Please! Don't leave me!"

Kurt tossed your hand to the side. His curls hid most of his face, which you could sacrifice a finger to see fully. Anything to see him. You sighed, crossing your legs before him. "Why do you think I'm lying?" You prompted again, your voice softer with a newfound patience. "I'm here for you. What will it take for you to talk to me?"

A hand freed itself from the safety of his lap to wipe the running nose beneath the tear-soaked cheeks. "Ich weiß nicht was ich tun soll." His shoulders heaved.

"Babe, I still don't understand," you muttered pathetically.

Kurt's tongue swiped over his bottom lip. Your mind flashed to inappropriate places. "I am not beautiful," he stated, his flawless curls shaking with his head.

Okay. The nub of the problem.

This scenario had run through your head a hundred times before, all in different ways. Different places. You or him being the first to initiate. But no amount of practice in your imagination could prepare you for the looming threat of destroying the best relationship in your life.

Anything for a chance to cheer him up. To see his gorgeous smile, his perfect eyes light up for only a few more minutes.

"Okay. I'm going to tell you this once and you just... need to believe me," you swallowed the bile - the fear that everything could go wrong. That you had ruined everything so perfect about your relationship with three simple words in a moment of adoration. "I do love you. You are my best friend. I cherish our friendship so much-"

"Stop..." Kurt tossed his head back. Given the context, you despised the way his Adam's apple bobbed and the way you wanted to study its perfection under a microscope.

"Just- let me get through this all. I cherish our friendship so much. You understand me better than anyone. I feel the safest around you. And I love the endless nights bonding over the silly nerd shit on the balcony with endless ice cream." This was it. No going back now. "But the amount of times I've gone to bed at night daydreaming about something as simple as going on a date with you... I mean, a proper date. And I imagine so many kisses, so many other things that friends don't do. Sometimes, I even get so desperate that I go through scenarios from that day, but I imagine I'm treating you the way I truly want to."

You couldn't look at him anymore. If so, you may see him staring back at you with such horror and disgust, that you would never be able to look at yourself in the mirror again. "And I do this just in the hope that the daydream will turn into a real dream, and I can sleep through those lovely imaginings and wake up... and... yeah. That is that."

Nothing from him. No words, no shift in position. All you could offer now was the closing line you rehearsed in your mind a hundred times since opening his door.

"I do think you're beautiful. You're the most beautiful person in this entire damn mansion. I'm not daydreaming about anyone else."

When the suspense was ready to rip your heart open, you finally peeked. Kurt was staring. Not with disgust, but with wonder. Hope.

"How do you think these things?" was all he could muster out.

"Pardon?"

His six fingers fidgeted with themselves. You wanted nothing more than to reach out, take them, and kiss each of them until all doubts were ridden from his pretty little head.

"I don't understand. The last person I gave my heart to was disgusted. Horrified by me. I don't understand how you... don't."

Impossible. The thought of him with someone else, no matter how long before you, dried your mouth and made you want to hurl right there. But even more so, the thought of anyone convincing him such horrible narratives could be true... it made your blood boil. Your skin crawl. Nothing was comprehensible to you of how anyone could think of him in such a way. Not Kurt; not the handsome, skilled, kind, and brave man in front of you.

He was too kind for the world. No matter what became of him, how the world treated him, he never faced it with hate. Never pure, genuine hate for the world. Only for himself.

Slowly, knees cracking and heart aching, you reached for him as you willed yourself to stand. Kurt watched you silently beg him for a moment before accepting the offer. You led him to the edge of his bed and simply sat. Held his hands harder when he allowed himself to settle and relax.

Apprehensively, you sucked in a deep breath and steeled your eyes with his. "Please hear me, Love. You are not horrifying, Kurt. You're not disgusting. You are not. I love you, whether or not you choose to believe it, I love you. Both as a friend and as... anything else. However you'll take me."

Your hands snaked up to his neck, cupping the lean muscles beneath your palms. Warm, soft, and true. "It's okay if you don't reciprocate. I just need you to know that someone sees you as beautiful. I would never lie to you."

As if time stopped and you were left fighting through molasses space, your lips touched his cheek. Lower to his chin. Lower to his neck.

"I think your skin is so lovely. It's my second favorite color; second only to yellow."

His throat rumbled under your lips. A firework of giddiness exploded within your stomach.

While your lips traveled onto his collarbone with delicate kisses, daring to taste the rich blue skin only twice, your hands traveled with a mind of their own to play with his three-fingered hands.

"People have three fingers all the time. I see this as no issue." You brought one of his hands to your face, planting more kisses on his palm and down each individual finger.

"I quite like your ears," you confess, dragging one finger along the edge to mess with the pointy tip. "You know folks dig the elves from Lord of the Rings. So how could this be any different?" You smile.

For the first time since you dared call him what he was, Kurt smiled back. He grinned enough to flash the brilliantly pointed canines, which evoked vivid images you would dare never tell your mother.

You were about to start the journey down his chest, something you'd been all too excited to see for months, when the other hand laid a delicate grip to your chin. Masterfully, Kurt steered your face to his, and within milliseconds your daydreams came true.

His lips were still salty from the onslaught of tears, but nothing could have tasted sweeter. Together your lips worked as one, moving and sucking as though life itself lay beyond. Your back hit the mattress, hands scattering to touch every inch of his lean torso.

And then his shirt was off.

While you admired him, finally unburdened and accepting of your words, his mischievous tail snaked to your torso. Butterflies fluttered deep into your abdomen when the strong tail wrapped partially around your waist and lifted you closer to Kurt's body. He smirked down at you, amused by your desperate squirm.

"Is this what you dream of, schatz?"

A sly giggle escaped you as one finger ran down his back, so near to the spine to send gentle shivers through his entire nervous system. "You have fur," you smiled, tilting your head curiously.

"Ja?"

"It's cute." You pulled his face down to you again. You allowed this kiss to be slower. To taste him more. When Kurt pulled back with a wider smile than ever before, there was room in his eyes for nothing more than joy and relief.

"Ich liebe dich."

You ran your lovesick fingers through that beautiful head of hair. You knew what that phrase meant.