#bring an age of gentleness…how can you bring upon such age if you yourself has none?

[gomzdrawfr]

If u see me descend into madness or the sad in these few days it’s either because of my fever + cold that has made my brain fuzzy (and thus, susceptible to rollercoaster rides of emotions) or the way im knees deep in elden ring lores (which are both magnificent and also depressing)

[auragasmics]

1:32 AM: A LOVE LETTER TO THE PRETTIEST GIRL!

spellbook intro! when Nanami takes a moment to study his wife after a date night, his heart pours out a soliloquy for the ages!

potion ingredients! 4.4k+, pwp(?), wife!reader x husband!nanami kento, fluff+ smut, fingering, clitslapping(1), cunnilingus, explict talk, mating press, grinding, allusions to sex (penetration), self-indulgent to the max ♥︎

note to casters! yeah, this is so indulgent. and i'm sorry i have to say this...p**** is pink :). grab a mirror and check for yourself.

Champagne. 

A drink known to be indulged during the most influential times of human history. It’s a famed tag that runs through nations upon nations, beloved by the heaven blend of Pinot, Meunier, and Chardonnay. It pulls the tongue into an envious ménage-à-trois between the rich taste and the cheeky spry bubbles seething one’s cheeks into a world of heat —all doomed to end once a swallow washes away all the bliss. 

From its days of ruling beside monarchy to its dwindled expression in the modern world, it has yet to lose its class. It still rules amongst those with exquisite, those who can handle the feverish rush of having rapture ruin all composure.  

It’s suitable for a man like Nanami to indulge in such refinement too, just a single sip from the tall slender glass seated beside his plate transports his mind into a place where the weight of a jewel-encrusted crown sits upon his head. And in this universe, he rules over a 64 square meter condo, a beloved lord sleeping in his king-sized bed, and a lawful husband to his queen. 

Another sip reminds him of the gracious air surrounding the night—a date night catered by a meal of shared efforts and a bottle of Nanami’s favorite champagne. It’s sweet like forbidden fruit, the heavenly delight soothing his woes. 

His gentle stare falls onto you, the infamous cinnamon fawning over how red complements your skin in that dress, over your delicate pout—no, obsessing over how your lips nurse the rim of the glass as if it were a kiss. As to how the heavens gifted a man such as he with one of their own angels, it’s a blessing he’s taken without a second thought. 

However, it’s a feeling that even after three years of marriage has yet to subdue. The riveting swell that throws his heart into turmoil whenever you giggle. The wash of goosebumps set to claim his skin when your hand simply grazes against his own. The trance your gentle coos lure him into, just like now.

“Kennnn, Baby? Are you okay?”

Flurries of mindless blinks brings Nanami back into the present, where he’s met with your own stare. Where silence settles comes the bustle of apologies and giggles, Nanami “Hm?—Oh! I’m fine, Honey. I’m so sorry—missed what you said there, can you repeat it?”

“Oh, it’s fine! I was asking what should we do about the dishes? All that cooking and I always seem to forget about cleaning.”

Nanami merely shrugs his shoulder, “I’ll wash them.”

“But aren’t you tired? We could just leave them to soak—”

The rambles of solutions come to a slamming shut as Nanami reaches over to your side of the square dining table, his fingers seamlessly knitting within your own.

“That was a really good steak. The garlic butter we made last weekend was a perfect touch. Oh, and the mashed potatoes, you always outdo yourself, Honey. All I did was peel the potatoes and help sear the steak, the least I can do is clean…right?”

A helpless sigh passes through your glossed lips, “You’re not getting me to agree, y’know. I still say we just go get ready for bed.”

Nanami calls his hand, his energy, even his presence over the table back to his side in trade for the back of his chair for asylum. He gives you a steady stare that pairs all too well with a grin and a pat on his lap. “Come here.”

There’s safety in being wrapped up in Nanami’s arms as you settle in his care, his muscle-ribbed arms thick arms lacing around your waist, his large hands draping off your hip, all while he keeps one leg bouncing to a steady rhythm. 

“Why do you worry your pretty little head off about the fine details, huh? That’s my job.” 

“I know, but…”

Weakness grows in your heart as you look down into his eyes—those tired eyes casted by an ardent glow. Exhaustion still can’t taint his heart, it can’t begin to ruin the tender nature he abides to you. You can’t help but soothe him, your hand racing to cup his cheek, the pad of your thumb skating along the curves of his bottom lip. 

“But you work so hard, Kento. You should come to bed with me, just leave all this for tomorrow.”

But you know him—he can’t leave any job with loose ends. Whether it’s at the office, small repairs around the house, or simply washing dishes, Nanami finds a sense of ease in the natural order of tasks from start to finish. And when some principle challenged his own, he had every reason set and ready to roll for an explanation.

Except for tonight.

Tonight, silence serves as Nanami’s winded explanation—and the kind pecks he pushes back against your touch. 

“Ken?”

“Mhm?”

“Aren’t you going to…say something…or anything?”

Patience gets the better of you as Nanami simply keeps himself entertained with your thumb. His kisses melt into you skin, his soft hums strike every fiber, and each pinch of his lips leaves you dangling at the end of your rope. Nanami stands from the chair, cradling you in his arms. His steps are guided by routine, up the stairs and through the first door to the right, straight into the bedroom.

Nanami drops you on the bed.

You can’t really pinpoint when the plush warmth of your bed welcomed you home, but with Nanami’s thick chest pinning you to the sheets, it’s a quick conclusion you push off rather quickly.

How could you focus on such fine details when he’s lathering the junctures of your collarbone in kisses, trailing back up to your awaiting lips. 

“Sweetheart.”

“Yes, Baby?” 

Nanami gives in to you with a kiss, his lips just barely sinking into yours before he’s hulling himself back onto his feet.

“Go get ready for bed and when you wake up, I’ll be right there next to you.”

Sleep is all Namai intended for you to have, he'd be damned if something so trivial as chores would prevent you from rest. And when Nanami did finish up with the last bowl, sleep fell heavy on his mind all the same.

It weighed heavy on his mind through a hot shower, through his nightly routine, even as he mindlessly slipped into a pair of briefs and beneath the bed sheets.

But…his tired eyes had to land on you—his precious angel.

Oh, his pretty wife who glows underneath the moon’s rays, laid on your side with the blanket tucked up to your chin. He’s eager to join you, sliding himself right beside your body—where nothing but a pair of panties hugs you. 

It certainly doesn’t help how you gravitate to Nanami, even while underneath sleep’s spell. Grinding the thick globes of your ass into his lap—and right where the head of his cock sits snug against the waistband of his briefs.

In a desperate search for a distraction, Nanami cranes his neck to greet the neon red digits bleeding through the face of his bedside clock—where the best joke known to man awaits him.

1:32 AM. 

Just an hour into the new day Nanami is met by pure mockery. Of course, his sweet wife all swept up in sleep makes for an even better punch line—-the growing bulge sinking between your ass. A quiet mind is all he wants, why he’s drowning his mind in those meditative mantras you’ve taught him when work becomes too much all at once.

But it’s a fleeting dream the moment those throbs ripple through the thick veins stretching over his cock. 

“Sweetheart, c’mon…give me a chance at least,” he’s muttering for his ears alone. 

Yet the only chance Nanami knows he has is to follow in your steed and sleep away his impending thoughts. He gently lifts the blanklet up to his shoulder, only for the chilling gush to fan across your body.

“Mmm, ‘m cold, Ken.”

“I know, I know, I’m gonna fix that right away, Sweetheart.”

Sunken beneath the heavy blanket, Nanami carves out every inch of your spine with his chest, slotting himself flush against you. His arms surge to envelop you, giving way for his hand to greedily cup the silky fat of your breast.

For a moment he’s sworn he’s beaten lust curse because well, cradling his sleeping beauty like this, allowing for his body, his warmth to sew his body to your own. 

“How’s that? Feels warmer now, Sweetheart?” His voice gently coos in your ear. 

He doesn’t expect much, a sheepish nod and a mumble thrillingly satisfies Nanami. He can’t explain it, but as he steals a glance over you, he finds his wretched mind delighted by mundane beauty.

A painting is known to capture a moment in time through the perspective of the artist—but what Nanami’s eye beholds before him is too good for any picture, any painting, for every medium of art would fail to capture the radiant glow the moon kisses upon your skin. It would fail to mimic the soft curl of your lips, free from control and lifted behind the pure rapture of your mind. It certainly couldn’t transcribe the very details consumed by Nanami. 

Maybe it’s due to the curse of the night overwhelming Nanami, but he simply can’t be alone right now, not while love has him spiraling down a self-induced hole. He can’t stop himself from taking to your shoulder, granting his lips the tactful satisfaction of littering kisses upon your skin.  

“Honey…are you really asleep?” He pouts, yet he immediately reflects on himself as he swipes yet another look at the clock. “

It’s what…1:40 now, I should be asleep too, however…” 

Breaking his trail of kisses, Nanami softly sighs as he gathers all his wayward thoughts, all for this moment only he’ll hold a record of.

“I can only say this while you sleep. It’s pathetic of me, but I haven’t gotten the confidence to face you as I should. I’m not one for many words, nor do I show all the emotion I hold inside of me. But, I hope that my love for you bleeds through every touch, every stare, every kiss, and every breath. I breathe for you. I live for you. And should it come to pass, I’d kill for you. I’ve never felt more endeared to anyone before but you…You give me all the strength I need to be a better man. I just hope to-"

“...Ken, Honey? Are you on a phone call?”

“Oh um…” His blood’s running cold through every vein in his body. Suddenly, he’s stricken dumb and frozen underneath the weight of speculation. But he is who he is—a calm man with logic on his sleeve. Pushing out a huff through his nose, Nanami finds himself at ease as he peers down at your hazy eyes.

“N-No, no…just…thinking aloud. Go back to sleep, okay?”

You muse him with a passing look over your shoulder. “Thinking aloud, hm? Tell me.”

Before Nanami can conjure up some excuse as his alibi, you’ve already to bury yourself within his chest. Your soft hands buff his nerves down to naught through lazy swipes across his taut pecs. In your care, his heart’s raging scream dwindles down to a tepid thump, his lungs spoiled with fulfilling breaths, and his mind’s calmer than the vast Pacific Ocean—all thanks to you. 

“You…really want to know?” 

“Yup,” your eyes flutter open to hang upon Nanami’s heavy lids. “Tell me anything and everything.”

Giving in, Nanami’s head falls into a gentle tilt, “Do you know how beautiful are you?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“You say it like that, but I don’t know if you really do…”

“You think so highly of me.”

“I have to, you’re the woman I’ve devoted my life to.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Regret?” Nanami has to echo. It’s just one of the words that have escaped his vocabulary in recent years. And a regret in your presence is something he knows he’ll never, ever know again. “Never. And even if I did, I’d do it all again just to be with you.”

Gently you bite into your bottom lip “Do you remember our wedding night?”

“Of course I do. I mean it was such a—-”

“I think tonight’s going to be a repeat of that. Or better.”

As your words break through the air, you’re given the honor of watching Nanami crumble underneath the heat of your advances. Blush breaks across his cheeks, his pupils blown wide by lust’s bite, and right beneath your hand his heart’s back to roaring its spirted song.

“Real—ahem—Really? And why’s that?”

“Welllll…” The soft drag of your coo lures Nanami into hypnosis. “I just think it is, Baby. How’s that sound to you?”

“Go—Good. I can’t ever say—” 

Nanami lets your lips swallow down the last of his words in your kiss. He lets you take his last breath, his last thoughts, and all the sanity he thought he relied upon. In trade of that, he’s given the chance to relinquish all control just to drink in your soft whimpers, to sate his whims with your kiss, to scour your soft skin with his rough hands. 

Reality sets in hard and heavy for Nanami. To think, just moments ago he was too absorbed in admiring you—his wife, his lady, his precious angel tucked beside him like any other night.

His precious angel who wears sleep with a plump pout and soft snores.

His precious angel clutching at the thick pillow beneath your head.

His precious angel who has sin creeping along your curves and slipping beneath a pair of lacy red panties.

“Mmm…Ken…” your voice quietly breaks against his puffy lips. Your hips flirt with Nanami’s feathering touch, winding along to his shy caress. “Hmph…right…right there…”

“Yeah?” He allows for a lone digit to greet your dormant clit, the warmth of his touch gently thumbing circles into your bundle of nerves. “It’s riiiight here, isn’t it pretty girl?”

He plays coy, letting honey drip from his lips and into your ear. “Tell me so I can make everything better, Sweetheart.”

“Fuck, Ken please—Harder, baby, Harder!”

Dumbfounded. A dumbfounded gawk is all Nanami can muster towards you—until the ends of his mouth curl up into a grin he buries along the pulse of your throat.

“Harder?” He mocks with a hiked brow. “I don’t think you can take that, Honey. No…but…since you asked so nicely…”

SLAP!

The loud clash of Nanami's palm against your splayed cunt rings in silence over the room, serving as the perfect beat for your body to comprehend the brash course your husband's veered the night into.

“Oh–Fuck!” Tossing your head back between your shoulders, you mewl as the heavy chimes around the room. “T-that’s too much, Ken!”

Nanami hides his chuckle behind a kiss he presses to your temple. “I Promise that’s the last time tonight.” His sights slip down between your legs, watching as his fingers work to soothe your poor clit from his torture. 

He feathers down to your slit, the tight pink ring suckling to Nanami’s familiar touch. His intentions you know are pure, even amidst such lust staining the air. He’s so gentle with you, having his digits complement the perky bud of your clit with sluggish strokes, teasing your hole with the sticky circles he draws. 

All for his digits to fall victim to your pussy.

“Oh, such a greedy baby,” Nanami gasps. He’s forced to ignore the heavy stains of precum ruining his briefs, but he simply can’t let you have your way. It’s enough that he’s curling those slender fingers within your heat, strumming along the gummy walls he’s planning on staining white.  “You can’t take me just playing with you, you need so much more.”

A slight curl to your lips spites him. “I guess you know me well, Honey. Your fault for spoiling me.”

“And? You know I don’t regret a moment of it.”

He’s so sweet with you, peppering kisses along your cheeks, filling your mind with saccharine hymns. Yet he’s incessant with his reach, sending his digits to know every inch of your pussy with each strike he drills into your sweet spot.

It's just like Nanami, once he’s found a goal, he’ll work and work until the logic runs dry in his mind. He’ll work a hellish job for the trade of money, he’ll risk his life for the trade of saving others, and he’ll work his hand to the raw nerve to turn your pussy into a sputtering mess. 

“Good girl, you’re making me so proud, Baby,” Nanami coos, his eyes glued between your twitching legs. “Oh, I wish you could see what I do.”

“A-and w..wha-at’s that?” 

Your stumbling words earn an esteemed chuckle from Nanami. “Well…I could always just describe it to you…But there’s something I need to do first...”

It isn’t like him to keep you puzzled, especially with words nonetheless. But Nanami’s a man of action, letting his body move to support his cause. His cause for tonight, however, called for his body to slip away from your warmth all for him to be planked between your thighs and his hands kneading at your plushy skin. 

“That’s even better. Now, where do I even begin…”

His thumb comes to peck at your bud, lazily scrolling at the perky pearl in swipes. “I’ve been thinking about it all day, counting the minutes until I’m back at your side…back between your legs…back to having this pussy drip bliss back into my poor soul.”

It isn’t enough to have you laid out on a silver platter where his tongue can lather at your honey for hours—Nanami needs you to know just how deep his depravity lies. He slowly drags his tongue to wet his plump lips, soothing the ravenous urge that boils to the forefront of his mind with dumb babbles. 

“Just so…pretty…and pink. So sweet, so soft. Honey, I can’t go a day without you, you’re my lifeline, every beat of my heart. I just…”

His touch gets the better of his coherency. He knows better than to find focus elsewhere when speaking, but in truth, Nanami did not—he should not have caught your slicked hole fluttering at the sound of his soliloquy. 

“Oh…Fuck me…”

He wants to be kind, he wants to be sweet, and Nanami wants to embody the very traits he’s fallen in love with.

But he can’t.

Nanami can’t play the nice guy when he greedily welcomes your pussy back into his salacious mouth with a gracious sigh, his jaw hungrily working to force that poor button into a pudgy bloat.

Cunnilingus. It’s an art he’s swiftly mastered after three years of marriage, learning every inch of your body like your own. He knows where exactly his tongue should flit, where his finger curls the best, and even how long it should take for your body to shatter at his hands.

But it’s an effortless art when mastered behind love, and it steals Nanami’s breath away every time he catches his breath. 

“Fuck,” his curse breaks through the air. His hands knead at the silky plush hidden underneath your thigh, leaving every curve of his fingerprint to sear into you—-to mark you as his own. He’s eager to catch your eyes, those adorable eyes that well up with the fattest tears whenever he pedals his tongue right against your clit.   

As the age-old game of cat and mouse welcomes itself onto the stage known as the bed, you unassumingly take up your role the second you jerk away from Nanami’s silent plea.

What he wants from you—time, affection, or maybe even an orgasm, every idea falls to the back burner the moment your hips mindlessly buck into his mouth. You could have sold him the story of it being an accident, but why ruin his fun where he’s so hellbent on this one night that your body’s finally taking offense?

Though, when the rare glow dots the eyes he shoots up at you, you swear you can see hearts in the distance of his blown pupils. 

“Oh, look at that,” Nanami almost humors himself as he takes another glance at your cunt.

A precarious man such as he can’t afford to miss any details. His eyes cling to the unfolding sight, how his thick digits bathe in your essence, carefully sketching his own path about your folds so rich with nerves. He’s shamelessly gawking at how the succulent hues of rose bodes well with his fair skin, each pass he bestows upon your cunt pulls him into a self-induced trance.

“Making such a mess just from me talking. What a dirty mind you’ve got, isn’t that right, Honey?” 

Right on the tip of your tongue, the words baste behind the sweetest rapport. You could let him have him, fill his ears with talk of how lechery paints his face like a mask. He is your husband, yet the side he’s letting out to roam tonight leaves your fuzzy mind combing with an answer—and fast. 

“W-Where is this co-comming f-from, Baby?” 

That’s what you say, but the moans slipping from your traitorous mouth when Nanami plants one last kiss to your folds tells him all that needs to be known.  

“What?” He chuckles to himself. The pads of his digits wade through the glassy web sewn between your delicate folds, “Can’t handle me talking about your pussy, Sweetheart? I’m sorry but you'll have to take it. And, speaking of taking it…you know what else I love about you?”

“What’s that?” Your voice trails out behind a whimper.

Just to catch your eye, Nanami allows for the single tug of his briefs to free him from hell reincarnated. With the gray waistband sitting underneath the heavy bloat of his balls, his hand hungrily grips the base of his cock. A hellish squeeze around his rippling veins has your eyes nearly crossing at the pearly tears spilling from his tip. 

With the thread of sanity left in your mind, your hands race to ball the blanket within your fists, for some kind of grounding. “Fuck! Please! Please, tell me, I can’t wait anymore, Baby!”

“Let me show you then,” Nanami hums as he cup at the back of your knees. “I love when I fold you in half…juuuust like this…”

His words speak for him, Nanami’s sheer strength working pin your poor, tired body into one of his favorite positions—a mating press.

“I can see just how hard you try to take every inch of me. Making your poor pussy stretch around my cock, you must really love me, don’t you Honey?”

It’s sinfully natural the way the fat blushing crown of Nanami’s cock sits upon your clit, a detail he’s made himself keen to. His thick bulb sobbing those white tears all because of badly he needed to have you. To have his fingers work at your gushing cunny is one thing, his cock on the other hand?

He’s on course to face ruin tonight.

He’s already planning the next position, the hour, the next day, all dedicated to keeping his fat length choked within your walls for as long as he could.

Why with such knowledge, it’s no wonder his hips fall into a languid toll, leaving the thick head to trace every curve of your cunt. He’s driving up against every nerve just to watch your face quiver, to see those tears he loves so much all from a little teasing. 

His head dips along the marked tract of your neck, a cowardly move to hide his own flush face. His hands clip to your waist, baring your body between the smothering warmth of his thick chest and bed—without an inch to spare. 

His muffled voice hums against your neck, “T-That feels good right?” 

“Fuh–it’s s’ good Ken. ‘m so close, Baby please!” 

“It’s too soon to cum, Sweetheart—you know that.” Nanami faces betrayal from his warning, his hips snapping against your own. “Just take it nice ‘nd eas–shit! Oh Honey, you feel so…so…fuck, that’s so good!”

“Kennnn! Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” You hysterically sob in his ear. It’s all for good reason as those ominous white stars begin to freckle your vision. The knot hasn’t even pulled taut shattered and yet you’re already a victim to its claim. The mind-altering high that rips you out of your body for nothing short of a few seconds.

“Hold it, you can’t yet, Sweetheart, not—”

Sending your grip to sink into the twitching muscle of his biceps, you whimpered out against Nanami’s wishes. “I can’t, Kento! It’s too much!” You knew all too well what was coming and as much as Nanami claims to know as well, he simply couldn’t have you reeling off something so mundane as humping. 

“Please Honey, hold it. Just a little—”

“Fuck! ‘m cumming!” 

The perilous yelp echoes around the room as the pure state of bliss paints itself white in your mind. All that pressure, the tensions, it all slips away from you through the harsh arch your spine fights beneath Nanami.

It’s futile to try and stop the inevitable, and the bliss that comes with surrender is all the more peaceful. When your body tingles with the aftershocks, your mind hazy from the stress and woes of the day, all of the negative can’t survive when a high like that comes crashing hard and heavy. 

Exhaustion houses itself in your body, accompanying weakness and the giddy smiles that you can’t hold back–until your body feels like a weight has been lifted off your chest.

“That…whew, that was so—Kento?”

Your spotty sights focus upon falling onto Nanami’s silhouette, his towering form resting back on his haunches. His hand’s fallen between your bodies, a loose fist drumming against your skin. He’s pummeling his cock beneath harsh strokes, forcing abstract thick ropes of white to dance along your puffy lips. 

“Ken, Baby?” You call out cautiously as his body collapses over yours. “It’s okay,”  we can call it an early night–”

“I can’t leave you unsatisfied, it was pathetic of me to let go right now,” He huffs,  We’ve got our routine—gonna fill this pretty pussy so fucking full just so I can clean you up. And I have to tell you something.”

Your eyes soften over Nanami, desperately watching as the man seeks redemption. He isn’t one to be a sore loser, but when it comes to you—he’ll work until he breaks just to know that he was behind your euphoria. 

All resolutions point to you supplying his motive with undying support, especially when your digits reach to strum at the sparse blond hairs along the nape of his neck. “Go ahead, tell me Ken.”

A wicked grin stretches onto Nanami’s features, only to hide behind a kiss within the valley of your breasts.

“Oh, I love you so much, Baby. Can’t wait to give all my love to the prettiest girl!”

[awearywritersworld]

the boy spurned as evil and the girl of his youth

sukuna x reader w/c: .6k tags/warnings: angst, i'm afraid. young!sukuna. depictions of blood. ur dad's an asshole. fem!reader. no use of y/n. a/n: please check out the lovely artwork by @demonzaemon that inspired this piece!!! i'm definitely down to write a second part about a reunion, so let me know if that would interest anyone! masterlist read part two here

thinking about sukuna at 10 years of age— he's been abandoned by his family and scorned by his village because of the strange way he looks. he has to steal stale bread during the night to survive. he has to take shelter in the ruins of an abandoned home. he has to bear the harsh elements. he has to do it all alone.

that is, until he meets a curious little girl by the riverside during the spring. he'd found an old, frayed fishing net the day prior, and while he hopes to catch something he can eat for dinner, he catches your attention instead.

and you marvel at him as if he's the most remarkable thing you've ever laid eyes on. you're poking at the harsh lines that mar his skin. you're pulling at his pink hair because you're convinced it's fake. you're counting his arms as if the extra two will eventually disappear.

he doesn't mind though. he's too caught up in the fact that someone's touching him. that he can feel the warmth of your skin against his. he can hardly believe it when you scamper off, calling over your shoulder gleefully, "i'll meet you here again tomorrow!"

after that, everything changes and he finds himself in your company more often than not. you sneak your meals out of the house each day, even though your portions are meager. you bring him a few of your blankets, even though it means you're cold at night. what he appreciates most though? the fact you look at him like he's human.

then, what is simultaneously the best and worst night of his life happens. you fall asleep beside him in the overgrown grass near the river. its early autumn by now and the stars are twinkling in the sky, so your body clings innocently to his, seeking his warmth.

he takes the opportunity to study you in the moonlight. to commit every detail of your face to memory. he considers the fact that you feel safe enough to fall asleep beside him, even when every other person in the world has deemed him evil and sinister.

eventually he's lulled to sleep by your slow and gentle breaths, but not before coming to the decision that he is yours and you are his. and while you're the only thing in the world that the young boy has to his name, he's okay with that.

then, all too soon, he's awoken by yelling and it's not a moment later that you're ripped from his arms by your father. he's screaming about how you've defiled yourself by associating with such a despicable fiend.

"no, he's my friend! he's good!" you wail, your arms stretched toward sukuna in a plea for help. "don't let him take me! please!"

and he tries. he really, really tries. he runs after your father, beating at his back in an attempt to free you, but he's just too small. his body is weak from years of malnourishment. the older man pushes him to the ground with little effort and sukuna's palms slice open upon the sharp stones protruding from the earth.

crimson spills from the wounds, but he can hardly feel it. the ache in his chest is too consuming. too agonizing. it's unfair that such a little body should house so much pain, but that seems to be the story of his relatively short life.

so as he calls out to you, his voice broken and desperate, he knows it's the last time he'll ever see you and he's forced to come to terms with the universe's cruel edict— that he deserves to spend his life alone.

[tired-biscuit]

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 18+ mdni, fem!reader // mating press, mentions of breeding, husband!bakugou (yes, he's aged up)

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 700+

𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

𝗕𝗔𝗞𝗨𝗚𝗢𝗨 fucks you in whichever way he can think of.

Sometimes it’s up against the shower wall, when he has your back pressed to the wet tiles and he still wears that same conceited smirk that had first ghosted over his rosy lips the moment you had offered the lame excuse of saving up on water by showering together. 

Other times it’s him fucking you from behind; hands and thrusts alike from how harsh and greedy they are as you try not to sweat too much because you’re both still dressed in your work clothes, and he’s got you bent over the now-disorganized desk in his fancy office – your tear-stained cheek flushed against the expensive wood.

He fucks you while standing up, making you watch yourself in the mirror whilst the only part of him you can see behind you is the focused and firm line of his mouth. He fucks you sitting down, when he’s tired and drained from yet another late-night patrol, and thus lets you take charge for once; warm, scarred hands that have held so much power and destruction in the form of a spark – and still do – turning gentle and caring for a change as they slide across the curve of your hips and guide you to a faster rhythm. 

He screws you when your limbs are effortlessly entangled with his own stronger ones as you lay in bed and toss around the bed sheets that he obsessively keeps washing after every more intense fuckfest. And he slams you in the car, too, when he feels like being risky for once, and decides to make you bounce on his fat cock like a little slut in heat, even though anybody could walk past and hear your kittenish moans.

Still, nothing quite hits the spot like a good ol’ mating press does.

Truthfully, you’re not sure of the reason as to why. The position could be considered rather vanilla in the eyes of many; it’s just spicy missionary, but goddammit, if it doesn’t turn your brain to mush and causes your heart to jump whenever he starts hinting he wants it. His eyes burn like fire, the red gaze fierce as he practically manhandles you into it like you’re some toy he likes to play with all the time, every time, any place, everywhere.

And perhaps you adore the position because of the angle that lets him sink his heavy cock so deep inside you that the overcapacity you feel at the intrusion makes your eyes cross and your jaw turn slack. Maybe you enjoy it because he looks absolutely beautiful whilst doing it: glimmering in sweat and panting in the midst of all the passion going on between you. 

Perhaps it’s the way he reaches out and his thick digits intertwine with your own; the chill of the golden ring he had placed upon your finger a long while ago, brushing his knuckle and sending a shiver down his spine because you’re his, his, his – all his.

It might be the way he subtly dips in to reach you better, so that he can kiss you. How his warm tongue tangles with your own, and he kisses you so deeply and with such feverish desire that you lose yourself in him; fade away to a point where he has to sink his teeth into your bottom lip to bring you back to him. 

How he caresses your face, brings you closer until your drool mixes with his own, and turns into something sweeter as the quiet, “I love you.” sinks into the saliva.

It’s the way he can rest his forehead against your own the moment his hips pick up pace and intent, and your knees are nearly touching your ears from the way he bends you to the brink of pain, and he has to focus to not make you ache, even though – fuck, it feels too good to do that right now. 

How he watches you break over and over again, then; crumbling into nothing but pure bliss as you cry out his name in that breathless sort of tone he absolutely adores, and that truly does make him feel like a hero.

How he can breed the fuck out of you after you cum and gush and turn oh, so very messy for the third time in a row. As that ring of milky slick gathers at the base of his dick and everything feels so sloppy and hot that he’s ready to give you his all and spill, spill, spill. Until you’re dumb. Fucked out. Dripping with his cum because he’s so in love with both you and your sticky pussy.

Who knows?

[ihrthoney]

heartbeat

pairings: singledad!draken x f!reader

warnings: fluff, angst if you squint

word count: 2.2k

an: part two

To say Draken was nervous was an understatement. His fingers have been anxiously tapping on the table for the past five minutes. It’s been almost two years since he last went on a date. Inui had continuously nagged him to get out there again, in his words, “You look like you’ve aged 30 years from the stress.” The blonde rolls his eyes at the memory.

The restaurant was a bit too fancy for his liking but everyone insisted the food was good, pushing him to try something new. As if going on a date in who knows how long isn’t the ‘something new’.

Draken tries not to look toward the entrance too much, he doesn’t know who’s about to walk up to the table. All Hina told him was that she was a very good friend, it was harder turning her down given how naturally kind Hina was. A few more minutes pass until he sees someone from his peripheral vision walking straight toward the two seated table.

Like the gentlemen he was raised to be, Draken gets up from his seat to pull out the chair in front of him, waiting until you sit down to take his own.

“You must be Ken Ryuguji!” you stick your head out, and the smile you wear on your face is so inviting that he can’t help but smile back and reach his hand out to meet yours, a gentle shake as he introduces himself, “My friends call me Draken but Ken is just fine too.”

His hand engulfs your own, and you take note that he’s very gentle considering his height and appearance, “I’m yn, It’s nice to meet you. I hope I didn’t make you wait long.” Shaking his hand, he dismisses your worry. Draken was a punctual person but his nerves made him arrive at the reservation earlier to mentally prepare for the night.

Taking in your attire, Draken can’t stop the compliment from leaving his lips, “You look beautiful tonight.” He softens at your flustered state, the voices in his head only get louder. A million ‘What Ifs’ start to plague his mind, and he’s suddenly even more nervous than before.

Your gentle voice shakes him from drowning, “Hey, are you okay? If this is too much for you then we could just call it a night. I’ll even tell Hina it went well so she doesn’t-” The shaking of his head silences you, “No, it’s okay. I’m sorry, it’s honestly been a long time since I’ve gone on a date.” There was that smile of yours, “Don’t worry, I get it. Especially with this setting, it’s hard not to be nervous.”

It was a waste of a reservation, one he’ll pay his friends back for, “Would you like to go somewhere else? I know a place that serves some good ramen.” Draken could see the relief wash over your face at his offer, “I would love to.”

He tips the server for the inconvenience of leaving, then pulls your chair out and guides you to walk out first.

The cool night breeze hit his skin, goosebumps covered his skin. Noticing how your arms hug yourself to shield from the harsh temperature drop, he shakes off his jacket and drapes it onto your shoulders.

Hesitantly, you push your arms through the sleeves, the jacket swallows you and Draken can’t help but think about how cute you look, “Thank you, you didn’t have to.”

Draken smiles, “I can’t have the lady cold, now can I?” It’s not often he is so openly affectionate, but there’s something about you.

-

Arriving at the shop, the sign outside reads Sugoaku. The twins may own the shop but their food doesn’t disappoint. Upon entering, the twins turn around to welcome whom they thought were new customers, but seeing the familiar tattoo the twins’ smile becomes more genuine.

“Hey Draken! What brings you here?” Smiley greets, standing next to his brother at the front of the table. Before he can reply, you notice the man with blue hair nudges the former and glances at you.

“Oh shit!” Such a loud response causes Draken to sigh. Turning to you, “I’m sorry about him, even after all these years he has no filter.” A glare is pointed at the peach haired man who ignores the taller man by grabbing menus.

Your date pulls your chair out, gesturing for you to sit then taking a seat beside you. “This is yn, yn this is Souya Kawta, you can call him Angry. He’s one of the owners of this shop.” The man, who you learned is Souya... Angry?.. gives you a small smile and nod; To which you politely smile back.

“We used to all be in a gang together.” This information is quite shocking to you, maybe the tattoo should’ve been a giveaway but you found no issues with tattoos, unlike society. Excitedly, Smiley points out the picture he has framed.

Moving your eyes, you slightly squint to get a better look when you hear Draken ask if they can see it up close. After ordering, the picture is laid in front of you and your eyes scan and absorb all the little details.

“There were six founders, I was one of them, alongside my best friends.” The expression you gave him clearly asked, Really?

He nodded at your curiosity, pointing out all the members and telling you the story of how Toman formed, what the goal was, and so on.

Even though your food was served, he continued to talk about Toman. The raven didn’t mean to ramble so much about the past. Toman was his pride and joy.

With the way you looked at him, he couldn’t help but keep talking about his past. The way you stared at him with genuine interest, asking questions, he felt his youth come back to him, even for the night.

Being so hypnotized by the way Draken looked when talking, neither of you noticed the looks the twins were giving each other. While waiting for the food to settle, you all talked a little more, getting to know each other before you and Draken decided to grab dessert.

Smiling, you waved the twins goodbye, “Thank you again for having us, I’ll make sure to stop by again!” Side by side, you and Draken walked towards an ice cream place you knew. But before you guys could reach it, he pulls you towards a bench.

Draken was nervous, he really enjoyed the date and he knew after dessert he’d have to drop you home. The conversation before you guys depart for the night weighs heavy on his mind, he doesn’t want to get his hopes up. He won’t allow himself to hope.

There’s a slightly uncomfortable silence between you two, it looks like he wants to say something. “An extra scoop of ice cream for your thought?” He laughs at the bribe, opting to look at his hands than your eyes.

Taking a deep breath, he confesses his worry, “I’m afraid it’ll scare you away.”

“I just learned you were a founder of the top gang in Tokyo about an hour ago. It may have been your life but to a bystander like me, gangs are scary. I don’t think-” Biting the bullet, the raven interrupts you,

“I have a kid.”

Your lips shut tight at his words, and just as he feared there’s a silence-

“Oh? That’s it?”

Just like you, Draken’s got a confused look on his face, “What do you mean ‘That’s it’?”. He was expecting you to freak out or ask a million questions, that’s what Mikey did when he learned he and Emma split.

“I mean, we’re almost in our 30’s. Normally couple’s this age have kids.” His eyebrows furrowed even more, slightly alarmed at your calmness.

He questions you, “Right but I’m a single dad, doesn’t the idea of someone with a kid intimidate you?”

“Are you asking me to help raise your kid?” Draken was baffled at your own question, quickly replying, “No, of course not!”

There’s that gentle smile you beamed at him earlier, “Then you have nothing to worry about, Draken.” You place your hand atop of his, “I’ll obviously help you as much as you want or allow me to… I was afraid you were going to tell me you had a foot kink or something.”

Draken’s face was one of pure disgust, “I should be offended you think so low of me.” Pulling your hand away, you slightly smack his arm, “You thought it would scare me away! I was genuinely thinking of things that would!”

For the first time in a while, Draken genuinely laughs. A laugh that has him let go of any worry and doubt he had, while you pouted at him making fun of you.

He can’t help but think about how beautiful you look, the way the street light makes your eyes shine. Raising a kid is not like taking care of a more behaved Mikey, he was always the more logical one out of his friends (save for Mitsuya) but with you, he feels young again.

His heart beats a little faster, he’s excited to see where things go with you. After the jokes die down, you, sweetly, ask questions about his kid.

A flame lit under the man, he’s a proud father and pridefully tells you about his two year old son who’s name is Haru. The way he animatedly talks about his son makes your chest ache in the best way, your chest feels warm at the way Draken loves.

Although hesitant, you ask, if he was up to it, about Haru’s mother. He then explains that they were still great friends, having grown up with each other, and that having a kid made them grow into people who weren’t compatible anymore. Draken has no shame in complimenting Emma, she was his first love and the mother of his child, but he makes it very clear that they are not together and havent been romantically involved in a long time.

To be completely honest, hearing about his first love being the mother of his child made your heart drop but that was a thought for another time.

Time passed between you both that when Draken finally checked the time, realization struck him that any ice cream shop would be long closed for the night. He apologizes profusely but you laugh and shake it off, “I had a great time with you tonight, Draken.”

“Please, call me Ken.” He wants to kiss you, he really wants to kiss you. Being with you felt like he could finally let go of the air he’s been holding in, he feels relaxed. Draken wants more of you, he feels a little embarrassed talking so much. He wants to know about your first love, what you did after school, your favorite food so he can learn to make it. The smile on your face makes him want to love every flaw you have, he wants to learn to love you.

“Okay, Ken. Thank you for dinner, thank you for trusting me enough to tell me about your son and his mother.”

Ignoring every voice telling him to take it slow, “Would it be okay if I kissed you right now?” The surprise on your face makes him want to take back his question in fear you’re going to reject him but instead he’s fortunately greeted with a loving smile,

“It would be more than okay.”

The hand that layed atop of yours moves to cradle your jaw, holding you ever so delicately. Ken’s other hand moves down to your waist, slowly moving you closer to minimize the gap between your faces.

Theres a moment where you just stare into each others eyes, a soft gaze adorning both of your faces. He’s so close that you can see the patten that decorates his eye, before it closes and your eyes copy.

Plush lips meet in the middle, the sound of crickets around you. There’s another breeze that sends chills down your spine but worry not, Draken pulls you closer. The kiss deepens, but the energy stays light and gentle despite how rough his hands feel.

You kiss until you’re both satisfied, until you start needing longer gaps of air, until the night air becomes too cold and he walks you home with your hands intertwined. Shamelessly, he asks you to stay the night (nothing like that, he just doesn’t want you out of his arms yet), you decline his offer for now, saying distance makes the heart grow fonder, he grumbles at that.

If Mikey were to see him right now, he’d point and laugh, calling him a sap. He can’t wait for you to meet his friends.

Begrudgingly, your date lets go of your hand, kissing you a million more times before bidding you goodnight. He gives you his number, telling you to never hesitate to call or text him. You add a heart next to his contact name, and he claims the cold air is the reason his ears turned red (you both know he’s lying.)

Laughing, You tippy toe and give him one last long goodnight kiss, whispering to him before entering your apartment,

“Goodnight Ken, get home safely. I can’t wait to see you again.”

The door closes shut but he feels the door to his heart slam open.

© ihrthoney. reblogs & feedback are greatly appreciated𑁤

[skbeaumont]

Texas Heat | Joel x Reader

Chapter 4 – The Barbeque

Series masterlist

Chapter Summary: Saturday brings a barbeque, a whole lot of flirting, and a perfect storm of tension that might just push you and Joel to the brink of something new. Rating: Mature Tags/warnings: flirting, sexual tension, smut, age difference (reader is 25, Joel is 37), AU!No outbreak. Word Count: 3.1k

Taglist: @mysterialee@amyispxnk @ghostofzion-blog

The Texas heat is almost unbearable even when you wake at just past seven the next morning. Laying in bed,  you can still feel the ghost of Joel’s hand against your jaw, the gentle way his fingers tangled in your hair, the delicate fan of his breath mingling with yours. The memory keeps you in bed a little longer, has you pressing your own hand beneath the waistband of your shorts. You come hard to the thought of Joel’s expression as he looked at you from the doorway of the garage, the intoxicating pull of his eyes. You wonder how his fingers – that trailed so dexterously across your cheek not twelve hours ago – would feel pressed against your core, if they would dip inside you, laying pleasure upon pleasure as he watched you with that same dark, intense expression.

Eventually, you force yourself to get up and dress. You pull on the bikini your brought with you – white, with sculped edges and long ties that you double knot – and then don your favourite sundress, one that you’ve been saving for a special occasion. Examining yourself in the mirror, you can’t help but feel a little nervous, your stomach squirming uncomfortably. Last night, Joel had been seconds from kissing you, his hands tangled in your hair, pulling you up to meet his hungry lips. And God, the thought of it makes your toes curl, your thighs press together.

But there’s anxiety there, too.

It’s been months since you broke up with your boyfriend back home, the same one you’d been with throughout your entire time at university and the gap years between. The thought of starting something new with someone else feels terrifying in so many ways. What if Joel decides he doesn’t like you, or want you? What if he’s hesitant, or unsure, and it ruins all of the hard work you’ve done over the past few months, convincing yourself you’re deserving of love and affection?

You close your eyes against the image in the mirror, refusing to let yourself fall into old habits of self-criticism, and take a long, deep breath, letting it out slowly. You focus on thinking about Joel’s easy smile and his calloused, warm hands. You think about his broad, strong shoulders and the dark lock of hair that always falls across his forehead. The nerves die away a little, replaced by anticipation and excitement. You open your eyes again, look yourself in the eye and repeat the words Diana said to you on Wednesday. “Flirt your ass off.”

Five hours later finds you and Danny lugging a slightly rusty beer cooler over to the Cuthberts’. Theirs is the biggest lot on the road, a sprawling house surrounded by a flawlessly mown front lawn and backed by huge garden, complete with a patio – almost certainly larger than your entire flat back in London – and a tiled, picture-perfect swimming pool. You let out a low whistle as you and Danny round the house into the garden, taking in the two-tiered, five-grill barbeque in the centre of the patio and the array of chairs, sofas and tables laid out on the decking. There are no other guests yet, but you find yourself searching Joel out anyway, peering around the potted palm trees and oversized plant pots.

Mr Cuthbert, a large, jovial man in a bright Hawaiian print shirt, slaps Danny convivially on the back and introduces himself – “call me John”, he says, offering you a wink which you steadfastly ignore.

You and Danny put the beer cooler in a shady part of the patio and help John fill it with the beers from his drinks fridge – a separate appliance than his usual fridge, he proudly informs you as he hands you bottles of wine, premixed cocktails, sodas, and beers. By the time you’re done, a few guests have trickled into the garden, all carrying more drinks and food.

Slowly, the garden and deck fills up with neighbours and friends. You stand near the kitchen in the shade, leaning against the cool stone of the house, your eyes fixed on the gate, watching with anticipation as each newcomer arrives. You hear Sarah before you see her or Joel, catch the end of a shout of her infectious laughter as the two of them come into the garden.

Joel’s in tinted sunglasses that reflect the garden back at you, his hair brushed back from his forehead, dark and thick and streaked with a few errant greys. He’s wearing a loose-fitting linen Henley and a pair of shorts that show off the tanned vee of collarbone and chest, the bottom of his thick thighs. He says something to Sarah, points her in the direction of a group of similarly-aged kids and she darts off, leaving Joel to survey the garden. When his eyes find yours – or rather when his sunglasses reflect your own figure – he breaks into an easy sideways grin, holds up one hand in greeting.

You told yourself you would play it cool, ease into the flirting, but before his hand has even returned to his side you’re darting towards him, sidestepping a toddler and two middle aged women. He meets you halfway across the garden, taking large steps that cover the distance to the deck easily.

“Hey,” You say when you meet.

“Hi.” He replies, and he draws his sunglasses up off his face to rest on the top of his head, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes as he does.

“I’m disappointed,” You say, gesturing at his shorts and shirt, “I was promised a toolbelt and workmen’s boots.”

He laughs at this, a deep, throaty chuckle that comes right from his chest.

“Toolbelt’s just at home, if you want me to go and get it.”

“Maybe later.” You reply, smirking.

“You want a drink?”

“Sure.”

You follow him to the beer cooler and watch as Joel plucks two bottles out of the icy water, opens the tops with one hand. The simple gesture shouldn’t be so goddamn attractive, shouldn’t make blood rush to your cheeks and heat pool in your belly, but it is and it does. He hands you one of the beers, and your fingers brush his warm knuckles as you take it. The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches in response, his eyes flashing in the bright sunlight. You can feel the blush hot on your face just from these tiny, pathetic touches, slick already pooling in your core, dampening the bikini bottoms under your sundress. You clear your throat and Joel nods to a quiet corner of the deck where a loveseat lies unoccupied. You follow him to it, sink into its plush cushioning. Joel sits beside you. He's so broad that he takes up more than half of the sofa, his shoulder bumping against yours as he settles. You both look out over the garden, at where Sarah and the other kids are having an intense discussion in a tight cluster.

“She really enjoyed that math lesson you gave her,” he says, musingly, “won’t stop goin’ on about it. Never seen her so keen to be over at Connie’s before, either.”

“She’s really bright.” You reply, turning to him.

“No idea where she gets that from.”

You roll your eyes at him, cross one leg over the other, watch as Joel follows the movement with his eyes, drags his gaze up your bare thigh to the hem of your dress.

“’s a nice dress,” he says, the drawl of his accent stealing away the first syllable.

“Thanks. I’d been saving it for a special occasion.”

“This a special occasion?” He asks, gaze flicking from your bare thigh to your face, the trace of a mischievous smile playing on his plush lips.

“You tell me.” You reply, letting your own mouth curve into a grin.

There’s a splash from the pool and you both turn to see Sarah emerging from the water, face cracked into a wide smile as her friends jump in after her. Joel shakes his head, laughing.

“Always gotta be the first one in.” He says, and you laugh too, watch as Sarah splashes another girl.

“You going in?” You ask, as a few adults start sitting at the side of the pool to dip their toes in and slowly climbing in after the kids. “Not a chance.” He says, “I ain’t a swimmer.”

“That’s a shame.” You say, standing up and pulling the sundress up over your head, “Would’ve been nice to have some company.”

Joel’s eyes travel over your body, taking in the curves of your breasts and waist, the swathes of bare skin. His gaze makes you feel self-conscious, but his expression is awe-struck, reverent, like he’s looking at something sacred. His pupils are blown wide despite the bright sunlight, cheeks reddening. The hand clutching his beer is white-knuckled, the other twitching where it rests in his lap like he wants to reach out and trace the path of your curves. He swallows, Adam’s apple rippling in this throat.

“I’ll be jus’ fine watchin’, darlin’.” He says, his voice hoarse.

You waste no time sliding off your sandals and darting towards the water. It’s immature, maybe, but you’ve never been able to resist diving headfirst into water. The pool is cool, fresh: perfect in the intense Texan heat. Sarah giggles as you resurface, splashes you with a back hand. You spend the next half-hour messing about with her, having handstand competitions and lying on your backs to float idly. Every time you let your gaze wander to where Joel is sitting, he’s watching you, his expression intense. He looks away the first few times you catch him, but after the fourth time he lets himself watch you, raises his beer to his lips and takes a sip. When he draws the bottle away, there’s a droplet on his lip. His tongue darts out to catch it, and you have to press your legs together in the water to dull the ache. This man, you think, watching him wipe his mouth with the back of one large hand, veins standing out on his toned forearms, is going to be the death of me.

After a few more minutes you’re starting to feel the cold, fingertips wrinkling in the water. You float over to the side of the pool and push yourself up onto the side. Droplets run down your stomach and legs as you stand up, goosebumps rising in their wake. You turn to look for where you left your bag and towel, but suddenly warmth is engulfing you, a soft, fluffy towel wrapped around your shoulders.

“Here,” Joel’s voice from behind you, his hands on your shoulders, draping the towel over you.

“Thanks.”

He steps back, lets his hands fall back to his sides.

“Water nice?” He asks, as you start to pat yourself dry.

“Refreshing,” You reply, looking up into his face.

“Looked it.” He’s standing close to you in the busyness of the garden, people milling around you both.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Looked… good.” He swallows again, tendons in his neck shifting. You want to put your lips to the flesh there, bite down onto rough skin, lick the stubble covering his jaw.

“I should go and get changed,” you say, nodding towards the house.

You step around him, start towards the kitchen door, turning to look behind you as you pick up your bag from where you left it by the beer cooler. Your eyes meet and the heat in his is almost palpable, rolling off of him in waves. You feel his gaze follow you as you step through the door into the cool air of the kitchen. Inside, you find the Cuthbert’s downstairs bathroom, shut the door behind you and lean back against it, your head spinning, heart pounding.

By the time you’ve changed back into your sundress, food is being served. You take a paper plate and let John load it up with chicken and a burger from the grill, then go and find a seat at a table with Danny, Connie, Joel and Sarah. You slide onto the bench next to Joel, letting your thigh brush against his and offering him a chaste smile when he raises a single eyebrow in response.

“How’s work, Joel?” Danny asks, swiping a blob of ketchup from his cheek.

“Oh, fine, thanks. Busy, at the moment.”

“Tommy alright? Not been getting into any more trouble?”

Joel laughs at this, shaking his head as he replies, “No more’n usual.”

Danny offers an understanding nod in response, and Sarah giggles, catching your eye across the table.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a happy, hazy buzz of food and conversation. Joel remains beside you, your legs pressed together on the bench seat. At some point, as Danny regales you all with a story of a traffic incident he witnessed last week, Joel stretches out, raising his hands over his head. When he brings them down, he lays his arm along the back of the bench behind you. You lean ever so slightly into him, imagining how it would feel if he slipped his arm down from the wood onto your shoulders. When you lean your head back to look up at the clear sky, you let it rest on his forearm, feel the heat of him seep through the hair at the nape of your neck through to your skin. The garden has started to empty now; the sky is slowly turning a pale, picture-perfect pink as the evening draws in. Danny lets out a long, steady sigh and pushes himself to his feet.

“We should get back to Nana,” he says to Connie, who nods and stands, “but you stay on as long as you like.” He adds to you, helping Connie pull on her cardigan.

You and Joel wave them off. Sarah leaves too, tired from the day, a little bored now the other teenagers and kids have left.

“Shouldn’t stay too much longer,” you say, looking around at where Mrs Cuthbert is collecting glasses up.

“No,” Joel agrees, but neither of you move.

His arm is still across the back of the bench, your neck now leaning against it. He flexes his hand, lets the tips of his thick fingers trace the skin on your bare shoulder, pulling up the strap of you sundress where it’s fallen down. The feeling of his hands on you is exhilarating and you shift in your seat, subconsciously begging him to keep touching you, to let his hand trace your shoulder to your collarbone, to dip down beneath the neckline of your dress to your bare breasts. He doesn’t, of course – there are still plenty of people in the garden – but he does leave his fingers where they are, just resting against your shoulder. Minutes pass. The tension between you seems to be building irreversibly, all the flirtatious banter and playful teasing from earlier gone, replaced by heavy silence and a kind of buzz in the air that makes the hairs stand up on the back of your neck.

Joel clears his throat after maybe ten minutes, runs his free hand up the leg of his shorts, wiping his palm which, if he’s feeling anything like you, is sweaty with a heady combination of anticipation and nervous energy.

“Should get back.” He says, his voice low, face turned to you so that the words are said against the shell of your ear.

“Yeah,”

This time, you both move as one. You stand, slipping the strap of your bag over your shoulder as you do, while Joel picks up his sunglasses from the table and slides them into the vee of his Henley. You both call hasty goodbyes to the Cuthberts, thanking them for the food and hospitality. And then you’re leaving the garden, stepping out of sight of the deck into the small alley between the house and the fence. You’ve hardly taken more than two or three steps before you both break.

Joel rounds on you as you grab him by his shirt. Crowding you against the wall of the house, he fists a hand in your hair and draws your mouth up to his. The kiss is frenzied, passionate right from the moment your lips meet. He groans from somewhere deep in his chest, licks his tongue into your mouth, his teeth grazing your lips, bruising them. His hand caresses your jaw, fingers spanning your face, cradling it as he kisses you. It’s intoxicating. You reach up to thread your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, pushing yourself up onto tiptoes to card them through his curls. You moan into his mouth, let your tongue lick into his mouth, his stubble tickling your face, harsh and scratchy in contrast to his soft lips.

He pulls back, rests his forehead against yours, both of you panting.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He whispers, leaning down to place open mouthed kisses on the underside of your jaw. “I can’t stop thinking about you, I can’t sleep, I can’t concentrate.”

“Joel…” It’s all you can say as he nips at your collarbone, runs his fingertips down your sides, hands searching out the flesh of your ass, pulling you to him, bending so that he can slide one thick thigh between yours. The movement brings his hips flush with yours, the line of his hardening cock pressing into your stomach, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. You grind against him, pressing your cunt into his thigh, seeking out friction. He hisses into your open mouth as he drags his hips against yours, cock trapped between your rutting bodies – a hot, thick line against you.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he breathes, nipping and pecking at your lips, dragging a hot hand up your side to squeeze your breast.

“Please don’t stop,” You reply, gasping as his fingers find the hard nub of your nipple and pinch, pleasure coursing through you like adrenaline.

The whole thing is ridiculous: you’re pressed against the wall of your neighbour’s house, Joel’s hands mapping out the curves of your body as he kisses you. Anyone could see, anyone could come round the path from the garden but neither of you seem to be capable of caring. The dam has burst and it’s all you can do to cling to each other, rocking your hips together, seeking out friction. It’s only when you slide a hand between your bodies, seeking out the hard line of Joel’s cock that he pulls back. His lips are swollen, eyes entirely black in the low light.

“We can’t do this,” he says, “not here.”

And then you’re both laughing, the absurdity of the entire situation overcoming you. When you calm down, still breathing heavily, Joel draws your face between his hands and presses another kiss to your lips.

“I want to,” he says, stroking his thumb along your cheekbone, “Jesus, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more.”

“Me neither,”

“Sarah’s staying at Tommy’s on Friday.” He says, “Come over. I’ll cook dinner, or take you out. I’ll treat you right, like you deserve.”

“Friday?” You say, “That’s a long way away.”

You push yourself onto tiptoes to kiss him again, draw his bottom lip into your mouth and he groans against you, his hips canting forward so that his cock drags against your hip.

He pulls away, rasps, “Shit, darlin’. You’re making me crazy.”

“I’ll be over on Tuesday, for Sarah.” You say, “I’ll stay until you get back from work.”

“You make it really hard to say no.”

“Then don’t say no.”

“Okay. But I’m taking you for dinner on Friday too. Don’t say I don’t know how to treat a woman.”

“Joel Miller, I don’t think anyone could ever say that.” And you press another kiss against his lips, smiling into it.

When you get home a few minutes later, your lips bruised and your head buzzing, there’s already a text in your inbox.

I’ll leave the toolbelt on for Tuesday. J

[sp00kymulderr]

I just want to…

Joel Miller x transmasc!reader

A lover boy drabble

Warnings/Tags/Notes: 18+. No outbreak au, Trans male reader, note that their breasts are mentioned. Mention of binding. Mention of dysphoria. feelings. LOVE. omg the love. kissing, touching, grinding, making out. Joel can't keep his hands off you. There is no universal trans experience, and therefore this is very personal to me. But if you love it, let me know so I can keep this series going. Unedited and unbeta'd. I love them so much it hurts.

Words: 1.2k

Ever since you started seeing each other, you and Joel can hardly be apart.

Half the time, you spend making out on his couch or in his truck like horny teens. Like despite his age, and your self-consciousness, you can't ever seem to keep your hands off of him.

He makes you feel like the person you always wanted to be, always craved to be. The kind of guy that men go weak for, men like Joel, all gruff and stoic and yet with you he turns into a puddle. He whimpers your name between kisses, and you can barely stop yourself from taking things further - but one thing is stopping you.

You've noticed how Joel's hands stay put, usually on your waist or hips, rarely straying further unless to squeeze your ass while you straddle him on the couch. He's being respectful, but you've felt the way his fingers grip and twitch, like he's stopping himself from moving them further.

You'd spoken about this before, how sometimes you can't be touched, sometimes it's difficult for you to feel reminders of your feminine features, and when the dysphoria is bad you can barely bring yourself to even look in a mirror, let alone let this handsome man grab handfuls of you and make you feel less of a man under his touch.

Joel understands it. He's more respectful then you anticipated, somehow. He kisses you slowly, softly, lets you set a pace, make the rules. He lets you take the lead, as you grind against each other in the drivers seat, parked outside his house because you know what will happen if you go inside, and maybe you aren't ready yet. And baby, that's okay, he whispers against your lips.

Tonight. Well, tonight you couldn't stop yourself. It was less a walk and more that you floated from his car to his porch to his living room to his sofa. Onto his lap, into his large hands, caressing carefully down your sides as you kiss him desperately and moan into his mouth.

And tonight, unable to stop himself, his hands move just an inch higher than usual, just beneath your chest. And his hips grind up into yours, something large and hard and needing under his jeans that makes you practically quiver with your own dreamt upon desires.

And he asks. Tonight, he asks.

“Can I touch you, baby?” Joel asks, the deep timbre of his voice vibrating through your ribcage. It’s the hottest fucking thing a man has ever said to you, and he says it like that?

“Yeah, god, yes… just- Not…not there…” You say, wash of shame through you because what if he wants to touch you there most, what if that’s what he’s been dreaming about, waiting for.

“Hey…” He takes your chin between finger and thumb, soft as he makes you look at him “Show me where”

At once you heart stops and starts, your body shivers with the lust in his voice, the desire to know you however you most want to be know. Everything on your terms. He wants what you want, and this is the first time with anyone that you've really felt that.

And maybe this is the moment you know he's the one.

He gives you a gentle, easy smile. Encouraging. You let out a shaky breath and run your hands through his salt and pepper curls before you nod, and return a shy smile of your own.

"You're really something, Joel Miller"

"I just want to make you feel good" Joel chuckles softly, shakes his head. Your stomach flips, falling fast and hard and it would be fucking terrifying if you weren't with him, in his arms.

"You gonna let me make you feel good, baby?"

You can't help the warm feeling that dances through you at his words, the raw honesty in them. He doesn't just want you, he wants your pleasure, and he's not shy about the fact. If he wasn't still holding you tight on his lap, you might've just melted into nothing right now, or maybe floated away.

Your eyes meet his again, no more trepidition or shyness to you, not now you know. Not now he's got you, never letting go of you as far as you can tell. It would be something else, to have someone like this fall in love with someone like you. To need you.

Is this what it feels like? To be someone's person? To be his man.

Wordlessly, you take his hands which are still perched carefully on your hips. One, you guide up but careful to stop it before it hits a place you can't be touched today.

"Right now it feels nice here, just beneath…or just above. Sometimes I bind, and i'll be okay with you touching all over. Sometimes I'll just want you to touch everywhere, with no rules" You explain softly, watching his eyes follow where you lead his hand.

You let out a shaky breath, and move his other hand down to the meat of your ass, let him paw at you there.

"That's…that's good. Yeah. Always good when you do that"

Joel mumbles something before he's capturing your lips in another searing, passionate kiss. This one doesn't end, doesn't want to. Neither of you can pull away, and paws at you, gropes, squeezes, worships as he whimpers against your lips. His hips are bucking up harder, grinding into you and it's overwhelming in the best sense as he shows you just how much he wants you to feel comfortable and good and perfect with him.

"Fuckin' love touching you, wherever you want to be touched, baby. You just tell me what you need, I'll always give it to you. Yeah?" The words are more a growl of desire rising up from deep within him, some primal thing awoken with the desperate grind of his hips, whilst his lips kiss down from yours until they're pressed against your pulse point and nipping greedily.

"You're the most handsome guy I've ever met. Most perfect. I just want to…"

And he doesn't even need to say what he wants, not this time.

"I want you to. I- I want…here, like this"

And it's the boldest you've been with the man since you started dating, but never once does he make you feel like any of this is a rush. You pull his hand down, let him cup you through your jeans while he bites at your flesh like you're the most delicious thing he's ever been allowed to taste.

You grind down on his hand, the heel of his palm and the friction of your clothes making a sensation that makes glimmering bright stars shoot behind your lids.

"Like that. Like that"

"Just want you to feel as good as you make me feel"

"I do, Joel"

And then there are no more words. Nothing else to say. The gasps and the whines and the moans are all that there needs to be. While he follows your guidance, and keeps you comfortable, whilst also make you fall apart - all for him to put together again, and again, and again.

"Hey" he murmurs into your hair after, "You good, baby?" And you can barely reply with anything but a giddy muffled giggle into his chest. Good might be the understatement of the year.

And then he says.

"How'd I get so lucky, to get a guy like you?"

And yeah, you can tell by the uncontrollable flutter of your heart.

It's him.

And now it's him and you.

[lightweaver-chosen-if]

DASHINGDON | FORUM

NEWEST UPDATE (01/04/24)

You stop short, catching a glimpse of yourself in the polished surface of the headmaster’s desk.

Eyes blown wide with rage, lips pulled into a snarl. Every part of your face is contorted with hate—contagious to the point that it sends shivers down your own spine.

You visibly deflate, head hanging low as your body curls into itself; the reflection flickering with doubt and self-loathing.

“I don’t know,” you whisper weakly, squeezing your eyes shut as they start burning with unshed tears. “I don’t know.”

Lightweaver: Chosen is an upcoming modern fantasy IF for 18+ players and older. Use of elemental powers is inspired by Avatar: The Legend of Aang/Korra.

A world where elemental deities share a fraction of their powers to their chosen, bringing upon the age of weavers; humans with the ability to manipulate the elements of their patron.

You have been chosen by a mysterious lightning deity—blessing you with the power to weave lightning. But with a brutal past haunting your every step, your new abilities present a double-edged sword.

The choices you make, the support you receive, and the inner strength you harness define your journey—one that promises a life outside Mother’s grasp.

Two divergent paths lay ahead.

Will you let yourself heal and grow, or will you fall deeper into the void?

Play as a touch-averse customizable MC with a troubled past, male or female.

Learn how to use your newfound lightning powers to its fullest potential. Anything’s possible if you’re smart enough!

Use your powers for good and be admired. Or use them to become a menace in society and be feared.

Participate in Launwyce’s many academy events and competitive tournaments. Show the weaving world what you’re made of.

A potential pet has also chosen you as its human; teach it a trick or two!

Shape your MC’s personality however you want. Certain choices also help shape the rest of your past.

How the MC deals with their trauma is entirely up to you.

Push away or make new relationships. Everyone has their own inner demons you can unveil.

Character-driven narrative and slow burn character development.

Eventually face the monster from your past, Mother.

3 different endings to branch into!

Luna/Leo Bancroft

| 18 | Fire Weaver | Freshman | A’s childhood friend

If MC is shorter than L, they’re shorter than all ROs

They were the first to notice you falling.

A warm and gentle soul. But there’s a certain air about them, the kind that makes them seem untouchable. It’s a type of muted cheer, one that carries the tension of maintaining a persona, but perhaps not a façade.

Despite their unusual aura, they’re attentive and smart, not to mention remarkably insightful.

Alice/Alec Langley

| 18 | Water Weaver | Freshman | L’s childhood friend

If MC is taller than A, they unlock height choices for J

They were the one who made sure you landed safely; and with flourish.

Behind their snark lies a certain vulnerability, hidden by a layer of frost and caution. You suspect that they wear the act like a mask; even if the flecks of passion flickering beneath the surface reveal a fiery heart.

They’re quick-witted and equally sharp-tongued. They never hesitate to speak their mind.

June/Juno Patel

| 19 | Earth Weaver | Sophomore

If MC is taller than J, they’re taller than all ROs

Ever present on their features is a stern expression; jaw set and eyes sharp. Even with little words uttered, they carry themself with confidence that demands respect.

Their intimidating presence often gives people pause, but those who dare meet them head-on will find a stubborn and proud spirit that refuses to yield.

Surprisingly, they’re easy to read, and it makes interacting with them oddly satisfying.

[peaches-creek]

Jason was looking for something. Not just someone, Homer, author of The Odyssey. He had been on a mythology kick, and wanted to read something more sophisticated. For a 9 year old this kid knows how to read, it was the only thing he could do during the day, waiting for nighttime to act up. So he taught himself to read at a very young age, and kept at it. He’s at a high school reading level. He would immediately come to the library after school, and would stay until closing hour. He had seen a reference somewhere that said, “Of all creatures that breathe and move upon the earths, nothing is bred that is weaker than man.”

His thought’s were then interrupted.

“Excuse me, I just have to get something by your feet really quick.” It’s a girl, about his age, one who doesn’t wait for his answer, just crouches by his feet and rips out a book. Not just any book, Neil Gaiman’s Norse Mythology.

That has him in awe, what kid his age knows how to read anything like that?

“Hey, you know how to read that?” He asks. You scoff at the implication.

“If I didn’t I wouldn’t have grabbed it, now would I?” You sarcastically reply.

That was the start of a very important relationship to Jason. Every day after school you would meet there, and argue about various topics, whichever ones interested you for the week. You guys would stay til close, and he would walk you home. You became important to him very quickly, he liked your gentle hands and kind way about yourself. When talking about characters you would always stick up for the underdog, just like in real life.

He remembers walking home with you one day, through the park when you both stumble upon a scene. Three boys a few years older, and a younger boy. He saw you stop, tears filling your eyes. He turned, about to say something.

“You know he’s a person? What makes you do something like that?” She yelled, crying at the same time.

“Why the fuck are you crying?” One of the boys sneers. Jason’s fist clenches, wanting to bruise this fucking kid’s liver, but decides against it, he is terribly outnumbered.

You say nothing, but walk up to the boy and grab his hand, walking away with him. You hear protests and sneers behind you. You bring him to the swings, asking him where his parents are. He points to two people arguing in the distance. You and Jason say nothing. He looks at you, the tears have stopped but the sniffles haven’t.

“Well then, let’s just play until they are done talking.” You say.

The three of you did exactly that.

You had taught Jason something about humanity that day. He knew he loved you in that moment. For someone so little to know exactly how to show someone else that they are loved.

The walk home had felt bittersweet that day.

“Can you hold my hand?” You say suddenly.

“Why?” He asks.

“Because I’m sad, and I want to hold someone’s hand.” He always forgets that you are a year younger than him, you don’t act it.

“Okay.’ He says, grabbing your hand.

“Why did you do that today?” He asks you.

He didn’t understand kindness like that, no one had shown him kindness before you, but he didn’t understand how you did it so effortlessly. When he first met you, he thought you were acting, lying to him about who you were. But then he realized that you’re just a girl, a girl who loves people.

“Why did I do what?”

“You know.”

“Oh, well, he didn’t deserve that, I don’t have to know him to know that he didn’t deserve that.”

“I see.” Is all he says.

“Kinda like you,” you start, “I don’t know how your life is hard, or why, but you don’t deserve it. I know that.”

“My life isn’t hard.” Is his answer

“Alright, sorry.” You apologize.

“Don’t apologize.”

He didn’t like to think about his life. Drug addict mom, alcoholic father, bills not being payed, going to bed hungry. You were the one good thing to him. Always offering him your spare mittens, sharing your snacks, helping him with his math homework. He didn’t like his life, but he liked you, that was enough.

“Y’know tomorrow is a half day, my mom said she would give me some money to get sandwiches on the way to the library. Which shop should we go to?” You ask.

“Daveny’s, they give you a pickle with your sandwich.”

“I hate pickles, so you can have mine, deal?” You say.

“I’ll share my chips if we have enough to get them.”

“We will, I saved the five dollars my Papa gave me last week.”

“Gotta love him.”

You continue on your way home, only stopping when you reach your steps.

“See you tomorrow Jay.”

“Since when did you call me that?”

“Since now, I think I have earned nickname basis.”

“Sure,” He smiles, “see you tomorrow, don’t forget the five dollars.”

“I wont, I wont.”

You walk up your stairs and into your house. He waits until he sees the lights go on in your room, and begins his trek to go and mess something up, maybe steal some hubcaps.

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Swallowed Whole by The Flame (Messmer the Impaler x Tarnished! Reader) 5

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS | NEXT

Summary: You go on a hunt to find Redmane Freyja.

A/N: Oh boy, another fight scene that I cannot write. This chapter mentions scenes of violence: blood, gore, swearing - all the fun things.

A03 link

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Chapter 5: Challenge

"If thee dare betray me, I shall maketh sure thou art never blessed by mine own mother's grace again."

It haunts you his exact words, whispered as if death was watching your every move.

It's a challenge, though one where he can judge you for how foolish you are. If he really wanted you to do all this for his loyalty, you would've rather faced the golden hippopotamus again.

You tell yourself you'll prove him wrong, and wipe that smug attitude away when you return. That is if you do it in time. There is a sense of doom to your mission, one you think could go wrong. Redmane Freyja - someone you didn't get the chance to speak to - is a warrior through and through. Capable of standing for herself, and impressive in her prowess. 

Having followed the Moorth Highway south, avoiding furnace golems and trolls that sit by ransacked carriages. By the time you see the ruins on the second night, darkness has fallen, and rain slashes in front of you. You decide it's best to take a rest.

You sit by the closest site of grace, and rain shields your vision, giving less visibility, but it is only the grace you look upon, watching intensely.

Torrent nudges you out of your thoughts momentarily, bringing a gentle hand out to feed him berries you gathered, whilst you rip at the bark-like cured meat. "What have I gotten myself into, Torrent?" You whisper to him tentatively, as your stead munches happily on the treats you provide. A flash of lightning casts the tree behind you to look like a mighty beast, yet you do not jump. Instead, you sigh, your body aches and your mind wishes for rest. "Doom follows me, and I can only welcome it."

Sleep does not come easy, not that it has for many nights.

When morning comes, you dismount from Torrent, and the stead disappears out of sight, back into the whistle for when you need him next. The ruins are a large formidable mess, crumbling from age with the heat of the stone burnt from eternal flames. You're aware of its underground structures, but it is not that you're interested in.

For in the centre, stands the person you've been looking for.

"Tarnished, I am pleased to see you made it out alive from the Shadow Keep." Freyja greets you smoothly, turning to face you, "Is the deed done? Is the tyrant dead?"

"No Lady Freyja, he is not." 

The woman only gives a hum to your answer, "That is a shame. I will have no doubt when I tell Lady Leda, she will not be too pleased either. 

"She will not hear of this news, Freyja," There was a sense of acceptance to your words. You pull forth your nagakiba, bending your knees as you hold a defensive stance, "For I have come for your life instead."

She is silent for what feels like forever until you hear the absurd thing. Laughter. She is laughing at you. "Did your new lord ask of you to do this? Ah, you foolish girl, what have you done?"

You don't answer her, but you feel something boil inside you. Fight me. Fight me now. "Do you believe Lady Leda will not hear of this? The news of my death will trigger my allies to come find you. Do you not hear yourself, who will stand with you? Miquella will not take lightly hearing of your deception."

It is only with a heavy sigh that eases you. She unsheathes her great sword, flashing like a giant sun. "Very well, Tarnished. May your foolishness be your undoing."

"May it be then." You say, and before you in a flash, she charges.

Metal hisses against metal as the great sword hits the side of your armour on your chest, caught mostly by your nagakiba, thankful that it does not slice through. It does, however, leave a long scratch down the steel.

You grunt. Freyja is a mighty warrior you admit, but she sweeps with her great sword with the intent of hacking your head off rather than trying to whittle you down. A foolish mistake, you note, rolling out of the way as her great sword swings down, hitting the very spot you just stood on.

You land a quick slash towards her, having almost no effect as she dodges easily, grabbing you tightly by the forearm and headbutting you with a crack that you think has split your skull. She tosses you backwards, her laughter raucous and vexing.

You continue to circle her, darting back and forth, slicing, which makes her have to try looking out for you. She makes for a big target, swinging her great sword around as she huffs and grunts like a beast not wanting to surrender. A true warrior of Radahn, you wonder why she chose to leave him. For what feels like ages, you both jab at one another, taking turns with neither gaining a hit or dodging the last second. Only one of your slashes with your nagakiba gets her on the back of her leg and you smile in victory underneath your helm, only to dodge out the way clumsily from another one of her heavy-hitting attacks.

"You're slow, Tarnished." Freyja mocks. "Is this the warrior Messmer fought? I feel sorry for him."

You hiss, slashing at her most vulnerable areas, legs, arms, twice at the shoulders in an attempt to get her to become sluggish. Freyja would not slow though, grunting from time to time, but overall seemingly not injured.

You wonder if Messmer did all of this as a cruel joke- to have you face the largest and most formidable of Miquella's followers. It would be easy to laugh too, for you were indeed the fool who accepted. 

You continued, earning a slash to your shoulder at one point that has you promptly rummaging for a healing flask, dodging another attack as you down it. Your shoulder feels stiff, but it has healed the wound quickly enough for you to keep going for her. Circling, slashing, rolling. On and on, this dance goes on until you do begin to notice she is becoming slower.

You stagger her with a parry, going up behind her in a flash to stab her through the rib, getting through the gap in her armour as you kick her forward. Blood ruptures out as she gives a loud grunt, cursing you loudly as she lands on her feet before you can attack her again.

"I will not die today, Tarnished." You can hear her gritting her teeth, leaping like a cat into the air, her sword and herself swinging in time before she lands on the ground right in front of you. Debris and dirt hit you, rocks scrapping your exposed areas not covered by armour and you're flung backwards, landing not so gracefully on your back from the force of her landing. She strides towards you, thinking victory is ahead.

You roll to stand, thinking swiftly as you pull forth a perfume bottle, throwing it her way. It casts pockets of fire in her way, and she stumbles through it, patting herself as you can hear the sound of her blood bubbling and boiling from her cuts.

The next foolish thing you could do whilst she was occupied with the perfumed flames was charge towards her, running through the flames you cast as you scream, leaping onto her, kicking her in the gut that she is winded enough to have her great sword knocked from her hand. Now with her unarmed, you raise your nagakiba over your head, thinking it would be enough to strike the exposed part of her neck to give her a quick death, only to find she is slamming her fist into your gut too, not once, twice, knocking your sword from hand as she lands a punch to the side of your face, knocking you off her and onto the ground.

You scrabble, as she gets up, wheezing and whimpering as you pull forth another weapon. Small and delicate, the knife from your pocket would need to do a lot of damage, only she laughs at the measly size of it, charging you once more.

You dodge another punch to the side of your head, fear coursing through you, feeling more afraid than ever before. To be classed a traitor to all was not what you wanted, but you could feel yourself needing another flask immediately.

Freyja caught sight of it as you tried to reach for it, grabbing your wrist and twisting, releasing the bottles as they flew overhead you both, crashing with a shatter against some debris, clearly broken.

You can taste blood in your throat, coughing some up the more you move. Everything burns, pain that moves from one part of your body to the next part, screaming for rest, mercy. Freyja cries, raising her hands over her head as if ready to slam her fists down upon you when you see an opening. The exposed part of her armpit is uncovered, the blood seeping is her own. You miss the fists to your head, gripping the knife and using your other hand to drive it upwards, screaming with the force.

Freyja only hisses when you're face to face with her now. Her golden-masked face is all you can see, but you wish to believe her face has written on it either fear or approval. You don't think it's been driven hard enough into her chest, driving it deeper which earns a louder cry from her, followed by shallow, deep breathing.

"You fought well, Tarnished." She wheezes, "I pray Kindly Miquella will think the same."

With a final curse, she bends, falling to her back, her breathing ceasing with the blade poking out between her skin and armour. 

It was only when you felt the sense of victory wash over that you felt something was off. Pain kicks in, replacing the adrenaline with a stinging sensation that begins to burn between your ribs. Horror rushed over you, catching you off guard. A cold sweat washes over. Crying out, you jump back away from Freyja's crumpled body, running shaky hands over your body to find what was sticking out of you. Oh Gods. You dread, crying out as a blade you hadn't noticed she had pulled forth, with a handle as thick as your forearm was now protruding in your side.

You had felt many deaths before and suffered great injuries, but none had been so foul as the feeling of torture before death came. You needed to find a site of grace before you lost everything. Gritting your teeth, your hands gripped the handle to the blade, reeling back from the pain of it so far lodged into you. One, two, three! You didn't want to give yourself any time to react as you pulled it out from you, screaming from both the alleviation and fear bubbling in your mind. 

Immediately, your legs gave way and you fell backwards, limbs numb as you still held the bloody knife in your grip. You groaned in disgust, throwing it away as you remembered through it all that you couldn't just leave without the proof Messmer asked for.

"He better be fucking grateful." You spat, clutching your bleeding side as you tried your best to even kneel. With only the knife on you to use, it would be better for hacking than the thinner blade of your nagakiba. You knew what you had to do. Staring down at Freyja's corpse, you kicked off her helm, revealing a mass of unruly hair. 

"Forgive me." You whispered, revealing her neck as you pressed the knife into her flesh, the sounds of hacking and sawing could be heard through the ruins.

Once off, you threw the head into a bag, tying it to your belt as you whistled for Torrent. It was hard not to stop yourself from gagging, the thick smell of blood wafted in the air, creating an even fouler stench in the ruins. You had been through worse, you reminded yourself, dying is now as familiar to you as waking up in the morning, but even on the verge of death, it was the worst feeling to experience. It was not the same as just suffering a quick and easy one, waking up by grace fully healed. 

Once here, Torrent stands solemnly beside you, warily swaying as his beady eyes access you. It takes some effort to mount him, for the beast is patient, and you can only silently thank him for not bucking you off for how many times you try getting your leg over. Finally atop, your skin feels both hot and cold, your armour was sticking to your skin as if it was boiling you alive from the inside. The soft fur of Torrent was all you had to concentrate on, despite the feeling that your brain wanted to switch off. You fight it for as long as you can, hoping Torrent can guide you the way you came. 

You didn't know how long you had been travelling back when the pain was ebbing away at your consciousness, your body was weakened and struggling to stay atop Torrent. Your skin had paled, hands were jittery as you lost the strength in your fingers to hold the reins. Your vision was spiralling, swaying like the waves of the shoreline, not certain what was up and what was down, but the feeling of your body swaying, and finally, falling and falling in slow motion.

You thudded to the ground, Torrent halting as he inspected you with a muzzle to your face, coaxing you to stay awake. 

"Torrent." Breathing noisily, you would apologise to him when you found yourself at a site of grace. You dreaded knowing you would fail at Messmer's quest in his mind, but before you could think further of it, darkness swarmed your vision, and you thanked whoever was watching over you finally gave you comfort.

From the darkness, came distant, cold dreams, filling your mind with doubt:

..."They are incredible, are they not?" There is a sense of dread and awe as you stare up at the sky, bright and bold with the sounds of dragons. The creatures, large in age, sweep and dive down, creating rushes of wind to almost knock back the men who stand on the ground. Some are still wary, when the dragons came once, it had been to destroy towns and wage wars. Now, having them as allies was an unseen miracle. "It is your friendship with them that is outstanding." You marvel, turning to the man beside you, as regal and charming as those with royal blood. He carries himself with a way of understanding all, a calming presence that all could admire. He smiles at you, resting a hand on your shoulder. "I am certain they would love to meet thee. I have told them much and more." "Me? I am just a mere knight, here to serve, my Lord." "Yes, but my most trusted ally and loyal friend." The man chuckles, leading you down as if now is the right time to introduce you to the winged creatures.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

... "Mother is to remarry again." The regal man says, this time you don't know how much time has passed. There is a slight tinge of disappointment in his words. He has his back towards you, the parchment thrown across his apartments. "I received her message when I broke my fast." "You know to whom?" You ask. "The Carian Queen's former husband, Radagon." "And of your father? What becomes of him?" "He is to begin his long march with many of his armies, my mother has decreed." He turns to you, sorrow that was not just in his voice but in his eyes. "She asks that thee join." You don't wish to, you want to plead and beg, but this sadness is not just felt in him but yourself, something you cannot understand nor explain. You think this man is unknown to you, so why do you feel such disgrace? All you can do is nod, acceptance heavy in your chest. "Very well, my Lord."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

... A half bottle of wine is now neglected, and large calloused hands dance along your hips and thighs, lips pressed to the pulse point of your neck. "Let me speak to my mother," the man uttered, pulling you closer on his lap, "she will let thee stay." "I can't," you say, his hands felt so realistic in the fogginess of your mind, fingers stroking his jawline, "it is my duty not just to serve you, but your family as well." "I know, my sweet knight." He murmurs in understanding, a sense of despair consumes him, and when he tries to pick you up to continue things in the bedroom, you stop him. "Not yet, my Lord. I only wish to be in your arms tonight. One final night before I must leave." He smiles, kissing you with the need to remember the outline of your lips. "Anything for thee."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

... A battlefield of blood and bone, ash and carnage. Men in golden armour surround you, in the dying, groaning for mercy and death, their voices dying down in numbers. You clutch your bleeding chest, holding a grand ornate sword in hand, and sweet tears drip from your eyes. You cough, spluttering crimson blood that dribbles down your chin. You stare up at the endless sky, with a man's name being muttered from your lips as you die. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Your lungs burn when you wake from a death-like sleep, coughing up the air and drinking it in as if you can still somehow feel the cold blade deep in your chest. You go to touch it, only to remember that it was all a dream.

"Easy, milady," a voice pulls you back to reality, and when you look at your surroundings, you're not staring into the golden strips of grace, but the roaring flames of a fire. Opposite you, sits a nomadic merchant, plucking at the strings of his instrument, "your wounds are still open."

Messmer. Is your first thought, and you dread to wonder if he thinks you've betrayed him. You're careless in the way you try to stand, running a hand over where the blade stuck through you, only to find heavy bindings that have been kept to stop the bleeding. You hiss softly, guilt pouring through at the attempt this merchant has made to keep you alive.

"It shall be enough to get you to find a proper healer if you're quick." He says in a soft tone, watching you through clouded eyes, his face half covered. 

"Torrent... where is Torrent?" You're blinking back from the intensity of the fire in front of you, blinking back tears you're certain to have come from the cinders, not your life-like dreams. 

"Ah, your stead," the merchant points, and through the bushes, you spot Torrent, munching on berries with no care in the world. "We found you in the nick of time, milady. If we had been any later, well... you would've been a goner."

You try to laugh at that, but you're unsure if he knows you're Tarnished. "Thank you," you stand shakily to your feet, throwing a coin his way that he accepts with some surprise, "I must be going now."

"I must warn you, Messmer's soldiers lurk on the roads. Best to keep to the woods." The merchant speaks with uncertainty as you coax Torrent to come to you. He does, stroking his snout before climbing atop. You feel just about better now that you've had time to rest, but you need to head back to Aldwin so he can stitch you back up. You've been gone so long without a site of grace that you fear you will begin to wither.

"It is alright," you speak earnestly. "He is looking for me."

-

A/N: I am aware that it's recommended not to pull sharp objects out of you unless you wish to bleed to death, but I guess Tarnished thinks it's the smartest plan. I do wonder who this mysterious man is-- oh well, I guess we'll never know *wink wink*

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

I really enjoy reading fics that include sexiness and vulnerability that requires trust. Can I suggest a scenario of reader wanting to give Aemond a blowjob for the first time in their relationship? Reader is a little shy with carrying on this new stepping stone yet she wants to make him feel good. Can you please make it slow and sensual? Like maybe she puts her head on his inner thigh and asks him if he trusts her before she takes the initiative or something like that 🫣

I'm so sorry it's taken me more than two months to fulfil this, nonnie. I hope you've stuck with me!

Warnings: Oral (m receiving), slight corruption kink. Word count: ~1500

Author's note: No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

She was a shy, little thing, a pure picture of innocence. Aemond could never understand how the Gods had seen fit to pair someone as sweet as her with someone as broken as him, but he thanked them each night in his prayers for doing so. Having been told prior to her arrival in King's Landing that a match had been made for him, he'd been besotted with her from the moment he'd laid eyes upon her.

'Betrothed' seemed too ugly a word to describe her. Soft spoken, gentle, effortlessly graceful and good hearted, she was flawless in Aemond's eyes, and he couldn't wait to call her his wife.

As they'd stood in the Sept, she'd looked up at him with doe-eyed adoration and he felt as though his heart would burst. He'd undressed her that night with all the care of a Maester unwrapping a priceless treasure. She was radiantly beautiful laid bare before him and silently he cursed his hands, for it felt as though he dirtied her with their very touch.

She had trembled like a leaf as he'd laid her down upon their marital bed, and he had reassured her that they need not do anything if she did not wish to. She had reassured him that she wanted him, but she was inexperienced and he would have to teach her - she'd never even kissed a man before.

Aemond had felt pride swell within his chest at being the first to touch her in this way, but it had also ignited an internal conflict within him. Part of him longed to allow her to feel the full extent of his passion for her, to rut into her like an untamed beast and claim her as his own, while the other was panged with guilt for tainting this untouched beauty.

He settled somewhere in the middle ground, treating her with gentle reverence while trying to remember all the ways to pleasure a woman he'd researched in the lead up to their bedding. He watched her face closely, making a mental note of everything he did that elicited soft sighs and quiet moans from her, taking the utmost care to hold himself back so as not to hurt her.

This was how their marriage had been for the last six months. Aemond caring for his innocent little wife with a tenderness he had not known he was capable of, diligently bringing her to peak on his fingers and tongue each evening, before spilling himself inside of her with restrained carefulness.

It is an evening like any other; Aemond sits in his armchair by the hearth, reading aloud from a tome that details the beginnings of the Age of Heroes, while his wife sits at his feet listening intently.

He has offered her the armchair directly opposite his own many times, but she insists it is too far away, preferring to sit close to him as he reads to her. Her need to be near him is something that Aemond basks in, and he takes great pleasure in reaching out to stroke his fingers through the softness of her hair as he reads.

The only difference between tonight and the others they spend together is that her hands are restless against his thighs. He feels the way they creep tentatively upward, her fingers drawing lazy circles against the fabric of his trousers. He does his best to ignore it, to continue reading, but the warmth of her palms against him is driving him to distraction.

He sucks in a sharp breath as she brushes over his tightly fastened laces, stammering as he tries to read to her about the Pact made on the Isle of Faces. His face feels too hot, his heart races, so he closes the book, setting it down on a side table.

"Is there something the matter, rhūqītsos?" He asks, leaning forward to caress her cheek. Little dove.

She chews her lip nervously and Aemond can practically see her turning her thoughts over in her mind, as she chooses her words cautiously.

"E-everything you do," She begins quietly. "Is in service of my pleasure."

Aemond raises an eyebrow, this had not been what he'd expected to hear. He allows her to continue with a quiet hmm, sitting back and giving her the space she needs to speak freely.

"And I...I am so grateful." She presses on. "But now I want to make you feel good, I want to give you as much pleasure as you give to me."

Stirring in his breeches at this, he swallows thickly, his fingers gripping the arms of the chair tightly. "And how would you like to do that, dōnus riñus?" Sweet girl.

Her cheeks flush pink as her gaze drops to her lap. "I...have been reading...about how ladies can pleasure men...w-with their mouths..."

Aemond feels himself straining against the suddenly too tight confines of his trousers, yet how could he ever expect her to do that when she reacts with such shame to even the mere mention of it?

"I cannot ask that of you." He rasps. "It is something that common whores partake in, not highborn ladies."

"But I want to." She insists, looking up at him.

Despite the flushed expression of her embarrassment, Aemond sees determination shining brightly in her eyes and his resolve crumbles at this.

"You are sure?"

"Yes." She nods fervently. "But...I do not know what I am doing. Will you guide me?"

He leans forward again and presses a delicate kiss to her temple. "Of course, rhūqītsos. But first, you will get up off of your knees. You are my wife, you deserve the softness of a bed beneath you as you please your husband, not the hardness of the floor."

He stands, helping her to her feet and guides her to their bed, before laying down upon it and motioning for her to join him.

She lowers herself down the mattress, watching with keen interest as Aemond frees himself from his breeches.

Her eyes go wide at the sight of him, and it occurs to Aemond that she has never really looked upon his manhood before, at least not this closely. He usually buries himself inside of her after she has peaked, so she has never had the opportunity to properly study him.

He hisses as she wraps a soft palm around him, his stones tightening at the slight pressure being applied to his aching length.

She withdraws her hand quickly, her tone apologetic. "Am I hurting you?"

"No...no, quite the opposite, actually. Keep doing that, but stroke your hand up and down."

She smiles, resuming her grip on him and does as he's instructed.

Aemond groans, bucking slightly into her touch, enjoying the licks of warmth that tickle at his lower spine.

"The tip is where I feel most pleasure." He sighs softly. "If you wish to use your mouth then start there, with your lips and tongue."

Slowly, hesitantly, she opens her mouth, wrapping her lips around him and kitten licking at the head of him.

For a moment, Aemond's mind goes blank. It takes all of his resolve not to spend right there and then, his fingers dig so tightly into the bedsheets beside him he is certain he'll tear holes into them.

"Good. Very good." He whispers. "If you can, take more into your mouth and try to recreate the motion you used with your hand just now."

A sheen of perspiration prickles his skin as the hotness of her mouth envelopes him. He jerks back slightly when he feels her gag around him, her eyes watering.

"Not all of it." He says gently. "Use your hand for what won't fit."

She does as she's told, setting a steady rhythm that has Aemond's stomach muscles tensing as he fights to stay still. He wants nothing more than to grab her hair and buck up into the wetness of her mouth with reckless abandon, but he knows he has to allow her to take this at her own pace, and so he allows her to do as she pleases.

Aemond feels his climax approaching and knows he is done for when, without prompting, she reaches down to fondle his balls. The pressure that has been steadily building at the base of his spine is now at its pinnacle.

His breathing ragged, his brow furrowed in exertion, he pleads with her. "Dōnus riñus, you have to stop! Let me spend on the sheets, I cannot-"

If anything, this seems to spur on her movements and he lets out a strangled sounding moan as she spills himself into her mouth, his hips jerking uncontrollably.

When he feels himself pulsate for a final time, he sits up, prepared to shower her with apologies, however, they die on his tongue as he sees the bob of her throat. She'd swallowed.

She smiles as she looks up at his pleasure drunk state and he sees something irrevocably changed in her usual demure expression, her eyes are darkened by lust.

Long gone is his virtuous little bride, he has awoken something primal within her that he is eager to explore.

He tastes himself upon her lips as she kisses him, hungry and wanton.

"Rhūqītsos," He murmurs against her mouth. "Do allow me to repay your kindness."

[danosrosegarden]

I am patiently. Waiting for Vulnerable Sub Wesker

(Words I Never Thought I'd Say)

angst/suggestive drabble underneath the cut! ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

{gn!reader, ~500 words}

{this is my first time writing for wesker, so if this is very much a "he would not fucking say that" situation, please just avert your eyes and ignore me. i come in peace, fear, and admiration for all RE writers. <3}

there's no comfort in vulnerability. there's no crackling campfire warmth to be felt from slicing yourself open and letting all your grotesque guts spill forward. you crush anything that doesn't serve you well and you push its corpse all the way down in the ground. nobody sees you when you're not efficient because nobody has the fucking right. at least that's how wesker saw it. so why it felt like something missing was finally locking into place whenever he was beneath you, he really had no idea.

that bothers him. the not knowing. the not being able to explain. it burrows underneath his skin and he can feel its maggoty writhing. you and this entrancing power you hold over his head feel so entirely right, and it all disarms him fiercely.

it would be simple to abandon. he could convince himself quite easily to saw at the strings of whatever this relationship was and cut you loose. but then, he knew it would eat at him. it would gnaw at the wrinkles of his brain and chomp on the marrow of his bones...where were you? what were you doing? were you safe? were you...accompanying someone else? god, why did he care at all?

intrigue. that's what he first chalked this all up to be. simple intrigue. you weren't fearful, you didn't bow down. that sparked a gleaming flame of curiosity within him. but he felt the seed growing roots. this was something more.

maybe whatever this was didn't need explanation. it was foolish to let his guard down this low. he knew. but there was simply no ignoring how gentle you were with him. your fingers brushed against his skin with a soft intimacy the likes of which he'd never knew he desired. that's the unfair advantage--care and compassion and warmth and love were probably concepts you'd been bottle-fed and raised upon. and he wasn't aware how desperately he needed your tender touch until he'd felt it.

it was almost mechanical, the way everything within him relaxed and glazed over when your fingers were in his hair or your body was wrapped up and tangled with his. there was no way to bring himself to care about the work--meticulous plans, cold calculations--none of it mattered in those moments. that's why you were a screaming neon warning sign. the skull and crossbones label on a sour smelling bottle of chemicals. you were dangerous.

you're confused. you feel the stitches of your heart start to snap and unravel whenever he does this. he becomes warm, gooey putty in your hands, offering the quietest sighs and holding you with the most gentle but protective grip, and then he shoos you away to an arm's length when it's over. you can't help but wonder if this was all a knotted ball of messy blunders. a series of unfortunate events. you wondered if you'd look back at this man and the memories like they were bad movies. the corners of the film would be curled with age, blackened by the nights you wished you'd never indulged in.

there was no way to break even for either of you. the truth was that you'd already melted and mended together in a strange, strange way.

[soapoet]

PJO pick-a-card reading

Grover Underwood; The type of friend you are

01.

Shufflemancy: Shameful company by Rainbow kitten surprise

A successful adventure always requires somebody like you. Reliable and steadfast, able to move mountains if needed. Or tirelessly drill through them with the tenacity lost upon many. You are a clever problem solver, and many come to you for advice. Wherever there is a problem, you can find a solution. Where there is a will, there is a way. You can be trusted to make important decisions or to lead the way. It is as though you come preprogrammed with a good sense of direction and sense of right and wrong. But you are not a bore, though some may accuse you of being a little too rigid on occasion. You like things a certain way, but are delighted by the lighthearted and simple pleasures that life has on offer.

You're protective and readily stand up for your friends. You could idenitfy with the term 'mom friend' or similar. Regardless of your actual age, you have always been responsible and capable of incredible reasoning skills. You argue your points well and without trampling others. Because not only are you on top of your stuff, you have a soft and gentle heart beneath the seemingly hard exterior. You really strive around people who are a little more adventurous than you and can introduce you to new and exciting experiences, and in return you are able to ward off hiccups and get around obstacles that may arise. You're often prepared for the worst, and are rarely surprised by sudden events that leave others shaken. This foresight makes you a rock others can easily lean on when the winds pick up and the clouds roll in. You can be your own worst critic, and refuse help as you feel the need to do everything yourself. Accepting assistance or delegating tasks to others would benefit you and bring you closer with those you care for.

02.

Shufflemancy: City lights by Blanche

My, oh my, aren't you a treat! You may only have a select few you let close enough to truly know you, but those with the privilege to bask in your warmth are lucky. You are very kind and gentle, and really have a way with words. A shoulder to cry on is always available when you're around, and you are quite sensitive to even the quietest nuances of emotions. You are able to read people well, and you are very observant. People often underestimate you, because kindness like yours is often perceived as a weakness. Besides this caring energy, however, you are a force to be reckoned with. Because of your observations, you are very intelligent. You are able to hold space for others, and also nudge them in the right direction when they feel lost. You are quite the sage, as your insight is often priceless and your intuition is strong and rarely leads you or others astray.

Your giving nature may sometimes be to your own detriment. You so easily put others first and forget your own wants and needs. Stronger boundaries and allowing yourself to say no is very important. You can help more people and at a better capacity if you feel okay first. Don't spread yourself out too thinly, and be sure to entrust your own grievances on those who care for you as much as you for them. You're a great example of how the loudest screams are often silent. Your voice deserves to be heard too. Despite the calm surface, you are capable of greater things. Pushed far enough or inspired to fight, you could easily bring down empires. Your resilience is admirable, and very few could survive the tales you're able to tell.

03.

Shufflemancy: Lucky by Britney Spears

Few things can truly get you down, huh? Though life frequently rains on your parade and throws you curveballs, the show must, as always, go on. You don't sweat the small things, and look to the bright side. You find beauty in madness, and have an inspiring zest for life. Even when you do get knocked down, beaten and bruised, you get up again and dust yourself off. You have a great sense of humour and love to make people smile. You're always down to clown, so to speak, and enjoy exploring the unknown and chasing possibilities. You uplift others with ease, and often serve as the biggest cheerleader and hypeman, and have a way to encourage others into seizing their opportunities when they most doubt themselves. You're bubbly with a distinct flare of mischief. You have a way to bring people together and get along with various different people from all walks of life.

Sometimes you are judged much too harshly for your optimistic outlook. You don't always fit in and don't always do what you perhaps should. You like to walk to the beat of your own drum, and sometimes that rubs others the wrong way. Many mistakingly take you for an airhead, don't take you seriously, or underestimate what you are capable of. On occasion you may feel like others view you more like a caricature than a person with more to offer than the silly and goody things you're often known for. Your best bet is to not take criticism to heart and know that those who love you truly don't really view you as one dimensionally as you fear. And as far as any reputation of tomfoolery and attracting trouble goes, you have managed to make it this far by doing things your way, so why limit yourself to the expectations not placed by yourself? You're allowed to fly and soar the sky the way you want, even if it's upside-down and sideways. You do you.

[lychniis]

❝ i know who i am when i'm alone, i'm something else when i see you. you don't understand, you should never know, how easy you are to need. ❞

HOZIER , IT WILL COME BACK

WELCOME TO ATTAR

the perfumery shall open shortly. please register here [ taglist ], to book an appointment. CLICK HERE TO VIEW UPDATES.

fandoms : genshin impact, honkai star rail

i. WITH THE COMING OF OCTOBER, it's time to set forth kinktober '23! i really appreciate the amount of support i have received from you guys over the past year spent in this blog and i've decided to dip my toes into posting some mature content alongside my usual sfw works!

ii. LET MONSTERS AND HORROR serve our theme, where i hope to entice you with smut ( that has too much plot *shivers in qinxing in the mountain* ), all presented with an array of perfumes to chose from. many thanks to @crystalflygeo for prompt ideas kjhgvbhnj.

iii. PLEASE NOTE THAT THE SCHEDULE IS NOT A FIXED DATE. due to my own projects and college hounding me, the fics will be posted at my own time, though i will endeavor to try and keep them within the constraints of october. they might end up far longer than i would have originally intended.

COMING SOON ON OCTOBER

( note ) : the content linked below is unsuitable for minors. by clicking 'view more', you are verifying yourself as a consenting adult. if you are not of consenting age, then please dni with this post.

SCENT ONE : ( GARDENIA ) ❝ ARARE LITUS ❞ feat. neuvillette.

people round the port have gone missing in the recent weeks, their bodies found by the beaches, clearly having drowned to their miserable ends. neuvillette questions the motives of the person behind it, till he notices the presence of an inquisitive oceanfolk beneath the waters.

⚠︎ CW : mermaid ! reader, dragon ! neuvillete, mentioned murder, reader being very naïve in terms of how humans work, angst / hurt / comfort, fluff domesticity, give these guys a hug, canon compliant, first time, lingerie, temperature play, gentle sex, mutual masturbation, body worship, overstimulation.

SCENT TWO : ( PEONY ) ❝ RARA AVIS IN TERRUS ❞ feat. zhongli.

the world was a dangerous place, for one like you. as the hunters draw close, you seek refuge in a dragon's lair, hoping to find a way to live. the dragon in question lingers close and tolerates your presence. you wonder when he'd demand for more. birds, after all, were so easily torn apart by claws and fangs.

⚠︎ CW : bird hybrid ! reader, dragon ! zhongli, monsterfucking, trafficking and hunting, reader had a pretty rough past prior to this, angst / hurt / comfort, fluff, some attempts at world building, canon divergent / au, mating cycles / heat, breeding kink, orgasm denial, size kink, biting / scratching, bondage, sensory deprivation.

SCENT THREE : ( ORCHID ) ❝ TANQUAM EX UNGUE LEONEM ❞ feat. jing yuan

you try to live your life the best you can. you try to be a good person despite the world wearing you down. however, upon stumbling into abcast away angel with liquid madness running through his veins, the loneliness your four walls bring is replaced with something else. meanwhile jing yuan learns of human fragility and how simple it is, for memories to fade away.

⚠︎ CW : canon divergent, angel ! jing yuan, mara plays a part here, talks about mortality and existentialism, reader is terrified and touchstarved, angst and tragedy, bittersweet ending i suppose, sacrifices, face sitting, electrostimulation, strip tease, mirror sex, praise kink, blindfolds, dom / sub.

SCENT FOUR : ( HYDRANGEA ) ❝ ABYSSUS ABYSSUM INVOCAT ❞ feat. childe

you needed to run, run far away lest the monster beneath your bed devours you whole. childe, however, keeps the chase, for he hungers. he was a charming man, that you could agree with; but the demon he hides away scares you and his undying loyalty to the tsaritsa shall be your undoing.

⚠︎ CW : canon compliant, slight foul legacy ! childe, angst and betrayal, bittersweet ending, reader and childe are childhood friends, making a choice, self sacrifice, breath play, masochism, bruises, predator / prey, against a wall, rough sex, dry humping.

taglist — @silentmoths @crystalflygeo @moraxsthrone @hiraethsdesires @dustofthedailylife @celestewritestoomuch @genshinboys @kaelily @ofoceansandtombsanew

AINE | 2023. do no plagiarize, repost or rework this piece.

[triplefrontierbabe]

Where Were You? Part 2

F!Reader x Benny Miller series

Summary: following her father's death, Clara Davis returns home to Florida in an attempt to bring some normalcy back to her life. Yet, the people she's been avoiding for five years just might be the people she's been needing to be around all along.

Warnings: mentions of death, smoking, language, drinking, mentions of abuse (vague), age gap.

Part 1

******

It has been a week since the run in at the bar with the guys. You haven’t seen them since but life hasn’t been any easier. In fact, it seems to be worse. When you returned to Florida, the only place you knew to go was back to your mom’s house. She wasn’t too happy upon your unexpected arrival but she was understanding enough to let you back into the house. You agreed that you’d take the guest bedroom and pay for a portion of your rent.

While it was nice to have a roof over your head, that didn’t mean that you mom made your life enjoyable. She made sure you knew how tough it was on her to welcome her adult daughter back into the house after not hearing a peep from you for five years. Arguments happened frequently and sometimes you went days without talking to one another, even at the dinner table.

Then, after a long shift at the bar, everything boiled over. The argument was the same as always but this time, she managed to really get under your skin.

She had caught you smoking a cigarette on the back porch. You knew she wouldn’t appreciate it but after your shift, you needed something to take the edge off.

“I can’t believe you!” She yelled. “Cigarettes? Really? What’s next, drinking a six pack a day? Turning into a drunk? You gonna turn out just like your father.”

And that’s what did it for you. She went there, whether she meant it or not, those words stung you worse than a bee sting.

“Oh my gosh, mom.” You retort. “You did not just say that to me.”

“Is this what you did all these years?” She continues to yell. “Waste your life away for something so worthless? You’re just like Tom.”

You knew she was mad when she said ‘Tom’ instead of ‘your father’. She was pissed at you and you were pissed at her. Infuriated even.

Wanting to listen no further to her you get up and run to your car and start the engine. You weren’t sure where you were going but you sure as hell weren’t going to listen to your irate mom lecture you for another minute.

You drove until you found yourself parked in the driveway of a house. A house that your muscle memory brought you to. Or maybe, it was just your memory that brought you here.

Your feet guided your body to the front door of the house before ringing the doorbell. An action you regretted as soon as your fingers had pressed the button. An internal battle played out in your mind. Part of you wanted to hop back in your car and leave. But the other part of you just desperately needed to see a familiar face.

A moment passed before the door opened.

Frankie’s smile dropped as soon as he saw you standing on the front patio. His eyes searching for a clue as to what brought you here.

“What’s wrong?” He asked stepping out onto the patio to join you.

You opened your mouth to speak but no words came out. How embarrassing. You started to cry as you tried to formulate words.

“Mom and I got into it again.” You said between sobs. “And she- she-”

You couldn’t even get the rest of your sentence out before the sobs took over again. Frankie hesitated for a second then pulled you in for a gentle hug.

“I’m sorry, Clara.” He says soothingly, trying to get you to calm down just a little.

“Would you like to come in?” He gestures towards the door. “The guys are over tonight to watch the game but you can stay in the kitchen if you’d like? I can get you some tea started?”

“Oh my gosh, I didn’t know you had them over tonight. I can leave.”

“No, it’s alright, we don’t mind.” Frankie says reassuringly.

He guides you inside the house. The house you had been to countless times before with dad when you were a teenager. Many fond memories of game nights with the guys flooded your mind as you walked in.

The moment the guys saw you and your tear stained face, the living room fell silent. Frankie ushers you quietly to the kitchen and begins to boil a kettle of water for tea. You take a seat at the kitchen table. The same one you had won countless Monopoly games and worked on homework at. The kitchen was all too familiar to you, as was the rest of the house.

Frankie stands at the stove, his mind working on what to say, if anything. He knows you’re in a delicate position right now and he knows how desperately you need someone. But he knows that just like your dad, you can shut off once a wrong word is spoken.

So, you both remain in a comfortable silence. The guys in the living room return to speaking, but at a whisper. Everyone is now walking on eggshells, unsure of what to do next. You’re here and you’re not running away, even though part of you still wants to.

Once the water boils, Frankie pours the water in a mug with a sachet of your favorite lemon ginger tea.

He remembered.

He sets the mug down in front of you and places honey and a spoon down next to the tea. He senses that you just need some space to settle down. So, he quietly returns to the living room.

An hour must have gone by before the guys’ voices return to normal and the conversations continue. You still sit in silence mulling over the events of today.

If only dad were here you think as you finish off the tea. He’d know what to do.

The air feels thick all of a sudden so you decide to go out back to the deck for a breather. You quietly open the door, not wanting to draw attention to yourself, and you slip out back unnoticed.

You sit on a chair and pull out a cigarette and lighter. You know Frankie wouldn’t mind.

As you smoke and look up at the sky and notice how clear the night sky is. You can see all the stars and they seem brighter than you remembered. Minutes pass by before the door creaks open. Your alone time interrupted.

It’s Benny.

He sits next to you and waits a few moments before speaking up.

“You got an extra?” He asks.

Your head whips to the side to look at him. Your brain not immediately registering that he’s asking for a cigarette. You nod and hand him the pack. He pulls out a cigarette and grabs your lighter that you laid on the side table.

He takes a couple drags before you take your turn to speak.

“I didn’t think you were supposed to smoke with your training and all.” You say wondering why an MMA fighter like him would smoke.

“One won’t hurt,” he begins “as long as you don’t tell Will.”

He chuckles. Will has always been very proactive in making sure Benny was in tip-top shape when it came to fighting. He made sure Benny always had a balanced diet, exercised well and kept his body clean from anything unnecessary, like cigarettes.

You offer Benny a small smile and then look back up at the sky. He does the same.

“I never noticed how bright the stars were at night.” He says mesmerized by the night.

“Me neither. It was never this clear in South Carolina.” As soon as those words leave your mouth, you realize you slipped up.

Benny straightens in his chair after hearing this.

“So that’s where you were.” He says.

Shit. What happened to keeping your cards close to your chest?

Silence fills the void again. You wish you could take back the last minute and let it never happen. Alas, here you are.

“Why’d you leave, Clara?” Benny asks.

You weigh your options of what to do next before speaking.

“I didn’t know what else to do, Benny.” You say plainly.

“What do you mean?” He responds. “We were all here.”

“I was scared, okay?”

“We were too, especially when you left.” He says stomping out his cigarette.

“You were scared? How do you think I felt?” You say taking offense to Benny acting like he was a victim.

“What?” He’s confused.

“My dad died.” You say.

His expression turns flat.

“I didn’t-”

“My dad died. While on a trip. With you.” You pointedly say. “What else was I supposed to believe?”

“We told you we didn’t kill him.”

“I was sixteen, Benny. Sixteen!” Your voice begins to rise a little as you continue to speak. “One week my dad is telling me that when he gets back he’ll take me prom dress shopping. And all that week I’m waiting for him to come back only for you guys to return without him.”

Tears start to fall down your face the more you recount the painful memories.

“He goes on a trip with you guys, he dies with you guys. I didn’t know what else to think!”

Benny sits silently allowing you to continue speaking, knowing better than to interrupt you now that you’ve finally opened up just a little.

“You know, the only dress I got to buy was a black one for his funeral. I missed my prom because I refused to buy a dress without him. He promised me that and I never got that.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Benny finally says.

“Of course you didn’t. Nobody cared to then.” You say sourly.

“But why did you just up and leave?”

“I was hurt… by everyone. I didn’t know who to trust. It hurt to be here.” You respond.

“So where did you go?”

“South Carolina.” You opened the can of worms now. You’ve got to tell him.

“I didn't know who was with me or against me so I figured, I could just start fresh. I missed my high school graduation. The minute I turned seventeen, I signed up for the army. I went to basic training and cut everyone off. Well, almost everyone.” The story flows out of you before you have a chance to think about what you’re saying.

“I thought that maybe joining the Army would help me feel closure about losing dad. Or at least it would be a way to honor him. I don’t know what I was thinking but that was the answer, at least for a little while.”

As you talk, Benny listens intently, genuinely listening to your life story.

“So I joined the army and went to basic in South Carolina. I made a few friends there but… I don’t know. It was good for a while. But then two months in everything became too much. Everything reminded me of dad. I couldn’t do it. Almost everyday I had panic attacks and I kept thinking of how he died and I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d go the same way. Would this be by demise?”

As you talk Benny just nods.

“Soon enough my sergeant suggested I leave while I can. That hurt to hear. Cause it’s almost like they’re saying ‘you’re too weak to be here’ and that’s how I felt. I felt weaker than ever. So, I left.”

As you finish the story you go to grab another cigarette but Benny snatches up the pack before you can get one. He gives you a look as if he’s saying you need to lay off the smoking. He’s not wrong.

“But that was only a couple months” he starts “what happened then? How’d you end up back here?”

You sigh heavily, the next part a thorn in your side and something you haven’t told anyone. Not even your mom.

“Well, I said I made friends, right? There was this one guy I met in basic. We became close, more than friends. When I left, he left too. And when we left, we moved in together and shared an apartment because we both had nothing. We got jobs and started working for a future together. About a year in, he said he wanted to marry me. I wanted to marry him too. So, he proposed. But we knew a wedding wasn’t in our budget for at least another year or two.” You stare blankly ahead as you dish out your ugly past to Benny.

“I worked odd jobs here and there in South Carolina. Bartending was the only thing that I enjoyed, I don’t know why. He picked up jobs here and there too. But soon those jobs turned into other girls. I guess I got so focused on affording a wedding that I didn’t let that bother me too much.”

You try to end the story there not wanting to talk aloud about the next part. But Benny being curious and concerned he asks “Why did you leave?”

“Oh boy, I’ve never told anyone this.” Here goes nothing you think.

“As soon as he started getting with other girls, things turned sour between him and I. Like, really sour.” All of a sudden you feel a lump in your throat and your hands feel really clammy.

“I guess it was worse than I thought because whenever people saw me at work they always gave me a pitiful smile when they saw my arms or legs or neck. I guess the bruises were worse than I imagined. One day it got to be too much so I packed all my stuff up and drove. I didn’t have a plan of where but I ended up here.”

As you let out the breath you had been holding in, you look at Benny, who’s already looking at you. His eyes searching your face for emotion, your stoicism making it hard for him to decipher.

“I’m so sorry, Clara.” He finally says still trying to find the right words to say. “We tried to reach out but none of us ever got through.”

“Frankie did.” You say. “He was the only one who actually tried. I never answered him but for five years he tried.” Your mood turning suddenly bitter.

“I’m sorry.” He repeats.

“I know.” You say simply. “I know.”

“So… the bar. How’d you land that?” Benny asks trying to find a conclusion to your story.

“It was the first place I stopped in when I came back. Larry knew me immediately when I walked through the door. I guess he knew me because of dad. I asked if he was hiring and he gave me a position and said I could work as many hours as I needed.”

“And your mom?”

The mention of your mom shifts your mood and Benny realizes that. A sore topic but a necessary piece to the plot.

“She wasn’t happy that I showed up on her doorstep unannounced but she was happy I was still alive, I guess. I’m barely her daughter anymore because she treats me like a tenant.” You say.

You don’t need to say anymore about mom because Benny seems to understand everything when you say that.

“I’m sorry we weren’t there for you when you needed us most. That’s such a dick move on our end.” Benny says.

You purse your lips into a small smile in acknowledgment of Benny’s apology.

“And I’m sorry we didn’t know about… him.” Benny says referring to your ex fiancé.

“You had no way of knowing.”

“But still. You’re our little Clara. We’re supposed to protect you.” He says.

You grimace at being called ‘Little Clara’, a nickname you hadn’t heard since you were a teenager. But the sentiment was what mattered. Benny saw the way you reacted to the nickname.

“And I know you’re not ‘little’ anymore but you’re still Tom’s daughter and part of us.” He said trying to convey his care for you without sounding too over protective.

“We were so worried about all those years and it tore us up not being able to get in touch with you just to know you’re alive. Frankie took it the hardest out of us all, I think.” He continued.

“When we couldn’t find you, it felt like I- or we failed you. The one person Tom cared about most we couldn’t find.” He shakes his head as if he’s shaking off the memories.

“I’m sorry I acted the way I did at the bar.” You say. “It was wrong of me to be so cold.”

“Don’t apologize, Clara.” Benny said. “I would’ve done the same if I were in your shoes.”

You nod and softly smile at him, grateful that he understood your feelings, even just a little bit.

After a few moments, the back door creaks open and Will pops his head out. He quickly analyzes the scene in front of him before saying “The game’s over Benny.”

In an attempt to not rush any breakthrough that had happened between Benny and you, Will quickly ducks back inside.

You check your watch and see how late it is and realize how long you and Benny had spent outside talking.

“Well, I better head out.” Benny says as he stands up from his chair. He looks back at the sky then back to you.

“Please don’t be a stranger, Clara. We really are here for you, whenever. I mean it.” He says looking at you deep in your eyes. He’s sincere. You feel it and it’s something you haven’t felt in a long time.

You offer Benny a small ‘thank you’ as he makes his way to the door, leaving you alone on the deck again.

The heart-to-heart you just shared with Benny left you feeling satisfied and something else, but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

You were so lost in your thoughts you didn’t hear Frankie open the door and walk towards you until you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“You don’t have to leave, but it is getting cold out and late.” He said. “There’s a blanket and some pillows on the couch.”

You stood up from your seat and faced Frankie. You hug him. He’s surprised a little but hugs you back.

“Thank you.” You say.

“Anytime, C.”

Gosh, you hadn’t heard that nickname for a long time. It was Frankie’s special nickname for you ever since you could remember. You felt at peace hearing it again.

After a long day of events, you turned in for the night and took up Frankie’s offer for the couch. Sleep took you over as soon as your head hit the pillow.

******

A/N: My requests are open for blurbs and imagines!

[coughsyrep]

Fluffernutter Sandwich

Summary: Natasha is shot during a mission, and you are the surgeon that tends to her. Afterwards, upon seeing her in a distressed state despite the procedure going well, you also tend to Wanda.

Chapter 5

1587 words

Link to AO3 if you prefer that format: 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/39221235/chapters/110067183

If you’d prefer to read it here:

In general, if one were in a great deal of discomfort, possibly because they had just been involved in a terroristic attack the previous day and were injured, they would do something to alleviate that pain. And under normal circumstances you would, except you couldn’t bring yourself to move when the two women who you really needed to discuss relationship labels with were lying right beside you, Wanda’s warm breath grazing over the skin of your neck, half of her body now covering yours while Natasha’s arms are holding you both protectively. The room’s still dark, and the compound is near silent other than some machinery that one would expect in a place as technically advanced as here. You let out a little sigh, trying to relax again when a shooting pain courses through your ankle, and although biting your lip stops the cry, you can’t hold back the grunt.

“Dorogaya?” Natasha is immediately awoken at the sound of your discomfort despite your attempt to quiet it, shifting so that she can look you in the eye. “What’s wrong?” You shake your head, trying to not get too distracted by the rasp in her voice due to sleep, and start to deny that anything was wrong when Wanda shifts off of you.

“It’s her ankle,” she murmurs, pushing back her tangled hair from her face as she glances down at the boot.

“It’s not fair that you can read thoughts.” She hums, her hand cupping your jaw as Natasha shifts on the mattress, pills rattling as she sits back with a medicine bottle and water bottle.

“I saw the imaging tests detka, I don’t need to read your mind to know you’re in pain.” She presses forward, leaving a soft kiss on your lips before pulling back, shifting to her knees and helping you sit up. As soon as your back hits the headboard, two pills are placed in your hand, Natasha’s fingertips lingering while her other hand holds the water in front of you. With a sigh you swallow the pills and down the water, not realizing how dry your throat was until only drops trickled from the bottle. As soon as you pull the bottle away Natasha’s lips are on yours, her sigh tickling your cheek. Your tongue swipes at her bottom lip in an attempt to deepen the kiss, but instead you whine when she pulls back with a small smirk.

“What are we?” You finally ask the question that has been probing at the back of your mind for ages, but to them the suddenness surprises them.

“What do you mean, detka?” Wanda tilts her head, and you suck in your lips as you build up your courage.

“Well, we’ve never discussed what exactly our relationship status is. You two are obviously a couple, but…” you shrug your shoulders, looking down at your lap, “…where do I fit in?” A hand cups your chin and you immediately melt into the gentle touch, Natasha’s thumb stroking along your jawline as she compels you to look at the two of them.

“Well, I think it’s fairly obvious what we’d like,” Natasha says, glancing over to see Wanda give an approving nod, the witch’s hand taking yours and squeezing. “But if you’d like a formal request,” you roll your eyes at the teasing cadence in her voice, “we’d like you to be our partner. If you’ll have us, of course.” You can’t help the smile the blooms across your face, nodding rapidly as you grab the two and pull them in for a tight embrace.

“Yes,” you whisper, giggling gleefully as your hold grows tighter, “yes, I’d like that. Love that, actually.”

“As happy as we are to hear that, I’d rather be kissing you than the headboard.” You let them go, growing warm when you realize that you’d forgotten how you’d been seated, but your two girlfriends just chuckled, Wanda’s hand reaching around the back of your neck and pulling you close while Natasha sat back, her hand resting on your knee. Soft lips press onto yours, teeth accidently clashing when neither of you can’t stop smiling, then suddenly you have to pull away to yawn.

“I think the pills are taking effect, dorogaya,” Natasha says as her hand moves to Wanda’s hip, and you pout at her. “Oh, don’t be like that. We’ll have plenty of time to continue once you wake up. And plenty more to do once that boot comes off.” They both laugh when you grow flustered at her words, both helping to lay you back down and pulling the covers over you. They take either side of you, and Wanda nuzzles back into you, Natasha gently kissing your shoulder before taking you both in her arms again. Their steady breathing only help to lull you to sleep further.

“Good night, our girl,” Natasha murmurs lowly, and as your eyelids drop your sleepy smile remains.

-

-

When you next wake up to only feel one body next to you, you blink away the sleep to see Natasha sitting up on the headboard with a phone in her hand. Her eyes dart across the screen quickly, annoyance evident on her features before she sighs and locks it, tossing it to her side.

“Everything okay?” She steels her features quickly before giving a tight smile, her fingers making their way to your hair. You furrow your brows at the odd shifts, but you hold back your questions as she leans down to kiss your forehead.

“Just an upcoming mission, they’re deciding who’ll be going.” Her hand starts massaging your scalp, and you relax under her touch. “It’s recon, so more likely than not me and Clint, but if they think that there’s a chance of engagement they’ll send others as well.”

“What do you think?” Before she gets the chance to respond, there’s a gentle knock on the door before Wanda looks in, a bright smile on her face.

“Hey, I just finished making pancakes if you two want some?” You barely get the chance to nod enthusiastically before you squeal in surprise as strong arms lift you up, Natasha laughing as she carries you out of the room. “So I’ll just go ahead and take that as a yes?”

“It’s a yes!” You shout back as you’re taken as quickly as possible to the kitchen without causing your leg any discomfort, the smell of not only pancakes but also eggs, bacon, hashbrowns and coffee filling the air.

“You really went all out, didn’t you?” Natasha teases as she sets you down at the counter, immediately reaching for a plate as Wanda’s arms wrap around your shoulders.

“Anything for my darlings,” she hums, her warm breath on your ear making you shiver. Her lips find your temple before she pulls away, asking what you want and plating it for you, the two sitting by you once you all have a hearty amount of food in front of you. “But hurry up and drink the coffee, Tony is going to be up here any minute.” Natasha curses, wincing when she tries to take a large sip of the still steaming drink.

“Why don’t you just hide it?” They both look at you incredulously and you shrug. “Rearrange some dishes, or put it in the pantry.” Wanda grins, waving her fingers and the coffee pot flies to sit behind several boxes of cereal before the door closes.

“I really hope you both know what you’ve just done,” Natasha whispers just before Steve walks through the doors, giving a small smile and nod to the three of you as he makes his way to the meeting room. “Especially if Cap calls for a-”

“All Avengers, please come to the meeting room,” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice calls throughout the compound, and you smile sheepishly into your mug and Wanda fights back a laugh, Natasha’s head in her hands.

-

-

After Natasha carried you back to their room and Wanda cheekily told you that you could text them if you needed anything during the meeting, you relax onto their sofa with a sigh. The television was already turned to an episode of The Golden Girls, the best compromise Wanda and Natasha could come to when it came to shows. Halfway between a blurb between Dorothy and Sophia both Natasha and Wanda come rushing in, seeming equally stressed. You immediately sit up, watching both of them grab their typical clothes for missions.

“What happened to just recon?” Natasha’s brows furrow before she forces her expression to be neutral, but Wanda flinches before turning towards you.

“There was a change of plans. There were Hydra agents spotted at the base, and F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s facial recognition technology was able to identify some as those who attacked the compound. We need to move out now.”

“How long will the mission be?”

“Hopefully we’ll be back before morning,” Natasha says, zipping up the front of her suit before putting on the rest of her gear with an ease that shows her experience with them. Wanda pulls on her coat just as she finishes, it flapping behind her as she walks to you to kiss the top of your head.

“We’ll be back before you know it, detka.” They’re both out the door just as quickly as they came in, and despite knowing that they were well trained and well equipped for these missions, the image of the Black Widow on your operating table won’t stop flashing through your mind’s eye.