#but I don’t know where else to post this

[willowisdead345]

post about l4x4tive safety!!

Disclaimer: this is an educational post meant to encourage people to atleast be safe if they decide to use this type of meds, like many with 3ds do. I’m not encouraging the use of l4x4tives, but if someone will use them regardless, I’d rather educate them about safety.

L4x4tives will NOT MAKE YOU LOSE WEIGHT. They won’t. They don’t remove calories of fat or anything like that. They might make you lose weight due to the fact that you have less feces inside you, but they will not remove fat or calories or anything except waste and water. They won’t make you lose weight, so do NOT take them for that purpose. 

This is looong but necessary if this applies to you

Don’t use l4x4tives, but if you will anyways, use l4x4tives responsibly! Don’t abuse them, be safe. There are 2 main types of l4x4tives, this post will handle them separately. They are “bulk-forming” and “stimulating” and function differently

Why use them then? A diet deficient in fiber might make you constipated, that’s just the truth. And a highly restricted diet is often deficient in fiber. 3ds and constipation go hand in hand often, so using medicine to help you yk pass waste after weeks of stomach pain from not doing so is sometimes a good idea.

Natural alternatives include either dried plums/plum puree, or making sure you get enough fiber in your diet. And maybe you are lucky and manage to keep regular without anything, then definitely DON'T experiment with pharmaceuticals.

DO NOT USE ALL TYPES OF L4X4TIVES though, please read this post and try to use bulk forming l4x4tives, they are safer. They “bulk up” what is inside you and makes it easier for stuff to come out, because well… there is more to push. They are less bad for your body in the way that they don’t stimulate the muscles of your bowel, and just naturally make you use the bathroom. They don’t have the same risk of your bowel relying on them like stimulating l4x4tives (where the bowel might stop working naturally due to overreliance on stimulating l4x4tives). Google any l4x to see which “type” it is, and try to stay away from stimulating ones if you truly feel like you need to use them. 

Stimulating l4x4tives are the other category, they are things that work by stimulating the muscles of your intestines and force stuff to come out by doing that. They carry the risk of causing dependance, since they might make it impossible to pass anything without using them if your bowel gets too accustomed to them. They are recommended to be used for severe constipation, once and not eaten continuously. They are more “powerful” and often work faster, but they are also more dangerous.

Safety tips for stimulating l4x4ives:

FOLLOW DOSAGE RECOMMENDATIONS. Do NOT fcking 0d on them. The dosing recommendations are found online or in the packet. Don’t go over them. Just do not, the recommendations are there for a reason.

NOT EVERY DAY!! Every 3 days is still considered a healthy interval for bowel movements, so aim for that, and if possible without too much discomfort, maybe once a week is fine (for me personally, I aim for once a week since it’s not too uncomfortable to wait)

DON’T OVER RELY ON THEM!! Try to use bulk-forming l4x4tives, try to use natural alternatives like eating more fiber, try anything else. Stimulating l4x are not good to rely on blindly, because at some point you’ll need them and your bowel just won’t function without them.

I could link some sources but they are all in Finnish, but if there are any questions, anything at all, feel free to ask, I’ll be glad to answer! Or try doing your own research, I’d recommend making sure you know the risks of the specific one.

[kdinjenzen]

It’s very curious how we’ve gotten to a point where, just because someone “knows about you”, people feel like they are entitled to not only your time, but your space, your attention, and more than anything else your respect.

Like, yes. I am grateful to anyone and everyone who decides to stop by a stream, or hang out in discord, or send me asks, or reblog or share my important posts. It’s very kind of you to spend your time that way and I do appreciate it.

But if you come into those spaces and begin demanding things, especially if you’re not a usual person or friend, then get unreasonable when you’re called out and then continue to be like this just to get banned for being rude as hell with AND THEN go to ANOTHER space I’m in to complain to me that I was rude for protecting my space?

Like fuck you for real.

I say this will fill accusatory eyes in all directions!

Your favorite creator/artist/actor/blogger/writer/whatever doesn’t owe you anything ESPECIALLY if they don’t even know you and ESPECIALLY if you’re a rude little fuck.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I have to politely disagree with you saying that Malleus is destined to be in an arranged marriage, and I'm saying this as someone who isn't that much of a Yuu/Malleus shipper. If we were talking about a real life royal, I would totally agree that would be the case. However, there is one big factor you neglected that makes me hesitant to believe that any sort of traditional arranged marriage would even be an option for him in the first place.

We learn in Book 7 that in order for a dragon age to hatch, they need "true love". If Malleus was in a loveless arranged marriage, he and his partner would never be able to "bear fruit", so to speak, rendering it pointless. I don't think the council would ever dare to try that, since they know what happened with his mother and her constantly rebelling against her arranged marriage, expecting more of the same from Malleus if they did that to him.

If anything, I think a Princess Jasmine situation would be FAR more likely with him. You know, having his grandmother constantly throw "eligible fae noble ladies" at him for Malleus to resent it and rebel by falling in love with someone for love? I can easily see something like that happening if the game was able to mention romance.

[Referencing this post!]

Hey, I’m not sure where the Malleus x Yuu ship is coming from?? It was briefly mentioned in the disclaimer of my original post, but not in the actual body of discussion. And, as I’ve stated in that original post, nothing that I said there is meant to invalidate shippers, whether you ship Malleus with Yuu, an OC, another main cast member, or whoever else.

As I always stress, it’s okay (and it should be expected) to have different interpretations of the same content. I’m not going to fault you or anyone else for simply saying they don’t agree with my headcanons. However, I do also believe that there are a number of objective misunderstandings and extreme assumptions being made here and I’d like to address them.

Firstly, the claim that a dragon egg needs “true love” to hatch is not exactly true. This phrase is not immediately used (whether in EN or JP) to refer to the situation with Malleus’s egg. A similar phrase (“someone capable of truly loving you”) was, however, used to refer to the condition needed to break Silver’s sleeping blessing/curse. When describing how to hatch a dragon’s egg, it is said that you need “love and magical energy from their parents”. I think you may have gotten the two circumstances mixed up?

Lilia does later state that, “Dragon eggs can only be hatched by their parents' magic and affection—nothing less than true love!” but it seems that the “nothing less than true love” part is a tacked-on personal interpretation by Lilia; what is consistent in the prerequisites for hatching a dragon’s egg is the “parents’ magic and affection” portion.

I also think it’s… short sighted??? To imply that “true love” MUST explicitly refer to the romantic love that the parents have for one another. Even if you were to define “true love” that way (it’s a neutral take to have in a vacuum), love between the biological parents doesn’t even seem to be a prerequisite in the Twst world. In both Silver and Malleus’s cases, they flourished because of the platonic love provided to them by familial figures. It’s commonly speculated that Silver woke up because “someone capable of truly loving him” (ie Lilia) appeared. Malleus received love and magical energy from his grandmother, and eventually fully hatched thanks to Lilia’s sacrifice. In both cases, there is NO romantic partner or romantic feelings involved, and Silver and Malleus still turned out fine. You don’t need romantic love between the biological parents to hatch a dragon’s egg, just the platonic love of a willing parent or guardian. Lilia himself includes “parental affection” (both giving and receiving it) in his own definition of what “true love” is:

On the subject of dragon eggs, this proposal is running on the assumption that there would even BE an egg to hatch when… that’s not a guarantee???? Maleanor is a dragon fae, so naturally she laid an egg. This is how a dragon fae brings a child into the world. Depending on the race or fae subspecies of Malleus’s potential spouse, they may not produce an egg in the first place. No dragon’s egg means no need for vaguely defined love magic.

I also don’t think you even need to be in love to order to have a child. This (unfortunately) happens in real life too. It might be uncomfortable or awkward in the case of an arranged marriage, but it can be done. Were this to happen, it would still be possible to hatch a dragon’s egg. One parent, both parents, or even no parent (although the “some other third party” route would definitely get pushback from the senators) could provide their magic. Again, this is because romantic love between the biological parents is not a hard requirement, as we saw with the hatching of Malleus himself. You could still theoretically care for a child that isn’t one conceived from your romantic love with a partner.

It’s true that Maleanor “ruined the engagement talks […]” but Lilia’s wording (“that time”) implies this was a single occurrence and not a frequent or constant thing. It’s possible that Maleanor behaved for other engagement discussions (not mentioned), and it’s possible that engagement discussions altogether stopped after this one incident; we cannot know for sure.

Nothing is stopping the senators from attempting to push an arranged marriage for Malleus too, especially since they care so much about lineage, status, etc. Yes, he may very well react negatively—but the Draconias in general are temperamental and behave this way in several other situations. If the senators stopped doing everything that potentially angers Malleus, then there would be little that he would be allowed to do. (For example, Malleus has thrown several tantrums, including directing his magic at tutors that he believed were underestimating him or at servants when he was upset about his grandma not joining him for a promised meal. Does that mean the senators didn't dare to make Malleus have magic lessons again? Does that mean that Maleficia swore to never miss spending time with him again? Of course not.) As I mentioned before, I believe that an arranged marriage or at least a heavy vetting process would occur for Malleus. Lilia’s mention of a dragon flying halfway across the world for “engagement talks” already implies an arranged marriage for Maleanor. Furthermore, Ghost Marriage has Lilia specifying that Malleus cannot just “propose to a random ghost”, as it would “set off an international incident.” This implies to me that Malleus cannot go around expressing romantic feelings to whoever he wants (lie or not); there are rules and expectations in place, and he is expected to follow them regardless of his feelings.

Lastly, I don’t see Malleus as being the same rebel that Princess Jasmine is. Nothing in his personality or history as we know it shows us he is the type to go against the grain. He comes from a highly conservative, isolated country and has significant issues adjusting to change himself. In fact, his entire conflict in book 7 results from him trying to uphold the status quo and prevent change. Malleus typically does not rebel, at least not in significant ways; he normally observes ceremonies, traditions, and rules of social etiquette as he understands them. He's not a shit-stirrer like Leona, who disregards formalities, scoffs at royal expectations, and speaks and acts rudely.

You also can’t exactly make yourself fall in love in an act of rebellion?? Emotions just don’t work like that. Maybe you’d be more likely to go for someone that goes against the expectations others have for you, but 1) it’s not a definite scenario, and 2) again, you can’t force your feelings to be a certain way.

I think there’s definitely a discussion to be had on how Malleus would feel about being in an arranged marriage. This is the one thing I’m uncertain about. I personally interpret it as… well, Malleus can’t be so naive as to not realize this is a very real possibility for his future??? And he has mentioned before that he is aware of his responsibilities as a noble. He must know and be anticipating an arranged marriage somewhere down the line (though this doesn’t necessarily mean he’s excited for it). I get the impression he might be resigned to his responsibilities (since it's such a big thing he's expected to do; similar to how he respects invitation etiquette despite also wanting to join in on group activities). But he could also be very mad about it if he just doesn't vibe with whoever the arranged partner is (similar to his mom)?? Ultimately though, I would like to believe Malleus would have an understanding of what his role calls for and would have to put aside personal feelings to do what's best for his country. There are non-romantic cases of him acting on this behavior, like refraining from proposing to the Ghost Bride, insisting that Leona (someone who frequently picks fights with him) be apologized to in order to maintain amicable relationships between their nations, etc.

I think we’re also assuming a lot about Maleanor’s relationship with Raverne here. Yes, it’s clear she loves him very much. BUT we also assuming that Raverne is someone she fell in love with and married without the senators’ approval, and that Malleus will have the same freedom to choose. How do we know the senators didn’t approve of Raverne? How do we know that Maleanor and Raverne weren’t arranged and she just didn’t complain this time because she actually reciprocated?? How do we know they didn’t marry first and fall in love later??? None of this was covered in canon.

Based on my own understanding of the lore and Malleus’s character, this is the conclusion that I have reached. Although maybe I'm expecting (or hoping for) way too much maturity from him as he ages 💦

[dexteri0us]

now i’m breathin' like i’m runnin' 'cause you're taking me there; don’t you know you spin me out of control?

pairing: dexter morgan x f!reader

warnings: reader is a freak, mentions of corpses, smut - dom!dexter (but he's soft<3), sir kink, oral (f and m receiving), some slapping, some pussy slapping, bondage, knife play, brush play, wartenberg wheel (all sterilized of course).

summary: you, being an annoying girlfriend, and dexter, being an incredible boyfriend. (be careful though, he might as well just off you one day if you keep asking for it).

w/c: around 7,280

a/n: no pun intended. if i forgot any warnings, let me know, my brain is kinda fried

Dexter hadn’t exactly told you that he was a killer. A murderer, a criminal, or whatever label fit his particular shade of darkness. But he also never denied it when your insinuations crept too close to the truth. He knew that you knew, and that was enough for you. Knowing that he was okay with that was enough for you. Well, until recently.

He’d given you a blurry picture of what he did to his victims. Not because he offered it, but you had a knack for prodding, especially when you sensed he was buttered up just enough. You knew a crime scene or a sample of blood brought a smile to his face, but you didn’t exactly have that kind of power to bring those things to him. You found your own ways to make Dexter smile. Leaving a post-it note on his coffee machine that read “Kill the day”. Buying him a new shirt for work or a romantic dinner. Making him a playlist for his late-night boat rides. Or you’d plan a quiet night with nature docs to stimulate his intellect.

And if you were feeling bold, you’d cook. Well, try to cook. Homemade pizza was your speciality. Your best and only. Dexter never complained, though, always giving you a small, approving nod as he chewed slowly.

Still, he didn’t give you the exact answers either. He might roll his eyes, sigh heavily, or offer a cryptic one-word response, but you could always tell when you’d hit the nail on the head.

“Do you have a special place where you do it? Like a basement or something?”

Roll of his eyes. No.

“Do you ever regret it? Like, afterward?”

No.

“Do you stalk them?”

Side eye. Yes.

“Do you talk to them first? Like, try to scare them or mess with their heads:”

...Yes?

You played this game as if it was the most normal thing in the world, without batting an eye. It was fun for you until you headed in an unpleasant direction of the questions.

“Does it get messy? What do you use to clean up? What about their clothes? Do you get them naked before getting rid of the body?”

Yes.

Oh. “…Before killing them?”

Yes.

The wheels in your head began to turn, your thoughts spiraling into uncharted territory. “Even the women?”

Yes.

Huh. Suddenly, the game wasn’t so fun anymore. You didn’t know how you felt about that. You pictured the men and women you didn’t know, beautiful, vulnerable, dead. It was stupid to feel jealous of corpses, but you couldn’t help it. It clawed at you.

For a while, you stopped asking questions. Not because you didn’t want to know, but because you were too distracted by the answers you’d already gotten. And maybe you were afraid of what else you’d uncover.

If you were jealous of them before, now that jealousy skyrocketed into different dimensions.

You were in the middle of baking banana bread, working the batter longer than necessary. It was your fourth loaf this week, and you’d already had to give a few away to Deb and Joey, because you weren’t capable of eating all of it.

You were happy that Deb and Joey appreciated it because Dexter didn’t even like banana bread that much. He ate it because you made it. Which was sweet. But still, he seemed to enjoy talking to naked strangers more than eating your baked goods.

What the fuck is his problem?

“Another banana bread?” Dexter’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. “You know, it’s gonna lose its sweetness if you keep mixing all the frustration into it.”

Normally, you’d snort at the deadpan delivery of his stupid joke, but now was really not the time to remind you of the mood you were trying to suppress.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked is all seriousness now, coming over to you and leaning one hip against the counter. You didn’t look at him, keeping your focus on the batter. “Okay, you’re not. What can I do?” he asked, waiting patiently for you to open up.

“Nothing.”

He stood there and you felt his eyes on you, probably trying to read you. You still didn’t acknowledge him, but his presence pressed against you and it was starting to make you uncomfortable. He knew better than to push; it would only make you more frustrated, but he wasn’t one to just walk away either. Besides, he knew you’d crack eventually. And you did, dropping the spatula into the bowl and turning to face him.

“Why don’t you like my banana bread?”

He squinted his eyes, trying to decide if you were joking or not.

“I like your banana bread. Just… an appropriate amount. Not five loaves in a week.”

“Four,” you corrected.

“Five,” he countered, not missing a beat. “You made two yesterday, one on Monday and one on Wednesday.”

Shit, he was right. But could he blame you? He was driving you nuts. Well, you were driving yourself nuts, but it was because of him!

“Hey, I know my brain is limited, but is that really what’s bothering you? Will you help me out, or should I try to piece it together on my own?” he said softly.

He always did that, giving you space but never giving up on saving you from the sea of worrisome thoughts, never ignoring your closed off behavior. He’d always told you that you were like a puzzle to him. And he claimed he liked puzzles.

But you didn’t want to be a puzzle this time. You knew keeping him guessing wouldn't be healthy, so you spilled it out. You told him about your stupid insecurity and the stupid jealousy, the anger and frustration that boiled over when he told you about how he stripped his victims naked. And he couldn’t have had a more baffled expression on his face

For the first time, he told you a little bit about his hobby without you having to pull it from him. He reassured you that there was no sexual motivation behind it whatsoever. None. That the people he killed were disgusting and vile human beings who didn’t deserve even the faintest semblance of intimacy. Well, not that kind of intimacy. They deserved nothing but to die.

“I promise,” he said as he brushed his thumb over your cheek, “the only body I admire is yours. It’s an unhealthy obsession, really. Unhealthier than the other one.”

And with that, he finally made you laugh and roll your eyes at him. You gave him a playful shove, making him smile as you turned back to your batter. He moved closer one more time, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple, then your cheek. As he stepped back, he gave your triceps a playful pinch, leaving you to your baking.

You didn’t have a reason not to trust him. Even though he held onto a big secret, he never outright lied. He just never told you the whole truth, and you respected that. He’d told you it was better this way, something about plausible deniability. And yes, you made it a little hard for him, but what can you say, you were nosy.

Later that night, he went out of his way to worship your body, to prove that you were truly his number one obsession. He looked you in the eye as he fucked you, making you see how you made him feel and showing you every ounce of devotion he had for you. When he put his tongue on you, he didn’t stop eating your pussy until you had to push him away.

Afterward, you lay on your stomach while Dexter rested beside you, propped on one elbow, his other hand tracing invisible shapes on your back.

He let you guess what he drew or wrote with his fingers, and you both giggled when you guessed something ridiculous when he drew something completely simple. It was your favorite kind of peace, lying in his arms, your warm skin against his. You almost couldn’t believe that these same arms were capable of something else.

It wouldn’t be you if you weren’t greedy, though. And sometimes, when your mood was just right, that greed turned you into a bit of a brat.

You were on your way from the farmer’s market, the basket of fresh carrots and strawberries balanced on your lap as Dexter focused on the road, one hand casually resting on the wheel.

You were just telling him how you wanted to have a garden of your own one day, grow your own fruits and veggies, maybe even have a little flock of chickens.

“Can you imagine? You’d have fresh eggs for breakfast every morning, and I could make you a fruit salad to take to work.”

He glanced over, just briefly, before fixing his eyes back on the road. “You’d want me to share that with you?”

You felt a small tug of your heart. It made you reach out to gently tug the short hair behind his ear. He liked that. He’d said it was soothing when you played with his hair, especially around the ears, and you made a mental note to do more of it later tonight.

“Dex, you’re stuck with me. You’ll need to kill me to get rid of me,” you joked and he shot you a look, but you giggled at your own quip.  

Truthfully, it broke your heart sometimes, the way he thought so little of himself. Sure, he was confident, sometimes even a little too sure of his skills, and it could momentarily turn him into a smug asshole. But you worried that he’d never feel how loved he actually was. How many people cared about him.

Before you could spiral too far into those thoughts, his phone buzzed. He was being called to a scene, and he initially wanted to drop you off at home, but you convinced him there was no point. It was literally on the way, and you could just wait in the car.

“Alright,” he said as he gathered his things, “half an hour, tops.” You nodded and he stepped out of the car.

You watched him work from the car, though you could barely make him out through the crowd of people that gathered at the scene. Still, you admired how focused and precise he was, the way he was handling the camera and the lifeless body.

It was impossible not to think about how those same hands had touched you, traced every curve and dip of your skin. Fuck, you were sick. He was professionally documenting death for Christ's sake.

Still, your mind couldn’t help but wander elsewhere, wondering if he handled them with the same care. So, once you were back on the road, you couldn’t help yourself.

“You know, I thought of a way you could prove your ‘obsession’ with my body.”

He paused, glancing at you with furrowed brow, confused. “I thought we were past that.”

“Well, you know, it does something to a girl, knowing her boyfriend’s hobby involves working with naked bodies.”

“I can’t believe that that’s what bothers you about this whole situation.”

You shrugged, letting the silence hang for a moment.

“Alright, I’ll bite. What’d you have in mind?”

“I want to experience it.”

“'It'. Try to be a little more specific.”

“You know… the setup. Like, a roleplay kinda thing. You’ll be you, and I’ll be your victim. Or like a 'draw me like one of your french girls' kinda situation."

You honestly thought that it was a good idea, but you just proved to him how much little you understood about the whole serial killer thing, which he let you know quite candidly.

Don’t get me wrong, he adored you, but he didn’t have a problem with calling you out on your stupidity and reminding you how close you sometimes got to crossing lines you didn’t fully understand. That’s what made your relationship great.

“First of all, why would you think they are French?" he asked, confused by the movie reference, but you jusrt rolled your eyes. "And second of all, I actually wonder whether it’s you or me who’s sick in the head here,” he scoffed, shaking his head as he went on to tell you that it wasn't a fucking game that you played. He is a serial killer. “I actually like your body intact.”

“But you wouldn’t actually –”

“No.”

“Come on, wouldn’t you like to see me all tied up, immobilized, completely at your mercy?”

His jaw tightened just slightly before he answered. Oh?

“No. End of discussion.”

“Fine,” you groaned with a sigh, sinking back into your seat like a scolded child, your fingers idly tracing the ridges of the basket in your lap.

You wanted to be petty about it but instead, you decided to be on your best behavior. The reason? You’d definitely gotten into his head. You didn’t know if he’d started fantasizing about you like that, or if he was coming to the realization that you might actually need a psychiatric evaluation. You hoped it was the former, so when you caught him lost in thought, his gaze lingering on you as if he were in a trance, you resisted the urge to poke the bear, only sending a sweet smile his way.

The sex had gotten more… intense. Also more frequent, and you had a theory that it correlated with his early returns from his hunts. He never seemed to be satisfied, always came home frustrated with himself and he took it out on you. He’d take you against the nearest surface he could find; the couch, the kitchen counter, even the floor. You thought there wasn’t a single surface in his apartment that wasn’t defiled.

Once, when he’d gotten home before you, he threatened to take you outside in the external corridor where his neighbors could see and hear everything. Well, you wouldn’t mind, but he was a flying-under-the-radar kind of guy.

Either way, you’d struck a chord. And while you still hadn’t gotten exactly what you wanted, you couldn’t deny you enjoyed the way he’d been lately.

You just got out of shower, slipped into your pajamas and plopped onto the couch, turning on some white noise on your phone as you pulled out some notes for your upcoming exam. No, you weren’t capable of studying after you changed into your sleeping attire, but it was better than doing nothing.

Your eyes skimmed mindlessly across the words when you heard the door unlock, revealing Dexter in his khaki henley and cargos. You greeted him with a smile, sending him into kitchen where his take-out was, before turning your head back to your notes.

You didn’t register him moving closer to you, until you felt the nylon of a cuff around your wrist.

“What the fuck?” you murmured and looked at your wrist. It wasn’t your first time he used bondage on you, of course, but this was weird. You tugged instinctively at the chain, but his firm grip on the other buckle didn’t allow you much movement. “Dex, I don’t have time for this now.”

“My victims don’t really get to pick when their time is up.”

You looked at him, the confusion apparent on your face, but then when you locked eyes with him, it started to gradually dawn on you. Your eyes flicked from his face, to his clothes, to the chain around your wrist.

Was this what you thought it was? You didn’t want to celebrate too early.

And just like that, Dexter gave a sharp tug on the chain, pulling you to your feet.

“The first thing that usually happens,” he began, leading you to the bedroom, “is the weight of their tranquilized bodies pulls them to the ground.”

Before you could react, he slammed the door shut behind you and in one swift motion, your back hit the hard wood. Your other wrist was caught and cuffed too, the chain between them yanked taut as he raised your arms above your head, hooking the chain on the hook mounted on the door, leaving you stertched out.

It was too high and the position forced you onto your tiptoes, your whole body arching and making your ass press firmly against the door.

Dexter grabbed your jaw and kissed you aggressively, your teeth clanking against each other and your tongues tangling together, making your mixed saliva drip down your chin.

He looked at you with that signature intensity, eyes hooded and plush lips parted slightly. His hot breath fanned across your chin as he spread the spit over your cheek and jawline, massaging it into your skin.

You admired the way his hair curled at his forehead and around his ears, it gave him this innocent vibe that put him into contrast with those strong features of his face.

Then he kissed you again, this time more softly, snaking his arm into the space between the door and your arched back, pressing himself against you and making you feel the hardness in his cargo pants. His hand slid lower, over the curve of your lower back, slipping beneath your shirt to cup your ass firmly. His fingers kneaded your flesh before grasping the hem of your panties and tugging up, the fabric pressing tightly against your pussy.

The pressure sent a jolt of pleasure straight through you, the cloth stimulating your clit as he gave it individual tugs. You whimpered into his mouth, your body writhing against him even though it was almost physically impossible. To amplify the pleasure, Dexter's thigh slid between your legs, the textured fabric of his cargos creating a delicious sensation.

When he was satisfied with the wet spot you created on his pants, he dropped to his knees. He teased you some more, licking along the hem of your panties, placing wet kisses on your thighs and burying his nose against your heat, telling you how good you smell.

“Dex,” you whined. Your cunt screamed for release as well as your strained arms. You wanted nothing more than to tangle your fingers in his hair and grind yourself against his mouth until the dam broke.

He had told you before that his face was made for you to sit on. Once, Deb had jokingly called him a chair, which turned out to be a thought her therapist had passed on to her. Your mind couldn’t help but wander to the nights when he made you sit on his cock as he went over his subjects. He blindfolded you each time, naturally.

And from the look on your face, Deb knew instantly where your thoughts had gone, and said that she didn’t need that mental image in her head. You both laughed about it later. Honestly, you two loved sharing your sexcapades with each other.

Dexter found out through Quinn, because of course Deb would share, especially if you gave her inspiration. And he couldn't resist taking a jab at Dexter.

“I didn’t know you were such an animal, Dex,” Joey had told him with that smug grin of his.

Dex had given you an earful about how you had kind of compromised his privacy. It was only a matter of time until Masuka learned about this, and he was already exasperating. Dexter was afraid Masuka would take it as a shared hobby, something they could finally, really talk about with passion, like two guys. Ugh, the thought alone made him uncomfortable already.

But you'd told him that Deb was your best friend, and that girlfriends just had to talk about this stuff.

“It’s like therapy.”

“Don’t you say that about sex too?”

“Depends on the circumstances. Besides, it’s good for tips. You should thank her. If you thought making me squirt was all your talent, think again.”

After that, you made a deal not to bring up your sex club discussions in front of Dexter, and Deb made Quinn promise he wouldn’t say a word in front of Vince.

However, you did joke about the chair thing often, because he did provide the best seat in the house, whether it was his lap or his face.

But this time, he wasn't giving it up so easily. He wanted to make you earn it, but you couldn’t do anything except to wait.

When he finally did put his tongue on you, he didn’t take your panties off. He made you cum with them on, licking your clit over your panties, sometimes brushing his thumb over the sensitive bundle of nerves before sliding to your hole and pushing against the cloth, to the point your underwear became uncomfortable from how soaked it was with your cum.

Then he finally pushed your panties aside, the wet material sticking to your skin. He shuffled closer, his forehead grazing your stomach and his hair tickling your skin as he looked down at you, sliding his fingers through your folds and over your sensitive clit. you begged him to make you cum again, thinking he’d finally eat you out properly, but he just used his fingers.

He stayed on his knees for a while, admiring your shiny pussy and grazing his fingernails over your clit, teasing you, before standing up to his full height and properly fucking you hard with his fingers.

He wrapped his arm around you once again, bracing himself to your side as he started snapping his palm against your clit, two of his fingers sliding in and out of you and filling the room with wet sounds.

When you started cumming again, his other hand, that was resting on your hip reached down and tugged on your panties again, positioning the crotch back between your pussy lips and pulling, wiggling it to create stimulation against your clit.

“That’s it,” he growled, his lower jaw dropping down as he admired your squirming body.

You cried out from the sensation, your head banging against the door and one of your legs bending in the knee as you pressed your thighs together, trying to escape from the overstimulation.

You were so consumed by coming down from your high that you didn’t expect Dexter to unhitch the chain from the hook on the door, making you lose your balance. You would have surely fallen to the ground if Dexter hadn’t been there, but he was ready to catch you.

He shifted your body, picking you up bridal style. You thought that he’d lay you down onto the bed and fuck you there, but instead, he opened the door and headed out of the room. And as you rested in the comfort of his strong arms, your head against his shoulder, you noticed that his shirt smelt differently. It wasn’t the usual sweat and blood, or different human remains. It was a laundry detergent, meaning he truly did this just for you. It was your night.

He carried you through the living room, making his way toward his desk where he sat you down.

Unlike every other day, the computer was gone, as well as the photo of him and Deb. In fact, it was completely cleared out.

How have you not noticed that?

He stood between your thighs, working the cuffs to separate them from each other before pulling your sleep shirt over your head, leaving you exposed to him. His hand reached out, pinching your nipple as he kissed you, sharing the taste of your pussy with you. He pressed himself against you, the button of his cargos grazing your clit and making you moan. You were still sensitive, but you loved every second of it.

He leaned into you, forcing you to lie down, the coldness of the desk hitting your back and spreading goosebumps over your skin. He positioned you to his liking, moving you up so your feet rested on the top of the desk.

“I make sure they can’t escape,” he continued his description of the way he’d done things, pulling out another set of cuffs from the desk drawer and clasping each around your ankles before cuffing them to your wrist cuffs. You weren’t unfamiliar with any of this, but then he pulled out two other clasps and attached the ankle cuffs to the D-rings built in the desk.

Were those always there?

Now, you were all spread out for him, your nipples stiff for him to feed on, your legs bent in the knees and putting the outline of your cunt under your ruined panties on full display. You were capable of minimal movement with your ankles attached to the desk and your hands dependent on the movement of your legs. You weren’t going anywhere. Not that you wanted to.

“Are you good?” he asked, making sure he wasn’t doing anything you weren’t up to.

“Yes.”

“What’s your safe word?”

“Magazine.”

You watched as Dexter moved around the apartment, disappearing from your sight to retrieve a black, flat bag. When he returned to the kitchen counter, he seemed to unroll the bag, his back to you. You had to crane your neck to see, the vertebrae in your neck squishing together as you tried to get a glimpse of what lay inside. Something steely caught the light as he pulled it out. Then Dexter turned around, a pointed tool spinning under the force of his index finger. A Wartenberg wheel.

Your throat tightened, chills coursing down your spine as your body shifted in anticipation. Nothing could have prepared you for the next set of events. You were sure the next time you and Deb swapped stories, she would be the one taking notes.

Dexter tortured the fuck out of you.

He started with the pinwheel, rolling it all over your body. The pins were sharp enough to prickle your skin as they trailed along your arms, but it didn’t hurt. At first, it was even nice, relaxing almost. Then he moved to your chest, the wheel gliding from the hollow of your neck, down between your breasts and over you stomach.

As it neared the waistband of your soaked panties, you thought he’d continue further down and toward your aching pussy. But just as it reached below your navel, the wheel disappeared, making you huff.

That was your mistake. You’d worked yourself up by stupidly thinking that he’d go there right away. Foolish.

“I cut them up.”

You flinched at the sudden sound, startled, but he didn’t comment. The pinwheel resumed its path, drawing invisible lines across your wrists, elbows, shoulders, mimicking incisions. You closed your eyes, letting your imagination take over.

“Into evenly cut pieces,” he added.

Now the tool traveled lower, grazing your legs, running from your ankle to your bent knee, then up the sensitive skin of inner thigh. You trembled under his touch, your breath catching in your throat.

You reveled in the thought of this man, this predator, choosing to worship you instead of discarding you. Who knows, maybe one day, he would snap. But the possibility only made your body quake more.

He noticed, stopping the wheel just where your thigh met your hip. “Are you scared?”

“No.” you said, though your voice betrayed you, shaking on the single syllable.

But you really weren’t. If you were truly scared, you wouldn’t have misbehaved just now.

Before you could think about what would happen next, his hand struck, his palm landing sharply against your clothed pussy, and it was just then that you noticed he had put on his gloves, the leather making the sting more searing. You gasped, your hips jerking from the impact.

“If you thought you’d get a free pass, you were sorely mistaken.” He leaned over you, his hand sliding from your core to your thigh, squeezing the flesh. “Let’s try again. Are you scared?”

“No, sir.”

Other times, if you failed to call him sir right away, you’d get a warning. Maybe a slap to your thigh, or a firm squeeze of your neck. Never your pussy. Not at first.

“Such a brave girl.” This time, he ran the pinwheel slowly from your waist toward your chest. He altered its course, pressing it against your breast, applying more pressure as he reached your nipple, the sharp points dragging over it. “See? They could never measure up to you.”

Dexter turned the wheel again, guiding it slowly down your heaving stomach. You swore one of the metallic points grazed the bow on your panties, but he halted the motion, the wheel twisting 90 degrees to trace the hem of your underwear instead. Your hips tilted upwards instinctively, a desperate attempt to bring your pussy closer to his hand, but it was useless.

He continued to tease you, switching from one thigh to another, running it so close to your center, but never quite touching it. You kept waiting for that moment, but it never came.

“This is getting boring. I’ll go get something else,” he said nonchalantly, making his way toward the counter. Fucker.

“Wait,” you blurted without thinking. “I mean, please, sir…”

His footsteps paused, then drew closer again, stopping beside your head and smiling down at you.

“Did you want something?”

“Can you please touch my pussy?”

“Of course,” he said, a mocking lilt in his voice. “I just have to make my hands free,” he replied, taking a step toward the counter again, but you were quick to react.

“No!” You immediately regretted your words as he returned to the same spot. Dexter’s hand tilted your head, his gloved fingers squeezing your cheeks. The leather was firm and hot against your face. “I’m sorry, sir,” you added quickly, your voice muffled under his grip.

He leaned in closer. “You’d better realize your place, sweetheart. Or I’ll make sure this won’t be a fun experience.”

You apologized again, not forgetting the title, and he released your face, giving you a nod.

“Can you please touch my pussy with… that?”

Fuck your pride, right?

He raised his hand in front of his face, inspecting the pinwheel as though it had just appeared in his hand.

“Oh, this?” he said, feigning ignorance, clearly mocking you. “You want me to–” He moved the tool lazily through the air above your body, stopping just over your lower half “Touch you here?”

With a swift motion, the wheel skimmed between your legs, the pins grazing your panties. You didn’t even have the time to register it before he removed it again, but the electrifying sensation that came and went made you moan as your clit pulsed with excitement.  

“Yes, please.”

His nose brushed against yours as he leaned over again, and you thought he was going to kiss you. Instead, he mocked you again, his voice dripping with condescension as he cupped your chin. “Aw, you’re such a dirty girl, huh?”

His head dropped, his hair tickling your cheek as he glanced downward, watching his hand between your thighs. He made another contact with your pussy, slowly this time, focused. A mix of relief and hunger flooded you as he ran it up and down your wet underwear, the prickling sensation shooting through your nerves. “You want me to fuck you with it too? Are you that sick, hm?”

When you didn’t respond, he stopped and his head snapped towards you. His gloved hand left your face, only to land a slap across your cheek. The sting spread across your face, your skin burning under the impact.

“I didn’t fucking hear you.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

What can you say? Slapping didn’t really work on you. He knew that, it’s the reason he did it. So he could do it again.

The corner of his mouth twitched. He slapped you again, this time harder, the leather stinging even more than his bare hand.  

“If that’s what you wanted, sir, I’d take it.” You managed to keep your voice steady despite the heat in your cheek.

His lips curved into a smile. He stood up, walking towards the counter. “Jesus Christ,” he said with a shake of his head. “You’re lucky you found me. Anyone else would’ve committed your ass to a psychiatric hospital.”

“Fate,” you commented, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t punish you. Meaning you made him smile.

Dexter returned with a knife, and he dragged it across the chains, the clinking sound of metal scraping against metal echoing in the room.

He focused on your pussy now, rubbing the flat side of the knife against your clit, occasionally tapping it against you, and you half-expected he might nick the skin of your thighs if he wasn’t careful.

Then, Dexter flipped the knife again, teasing you with its blunt edge before bringing it to your breasts. He drew circles around your nipples with the tip of the knife, sharper than the pinwheel.

His body moved again, positioning himself behind you. His face, upside down, loomed above, gently cupping the underside of your chin, tilting your head back. The leather of his gloves gave you an unnerving sensation as his fingers held you in place. You felt the cold steel of the knife at your throat, running from one carotid to the other.

“Sometimes I cut their throats. But it’s not really my favorite style,” he said, the blade left your neck, drifting downward until it hovered over your left breast, settling directly above your wildly beating heart. He pressed the tip of the knife just enough for your skin to dip under its force. He could do anything to you. He could kill you right then and there.

“I love you,” you confessed for what felt like umpteenth time.

Dexter smiled, leaning down and placing a tender kiss on your forehead, all while controlling the force he still had on the knife.

He straightened, moving to your side again. His gloved fingers trailed over your stomach as he slid the knife under the hem of your underwear. The sharp edge pressed upwards, and you felt the fabric give way with a faint snick as the first small tear formed.

He moved the blade lower, repeating the motion. Each cut widened the tear, revealing the top of your clit. He shredded the panties until they were completely off, leaving you slickness glistening in the dim light and dripping onto the table beneath you.

Dexter removed his gloves and slid his fingers between your pussy lips, coating them in your wetness, before he brought them to his mouth. He just made you cum with his mouth, surely he wouldn’t–

But before you could finish your thought, he bent down over your torso and in a millisecond, his head was between your thighs. Mouth wide open, his tongue resting on his chin as he pressed it flat against your clit, and his upper lip collecting your juices straight from the source.

It was a single, devastating taste, but it was enough to make your legs tremble, the chains stopping you from closing them.

“Shit, I might as well eat you out again.”

Yeah, he might. Without anything in the way this time.  

It was just stroking your ego. It really made you proud, how his tongue was addicted to your pussy.

He brought the final tool of the night – a small brush that looked like it belonged in a makeup kit. It also looked like the softest instrumentof the night, but turned out to be the most torturing one.

The bristles touched your clit with featherlight strokes, maddeningly soft. The individual bristles tickled and stimulated every single nerve ending, sending vibrations through your entire body.

You gasped, your hips jerking involuntarily. Dexter worked the brush in slow, torturous circles, teasing your clit to the brink. Just as you thought you couldn’t take any more, he stuffed two fingers inside your hole, wiggling them inside to massage the spot that made your eyes roll back in your head.

The synergy was overwhelming. Your body writhed against the chains, chasing the orgasm building rapidly within you. But just as the climax was about to crash over you, he stopped. His fingers withdrew and the brush disappeared, your back arching in desperation as you felt the pleasure simmer out, leaving your abdomen hollow and aching from the loss.

“Please, sir, can I come?”

“Of course you can,” he said in a soft voice.

But he didn’t let you. He edged you again and again, pushing you to the brink, only to yank you back. He was playing with you, letting you know that your body wasn’t yours tonight. It was under his control. You were his.

The brush was drenched in your juices at this point, ruined just like your panties and your throbbing cunt. A few tears slipped from your eyes, mixing with the sweat slicking your skin. So you begged, desperate for the release. You begged until he finally finger-fucked, plunging his fingers into you and pumping them relentlessly. His thumb rubbed your puffy clit, sending you spiraling into an earth-shattering orgasm.

You came hard, your juices spilling over his hand and splattering onto his watch. He only pulled his fingers out to spank your clit, amplifying the intensity of your orgasm. At one point, he reached for the discarded glove, fisting it and placing harsh smacks against your sore pussy. You screamed, and after he landed his last smack, feeling you were nearing another orgasm, he switched the rough sensation of the leather for the softness of his tongue, firmly pressing against you and shaking his head from side to side, letting you cum into you his mouth.

You could barely take it and you were scared he might pull out a vibrator, because he liked to do that when you came twice in the span of two minutes. But he didn’t, removing his glistening face from your center and standing up. You just laid there, your body a racing circuit for the endorphins and oxytocin at this point.

Dexter gave you only a few second before he undid the chains, the clinking of metal barely audible over the pounding in your ears. He didn’t let you move, though, keeping you sprawled on table as he shifted your body higher until your head hung off the edge.

He stood in front of your face, and you knew what he wanted. You reached for the button of his cargo pants, undoing them and pulling them down along with his underwear. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy. Gorgeous. You didn’t waste a moment, leaning forward, licking the bead of precum from his tip before taking him into your mouth.

Dexter groaned, the sound vibrating through you. Soon, he took over, thrusting into your throat as he held you down. One hand pressed against your neck, feeling the way you swallowed his cock, while the other pinched and tugged at your nipples.

You gagged around him, bubbles forming in the corners of your mouth as you struggled to keep up. This time, your eyes outright stung from the tears that were forcing their way out, but you didn’t stop. It wasn’t until you coughed, your throat tightening involuntarily and squeezing around him, that he pulled out with a groan.

You gasped for air, your chest heaving, but he didn’t give you long to recover. His hand gripped your neck and yanked you up, forcing you into a kneeling position on the table. You just sat there, dazed, your hands resting in your lap like the picture of innocence. Messy hair, glassy eyes, and swollen lips.

Dexter kissed them, shoving his tongue into your mouth, tasting himself and making you taste yourself again. His beard scratched against your sensitive skin, adding to the long list of stimuli.

You dared to sneak your hand away from your lap, circling your fingers around his cock and stroking him slowly. Your thumb swiped over the sensitive head and he moaned into your mouth before his head fell back. You leaned forward, your lips brushing against Dexter’s neck, sucking on his pulse point and grazing it with your teeth.

You moved your hand up and down, and Dexter’s moans and gasps grew louder and more frantic. You quickened your pace, his hips jerking into your hand as he chased his own orgasm. You twisted your hand, and he came with a guttural groan. His cum spilled onto your stomach, warm and sticky, and his hand shot out to grip the hair at the back of your neck, yanking you into another kiss as he came down from his high.

When his breathing slowed, you awkwardly shifted your legs over the edge of the table, letting them dangle as you wrapped your arms around his waist. You pulled him close, burying your face in his chest, a content sigh escaping you as you enjoyed the warmth, the softness of his body.

He cupped your head, his thumb brushing small crescents against your scalp with returned tenderness as he let out a soft sigh of his own, his chest rising and falling against you.

“Are you okay?”

You didn’t pull away to look at him, your body too spent to do much more than to snuggle deeper into his chest and squeeze his torso.

“Better than,” you mumbled.

“I know this wasn’t what you wanted,” he said.

That made you lift your head. You looked at him, your brows drawing together in confusion.

“But this,” he gestured to the table, his brow raising, “is the only table I want to see you on. The only restraints I ever want to see on you. And I need you to get it through that thick skull of yours that there’s nothing sexy about what I do.”

“In my dreams there is,” you said, your lips curving into a teasing smile.

“YN,” he warned.

“I know,” you relented with a roll of your eyes, his brows raising, daring you to be a brat in this moment. “For the record, it was better than what I wanted.”

You smiled and he kissed you again, silencing any further rebellion. When you shivered against him, he pulled back and cleaned you up before ordering you to throw on a shirt.

“Yes, sir,” you replied cheekily, adding a playful salute for good measure.

“I will spank your ass if you don’t get it in the shower in ten seconds,” he said, pulling his own pants up. Would that be so bad? You bit your lip to keep from grinning and headed into the bathroom, while he cleaned the table.

By the time you switched places, you felt refreshed, fucked out just right as every muscle in your body ached with a sweet kind of soreness. You heated up his dinner while making yourself a quick sandwich. Just as you set his plate down, he walked out of the bathroom. You grabbed your sandwich and set down, with Dexter soon joining you.

When you finished your meals, the two of you migrated to the couch. He rested his head on your stomach, while you draped your legs over his shoulders.

Your fingers played with the freshly washed hair, soft and silky from the shampoo. You twirled the strands around your fingers lazily, and his quiet purrs filled the room as you trailed your fingertips along the curve of his ears, scraping gently at the sensitive spots behind them. That sound, half sigh, half growl, might’ve been your favorite thing in the world.

You bent down, the movement uncomfortable and your muscles protesting as you pressed a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. But the way it scrunched affectionately under your touch made the discomfort worth it.

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

risky

Summary: The undercover mission with Javier does not go as planned. Not that you're complaining.

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem. reader

Wordcount: 588

Raiting: E

Warnings: smut (semi public sex, unprotected sex) undercover Javi with a twist, making out

A/N: This interaction has been on my mind all day so please, enjoy this smol baby drabble I might be ovulating

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Full Masterlist // Javier Peña Masterlist

„You always take your undercover work this serious, Agent Peña?“ You whispered against his ear, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth to stop the moan that you desperately wanted to hear him, deciding to moan quietly right against his ear. 

One of his arms was wrapped securely behind your back, keeping you close against his chest while his other hand was on the back of your neck, keeping your head close towards his. 

For anyone who would find you here in this dark corner of the roof terrace of this club It would look like you were making out. 

Which you were. 

More or less. 

No one would know that you had been sitting on his cock for the last fifteen minutes.

But you were and you weren’t planing on getting up any time soon. 

Or at least before he had fucked you full of his cum. 

This night had started so innocently. This time the mission was nothing more than having a drink at a bar where the criminals Javier and you had been after for almost a year were supposed to have a meeting at. When they hadn’t shown up after two hours Javier had gotten the call that they had been sighted in another town and Javi and you? Well you had decided that since you were out already, you could have a little fun. 

Fun apparently meant getting handsy with you while dancing to some salsa tunes. 

It wasn’t long before he led you outside, the hot summer day turning the night almost tropical, leaving you and him to be only a few of the people on the roof. 

Nobody spared you a glance when he led you in the darkest corner, having you sit on his lap, his hands both on your ass under the dress you had chosen to wear for the night. 

Nobody cared as he pulled at the front of you dress so he could suck one of you nipples into his mouth. 

Nobody cared when he pulled your panties to the side, two fingers slipping inside of you while you unbuckled his belt and helped him open his pants to release his cock. 

And nobody fucking cared when he had you slowly sink down on his cock out here in the open while the music from the club beneath you shook the floor and at least the four people you had seen when you got here, were somewhere on this roof with you.

„Never know who could be watching. Gotta really sell our story,“ he mumbled against your ear and you grinned, hands in his hair, tilting your head back so you could look at him. 

„And what is our story, Agent Peña?“ You asked before you found his lips in a deep kiss, rolling your hips slowly, the length of his cock making you hum against his lips. 

„That we’re newlyweds who can’t keep their hands off each other of course,“ he mumbled against your lips thrusting up into you slowly.

„Mmmmmhhhh…. Don’t think three years of marriage count as newlyweds anymore, Javier,“ you grinned down at him and you saw his jaw flex as you clenched your walls around his cock. 

„We’re still horny like newlyweds, so who the fuck cares?“ He winked. 

„And I wouldn’t risk getting caught fucking in public with anyone other than my wife,“ he kissed you again and you smiled. 

„I sure hope you wouldn’t risk getting caught with your dick in anyone else than your wife, baby. Public or not.“

[kaynanarie]

Eyes of Gold (Part 12)

(A WukongxReader story inspired by Beauty and the Beast and Lutung Kasarung.) (First) (Prev)

            “Where are you? Please come out?”

           The whispers of a familiar voice roused you from a restless sleep. You yawned and blearily squinted around you, trying to remember where you were. The shadowy silhouettes and dust tickling your nose brought back memories of a storage room. It had been daylight when you first hid but now, night had shrouded you in disorienting darkness. You sat curled up in the corner, wondering how much time had passed and if it was safe to finally leave.

           A quiet creak startled you as the door swung open. You watched a shadow silently creep in, slow and low to the floor. As you grew more accustomed to the dark, the form of a small monkey took shape. A familiar monkey with glowing, golden eyes.

           “Peaches, are you in here?”

           You sat up from your hiding spot in surprise. “Shihou?”

           As soon as he saw you, Shihou dashed across the room and flung himself onto you. He clung to your shoulder and patting your face with his tiny paws. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

            “I’m fine,” you assured the monkey, wrapping your cloak around him in a warm hug. “What are you doing here? Won’t you get in trouble?”

            “I was worried.” Concern, relief, and disapproval flashed across his face when he met your eyes. “You didn’t return to the mountain after the demons left.”

            “I guess you heard about the attack, then?”

           “Yes.” His frown pulled into a scowl, teeth bared as he glowered at the floor. “If I had known Bull Demon King was here, I never would have let you leave alone.”

            You ran a hand through his fur, feeling him relax under your soothing touch. “It’s okay, you didn’t know.”

           “Why didn’t you come back?”

             “I was helping the villagers,” you said, sitting back down with Shihou perching on your lap. “Thankfully, no one was hurt; just some damaged buildings. But when my sister heard the demons were gone, she came to see for herself. Elder Gran sent me to hide until she left but I guess I fell asleep.” Gentle brushes smoothed his agitated fur back into place. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

            Shihou sighed and nuzzled against your shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

            “Thanks to your hair.” Shihou suddenly looked worried when he met your gaze. You quickly explained to calm his concern. “It protected me when the bull tried to attack. Sorry I lost it. I think Sun Wukong took it with him…” you trailed off with a yawn.

            “Don’t worry about it. As long as you’re safe, that’s all that matters,” the monkey said with a relieved smile. “You should get some rest. We can return to the mountain in the morning.”

            Shaking your head, you forced yourself to stand, keeping Shihou balanced on your shoulder. “No, we should leave now while everyone else is asleep. I’ve already stayed too long and my sister might catch us trying to leave it we wait.”

            “If you insist,” Shihou agreed hesitantly. “There were guards posted around the village when I snuck in. I can guide you around them but we’ll still have to be careful.”

            You nodded. “Okay. Let’s get going.” Pulling your cloak close and Shihou closer, you slipped out of the storage room and through the empty house with careful steps. At the front door, you paused to peek out.

            Tilting his head, Shihou listened and pointed down a side street. “No guards for now. That should be the fastest route out of town. Once we’re outside the village, I can take you the rest of the way.”

            With a final glance, you hurried down the alley and into the shadows. The night was thankfully empty, the rest of the village sleeping off a stressful day. Only moonlight and icy wind filled the streets as you weaved between buildings. Distant voices on the winter breeze occasionally floated by. Each time, you would freeze and Shihou would listen but the guards were too far and too distracted to be of concern.

            It took longer than expected and exhaustion was quickly catching up. Your steps were clumsy, your body weary, and yawns plagued you with every other breath. Even your eyes were fighting to slip close between heavy blinks.

            Soon, you reached the edge of the village, shivering from bitter cold and fatigue. You almost cried seeing the great stretch of field and looming mountain still left to traverse.

            “I’ve got it from here,” Shihou said, nimbly flipping off your shoulder. In a puff of smoke, he transformed and landed in his taller demon form. You weren’t sure if it was your own tired mind or the moonlight softening his features but his figure seemed more striking than usual. It was only made worse when he smiled at you; warm, golden eyes brightening his handsome face. “Come on, up you get.”

            You were still recovering from your drowsy admirations when Shihou turned and knelt away from you. “What?”

            “I said I would carry you before and this will get us back to the mountain faster.” He grabbed your hand and tugged you forward so you were flush against him. Looping your arms around his neck, he held your knees and stood, easily hoisting you onto his back. “Ready?”

           Too tired to protest, you only nodded and nestled against his warm shoulder. “Yeah, let’s go home,” you mumbled sleepily.

           Shihou startled and stumbled a bit but quickly recovered with a brisk pace. “Sure thing, Peaches. You get some rest; we’ll be there in no time.”

            You closed your eyes and drifted off, only half aware of your surroundings. Shihou’s rhythmic steps, quick and sure; his hold never faltering. Winter chill shifting to a summery heat, chasing away your lingering shivers. The quiet ambiance of the slumbering jungle settling around you as the mountain welcomed you back. It was comforting and familiar and gently lulled you to sleep.

            The next thing you knew, Shihou was setting you down amongst plush blankets and fluffy pillows. As he turned to leave, you caught his hand and clung to it. “Stay?” you asked, smiling soft and sweet. Your half open eyes caught his flustered face but he didn’t shy away. Instead, you felt him shuffle into bed next to you, hugging you against him in a comforting embrace. Warm fur tickled your cheek, carrying his soothing scent of peaches and stone. You snuggled closer as you felt the tug of sleep pulling you back under.

            “Goodnight, Shihou,” you whispered.

            The last thing you remembered was his purred, “Goodnight, my Peach,” and the gentle press of lips to your brow.

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~🍑 Peach Friends 🍑~

@joyfulllittlething @iluxurycruisedthatship @drspecialhell @moondrop39-dovewing70 @happycarp @chibifox88 @rutabaga-menace

(If you would like to join the tag list, let me know!)

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Something fluffy and cute with the return of Shihou! Just to share the vision of the soft boi, he's absolutely inspired by various artworks I saw of the 1996 Journey to the West. Thank you so much for reading, all the wonder feedback has kept me motivated! Until next time!

You can also find this story on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60643669

[kayakima]

Why do you think Jean and Pieck work well as a couple? (srs)

I know you have a fic of it but I'm curious about your direct take.

Oooo I’m definitely not the first person who has said this but a lot of the appeal with Jean x Pieck lies with the post-canon potential between the two of them as opposed to scenes that you directly see in the manga/anime!

Jean and Pieck are both shown to be incredibly pragmatic, level-headed, and loyal characters, (where their loyalty primarily lies with people as opposed to the systems that brought them up. I.e. Pieck saying she doesn’t trust Marley but the people she’s fought with, and Jean telling Reiner that they’re no different from each other, so it’s wrong to judge their actions), and in their few short scenes together, it shows that they immediately read how the other works in a way that they can work together efficiently in a fight. They don’t hold anything against each other for past instances, because right off the bat they both understand that nothing is personal in war, and when they’re finally at a point in the narrative where it’s time to join up, they do so immediately without hesitation.

From a physical standpoint, Jean canonically likes girls with dark hair, and while that in and of itself isn’t enough to say “oh they’re canon because she has black hair”, it does lend to the idea that Pieck may have partially been designed to serve as a potential secondary love interest for Jean, considering that she was originally supposed to be a middle aged man. Even if that change wasn’t intended to open that door, their scene together on Eren’s Titan very clearly pushes a “hey guys this is also a new potential love interest situation so pay attention to these two!!!” Type of agenda that’s really common in this type of storytelling. Pieck herself is portrayed as being inseparable from Porco, who also has a fiery temperament and dirty-blonde hair, and while Porco and Pieck lack the absolutely absurd height difference between her and Jean, we still see her interactions with a male character that has similar traits with Jean. Once Porco dies, Pieck is clearly upset, but then chooses to push forward to fulfill her duty to her fellow warriors (who else in this story chose to follow through to make a difference to honor a comrade that was in one way or another killed because of Reiner???) they’re reflections of the same character traits in different bodies, and they mirror each other incredibly well when they barely even interact onscreen.

But in the parts where they DO interact, I can’t tell you how many shows and movies I’ve seen that have had two side characters that previously didn’t talk much suddenly wind up in a long fight sequence together, and more often than not, it does lead to a character change and emphasized romantic potential by the end of the story. Character blocking in scenes is incredibly important, and when two characters are placed together for a 4-5 minute scene of just the two of them, then the contrast of both their visuals and their personalities is much more noticeable. Then we get into the boat scene, where Pieck is the one to tease Jean about his hair, and he makes just as equally cheeky a response. I do think their time as ambassadors would put them in close quarters very often, and in real life, people fall for each other all the time when they’re together 24/7. I think it was intentional that Pieck was the one to start the banter with Jean to go back on my previous statements, and I think by the end of the story, that’s implied that there’s a good chance the two of them either currently have something going on, or that there’s something that will happen between them eventually. I also like the idea that since they met as adults, and with wildly different life experiences, they could have a lot to learn from each other without years of trauma and baggage that affects their relationship. They’re two entirely separate people that have the potential to become something completely new together as opposed to being together in the shadow of everything that happened to them when they were younger.

Also consider this: incredibly attractive and smug man meets even more attractive and smug woman. Then they have four kids.

[mysterialistic]

Random thoughts from Yingdu episode 5:

-I’m surprised by how easily Cheng Xiaoshi takes the news that he has powers. I would be freaking out, but my man here thinks he's an anime protagonist—which he is lmao.

-LU GUANG'S PAST CRUMBS. We learned that he does in fact have a family (at least a dad lol) and that they knew about his powers. I could make a thousand theories regarding this, but that’s for another post.

-So that weird scene where Cheng Xiaoshi teleports)? to Yingdu in the post credits scene of episode 1 was him using his powers, which kinda makes sense, except for the fact that Liu Xiao was there too? I have a lot of questions.

-Also, someone should give Lu Guang a price for managing to confess his feelings to his crush without actually doing it lmao. I loved that scene where we finally saw his response to Cheng Xiaoshi after the basketball scene.

-We FINALLY saw the blonde woman (I can’t remember her name, I’m sorry). She’s really smart (apparently has powers), she was bullied and she had some sort of relationship with Cheng Weimin. That’s all we know.

-Cheng Xiaoshi meeting his dad and taking it out on him was so unexpected. I really thought he was gonna end up crying or something, but his dad seems to be really shitty at parenting lol, so it makes sense that he’s mad at him, specially after saying that he basically ran away from his son and responsibilities.

-When Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang loose connection it seems that it’s because LG is tired)? Unless that there was someone else’s power interfering with their connection (like Li Tianchen and Xixi in season 2), probably the blonde girl or CXS's dad.

-Xia Fei knew Cheng Weimin, which could kind of explain why he reacted when he heard his name? It makes me wonder if no one realized that another student survived the fire because he was obviously studying in that school too.

-Cheng Xiaoshi bonding with his KILLER was not on my bingo card lmao.

-Vein asking Cheng Xiaoshi to serve him?? I’m so confused. Is this a red herring and he just wants him to model for him or what does he want?

-Lastly, I’m almost sure this timeline isn’t the season 1 & 2 timeline, it simply wouldn’t make sense. Cheng Xiaoshi kind of knows what happened to his dad, he saw him and all of this experiences they’re living in Yingdu just don’t fit with the current story. It would be so confusing if this is the current timeline, there’s too many changes and little factors that don’t make sense given how CXS acts.

[theexhaustedqueer]

I’m relistening to 5.4, and the thing that really gets me about VR-LA’s alternate timeline where he saves MR-SN is that that timeline is a bad ending tragedy for literally every other member of the crew except maybe Finbar. If the Per Aspera never drifts aimlessly through the Astral Sea, it’s never picked up and sold to Oto, Dani never gets her hands on a spelljammer. Maybe she and her brothers eventually get out from under Oto’s thumb, but without easily accessible planar travel it’s hard to imagine them leaving Brass. And for Dani, who grew up on the streets of Brass and for whom Oto taking her in meant so much to her because of how much of an improvement it was to her life, it seems unlikely that she’d make a home for herself in Brass outside the Heap. In this version of events Dani, Roy and Egan never leave the Heap. Dani never gets to see Mechanus or the second layer of Acheron. She never gets her ship.

Finbar’s life is probably the least changed. The Searing Tongue would probably assign him to a different spelljammer and he’d do his thing as normal. He probably even still gets involved in the Zuggtemoy conspiracy, since that was based around the Searing Tongue. Assuming the ship he ends up on is of similar skill to the Per Aspera’s crew, he and his other crew take care of Azotico and he maybe even makes up with Elyse. That all assumes events play out in a pretty similar way, but given that he’s got a completely different crew, things could go in any number of directions.

Vhas, without the crew of the Per Aspera, never escapes Tu'narath. There’s not much else to say for this one, it’s just generally bad for his prospects.

And, of course, Kyana. Without the crew of the Per Aspera to pick her up on the Astral Sea, she eventually swims her way to a portal. Whatever plane she ends up on, she’s hopelessly naive, and maybe she gets lucky and meets someone willing to help her, but the odds aren’t in her favour. Eventually she’s dragged back to the monastery. She— and Ione— are turned into mindflayers as the mindflayers’ plan to escape then destroy the planescape proceeds unchecked.

And then it comes to the NPCs. Enoch dies in Avernus. Ione and the rest of the monks get brain wormed. Cressida stays a mercenary. Roy and Egan never leave the Heap. Davion never meets the rest of B-team. Depending on the Finbar situation, Karrundentrassi might die to fucking fungus. Elyse might make up with Finbar but she just as easily might not. Hans has an even worse time making it to Mount Celestia and HE-11/Vice probably dies in Acheron. Emi eventually builds herself a working body and becomes an amoral murderbot wandering the Planescape, maybe after killing Casimir. And uh… things don’t look great for Maxim either. Yes, he still knows VR-LA in this timeline, but we know that A) in the current timeline, a big part VR-LA’s draw to Maxim is that he’s the only link VR-LA has to finding his old crew. If he still has his old crew, that draw never forms and they might never form a closer relationship. And B) we know that pre-amnesia VR-LA was more closed off than post-amnesia VR-LA, which to me indicates that pre-amnesia VR-LA probably wouldn’t put the same time and care into breaking down Maxim’s walls. It seems likely to me that in this alternate timeline, Maxim and VR-LA never become friends. And even if they do, Dani doesn’t discover Create Spelljammer for Vr-La to cast, so Maxim never gets his home turned into a spelljammer and never leaves his Sanctum.

I just wonder if when VR-LA thinks about that alternate timeline, he thinks about how saving the life of someone he cared about so much would inadvertently ruin the lives of all the people he cares about now, and I wonder if that keeps him up at night.

[torturedpadfootdepartment]

Prongsfoot Bingo 2025: Friends-to-Lovers

In Which James Realizes How He Feels on the Hogwarts Express

A/N: Saw a post about how Sirius got his looks from Walburga, and the sleep paralysis demon took over…

—

“Do I have something in my teeth?”

James blinks at his best friend and then leans back in his seat on the train. “No, why?”

“Because you’ve been staring at him for the past five minutes,” Peter says from where he’s sorting his haul from the trolley: chocolate only for Remus and a bit of everything for everyone else.

“Have not,” James says.

He’s not sure why he denies it, why a flush rushes to his face at the accusation. It’s just that today was the first time he’d seen her, Sirius’s mum. And from what he knows about her, he expected her to look different, monstrous somehow, maybe with the razor sharp teeth of a mermaid and the long, pointed claws of a banshee.

But she’s not. She’s beautiful, with thick dark hair pooling around sharp cheekbones, full lips, and silver eyes framed by long lashes. Sirius gets his looks from her. And it’s not really that thought that strikes him so much as the one that comes after it: that actually, Sirius is way more beautiful.

“Have to,” Remus says. And really, that’s a bit unfair considering Remus has mostly been asleep for the ride back to Hogwarts.

Of course, James knows that Sirius is attractive. That much is obvious to anyone who’s ever seen him, obvious to anyone who’s observed groups of girls giggling as they pass him. But this feels different, somehow, to think Sirius is beautiful.

“You can stare at me all you want, mate,” Sirius says, leaning back to mirror James. His perfect mouth twists into a smirk. “I don’t mind.”

Perfect mouth? James has never thought that to himself about Sirius before. What is going on? Perhaps, James is just jealous of Sirius’s looks. But this doesn’t feel like jealousy. After all, James is handsome as well, and he knows that about himself. Loves the attention he gets for it.

This feels like something else, something like…

Oh. Oh no.

[rrezshifts]

𝓻𝙚𝙖𝖑𝙞𝙩i𝙚𝙨 𝙞’d 𝙡o𝙫𝙚 t𝙤 𝙛𝙞n𝙙

this is a list of realities i compiled from three lovely people’s dr ideas posts: ellysdreamworldd, deminetly, & lalalian. this post is a way for me to clear out my likes without having to keep track of the realities i’m interested in shifting to in a notebook i’ll lose or forget about . . .

a retro high school/college reality. this could be a reality from any decade where retro still fits. the original poster wrote 70s-00s. i feel like i partly already have this with my twilight reality, it’s set in the early 2000s. but it’s definitely something i could be interested in shifting to outside of that reality

2000s victoria’s secret angel reality. see this is weird because i am a trans man. and like . . . the parts of my body that are inherently feminine and ideal for an angel, i don’t like. however, it can be what i like so put my ideal masculine but twinkish form in some lingerie and call it a day!!

professional tourist reality. a reality where i have all the money in the world and travel the world with no responsibilities seems SO fun! but like an ideal and bigotry free world. and also i get to bring someone with me!!

vampire reality. tbh i already have a few of those . . . but i’m not in love with them. that and they’re from pre-existing media, and i want one that i can really play with and make my own and just fall in love with my own mind and life through it, yk??

royalty reality. this could be so so incredibly fun. but i fear the way i view and picture a royalty reality in my mind at the moment . . . it’s off putting. i’d need a new perspective to look at these type of realities from before trying any world building or i may genuinely give up immediately

summer camp reality. as the counselors of course. like imagine being a counselor with other hot people your age and just bouncing from counselor to counselor all summer as we all sneak around camp after curfew and just go crazy!! though i technically have a reality like this already . . . my the quarry reality is basically this because i removed all the horror game elements. i should think about it more though for sure, that why i put it here

mermaid reality. like genuinely the way the original poster described it as a the little mermaid kind of romance plot almost makes me not scared of the deep ocean aspect of this reality. but i love marine biology and marine animals so like i would realistically love this too. this is another one though, that i would need a perspective shift because right now the idea of this reality is off putting to me as well

magic university reality. quite literally just hogwarts in my marauders reality. but i haven’t scripted shit and i need to get on it. so i’m adding it in hopes that’ll change. it won’t lol

small town shop owner reality. the original poster said it was a flower shop. but the idea of it being like a small business of my choice, for example a metaphysical shop, and falling in love with the small business next door’s owner?? bonus points if it’s a tattoo artist i fall for, because why can’t fanfic tropes come to life!!

planetary romance reality. described as exploration of different planets with romance specifically with aliens. and you know what . . . i’m not gonna lie. the romance with aliens is what sold me!! call me what you want! (it’ll probably be true) but this genuinely seems like such a fun reality to get to workshop!!

eco-metamorphosis reality. described as a world being colonized by aliens but instead of rejecting them you welcome them with open arms. and i was thinking this could be so fun to imagine a world that has coexisted with aliens for generations now, a good many years after, and how that looks and what daily life would be like

that’s all of them!! please look at their posts if you liked any of these and want to see what else they have shared!! i’ll tag them here so they know i used their posts for a sort of form of content @ellysdreamworldd , @deminetly & @lalalian !! thank you for the great ideas 🙏

[candyheartedchy]

Uh, not sure what your stance on reposting your art is, but I kind of found an account on deviantart that's been posting your art as well as other's. While they do give credit I thought that it was important that you know.

☂️ Anon (discount-superhero)

My pinned post on this blog literally says not to repost my art because I’m HIGHLY AGAINST my stuff being posted anywhere else!!!

Even with credit! I don’t want my stuff shared ANYWHERE!!

I don’t even know why the hell people still do this. And I don’t even know how to contact the person (or where the account is) to take my stuff down or report them since I don’t go on DA no more (I lost my password years ago).

If there a way anyone can report the person, or at least let me know how to do it myself so I can get my stuff taken down.

I’m just so damn tired dealing with this shit…

[riversenchanted]

PLUTO IN AQUARIUS: UTOPIA OR DYSTOPIA

Many posts I see about Pluto are either dystopian or utopian.

Some are quick to point out that Pluto (power) in Aquarius (sign of the people) signifies mass control and devastations faced by large numbers of people, which I don’t deny at all.

But there’s the other side of the coin as well in which the collective is tired of being pushed around with some even hitting rock bottom, and are now ready to dismantle the old paradigm to move on to something else or even build something new in response.

Pluto in Aquarius at best is the story of the underdogs discovering and utilizing their power after being relentlessly tormented.

With Pluto involved, we first encounter grim conditions that we can no longer tolerate. And then we become ready to knock it down in order to create or emerge in another sphere that is more ideal.

You cannot have one without the other in a world of polarity. And Pluto highlights this polarity.

Once you come to terms with this, you can work with Pluto and even fall in love with him.

You can go into a dark basement even if it’s scary, and face your fears and look them in the eye and even make room for your fears to exist while taking action.

It’s like when Dorothy and her friends discover who the Wizard of Oz truly is.

Behind the curtains, he is an ordinary individual using tricks and illusions to appear more intimidating than he really is.

This brings me to what’s happening now…

None of the tech giants and heads of state who seem to have colossal influence are as powerful as they appear.

They may issue draconian measures to control and wreak havoc on the masses and gaslight them in the process.

But such measures also backfire.

Just like with the recent TikTok ban in the U.S. (which has now been reversed), which drove millions of people to RedNote (a Chinese social media platform similar to TikTok) where Western users are now discovering (sometimes in awe) a new world they didn’t know existed.

It’s interesting that on the same week when RedNote became the most downloaded app (just days before the ban), Meta shares took a plunge.

It was then when Zuckerberg issued a statement that he will get rid of fact-checkers and introduce community notes instead.

The panic on his face when he made this statement was hard to ignore.

Also, many members of congress who voted for the ban invested in Meta stocks, prior to the ban.

One of the justifications for the ban was that the magnitude of data the app collected posed a national security threat.

After digging deeper, I’m finding out that apparently Meta collects more data than TikTok.

These are not topics that are reported in mainstream media.

With Uranus (freedom, cutting-edge technology) ingressing into Gemini (sign of communications) this year on 7 Jul 2025 (GMT), I expect a plethora of social media apps to emerge.

Uranus, the modern ruler of Aquarius, upholds freedom to be of utmost importance.

My prediction is that many of the upcoming social media platforms will respect people’s privacy a lot more and will not censor people’s voices as much, especially as we move closer to the Uranus-Pluto trine (lucky aspect) which will be exact next year.

Another topic not being covered in mainstream media is that Kansas (along with a number of other states in the U.S.) filed a civil suit against one of the most well-known pharmaceutical companies (you all know the name) for misleading the public and using deceptive marketing during the pandemic.

The point I’m trying to make is that actions are being taken to hold powerful companies and forces (that seemed invincible) accountable – this is the other side of the coin of Pluto (power) in empowering the collective (Aquarius).

Just because we don’t see these headlines in mainstream news outlets doesn’t mean that such countermeasures don’t exist.

The more we become aware of people standing up for the underdog and mobilizing themselves (including the underdogs themselves) to take action, the more we can empower ourselves with Pluto in Aquarius.

[deadpoetsandlivinglegends]

Really love these tags from @make-much-of-time so hope you don’t mind that I’m reblogging almost solely for these tags

Cause yes, I don’t think the boys could really think for themselves without learning to feel first. Keating was getting them at a point in their lives where they were told everything to do, and they had to do it whether they liked to or not, because it was the ‘right logical choice’. It made them either push down or completely dissociate from their feelings for the sake of being obedient. They ask Neil how he feels about having to quit the newspaper and he just responds with ‘I don’t give a damn about any of it’ and you could say that that is specific to Neil but all of the boys seem afraid to care in some respect. Charlie posted the article and when they get mad, he asks if they weren’t just messing around, because he is afraid to admit that they were all actually feeling in the cave and that it is important to them, because even ‘rebellious Charlie’ still has some fear of his own genuine emotions ingrained in him that causes him to try to make light of things and influences his actions. I think Keating has to teach them how to feel because otherwise you get kids who, when trying to think for themselves, will analyze the logic in it rather than their real thoughts, and weight the pros and cons through someone else’s system. We see that in Cameron’s betrayal, he says it would have backed the boys into a corner so it was smarter to let Keating fry. We see it in all the others who signed, not because they wanted to, but because it was smart. We see every time an adult but Keating is in the room, the boys defer to listening to the adult. This means that even if Keating taught the boys to think for themselves, they would likely be measuring it by another’s scale, which will cause them to either use logic that isn’t theirs to make the ‘right choice’ or they will, like Charlie when he prints the article, do impulsive things not because they actually want to, but because they think free thinking means going against what is ‘logical’ and ‘right’. This is why Keating wants to teach them how to feel what they are feeling without shame. He starts by showing them how conformity effects them even unconsciously (walking scene), and then he asks them to instead feel foolish emotions and let it guide them for a bit so they can get in touch with themselves so when they do think for themselves, it is actually their own thoughts rather than someone else’s masquerading as their own. The key to thinking for yourself is knowing yourself first and so that is what Keating had to teach them first.

Feel like Neil couldn’t have been any other kind of actor than one in theatre. If he was a movie actor or on social media or whatnot, it would not be the same. Theatre by nature is fleeting. Recorded mediums can be rewatched over and over, creating a time loop of sorts. We the audience can keep going back to a time when Neil is still alive. Theatre however is live and once the play is over, there is no going back except in our memories. It is much like life. We are forced to live in the moment in a theater lest we miss it altogether. It’s not that the poets choose to live in a world where Neil is dead, it’s that they must because the only other option is to die themselves. I feel like Keatings teachings could only be reflected in stage theatre because that’s the only way there can be no time loop of grief. I think dead poets society itself isn’t about overcoming the authority in your life to do what you want but rather about grief, about allowing oneself to feel grief and all one’s emotions without letting it consume you and to keep living after, to live every day in the moment lest you fall into grief and regret that will destroy you or force you into a miserable life

[mommyownsmee]

hello! i've been a silent reader and i actually don't know if you take requests but can you do a post where the sub uses their safeword then proceed to some aftercare. thank you!

- 🐶

[Hii! Do you want to claim the emoji? I do take requests, and this one was beautiful to write. Thank you for your message!]

[TW: USE OF SAFEWORD/ TRAFFIC LIGHT SYSTEM; AFTERCARE]

Holding you

The air between us is thick, charged with the kind of tension that makes my skin tingle, that makes every slow drag of my nails against your skin feel ten times more intense. You’re beneath me, wrists bound with silk, your body already ruined from everything I’ve done to you. You’re a mess—flushed, trembling, so beautifully wrecked.

I tilt my head, watching you with amusement. “You’re shaking, baby,” I murmur, dragging my fingers down your stomach, teasing just above where you need me most. “Are you overwhelmed?”

You whimper, nodding frantically, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps. “Y-yes, Mommy.”

I smirk, pressing my palm flat against your lower belly, pinning you down. “Then tell me,” I purr, voice low and intoxicating, “should I stop?”

Your eyes widen, panic flashing across your face. “No,” you blurt out, desperate, shaking your head. “No, please, don’t stop. I need it—I need you.”

Oh, you sound so sweet when you beg. So desperate, so pliant, like you’ll do anything just to keep me touching you. It makes something dark curl in my chest, something possessive and hungry. I trail my fingers lower, barely ghosting over your soaked cunt, watching the way your hips buck, the way you gasp sharply at even the slightest contact.

“You need me, hmm?” I hum, tilting your chin up so you have to look at me. “Need me to use you? To take exactly what I want, however I want?”

You let out a choked whimper, nodding, your lips parting as if you’re about to speak—then stopping, too wrecked to form words.

“Speak, baby,” I command, tightening my grip on your chin. “Tell me.”

“I— I need you to take me,” you manage, voice barely above a whisper. “Please, Mommy, please use me. I—”

I don’t let you finish. My hand wraps around your throat, just enough pressure to make you feel it, to remind you who’s in control. “Good girl,” I murmur, pressing a kiss against your jaw, trailing lower, biting down softly. “You’ll take what I give you. Nothing more.”

You nod frantically, your entire body taut, every muscle wound tight. You want it, I can feel it in the way you tremble beneath me. I keep pushing, my voice sharper now, my hands rougher, taking you exactly where I want you—until something shifts.

At first, it’s subtle. A hesitation in your breath. A tension in your muscles that feels different. The way your fingers twitch against the restraints, not in pleasure, but in something else.

I slow.

“Baby?” My tone changes immediately—still firm, still in control, but laced with something softer.

I feel it before I hear it. The subtle shift in your breath, the way your body tenses beneath me—not in pleasure, not in anticipation, but in something deeper, something that pulls you away from me instead of toward me. You take a shuddering breath, your eyes squeezing shut. I wait. And then, you whisper it, so soft, so small, but I catch it immediately.

“Red.”

The second the word leaves your lips, the scene shatters. The air shifts. My dominance, my hunger, the relentless need to push you—it all vanishes in an instant.

I stop instantly. No hesitation, no questioning. I let go of you immediately, my hands gentle now, soothing instead of taking. My hands leave your wrists, my weight lifts off of you, giving you space, giving you air. The heat of the moment dissipates in an instant, replaced by something far more important—you.

“Baby?” My voice is softer now, no longer the commanding edge it held just moments before. My fingers ghost over your skin, waiting for a sign, waiting to know how to touch you, if you want me to. Your chest rises and falls too fast, your hands clenching and unclenching against the sheets.

I only watch for a few moments as your chest rises and falls in rapid breaths, your body still tense, still trying to catch up; until I decide to cup your cheek, brushing my thumb over your skin, tilting your face toward mine so you can see me, so you know I’m here.

“Let’s get these off,” I murmur, carefully undoing the silk restraints, while looking at you and massaging your wrists gently as soon as they’re free.

Your lips part like you want to say something, but your breath is shaky, your throat tight. Instead, you just nod, your eyes glassy with unshed tears.

“Look at me, baby,” I whisper, my forehead nearly pressing against yours. “You’re safe. You did so good.”

Your entire body is trembling, still caught between the remnants of intensity and the deep, shuddering relief of stopping. I can feel it in the way your fingers grasp at me, in the way your chest rises and falls too quickly, like you’re trying to ground yourself but can’t quite find your way back yet.

You’re slipping—spiraling into something too much. And I won’t let you fall alone.

“I’ve got you,” I murmur again, rocking you slightly, letting my body be something steady for you to lean against. “You’re safe. Just breathe, baby.”

The moment my hands settle on you, the tension cracks. The sound that escapes you is more than just a sob—it’s a breaking, a release of something heavy and overwhelming, something that had built too fast, too sharp, until it cracked. You bury your face deeper into my neck, and I let you, my arms tightening around you, shielding you from everything except the feeling of me here, solid, unwavering.

I press a soft kiss to your temple, lingering, letting you feel the warmth of it, the safety in it. Your hands fist into my shirt, desperate, your breathing uneven, but the tension in your body isn‘t beginning to ease yet. Slowly, gently, I let one hand slip into your hair, massaging your scalp, coaxing you further away from the edge.

“It’s okay,” I soothe, my fingers tracing slow, grounding patterns on your skin. “You did everything right. I’ve got you.”

I don’t let you fall. I gather you into my arms, pulling you close, tucking you against my chest. My lips press to your temple, my fingers weaving through your hair, stroking, soothing.

“I’m here,” I whisper, cupping your face gently, grounding you. “You’re safe. You’re with me.”

I whisper soft reassurances, keeping my voice low and steady as I gently stroke my hands down your arms, over your back, pressing warm, deliberate touches into your skin. You’re still clinging to me, still pressing into my warmth like you’re afraid I might disappear if you let go.

“Shh, sweetheart,” I murmur, rocking you gently. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.”

You cling to me, fingers twisting in my shirt, pressing your face into my neck like you need to anchor yourself in me. I hold you tighter, wrapping around you, protecting you from the weight of whatever had pushed you too far.

I feel the tremors beneath my hands, the way you still struggle to catch your breath. My hand moves in slow, deliberate strokes down your back, up your arms, anything to remind you that I’m here, that you’re safe, that nothing else matters but this moment.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, pressing another kiss to your temple. “You did the right thing. You did so well.”

You nod against me, but it’s shaky, uncertain. I can feel the tension still lingering, the vulnerability weighing heavy in the air. My grip on you tightens, grounding you, holding you steady.

Your lips part, but the words stick in your throat, a choked, broken sound escaping instead. I hush you gently, stroking down your spine.

“Don’t rush,” I whisper. “Just stay with me.”

I shift us slightly, adjusting until I can keep you cuddled in my lap properly, holding you tucked against me as I guide the blankets over us. You’re still shivering, still small and fragile in my arms, and I won’t let go until you’re ready.

“What do you need, baby?” I ask softly, my voice steady, waiting for you to lead the way now.

You swallow hard, your lips parting, but nothing comes out at first. I don’t push. I let you take your time, knowing that even forming words right now is a challenge.

You take a shaky breath, and for a moment, I don’t think you’ll answer. Then, finally, in a voice so small it almost breaks my heart, you whisper, “Water.”

“Of course,” I say immediately, easing you back onto the bed with careful hands. I tuck the blankets around you, making sure you’re warm before slipping away, only for a moment.

I move quickly, but not too quickly—I don’t want you to feel like I’m leaving. When I return, I sit beside you, helping you sit up just enough to sip from the glass, my free hand never leaving your skin. I need you to feel me here, need you to know I’m still here.

You take slow sips, your fingers still shaking slightly. I watch you carefully, searching your eyes, tracking every micro-expression, every flicker of emotion in your eyes. I want to make sure you’re coming back to yourself.

“Better?” I ask, studying you.

You nod weakly, but I see the lingering vulnerability, the way your body is still wound too tight. So I don’t ask—I just hold you. I pull you back into my arms, wrapping myself around you, anchoring you in warmth, in safety. You let out a tiny, broken sigh against my chest, and I feel your body soften, just a little.

“You did so well,” I murmur against your hair, my fingers tracing light, grounding patterns on your arm. “I’m so proud of you for using your safeword.”

Your breath stutters against my neck. I feel the way your body shakes slightly—something unspoken lingering there. Shame.

I won’t let it take hold.

I tilt your chin up, making you look at me, my thumb brushing away the dampness on your cheek. “There is never shame in taking care of yourself,” I say firmly. “That’s what your safeword is for. You did exactly what you were supposed to do.”

You blink up at me, something breaking behind your eyes. They well up again, but this time, it’s not from fear. Not from panic. And then, finally, I see it—relief.

You swallow hard, nodding, your fingers curling into my shirt again, gripping tight like you don’t want to let go. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice raw.

I press a kiss to your forehead, lingering there, letting you feel the warmth, the unwavering presence I will always offer you.

“Always,” I whisper, tightening my arms around you. “I’ve got you, baby. You’re safe. Just rest. I’m not letting go.”

[sosuigeneris]

Going by your post about daughters in high society being all-rounders, are they expected to learn certain languages, follow literary canons or maybe know specific geopolitical happenings? Is it a specific set of skills & information or is it more on a general knowledge basis?

you should definitely know your country’s language and English. Most competent girls I’ve noticed fall in two categories - either they’re extremely strong in arts (classic literature, art, music, food, essentially creative stuff) or STEM and finance.

as an overall, one normally has a general range of soft skills - the ability to converse with ease, socially confident, “respectful”, poised etc.

There are certain cheat codes to achieve this ^ and make it seem like you’re really an all rounder in the short term. Obviously in the long term you’ll have to work on your skills if you haven’t, but here’s what you can do. 1. Study the most common socially asked questions

How are you?

Where did you go for college/ uni?

What do you do?

Where have you travelled lately?

do you know about ….. ?

do you know XYZ person?

What are your hobbies?

and practice, practice these answers. Here’s your objective : to come across as knowledgeable, friendly and rational. don’t for instance, speak negatively about anyone or any experience. Instead of saying “oh my god this experience was absolutely ghastly” say “this is what I really liked and this is what I felt could be better.” You are seen as a refined woman then, not a bitchy teen. Use a wide range of vocabulary- CORRECTLY. Practice it so that it seems natural to you. Even fairly common words like “apt, apprehensive, sentient, derelict” - can make you seem a lot more polished than “so true, unsure, alive, run down”.

2. Be aware of three of the biggest news stories before any social event. Be it a dinner, party, a baby’s christening, anything. and here’s what will make you stand out - know those 2-3 stories in detail. In the age of people simply skimming over news and not making the effort to dig deeper, knowing something very well is an instant giveaway of being well read. For instance, Trump and the birthright citizenship situation. Something that an average person (especially if they are not American) may not know is that lots of non- American pregnant women - mostly Indian - in the US have begun approaching doctors to have their babies premature before the Feb 20 deadline. Now, when I mentioned that at an event recently in India, people were surprised. I was able to bring value, information to the table that no one else really knew about.

So when you speak, you want to drop a nugget of value. What you don’t want to do is get very high and mighty - you have to drop this information nonchalantly, as if you know everything. Nonchalance will give you bonus points.

3. Listen more than you speak… ATTENTIVELY. You cannot break eye contact, don’t lose focus. Nod slowly, tilt your head slightly, back straight, shoulders and hips turned towards the person who is speaking. Don’t rush and don’t rush them.

practice these small things even with your friends, school, teachers, workplace - to make something a habit, you need to practice it anywhere and everywhere. You can’t just be polished to one group of people, you must be polished to all.

4. Always approach the women/ aunties / mothers first. Compliment them genuinely. And then greet the man. The only times I break this rule is if the man is decades older, is someone I know very well, is a friend of my parents’, or if I know him better than his wife.

5. you won’t be expected to cook and clean and all that, these days it’s not really an expectation. And also, unless you want to attract men like that and you want to be that person too, it doesn’t make sense.