#but I imagine the shame of you all finding out what I bought and how much I spent

[pixiedurango]

Hello! When your time allows, may I request: A series of written 'friendly reminders' by Lucanis to the rest of the Veilguard on what they should and should not do in the kitchen. (i.e do not wash the cast iron, do not put out grease fires with water, do not let Assan into the pantry unsupervised, do not let Manfred climb into the oven, any others etc) Thank you for your consideration :3 (bonus points if the notes successively get more agitated in tone or are directed towards specific people)

Ding Dong, Antivan Postal Service with a special delivery.

It's more like an open letter to the team this time. And I hope you are ok with how it turned out. Enjoy!

Transcript:

To whom it may concern. That means everybody at the Lighthose! I kindly ask you to (in no particular order):

Put things back to the spot where you took them from (I use to have a system designed for efficiency)

Don’t throw away the used coffee grounds. (They are natural fertilizer for Harding’s plants. Collect in the pot next to the coffee station)

Don’t let Assan roam free in the kitchen.

In fact, don’t let Assan into the kitchen at all.

Same goes for Manfred. (Not for hygienical reasons, but we don’t want him to climb into the kindled oven again)

Don’t leave mushy, half rotten fruits in the baskets if you happen to find one (Fruit flies are a menace to get rid of)

Don’t leave food uncovered (same reason)

Don’t cut meats on the vegetable board and vice versa (Out of respect for Emmrich and because its gross and unhygienic) The boards are labeled!

You are very welcome to drop by and study, discuss and write at the kitchen table (as long as you don’t leave and forget your things there. Looking at you Bel and Emmrich)

May I suggest, that we agree on storing the new bought goods BEHIND the ones we already have in the pantry? Otherwise the older things will never be used and it would be a shame to waste good food

We don’t make out in the kitchen! (Looking at you, Taash and Harding! Give a man some peace, I beg you!)

No mixing poisons in the kitchen! (It’s an honorable craft, but please, Rook, just don’t)

Carving is a fine hobby, but please clean up after yourself (That means you, Davrin)

Yes, my kitchen knives ARE sharp. Always! I tend to them. You don’t have to test before using them. You’ll end up hurting yourself.

On the same note: Don’t throw used knives into the sink with soapy water. Remember they are sharp and you can’t see them under the foam. You’ll get hurt.

I appreciate your help, Taash, but please refrain from kindling the fires like this… (you know what I mean…)

Wash your hands after chopping Chillies. Especially BEFORE using the BATHROOM. (I will explain if I must, but try to use your imagination before asking.)

It is never a good idea, to pour water into hot oil. (Ask Harding, she knows!)

Never cook bacon naked. (1. For obvious reasons 2.The flaming hot grease drizzles might seriously hurt you)

The RED cloth is for drying dishes

The GREEN cloth is for drying fruit and vegetables (you wash your fruits and vegs before eating and cooking them, right? RIGHT?)

The BLUE cloth is for cleaning surfaces.

DON’T MIX THOSE CLOTHS!

Don’t eat anything that has grown a white or green fur! (That goes for you, too, Rook! No discussion about toxins and immunity.)

Cookie dough and cake batter is not a treat. Don’t eat it raw. You will end up sick. Wait for the baked goods. (Looking at you, Bellara, Neve, Harding and Rook!)

I noticed, some of you use the same oil for everything. Don’t do that. You can’t heat the Antivan cold pressed extra virgin olive oil the way you need in order to grill meat or fry chips. I will label the oil-carafes accordingly.

Thank you! Sincerely, your friend - Lucanis

Read the other letters here

[agenttexsflippedshit]

Remember when you could do readmore on mobile? OTL

[lokisgoodgirl]

In Your Hands [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: That irritating, smug, asshole Loki has taken your final fuck to give. Or so you think... Warnings: 18+ minors DNI. Smut. Avenger! Loki x female reader. Mild BDSM (ball related), hostility, enemies to lovers. Language. (w/c 2.4k)

Loki’s curses beat the air behind you, and the door from the training room slammed; smothering them.

I fucking hate him, I fucking hate him.

In your experience, dramatic exits should be reserved for special occasions. And striking an ego-killer blow to Loki ‘Godsplainer’ Laufeyson was a special-fucking-occasion. It’d been a long time coming. Although you hadn’t meant to punch him quite so sharply in the balls.

I’m sure he’s had worse, you thought as the stale sweat of the changing room hit.

The last thing you’d seen was Steve’s wide, earnest eyes as Loki had doubled over in a slap of dark hair with a muted oomph—the final syllables of his snarky ‘advice’ fading along with his sperm count. You did warn Loki if he told you the correct way to deliver a blow to the transversus one more time that you’d start intentionally missing.

Not my fault he never fucking listens.

It’d been building for months: every ‘actually-I-think-you’ll-find’; ‘bad-form-even-for-a-mortal’ and ‘are-you-sure-you’re-meant-to-be-here…did-you-sneak-in-with-the-domestic-staff?’.

But under it all, the worst thought of all was your own: you still want his praise.

You picked up someone’s shoe from the floor and lobbed it at the lockers – pure, impotent rage ratcheting back with the clang. If Steve kicked you off the A-Team then so be it, worth it to see that moment of pure, wretched shock in his eyes every time you closed your own.

Breaths scraped from your throat, trying to stop the tremble in your hands. You’d spent months trying to catch his eye like a desperate pick-me teenager, spent months wishing his approval into existence: the aloof, pretentious god. Begging any higher power who’d listen for the chance to kneel at his feet and choke on his cock while he called you a good-fucking-girl. You’d bought an emerald green lingerie set for Christ’s sake. It was still in the box—the returns window a dot on the horizon.

Embarrassing. If he knew, you think you’d die of shame. Months running yourself into the ground trying to fit what he’d want and for what? Fuck. “Do you feel better, now?” The ripple of Loki’s smarm filled the air like steam, but it’s edge could cut stone.

Your lips pinched, biting back a slew of curses. You’d expected Steve, but not him.

The idea of turning made your feet root even firmer to the floor. But with every strained second that shifted past, thickening the air, he was winning—staring at the back of your head with that imperious look that only said one thing: I’m better than you, and you know it.

“If you’re waiting for an apology, don’t hold your breath.” Loki released a low chuckle. “Be assured, I can wait much longer than you. How much of your meagre lifespan would you squander staring at those dismal tiles in order to preserve the façade of your superiority, I wonder?”

You spun with a force that twinged a nerve in your neck. “My…?” It came out in a pathetic gasp. “My…superiority?!”

Loki’s face was the picture of serenity: posture impeccable, lips straight. His eyes slid between yours, brows peaked in sanctimonious expectation.

Borderline indecent gym-wear clung to the sinews of his muscular body. The material was like elasticated silk, and every time you’d made contact in training it made it impossible not to imagine frotting against him: bitch in heat.

The lines of the sweatpants draped like a sheet of liquid tar to the bulge of his thighs as he shifted his weight and said, simply, “Yes.”

Heat flared up your neck.  “You’ve got some fucking balls, Laufeyson, I’ll give you that,” you hissed, regretting it immediately. “I’m not sure your knuckles experienced my anatomy’s full glory to report on such an accolade,” Loki replied without a beat. “Their contact was a little brief…”

He tilted his head, an infuriating dimple crushing into one cheek as the heat scorched up your cheeks and made your eyes itch. “A little…weak.”

“Maybe I should twist them again,” you said, folding your arms. You hoped he couldn’t see the fingers trembling. Loki’s eyes narrowed as he crossed the changing room in three, elegant strides and loomed so close that your bellies touched. “Go on then,” he goaded. “You seem under the impression I don’t like it.”

You searched his face, noting the tremor of something deeper than the familiar irritation. Was that…but, it couldn’t be. “What are you doing?” you whispered, stumbling slightly against the lockers. The heat from his abdomen radiated through your gym top. Christ, his stomach was so hard.

“What are you doing, Agent?”

A few black strands had come loose from his ponytail, sticking to the sweat pearling on his jaw. “All bark, no bite,” he murmured, squinting lightly.

His scent crept up your nostrils like smoke under a door: fresh musk, the linger of the cologne he wore at last night’s party, and above it all a scent that was inextricably him. You could never put your finger on it. It drove you mad: just like the rest of him.

Loki released a short puff of irritation, eyes rolling to the side. “I knew you didn’t have it in you.” As he took a step back, your mind skidded to a stop as a hand flew to his chest, gathering a clutch of the slutty gym top, making no effort to cushion the scrape of your nails against his skin, and pulled.

Loki’s mouth crushed to yours with a gasp, his hands flying to the lockers on either side of your head with an ominous crunch of metal. His breath groaned into your throat, the softness of his lips jerking your senses.

Had you expected them to be cold, hard, unwelcoming: just like the rest of him? Yes. But there was time to mull over that later.

Loki’s tongue nudged against your lips, and you relented. The tension in your body seemed to melt as he draped over you like liquid; the cage of his frame and the rub of a thumb down the valley of your cheekbone making you forget just for a second how much you really fucking hated him.

“Show me,” he murmured against your neck. You hadn’t even realised the kiss had slid apart and your head was tilted back against the lockers, the god’s mouth raging a ravenous path down the valley of your throat.

“Show you what?” you panted, bringing your head forward so quickly your vision swam. A lopsided grin spread across his mouth. “How much you hate me,” he said. “You have a problem.” The barb was unnecessary, but Loki’s grin widened all the same. “Discipline me, then.”

His sapphire eyes blazed as your hand flew to his shorts, grabbing his crotch. Fingers curled around the soft, tight sac nestled below the huge erection snaking up the hip joint. Loki hissed, stomach clenching, more clutches of hair falling free. His forehead pressed to yours as your grip tightened.

“Fuck,” he grunted, voice tapering to a whine. You squeezed tighter, and the lockers behind you crumpled under the strength of his fists bearing down.

“Harder,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

His legendary cock twitched above your white knuckles, straining against the running shorts and Loki’s narrowed eyes glistened, the muscles in his jaw and the veins in his neck hard enough to pop.

“Apologise,” you spat, and Loki’s breath hitched as you gave him a brief moment of relief before clenching an even tighter fist than before.

His trainers slipped against the floor, thighs shaking with the effort not to fall to his knees. Even gods, it appeared, shared some of the weaknesses of men. Loki flipped his hair back.

“Why should I? You’re the c-combative v-viper.” A deep set of lines furrowed his forehead, rippling with each flex of your fingers. “You’re nothing but a shit-talking, spoiled prince with a big cock and nice hair,” you said, every muscle tingling with the desire raging through your veins. “You noticed,” Loki said with the twitch of an eyebrow: incorrigible, even in this position. “The hair, I mean,” he added. He didn’t mean the hair.

The god swept your forearm to the side, and your fingers ached immediately. How tight was I holding him? But there wasn’t time to wonder. His kiss slammed into you with the force of a storm, teeth clashing and his fingertips digging in to your scalp and the wet slide of lips across your own. “Loki,” you breathed, and he moaned into your mouth in response. You found yourself bucking against his hard body, grasping at everything and anything you could to be closer to him; to wind yourself so tightly to him that you though you might snap.

And then, your fingers were playing at his waistband. Loki drew back: eyes wild. “Really?” he asked, flushed and breathless. You stared at him, searching his eyes for any hint of ulterior motive, any sign he was about to pull the rug from under you. You gave a curt nod, and Loki’s expression rippled with surprise.

Your hands slid up the sides of his face, tangling in his hair. “You better make it good, considering you have a lot to make up for.” Loki snorted, “Please,” and then several things happened at once. Out of the corner of your eye, the door to the changing room glowed green around the crack. Loki shoved the waistband of his shorts down, scooping his cock in one hand while you fumbled with your leggings and send them skittering across the gleaming floor. “Norns,” Loki groaned as he cupped your breasts under the flimsy sports top, palming upwards. Beneath the bra, your nipples were hard as pebbles.

His brows peaked as his gaze rose from your chest to your face: a realisation that there wasn’t time for all that— all the filthy things you were beginning to realise he’d fantasised about. All the filthy thing you were beginning to accept that you’d fantasised about. “Maybe next time,” you muttered, pulling his hair-tie free in one sharp movement. A wicked smile unfurled on Loki’s lips.

He dipped, burying his face in your chest as he cupped the back of your thighs and you let out a gasp as he hoisted you upwards. Your legs folded around his hips, slick pussy flush to his stomach, sliding down the taut skin until you met the solid bar of flesh beneath.

“Oh, Agent,” he said in your ear, low and smooth, “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

You shoved his shoulder, but Loki’s fingertips sank into the soft curve of your ass, pushing you up so your slit hovered above the crown of his cock.

His eyebrow rose. “Last chance,” he said with a ladle of sarcasm.

Steadying one hand on his shoulder, you scraped the other through his hair, winding in a fist. You tugged, slowly…slowly, and Loki groaned, letting you sink onto his cock with every sharp ache pinching at his scalp. His thrusts weren’t like you imagined: selfish, primal, uncontrolled. If anyone was a Jackhammer —you’d always imagined it would be Loki. But his hips rolled like dough, undulating against you until your eyes rolled back and the rear of your skull cracked against the lockers. “Harder,” you sobbed quietly, nails digging into his back muscle. “Harder,” Loki groaned, his breath hot in the hollow of your neck. “Ruin me, Agent—I’m in your hands.” You dragged the nails deep against his skin: not enough to break blood, but close. Loki’s ragged breaths of pleasure made a new thrill swell between your legs, meeting his sloppy fucks like you were trying to beat him.

The fist wound in his hair yanked again, and again, and each time…the gods hips jolted. His thrusts were faster now— your moans higher— the rattle of the metal lockers and the squeak of rubber soles on tile making your mind swim. “Can I come?” he gurgled between rough exhales, and you pulled his face to yours. There was something in his eyes you’d never seen before—swimming in the whirlpool of blue. “No,” you said, and his head fell back to the ceiling. Loki’s veined cock tugged every inch of your walls as he pulled out, and buried in, stars bursting in your vision as climax began to shift and slide in the depths like a riptide.

Your legs spasmed against his hips, crossed ankles digging into the base of his spine, the grip on the god’s hair unbreakable. Biting back the urge to sob his name, you slammed your hips down to the root of his length, pulling Loki’s mouth to yours. His tongue massaged the syllables of his own name forming on your tongue, the rumble in your throat matching the one you could feel in the depths of his chest.

“Gods,” he choked when you broke, panting, riding your cunt in sloppy thrusts.

You could feel the slip of your cum between your thighs, and coating the length of his cock: and Loki could too. He looked at you with something a little like fear, one hand flying from your ass and steadying against the lockers.

“Can I—” he started, but before you could respond his knees buckled, wobbling as orgasm hit him like a train. Loki’s cry echoed around the changing room, the pained pleasure of his release making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Fuck: he was beautiful. And now...it was over. A sharp stab of sadness slipped between your ribs. The doorhandle shoogled violently. “Everything okay in there? Loki?” You and Loki’s eyes met. Steve was outside. And he wasn't alone. “What if he’s fallen? Jeepers, the floors are freshly waxed for crivven’s sakes—” “—will you calm down. I think Loki can handle himself on some polished floors,” Sam said dryly through the door. “—Bet that’s not the only thing that’s been polished,” Bucky replied, and even at a distance you could feel the heat building in Steve’s cheeks. “You’re disgusting—our comrade could be in peril. I don’t know what got into her.” There were a series of snorts, and several brisk knocks. “Yo, Laufeyson. You in peril in there?” Sam asked, and Bucky’s laugh followed. “Yes,” Loki whispered; brushing a sex-damp strand of hair from your cheek. His eyes searched yours, pinning you to the lockers as he lowered you to the floor. “I think I might be.”

Tags in comments: ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜❤️

[sweetnothingtm]

every man gets his wish // simon riley

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ "i learned how to make love from the movies" ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

pairing simon x fem!reader

content pure unadulterated smut, maybe a daddy kink?

summary the one where ghost is obsessed w a camgirl

note based off my drabble, thank you for the love ♡ lmk if you want a part twooo

There’s a special place in hell for people like Simon Riley.

He could’ve gone to heaven - but he won’t.

Simon has vices. He has anger issues, and he doesn’t like to share. He doesn’t take precautions, he’s cocky with his wallet and he most certainly doesn’t take orders from anyone.

He’s impulsive, abrasive, and most importantly - Simon Riley only thinks with his dick.

You’re the opposite of him. Careful, gentle and patient, you come across as bubbly and approachable. The sparkle in your eyes just never seemed to die, and an innocent smile is always playing at your lips. You seem to embody everything that Simon could never be.

Not that he would know - you’re just an eager camgirl with a big audience.

Every night, Simon Riley comes crawling to you like a stray dog. It wasn’t meant to be this way, so vile and naughty and delicious. He swore it would only happen once, and yet here he is, pining after the taste of you. He always finds himself with his cock in his hands, eyes rolling up to the ceiling and filthy curses slipping past his lips.

You’ve already started - much to his disappointment.

He’s usually so punctual. Never wasting your time. Always appreciative of the way your eyes sparkle with adoration when he joins the stream. Today was no different - he was just a little too eager and spent the last hour jerking off to the thought of you.

And he’s gonna do it again

The room is cast in a soft glow, your legs tucked beneath you and the soft hum of music playing in the background. Your soft skin is covered in red lingerie, pillowy tits covered by the lace that he bought.

It’s a damn shame - the way Simon can’t be there to take it off himself.

In contrast to the natural shine you give off, Simon is drowned out by the dark moonlight. His body casually leans back against the headboard, eyes trained on the illuminated screen that separates you from him. While he is adorned in shadows, you shine with the soft glow of your exposed skin.

Your lips, pulled into a little pout. Your delicate fingers, dipping between your plush thighs. The ebbs and flow of your body, curves and blemishes that he’s memorized like he owns you.

It’s quite pathetic, really - how infatuated he’s become with a camgirl. But he can’t help himself. He’s got all your videos saved in a folder that he opens at every opportunity.

He’s cum to you more times than he can count, always groaning as the hot ropes of white liquid splatter against his skin. He’d tip you relentlessly, always accompanied by a foreboding message that sent chills along your spine.

Missed you, princess. What a good girl. Finished so soon? What a beautiful little slut.

Your hands are wrapped around a little pink toy that you push between your thighs. It hums against your skin, causing Simon to angrily palm himself through his pants. The sickeningly sweet sound of your gasp has him reeling, cock already beginning to twitch and drip with precum.

His hand continues to palm at it, ignoring the little stain that starts to form on his pants as you continue to stimulate yourself. You gently part your thighs, hair framing your face as you give him - yes, him - a little preview of his deepest desires.

You’re already wet, and he curses himself for being late today. Simon is memorizing the little bow on your panties, the way you push the vibrator against the soft fabric and let your little plump lips part for a moan.

He’s got a toothy grin, rubbing at the tip of his cock and imagining that it’s your delicate hands struggling to wrap around him.

You’d blink up at him with full and eager eyes, lip pulled between your teeth. You’d gently unzip his pants, fingernails dragging against his skin and causing his dick to perk up. He’d rub the pad of his thumb against your cheek, a nasty smirk plastered across his face.

Simon imagines that your tongue would give gentle licks against his irritated tip, that you’d hollow out your cheeks and suck him off until his cum is coating your throat. He would continue to lazily fuck your mouth, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes as you hummed against his cock.

The sound of your little gasps pulls him from the daydream, eyes sharply trained on the screen as you pull your panties to the side and rub the vibrator against your clit. Your chest is pressed outwards, nipples hard against the red lace that separates him from you.

Before he can stop himself, with his cock twitching underneath his touch and thumb rubbing softly over his tip, he absently clicks on the keyboard. It’s a good thing he’s got his card number memorized.

$250 from Ghost_Stalker

-smile pretty for me, princess.

You pause your movement, vibrator stuck between your folds as you writhe and twitch against it. You squint your eyes, rolling over the message once. Twice. Three times before a smile is tugging at your lips. A hand comes up to squeeze your tit, fingernails dragging against the lace as you lean into the camera and smile sweetly.

“hi ghost - i missed you.”

His belt hits the floor before you finish your sentence.

Your voice is thick like honey, laced with desire that Simon is convinced was meant just for him. The vibrator begins to move again, pressing into your wet core with a little squelch as you mewl out in pleasure.

He follows your pace, eyes fixated on the pink toy that dips in and out of your little pussy. It stretches you, pushing against your folds and humming against you.

Simon is messily jerking himself off as you roll your hips against the vibrator, letting soft pleas fall from your lips. He spits on the tip of his cock, palm rubbing it against his shaft as he grunts happily. The slick and lazy strokes mirror the way you rub the vibrator greedily against your clit, thighs parting like the gates of heaven.

He wants in.

When you pull the toy away from you, the sound of your dripping cunt follows along with it. You wiggle closer to the camera, eyes blown out with pleasure as you press the pink toy into your mouth and lick. Tongue sloppy, eyes rolling in ecstasy and hips bucking against the pillow underneath you.

$300 from Ghost_Stalker

-i missed you more princess. missed your pretty little pussy.

“prove it,” you challenge.

His head slams against the back of the chair, cock covered in his spit as the sounds of your soft laughter that plays from his screen. He bucks his hips up with his movements, imagining that your body is curled around him and bouncing on his lap.

Your nails would drag against his skin, leaving harsh red lines in their wake as he’d let his hand fly to your ass with a sickening smack.

You’d jump, grinding your mound into him with desperation as your perky tits rub against his chest. Simon imagines himself nipping, licking and biting at them, his dick throbbing at the way you’d drool out his name.

In his dreams, you’re an obedient little slut. Ever a tease, you’d bounce on his dick one minute and beg for a kiss the next. He’d wrap his hand around your throat, choking you until you’re seeing stars and begging him for more.

You’re chatting away with sleazy men who can’t afford you, and it makes Simon enraged. It’s him who matters. It’s him who should have your attention. It’s him who you should open your legs for. His stroking gets aggressive, jaw set and hardened as you blow kisses and make false promises. Simon is rubbing himself raw, his free hand going to cup his balls and gently squeeze.

And then someone asks you where you got your cute little outfit. And like the vixen you are, you smile sweetly into the camera and push your tits together.

“Oh? these? they were a gift from someone special.”

And it’s true. He’s your favorite. He’s the one who you’re dreaming of - and it’s embarrassing to pine after a man you’ve never met. But it’s washed away by the burning desire to please him. Only him.

He’s trying so hard to hang on. To regain some sense of normalcy as his dick continues to twitch and warmth spreads throughout his body like an inferno. His eyes are trained on your curves, the way you’ve got a smile lighting your face up as your hips grind into the soft pillow below you. He’s slapping the tip of his dick against his abdomen, letting the beads of precum splat against his skin and forever stain him a sinner.

Here he goes again, thinking with his dick.

$500 from Ghost_Stalker

-put on a good show for daddy.

And you do. The red lace has been slipped off of you, tossed to the side as you reach over and off the screen to grab something. A perfect angle of your tits in full view. Simon follows every movement. He licks his lips in anticipation, stomach heavy with desire.

You sheepishly pull the dildo out, smacking it against your outstretched tongue and dipping a hand between your legs. Dripping, wet beyond comprehension and Simon is lucky enough to watch as you curl your fingers inside your pussy and mewl.

His hips are rutting up, hand fisting his cock in desperation as you suck on the dildo while fingerfucking yourself. His chest is tight, sweat glistening against his skin while he watches intensely. So fucking wet.

You hope he’s watching. You’re praying that he’s jerking off to the sight of you. That you’re both staring up at the ceiling, eyes searching for the constellations that brought you together when the stars aligned.

Is it wrong? To want something that you’ve never known?

Simon can tell you’re becoming undone. You always get riled up with his words, eyes full of excitement as he showers you with attention every stream. In his fantasy, Simon thinks you wished that your delicate fingers were his. That you wanted him to slowly rub at your bud of nerves and press his fingers into your cunt. And then he’d have you sit on his cock and make him watch as he licked his fingers clean.

He can’t help himself when you’re like this, messy and needy on screen with your wet pussy smearing against the pillow that he wishes was his face. You’re whining and panting, fingers dipping in and out of your core as Simon picks up the pace and lets the heat travel up his skin and light him ablaze. Your voice is music to his ears.

“i’m so close- fuck. please, i- gonna cum.”

When you climax, your chest is heaving and a layer of sweat has covered your soft skin. Your hands are dancing across your soft tits, twisting at your hardened nipples that all but scream bite me. He’s smearing more spit all over himself, breath coming out in short pants and eyes dark and heavy.

The dildo rests against your folds, almost as if it’s taunting him. And so what if he blows all him money in one night? It’s going to a good cause - at least, that’s what he’s convinced himself.

$2500 from Ghost_Stalker

-again.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth at the message, ignoring the chat as it blows up at the extra show. You’re already eager, smacking the tip of the dildo against your folds and rolling your hips upwards.

“a little desperate tonight? i don’t mind - anything for daddy”

It takes everything in him not to cum right then and there. Simon feels like he’s died and been reborn. Like a siren has sung him to a peaceful sleep. Like the explanations for his bank statements are worth it. And when you press the tip of the toy into your dripping wet hole, it feels like Simon can practically smell your sickeningly sweet pussy.

He thinks it smells like candy.

You wince at every inch of silicone that slides into you. Your thighs are trembling, an arm propping yourself up as you whine and mewl like his favorite little kitten. The camera is shaking from your movements, head hung back in ecstasy as you bottom out the dildo and sigh happily.

Such a dirty slut, Simon muses. So nasty. At this point, his strokes are quick and methodical. Tugging at his tip that’s still producing precum, almost as if it’s desperate for release. His balls ache, his eyebrows are knitted in concentration and his abs are tight with anticipation.

“m’ so wet,” you gasp, the sounds of your pussy flitting against the dildo playing on repeat in Simon’s mind. Your thighs are spread fully, and your pillowy tits are jiggling with the movement of you fucking yourself. “are you watching?”

There’s a frenzy in the chat, a hundred eager men thinking that your words are meant for them. You raise yourself to your knees, angling to toy to press against your folds as you bite your lip. “i bet you are. guess what?” You breathe, eyes twinkling with mischief. “i wish you were here.”

Oh, how wrong they were.

He's close. The edge that he’s built is about to fall beneath him, collapse into a million pieces while you get drunk off the way the dildo slips in and out of you. Your eyes are squeezed shut and your chest is heaving, lungs struggling to take in air as you climb that high once more.

You whine and beg to yourself. Simon curses and lets his hips snap up against his stroking. His cock is unbearably hard, skin tingling with the sensation of pure lust that consumes him. You bounce and grind on the dildo with need, hair falling back against your bare shoulders as Simon drinks in every ounce of you.

Legs shaking, tits bouncing and hands coming up to play with your nipples, you look like a goddess. He’s never been so entranced, so enthralled and so obsessed. The way your nails dig into your skin, squeals of pleasure ripping through your stomach as you cum around the toy. You roll your hips greedily, savoring the orgasm and rubbing quick circles against your clit.

It’s all that it takes to have him squeezing the tip of his cock and shooting hot cum all over his stomach. It’s shameful, pathetic and downright heavenly. He promises that he’ll never cum to anyone but you.

The overstimulation has you reeling, chest heaving and eyes watering in excitement as a wave of pure bliss is crashing against you. The chat is singing praises to you, falling on deaf ears as you lazily still your hips and lean forward - dildo still firmly shoved in your pussy.

“are you satisfied?” You ask innocently. No, never. You don’t say his screen name, but it doesn’t matter, he knows it’s him you’re talking to. He knows by the way you slide off the toy, hair sticking to your skin as you slip on the red lace as a sign that the shows coming to an end. He knows by the way you dip your fingers between your wet folds, gathering the sticky cum around your digits - before you lick it off them like such a good girl.

He has to have you.

$5000 from Ghost_Stalker

-i’ll double it if you do it again

[holylulusworld]

Food thieves (1)

Summary: They are always hungry.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader x Steve Rogers

Warnings: fun, fluff, banter, food theft

Food thieves masterlist

Gone. Again. Not one day ago, you refilled the fridge, and now, there’s nothing left but a half-eaten apple and bottled water.

Your stomach growls loudly, in need of a late-night snack. Now there’s no food—not even a tiny bite of the cheese you bought.

“What the heck?” You curse. “I bought all the good stuff, and it’s gone again?”

“Whatcha doing?” Bucky asks as he strolls into the kitchen. He’s hungry too and hopes there are some leftovers from the food you bought. “Is there any cheese left? It was awesome.”

You turn around like in slow motion to glare at the super-soldier. He ruffles his disheveled hair, smiling as you look him up and down. Bucky is in nothing but his boxers and a white undershirt.

“You ate all my cheese strings?” You growl. “How dare you steal my food. I bet it was you all this time!”

“What’s wrong?” Steve joins you and Bucky in the kitchen, hopefully looking at the open fridge. “Is there more cheese, or did you eat it all, Buck?”

“You too, Cap?” Putting your hands on your hips, you huff. “Really? The golden boy. The righteous Captain America steals my cheese strings?”

Nervously running his fingers through his hair, Steve stammers, “Uh—sorry. At night, we get hungry after a fight. I think we have a very fast metabolism.”

You narrow your eyes. “I call bullshit, Cap. You stole all the food I bought. At least admit that you stole my cheese strings and everything else.”

Bucky watches his friend’s cheeks turn red. He snickers before grabbing the last apple lying abandoned on the kitchen island. The brunette has no shame. He takes a large bite and chews loudly.

“You are unbelievable! Why are you eating that much?” You throw your hands up before slamming the fridge shut. “You will replace all my food!”

“We are big guys and super-soldiers,” Bucky mutters between bites. “We get hungry and eat food.” He shrugs before wolfing down the rest of the apple.

“You get hungry—” you huff. “I got hungry too. And imagine my surprise, finding the fridge empty. There was nothing left but a half-eaten apple.”

“Oh, that’s mine,” Steve calls dibs on the apple. “I forgot I left it in the fridge.”

“It’s rotten, Steve,” you point out. “You cannot eat a rotten apple. Hungry or not.”

Steve pouts. Steve fucking Captain America Rogers pouts like an angry child. He pats his empty stomach, looking at you for help.

Bucky mirrors his friend. He pouts and pats his belly.

“No.” You cross your arms over your chest. “I do all the grocery shopping and didn’t even get a bite! Again!”

“Doll, have mercy. We are hungry,” Bucky purrs your name while slowly sneaking closer to the kitchen counter. He rounds the counter to glance at the fridge. “I bet you’re hiding something in your secret stash.”

“Secret what?” You act like you never heard of a secret stash. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Barnes.”

“The good stuff,” he says while pouncing on you like a lion. Bucky cages you between the counter and his hard body. “Give us something, and we will pay you back.”

“No—”

“Buck, maybe she doesn’t have a secret stash,” Steve says but moves around the counter to look at you. “Right, doll, you’d share with your captain?” He quirks a brow, making you snort.

“Even if I had a secret stash,” you retort and stick your tongue out, “I wouldn’t tell you. You can torture me, bite me, or punish me. I won’t say a word.”

Bucky and Steve look at each other. They have one of their silent conversations. The ones making you wonder if they are telepaths.

“Tickles?” Steve asks.

“Tickles.” Bucky conforms before both men start tickling your sides.

“No!” You laugh and scream, trying to fend their skilled fingers off. “No!” You giggle and snort. “Please…no!” You push against Bucky’s chest, giving him the chance to move his hand under your shirt to tickle your belly. “No….no…”

“I think we are close to cracking her,” Steve says and starts tickling your thighs. “Give up and tell us everything about your secret stash.”

“I—” you giggle even louder. “I got a mini fridge at my place.”

“Buck.” They stop and look at each other.

“Got it, Steve,” Bucky confirms before grabbing you by your waist and throwing you over his shoulder. “Off to her place to raid her fridge…”

Part 2

[machveil]

Heheheh

Loser! Konig when after the soldiers pull their prank on him you reverse the roles.

You catch him alone (or invite him somewhere private under a guise) and try to confront him about what happened. He doesn't want to talk about it and tries to avoid the subject. Looking like a scolded schoolboy hunched in his seat, feeling hot embarrassment swell in his throat as he looks at the floor to avoid eye contact.

He hears you get up and walk behind him and assumes you're leaving. Of course you are, he fucked up, he never should have ever assumed someone could like him and now look at how he's embarrassed himself. It's probably for the best that you leave before you see his tears-

Your hand snakes around his throat to tilt his head back the same way he did to you so he can look at you standing above him. Breath hitching.

You scold him for not making eye contact. "Can't even look me in the eye? Acting so shy now, surely you remember being so bold before."

He leans into your hand, eyes rolling back and lips parting in euphoria if he presses against you hard enough maybe you'll leave a mark

He's so out of it he fails to react when your hand leaves his neck and only notices when your thumb swipes some drool leaking from his lips and presses on his tongue.

He has to blink himself back to reality just in time to hear you tell him to find you when he plans on being anything more than a coward as you leave the room.

oh my god, I didn’t think this could get any better— (in reference to this post and the follow up)

CW: light choking, humiliation, König gets hard twice, back at it with the Loser!König vibes

he really couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge you. he wanted to, but that burning guilt in his chest always clawed up his throat when he caught a glimpse of you. wrapped a hand around your neck in a drunken stupor

he could only apologize so many times before fleeing - never letting you get a word in. if he did, he was sure all you’d say was how disgusting he was, a pervert. someone you considered a friend, sneaking up on you, condescending tone as he asked you to speak a language you didn’t know. ‘Ich liebe dich’ - he can hardly believe he asked you to say that

and yet, that confused look in your eyes as he held you? he can’t stop thinking about it. it’s burned into his mind, a blessing and a curse - you looked cute, brows knit and lips a little pouty with concern… but that shame would come back to gnaw at his mind. a double edged sword, but that expression of yours outweighs his guilt at night behind closed doors

he shouldn’t be turned on over what happened - but in that moment you looked so helpless to him. you aren’t, you’re still a soldier, but in his twisted mind you looked fragile. he was embarrassed when he fled, red hot anger in his chest from being lied to, but oh so achingly hard when he reached his room that night

he was used to hiding under his sheets, used to bucking into his fist as he imagined you, but this time? the shame and guilt eating at his mind - instead of picturing you under him, all König could think about was you calling him gross, vile for assuming you’d like him. cheeks flushed with humiliation, because that’s what it was to him. humiliated that he’d bought into a lie, humiliated that he was getting off on what happened

a long night, alone in his dark room moaning - your voice degrading him echoing in his head. he couldn’t say when he fell asleep, but when he woke up that morning he decided it’d be better to apologize again, repeatedly, and leave. leave you alone, pine from afar, and keep himself company at night with thoughts of you

and that’s what he did - it’s been a few days since then. as large as he was, he was surprisingly good at evading you. it’s difficult for him when you have to see each other, the forced proximity twisting his gut with nerves. he missed the butterflies you gave him, the warmth that bloomed in his chest. he still thinks about you smiling at him, a small distraction as he walks away from the training grounds, unaware of you coming up behind him

“König! Hey, come here for a second.”, he’s sure he’s just hearing something, his heads so caught up with guilt that your voice is just playing in his mind. but when he feels a hand grab his wrist, he looks down and sees you, his blood running cold as you look up at him, “Just wait a second, please?”

all you get are icy eyes staring down at you - his flushed face hidden behind his hood, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. all he can muster is a curt nod, his throat dry as he tries to breathe in, “Can we talk? You’ve been avoiding me and— well, I think we just need to talk about what happened, okay?”

you’re met with silence, hand falling from his wrist as he stares. you’re about to turn around, call this a lost cause and try again later when he speaks, “Okay.”. his voice was strained, small when it was usually a little louder. it made your heart twist hearing him like that - even if he was reserved and didn’t speak much, he’d still carry confidence when he spoke to you. he did before

a beat passes before you crack a small smile at him, a quick nod in the direction of the barracks. when you turn to walk König finds himself frozen for a moment. why would he say okay? maybe he just wanted to bite the bullet and get this over with subconsciously, let you yell at him and be mad - he wouldn’t blame you

wrapped his too big, too calloused, too rough hand around you - that was the only image in his head. he could still see it when he closed his eyes - he could still feel your skin on his if he focused. it made him feel dirty, it made him feel— “König?”

he’s brought back out of his mind when he hears your voice. paused a few feet ahead of him, waiting for him to follow. and, like the lovesick fool he is, he does what he always does - he follows you. glued to your side like it’s where he belongs, but all he feels is the sense that, once alone, you’ll call him deprived, a desperate man that just wanted to feel you

it’s a short walk to the barracks, nothing said between you two. König’s room is closer, and rather than draw out the walk to your room, you stop in front of his. “Is it okay if we talk in here?”, you cautiously ask, afraid he’d run away again

he wants to say something, voice his thoughts, but all he does is reach for the door handle. a quick turn, and it’s opening - the giant man stepping over the threshold. you’re quick to follow him in, in case he shuts the door or turns to leave. maybe, you think, he’ll be more at ease in his own room

he sighs, deep and audible as he pulls out his desk chair. he’s almost too big for it, a little too bulky. his back to the door, he simply looks down - unable to look at you, sure of what’s to come. a screaming fit, spewing obscenities, something that’ll make his heart shatter more than it already has

he hears you speaking, sees your shoes in front of him as he looks at the floor. it’s all muffled, tuned out as his brain swirls with ‘what if’s’. what if they yell? what if they cry? what if they leave? what if they never come back? what if—

it takes him a moment to notice you’re not standing in front of him anymore, and when he glances up you’re not in view. gone. left him to wallow in his room, to sit and think. he’s already tugging his hood off, discarded onto his desk. messy copper hair and scars on display, he sinks back into his chair, head held low

he lets his eyes flutter shut, the silence in the room deafening as he mourns. stupid, it’s worse knowing he’s lost you and you’re still roaming the base. gone, but still here— eyes opening when he feels a hand on his neck, a palm against his throat, he swallows

“You won’t talk to me, you can’t even look at me, König.”, oh god, your voice, low and condescending as you speak. your fingers snugly resting against the column of his throat, déjà vu hits König like a truck when your pointer finger nudges against his chin, “You were really confident… what happened to that?”

bare skin touching bare skin, and when you gently press your finger under his chin, making him tilt his head up? he’s pretty sure this is pure bliss, “Look at me.”. and, oh, that stern tone you have goes straight down his spine, nerves tingling as his icy gaze meets yours. your hand— your warmth against his neck nearly has his brain turning to mush

he likes this, he’s being scolded by you for ignoring you, your hand wrapped around his neck. eyes half lidded, gazing up at you, his mind is somewhere else entirely. you’re talking again, probably commenting on how he’s been behaving, but all he’s focused on doing is leaning into your touch. pressing his neck a little more against your hand, biting back a low groan when you absentmindedly squeeze

you weren’t even looking at him anymore, gesturing with your other hand as you look up - frustrated, your eyebrows knit. you look so good like this, and the effect is more than obvious. between the tent in his pants on the way it looks like his brain should be oozing out his ears, the drool running down his chin, König’s not really present in the moment

he nearly misses it when you move your hand off his neck, blinking when you wipe the drool from his lip. “I’m not mad, König. Just… when you get yourself together, feel free to come find me, yeah?”, and there’s that smile - fond gaze looking down at him the way he missed, this time more intimate. patting his cheek briefly, spit smearing his skin a little, he sits up and watches you leave

he’ll come find you Maus, eventually. for now, in the dim lighting of his room, he’s more focused on working his belt off

[foone]

Do you ever get the almost-writers-block feeling where your brain gives you an idea but then completely deserts you when it comes to actually fleshing it out or writing a story with it?

Mine came up with "a future where people subscribe to patreons for body models, which they then can wear"

So like you would pay 5$ a month and now you have the body of the person you subscribed to.

And all I can think of is some complications:

* if you stop subscribing or they end their patreon, you're out a body. You gotta find another one, fast. Your clothes might not fit anymore! You bought them for that body!

* the person who actually owns the body has to maintain it, as any changes will be reflected on all their patrons. Get a tattoo? Now hundreds or thousands of people have the same one. Dye your hair? I hope everyone likes being blonde! You'd probably have, like, polls for this sort of thing. Monetized Democratic body choices.

* what if they get hit by a car? A thousand people suddenly break their legs at once?

* licensing differences for bodies. Like, plenty of body patreons to have a "no doing porn" clause (because it'd be visually identical to the owner doing it), but some restrictive ones have "no having sex" (or "no having straight sex", in one notible example)

* you can subscribe to multiple body patreons and swap between which one you use on a daily basis

* pirated bodies on the darkweb

* police trying to solve crimes when the face that shows up on the cameras isn't the perp, it's some instagram model from Atlanta.

* society gets even weirder about fat shaming because anyone can wear the body of a person who weighs less than a sack of flour. Men on social media saying you gotta get her to show you childhood pictures so you can figure out if she's "really" fat.

* "we'd talked a lot online and she seemed really nice and we had great chemistry but when we finally met up, it turns out she always wears the Caitlin body!" "oh no, isn't that what your ex wore?" "exactly! And you know I've still got trauma from everything she put me through..."

* lotta young trans people figure some things out really quick. Forget "trying out crossdressing in secret" or "asking if people can use different pronouns on discord", how about trying having a different gender's body for a day?

* weird hackers trying to figure out how to modify the body-rental system so they can be dragons or elves. Speaking of which,

* people with body modifications to make themselves look less human being very popular. You can be an elf, thanks to that guy in Bowling Green, Florida who got the surgery to make his ears pointy. Apparently it paid for itself within 6 months.

* body reviews. People try out bodies and review how they are in looks and flexibility and stamina and any random aches and pains they might have.

* imagine reading one for your body. Someone walked a mile in your feet and gave a review of how your body looks and feels.

* weird couples who both wear the same body. Worse, polycules. They get together for a big cuddlepile and it's just 7 of the same body, and it gets difficult to tell where one begins and another ends.

* getting a bunch of information when you rent a new body, so you can know how it works and any odd things you gotta watch out for. Plus makeup tutorials and such, to know how to look exactly like how that body looked in certain photos

* everyone goes back to passwords on their phone. Fingerprints and facial recognition are no good, since someone could just rent the same body and now they have the same fingerprints and face.

* a subculture of disabled people who rent specific bodies not for their looks so much as their painless functionality. One of the most rented bodies amongst them is a woman from Minnesota who is definitely no model, but she's a 26 year old with no aches and pains and body that has plenty of energy and flexibility.

* oh so much drama about if it's ethical to rent bodies from other races. Predictable scandals where it turns out some musician or TikTok star is a white guy, despite their appearance as someone non-white. People get a lot madder at the white people wearing blackbody than the ones wearing asianbody, for reasons.

* a little post-it note inside a Starbucks where the customers can't see it, counting how many of a given body they've had in that morning. Someone named Stephan had 12 tally marks, and Lauren has 8. It's only 9:32 am.

Anyway yeah I have writer's block and can't do anything with this concept. Clearly.

[aishangotome]

Azel Radwan: Dramatic Ending Epilogue

Dramatic Ending Ch. 25 His Side Story

Thank you @passthechloroform for providing the video for this chapter!

Tanzanite, with its god gone, did not change overnight.

People still revered Azel, and the markets were lined with commemorative coins and statues of him.

But to say that nothing had changed would also be untrue.

Before, every three steps you took in the city would lead you to a divination shop, but now their numbers had dwindled.

Instead, you could stumble upon bookstores, which had been impossible to find before, no matter how much you wandered around.

(Just as the letter said…)

(Tanzanite now presents a golden opportunity for booksellers to expand their market.)

*flashback*

Akatsuki: You want to do business in Tanzanite?

Emma: Yes. I thought that if we open a sales channel now, we might be able to establish a Tanzanite branch eventually.

Emma: Wouldn’t it be easier for the Owner, who travels to every country on the continent, to operate with several bases?

Akatsuki: …That makes sense.

Emma: Right? Actually, it seems Tanzanite is making a national effort to attract booksellers…

Emma: I think it’s a good opportunity to make a lot of money.

Akatsuki: Do you want to go?

Emma: If you’ll allow it.

Akatsuki: I’ll allow the business.

Emma: …!

Akatsuki: But, I won’t allow any unhealthy relationships before marriage.

Emma: Wh-What do you mean?

Akatsuki: Your objective is the dead god.

Akatsuki: He even sends you letters every time. How unsightly.

Emma: …Then, would you allow a healthy relationship?

Akatsuki: …

Akatsuki: If anything happens to you, I’ll kill that god.

*flashback over*

(I can’t tell the Owner about that night, not even if my mouth is torn apart.)

Just remembering it made me blush, and I shook my head as if to dispel those thoughts.

My objective today was market research –– to assess the demand and see what kind of books were needed. That was my job.

(Huh? There’s a crowd over there.)

(It doesn’t seem to be related to bookstores, but this is also part of market research.)

(I might be able to learn about the current trends in Tanzanite, so let’s go.)

I never imagined that my casual decision to join the crowd out of curiosity would ––

––lead to a tragedy later on.

-

Azel: …And?

Emma: …It was a soap shop.

Emma: They sell soap made by a famous perfumer, and it seems to have a reputation for smelling very good.

Emma: I thought I’d like to try it too… so I reached for it.

Azel: There must have been other selling points besides it smelling good.

Emma: ………… That it can captivate the person you’re interested in.

Azel: Sigh… Why do you fall for such obvious traps?

Emma: Because I wouldn’t think something like that would be sold openly in the city!

(This sense of déjà vu… I remember this.)

When I used the soap I bought at the market in the bath, my body started to feel strange by the time I got out.

The enchantingly pleasant scent gradually induced a feverish heat, making my skin unbearably sensitive.

The mere rubbing of my negligee against my skin made my stomach tingle strangely, and my heart pounded like a drum.

I felt like I could faint from shame at any moment.

Azel: Listen, Tanzanite is famous for its songs, dances, and harem.

Azel: It’s not uncommon for people from the harem to sell shady goods in the city to earn some extra money.

Emma: …I didn’t know that.

Azel: Think of “captivating the person you’re interested in” as a catchphrase for aphrodisiacs. It was a good lesson, wasn’t it?

(I never thought I’d experience this feeling again.)

The effects of this aphrodisiac seemed to be even stronger than the perfume mixed with the aphrodisiac ingredients from last time, and if I let my guard down, indecent sounds would escape my lips.

(…I want to cry…)

Azel: Hey, don't make that face like you're about to cry.

Azel: The quickest way to get rid of an aphrodisiac is–

*flashback*

Azel: In reality, an aphrodisiac will naturally leave your system with time.

Azel: All you can do is sleep or distract yourself, those are your two options.

*flashback over*

(I’ll just hide in the kitchen like last time, that’s what I’ll do.)

(I can’t let Azel see my unsightly behavior.)

In the middle of his lecture, I turned my back on him and reached for the door as if to escape.

Azel: Where are you going?

Emma: To cook.

Azel: Huh?

Emma: I’m going to cool my head, so please don’t mind me and go to sleep, Prince Azel.

Emma: Good night!

-

Emma: …Why are you following me!?

Azel: …I’m not following you. I’m thirsty.

Azel, who had followed me to the kitchen without a care in the world, poured water into a ceramic cup, just as he had said.

Even after taking a sip and wetting his throat, he showed no sign of leaving.

Azel: Do you want some too?

Emma: …

(Last time, you confined me here and left on your own.)

(…Thinking about it now, that was probably an act of mercy to prevent anyone from seeing my embarrassing behavior.)

(I’d like you to show me the same mercy this time…)

Azel: What is it? You’ve been staring at me.

Emma: You know what I want to say, right?

Azel: Not at all.

Emma: Leave me alone.

Azel: This is my castle.

Emma: Are you okay with being attacked by me?

I tried to push Azel out of the kitchen, but–

(H-He won’t budge…!)

He looked at me with a mixture of amusement and pity.

Azel: What are you doing?

Emma: You wicked god– Ah, no, you’re not a god anymore.

Emma: Um… Wicked person!

Azel: Congratulations on increasing your debt through insults.

Emma: …I understand. You don’t want tomorrow’s meal, then. It was going to be a special dish with meat.

Azel: If that’s what you wish, I’ll obediently return to my room. Goodbye.

(This tactic was the most effective after all.)

Azel briskly headed for the exit, but he turned around before leaving the kitchen.

Azel: However, you should know what an aphrodisiac is.

Azel: It’s actually easier to let it out than to endure it.

(…I know.)

My body, forcibly heated by the aphrodisiac, was aching to the point that I wanted to scratch it, and I unconsciously followed Azel's hand with my eyes.

(If I could just have his hand touch me…)

I slapped my cheeks with both hands as if to resist the temptation and shook my head.

Emma: Thank you for your concern. But I’m fine.

Azel: Why are you so stubborn?

Azel: We’ve already crossed the line.

Emma: …That’s true, but…

Emma: If you touch me like that night, I’ll probably become a mess.

Azel: It might be a good lesson.

Emma: …If Prince Azel were to hate me, I wouldn’t be able to recover.

Azel: Why would that happen?

(Because…)

Emma: You don’t have good memories of aphrodisiacs, do you?

*flashback*

Emma: In the first place, I’ve never used or even seen an aphrodisiac, so I don’t know what it’s like…

Azel: Huh? You’ve never seen one in your life?

Emma: Of course not!

Azel: There are people like that?

*flashback over*

(Because of his position as God, people around Azel-sama tried every trick in the book to get him interested in women.)

(I’ve never asked for details, but I’m sure he’s been tormented by unwanted aphrodisiacs.)

Azel: …Indeed, as you said, I’ve been through a lot with aphrodisiacs.

Azel: I have nothing but unpleasant memories of being forced to watch women lose control in front of me.

Emma: Then–

Azel: But you’re not…

Azel: …

Emma: …Prince Azel?

Azel: ..............

Azel: I hate being attacked.

Emma: I think anyone would.

Azel: That’s right. So I came up with a great idea.

(Huh, the atmosphere suddenly became ominous.)

Even though he was supposed to be heading outside, Azel came back to me for some reason.

When I casually tried to move away, he wrapped his arms around my waist.

Emma: Ah…

An unfamiliar sensation set my entire body ablaze with shame, and I reflexively pushed back against his chest.

But instead of moving away, Azel brought his lips to my ear and breathed a sigh.

Azel: It’s fine to attack before you’re attacked, like this.

Emma: That’s not good, not good at all… Mm!

My ear was nibbled, and indecent gasps melted into the kitchen air.

Emma: No… This really… won’t end well… so… Ah.

The hand that had been resting on my waist slid down and slipped between my legs, along with my negligee.

With just a light touch, my vision went white, and my body trembled as my strength gave out.

Azel: How could you say you were fine in this state?

Azel lifted me up as I collapsed on the floor.

Emma: …I could… evaporate from embarrassment right now…

Azel: If you haven’t evaporated yet, you’ll be fine.

Azel carried me outside and headed for his room with quick steps.

Even the wind that enveloped my body brought me slight pleasure, and I felt a sensation of honey dripping from my lower abdomen.

Emma: ………… Prince Azel.

Azel: It’s not unpleasant or uncomfortable.

Azel: …You’re different from other women.

Just as he said, Azel didn’t seem uncomfortable at all. In fact, his slightly unfocused gaze seemed to reveal his true feelings.

Azel: I can stop if you’re seriously against it.

(Honestly, I’m scared… but…)

(…If… Azel… doesn’t mind…)

I grabbed Azel's clothes and exhaled as if to release the intense heat within me.

Emma: …Touch… me… please…

-

As soon as we returned to the room, Azel stripped me of my negligee and sat me on the bed, embracing me from behind.

Emma: Gasp... Ah...

The mere act of his palm cupping my breast sent a jolt through my core, and when he pressed against my hardened nipple, my vision blurred to white.

Each time his lips grazed my ear, a sweet nectar overflowed in response, and my whole body trembled as his finger, coated with it, slipped inside me.

Even after all this, the aphrodisiac still lingered in my body, and my hips moved involuntarily, matching the rhythm of his finger swirling within me.

Emma: Nn... ...Aah...

Azel effortlessly supported me as I slumped against him, limp.

Azel: Are you alive?

Emma: Barely... alive...

Azel: That's good to hear.

Azel: Learn from this and never touch those "captivate your beloved" concoctions again.

Azel: Besides, even without using such things––

Azel: ...

Emma: ...Even without?

Azel: Why are you so focused on that part?

Emma: Nn...! Don't touch me th-there... aaah!

He hooked a finger around the sensitive swell, now slick with nectar, and another burst of wicked pleasure exploded from my core.

My breath hitched, hot and ragged, and my consciousness almost drifted off into a dream.

Azel: You make that kind of face too, huh?

Azel: ...I feel like I'm the one who's been ravished, even though I'm the one who attacked you.

(I'm... too scared to ask what kind of face I'm making... but...)

Azel's expression as he gazed at me was so alluring it made my heart ache.

That unexpected, worldly expression, so far removed from his usual sanctity—

Our eyes met, and our lips found each other as if drawn together by an invisible force.

(I've had enough of aphrodisiacs... )

(But if it means I can see that look on your face when you desire me... maybe it's not all bad.)

---

(Suspicious Solicitation)

※ This letter has been sent to all booksellers ※

In Tanzanite, a city overflowing with tourist attractions, bookstores are opening one after another.

With the decline of divination, once a symbolic industry of the nation, the demand for knowledge is on the rise.

Furthermore, the nation is currently offering generous support to foreign booksellers, allowing you to start your business immediately.

Tanzanite is now a dreamland where anyone with the skills of a bookseller can easily become a business owner – an opportunity no one in the trade would want to miss.

So, what do you think? It's piqued your interest, hasn't it? It would be a shame to let this big-money chance slip away.

We are currently offering passage to Tanzanite at a special price.

If you are interested in visiting, please contact us at the address below.

P.S. This letter has been sent to all booksellers. Don't try to investigate this offer with your colleagues out of suspicion.

Also, we don't particularly need you to come quickly, nor do we necessarily want a reply.

Don't misunderstand... Absolutely do not misunderstand.

Azel Radwan

--

FIN

.

.

.

Both Endings Epilogue

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to leave me a tip here or buy me a coffee through the "Leave a Tip" button on my navigation bar!

[bluesidez]

Bless Your Heart | PROLOGUE: SUNKEN EYES

The places our minds can go, the beauty we can see, and the feelings that we, ourselves, can only imagine. Oh, the places your heart will go.

tread lightly ⋆⋆⋆ pregnancy, mentions of pregnancy symptoms (cravings, morning sickness, changes in the body), mentions of food, character death, angst, a bit suggestive

word count ⋆⋆⋆ 2.7k (much thanks to my beta @slushycoookie 💚)

note on the fridge ⋆⋆⋆ I ask that you walk with me here....just walk with me. The prologue is important to get to the next chapter.

next ℧ masrterlist ℧ AO3

Wrap, wrap, wrap, and pull. Wrap and pull, wrap and pull.

Tempest hummed a melody to keep up with the pattern in her lap. Milky brown, light pink, and cream white yarn was all around her.

A friend showed her how to weave the soft material some years ago. She even helped her to start it, but it wasn’t until now that Tempest felt that completing it was her biggest goal.

Her fingers tremble as she holds the crochet needle in her hand, peach nails getting stuck against the string.

“Shit,” she whispers. The ring on her left hand snags against her square, ruining the pattern and her pace.

Slumping back, she drops her head on the seat of the coach, the feeling of the floor bringing her solitude.

Everything has been off.

Just a few weeks ago, she had been fine. Enjoying life, riding through the water with Magenta, eating dill pickles and boiled peanuts, and more importantly, knocking boots with her husband.

It was exhilarating.

Then irritation set in soon after.

Pork rinds never made her wanted to upchuck more than they did three afternoons ago. The smell in the air after opening the plastic was like her uncle clogging up the bathroom during Easter dinner.

She saw a charm with a mama deer cuddling her baby deer and startled the entire jewelry department with how hard she sobbed.

One night, the atmosphere was just right with candlelight and glasses of wine, but one hand on her nipples ruined the mood. It felt like someone or something had been pushing and pulling against her breasts all night.

To top it all off, she felt exhausted. Going to bed as early as 7 PM, waking up far too late to feed the chickens.

It was all too much.

Her last straw was running out on the dinner her husband made for her. Usually, she could muster up a smile and fight her way through the burnt veggies. Last night though, one bite of sour green beans had her tripping over herself to get to the toilet bowl.

He was distraught, one hand rubbing her back and the other holding back her dangling necklaces.

After that, she decided to do what she was avoiding for way too long.

A piece of white and blue plastic laid over a napkin on the bathroom counter. Black ink on the tiniest screen set her heart into motion. A decision of a lifetime sat in the pit of her stomach.

Right now, she felt more comfortable holding the empty trash can over her lap and finding relief.

A tug on the yarn distracts her. Looking down, she smiles at the three-month-old kitten.

“At least you’re having fun, Maple,” Tempest says. She rubs a hand on her kitten’s belly, laughing as she kicks at the yarn. “My happy baby.”

She was as big as ever, putting the stray cats around the farm to shame.

“I hope your Papa is happy.”

Maple paid her no mind, jumping at the string she was shaking above her.

Tempest stayed on the floor, waiting. Her mind was elsewhere as a gameshow panned across the TV screen.

The living room got darker and darker. Maple was curled up on top of her ruined square pattern, huffing big as she slept.

It’s not until she perks up and runs off her lap, squealing with all that she’s got, that Tempest notices that her husband is home.

“Roe!”

She smiles, listening to him fuss at Maple for climbing.

“This damn cat likes to climb me more than the 200 dollar cat tree we bought her.”

He sits on the floor next to his wife, holding Maple in one hand and wrapping around Tempest with the other.

“That would make two of us,” Tempest hummed.

He kissed her, groaning as her thumb pressed against his ear.

Their foreheads touch, and he rubs his nose against hers.

“How are you feeling today?”

“About the same. How was your day?”

“Same old thing. Nothing exciting until I got back here. ‘M more worried about you, though. You gave me a scare yesterday, Roe.”

She closes her eyes and sighs, hands forming loose fists in front of his shirt. Her heart was pounding and the AC wasn’t helping the heat forming over her skin.

“Hey,” he says. He cradles her head in his hand. “Everything ok? You know you can tell me anything.”

“Anything?”

“You were there when I was out on my ass with just a t-shirt covering my closest parts and a rottie on my tail.”

Tempest snickered, “You had no business playing around with those dogs. And they showed out, too.”

“You were also there when I was drunk out of my mind, serenading you in the middle of the night.”

“Almost woke up the entire dorm with The Temptations. How could I forget?”

“And when I lost bareback for the first time. And when Pops almost knocked me into the grave. And when I fought with my brother. And when your family was ready to rough me up-”

“Miguel. I’m pregnant.”

His smile pauses, face shifting as he looks back and forth between Tempest’s eyes.

“What?”

She got up and ran to the bathroom, grabbing her proof. She hands it to Miguel and hugs her legs close.

“I’m…pregnant. I don’t know how far along, but I haven’t been feeling good for a few weeks.”

Miguel reads the test over and over until the lines blur.

“Oh, Hare, I-I know. I know we’re still building our time together. And I still want that for us,” she wipes the tears falling from his face, the ones that match her own. “We’ll figure this out. If you don’t want the baby, we can go somewhere and, and we can make them go away. I’ll be happy as long as you’re happy.”

“But what about you? Do you want the baby?”

Tempest’s lips curl in and out. It feels like he can see right through her.

“Yes, more than anything.”

He pulls her to his lap as soon as she finishes the sentence. Maple jumps on the couch.

“Then, I’m going to be a Daddy.”

Tempest smiles through her tears, laugh bubbling up. Miguel joins in, hands clasping against hers.

“You want to be?”

“No better time than now, Temp. We’ll give ‘em the world.”

“The world and then some.”

Miguel gets up and spins her around, the sound of her laughter louder than the live studio audience over the TV speakers.

“I…I’m gonna be a Daddy!”

Her face hovers over his as she scans his expression.

There was a glow on his skin that she would be soon to match. A fire lighting him up from inside.

“You’re gonna be a Daddy, Guel.”

She’s so beautiful.

Even as she turns her nose up at the plates he brought home, she’s still beautiful.

“These are your favorite!” Miguel holds out meat from a crab leg.

She gags, tears threatening to break free, “And right now they’re making me want to mess up your shoes.”

He takes the meat back and takes a bite. He furrows his brow, “Actually, I don’t even know if they cooked this right.”

“Spit it out.”

She’s so beautiful.

Even as her favorite pants can no longer button up and she’s sprawled out over the bed about to cry, she’s still beautiful.

“I’ll buy you more pants, Roe,” Miguel sighs as he pulls on a different jacket.

“But these ones make my ass look amazing. And I’m bloated.”

“It always looks amazing. You always look amazing. That’s not going to change ‘cause of some denim.”

“But you always end up eating me up like a sundae because of these.”

He pauses, turning to her as she throws an arm to her forehead dramatically.

“If that’s what you wanted,” his jacket is thrown to the floor, “all you had to do was ask.”

She’s so beautiful.

Even as she’s staring at Miguel in disbelief, rubbing a cold towel across his face, she’s still beautiful.

“You’re irritating me right now.”

“When you get sick in the morning, so do I.”

“I didn’t get sick today, Hare.”

“But I did!”

“What are you going to do when this baby catches a cold? Gets a stomach bug? Breaks a bone?”

He turns his head on her lap, face pressed against her barely visible bump.

“Take care of it. Then, come lay in your arms.”

She’s so beautiful.

Even as she nearly jumps through the ceiling when the doctor lays the gel over her stomach, she’s still beautiful.

“I can never get used to that,” Tempest mumbles.

Miguel kisses her head, “You never liked the cold.”

The two of them are holding hands like they’re freefalling on an amusement park ride watching the transducer go over Tempest’s skin.

His heart is drumming so loud against his chest, Miguel almost thinks it’s his baby instead.

“Alright, family. Would you like to hear your baby’s heartbeat?”

“Yes, please.” Miguel can’t help it.

Like the horses galloping across the plains, the sound fills the room.

Tempest shudders out a laugh of relief, of joy, as she leans her cheek on their clasped hands.

“Oh, Miguel. I think that’s the most amazing sound I’ve ever heard.”

He hums in agreement, eyes never leaving the screen.

“Would you all like to know the gender?”

The two nod. Days of wondering have led to this.

The probe moves and Miguel’s thumb moves over the back of Tempest’s hand as a reminder to breathe.

“It looks like a perfectly healthy baby girl!”

Tempest shouts, all of her intuition and old wives’ tales were validated. She’s getting the girl she wanted.

Miguel hopes she looks like Tempest because Tempest is so beautiful.

Even as she crosses off Miguel’s first choices for a name, she’s still beautiful.

“Why don’t you like Mist? It’s us, Roe! Miguel and Tempest. Mist!”

“We are not naming our baby after condensation, Hare. No.”

“With the way you’re going, her initials are going to be GMO. A farmer’s daughter with the initials GMO? A future cowgirl with GMO on the back of her shirt? Really?”

“It could be cute!”

“It could be lethal.”

Tempest huffs, “Well what else do you have?”

He flips a page in his notepad, “Tempel.”

“Like a temple? You know you would hate that. You barely like stepping foot in a church pew”

“Touché,” he drags his pen down the page, “Teguel.”

“Sounds like kegal. Do you want her to get bullied? Do you really want that for our child?”

He laughs, thinking the frown on her face is beautiful.

Even as she sits a package of frosted sugar cookies and ranch on her stomach for dipping, she’s still beautiful.

“This is rancid.”

“I think you mean delicious. I’m gonna try pickles wrapped in Rice Krispies treats next. Oh! And dill pickle chips with strawberry ice cream. I heard that’s the best.”

“And I need to go get these things now?”

“I suggest you do, unless you want to sleep in Magenta’s stall.”

“Yes, honey.”

He thinks she’s beautiful when she hands him the keys to the truck.

Even as he comes running to the bathroom when she yells his name, she’s still beautiful.

There’s an open half a gallon of milk in his hands and his tank is dangling over his shoulders.

“I think she just kicked!”

He’s not sure where the milk lands, but he’s on his knees, hands on Tempest’s stomach in a heartbeat.

He waits and waits, eyes going from her dark skin to her anticipating face.

Then he calls out to her.

“Baby girl, it’s me. It’s Papa!”

Three sharp kicks have Miguel squeezing around Tempest’s legs tight, pressing long kisses where she left an impression.

Tempest runs her fingers through his short hair softly and hugs him close.

“You got milk all over my floor.”

When she directs his mopping from her pregnancy pillow from the bed, he teases her about being beautiful.

Even with her exhausted state, trying to sleep through his soft chords, she’s still beautiful.

“You would think that this would keep her up, and yet, here we are singing lullabies at 2 AM.”

“I’ll keep humming, Roe. You just rest up.”

The timbre of his voice and his fingers sliding across guitar strings warms the chilly bedroom. His back is piled with two quilts while Tempest keeps a thin bed sheet just under her hips.

As she finally sleeps, Miguel thinks she’s beautiful.

Even when she stands in the mirror, taking in every last change to her body, he knows she’s still beautiful.

He stands behind her, rubbing cocoa butter into her skin. He follows the stretch marks up her stomach in awe. They remind him of roots of a tree, intertwining and intricate.

When he finds her face through the glass, she’s glowing. The black finger waves she sported eight months ago have turned into a small, curly fro with hot pink tips.

“You’re gorgeous today, Mama Roe,” Miguel whispers.

“Thank you, baby.”

The two of them cradle her stomach, sinking into the late afternoon. Maple is asleep upside down on an ottoman having tired herself out from chasing butterflies in the grass.

“Are you ready? To be a daddy?”

“Never been more ready. I got my pink hatband and everything.”

Tempest beams, “I guess it don’t get more ready than that, huh? You got your pink spurs, too?”

“You better know it.”

His words tickle her so, she laughs in his arms for what feels like hours.

She’s so…

Beautiful.

With lips like a heart and a sharp cupid’s bow to match. The top lip darker than the bottom and a mouth like a sailor.

Hair so thick, she cuts it off to not deal with it. The finest pixie cut you’ll ever see. Waves curling deeper than the ocean, grown a little and dyed for fun.

Toned thighs and a once hard stomach from pulling stubborn pigs riding horses without a saddle. Low-rise jeans in almost every shade adorned her closet.

Her eyes are like the sun setting in the summer. Warmer in the depth of the night, holding his heart close, leaving him bare. Orange and burnt umber. Somehow, yellow could make it through. Black pupils with nearly white, shining highlights.

Too beautiful.

“Daddy?”

Miguel breathes in sharp, the smell of freshly cut grass cutting his senses.

A monarch lands on a sunflower planted in the rose gold vase and he blinks.

His knees are starting to go numb and the sun is blaring against his back. He reads over the stone one more time.

A heart like no other, A soul that shines bright

Tempest Monroe-O’Hara

Miguel sniffs as a loose strand of hair goes across his cheek and a face slots against the side of his, nearly knocking his hat off. It’s a familiar feeling.

“Almost ready to go?”

“Yeah, Sunshine, I’m almost finished. I promise.”

“Ok, I’m going to wait on the back of the truck!”

She squeezes his neck and runs to the truck bed, not before her little hands grasp his own.

He rubs his hands against his jeans, head ducking as he thinks.

“Every day, she’s growing up to be more and more like you, Roe,” he chuckles. His throat is tight and some spots on his pants go from dark blue to navy. “Impatient as ever.”

He takes off his hat and looks at the embroidery on the inner rim. The once anticipated date staring back at him is not too far off from the sunset on the marble before him. The pink hatband is still intact.

“And she’s just as beautiful.”

The butterfly dances from the flower to his hat, wings slowly expanding and pinching.

“I hope you’re still watching her grow. I hope you’re still watching us and smiling up there.”

A dragonfly lands next to the butterfly, its abdomen shaking swiftly with iridescent wings buzzing away.

“Daddy!” Gabriella yells. “C’mon! We’re going to miss our show!”

The two insects twist together as they fly off, cool and warm colors mixing with the grass. Miguel sees them off until they become miniscule.

“I guess you heard the princess. Can’t miss our show.”

Miguel gets up and places his hat back on his head. He presses a hand from his lips to the top of the stone.

“Te amo, Roe.”

divider by ⋆⋆⋆ rookthornesartistry 💚

 a/n ⋆⋆⋆ If you would like to be on the taglist, sign up here or comment! If you would like to be off the taglist, Ig you can tell me that too 😔.

taglist ⋆⋆⋆ @questionable-behaviour @babygotl01292003 @slushycoookie @calig0sto @ghost-lantern

@tatatida @haveclayeveryday @corpsenightmarebride @samjinxx @earth2fae

@maiyart @feergrh32 @darkstarlight82 @ladysimp @vmpz8sauceee

@leonsbimbogf @unwrittenletter @madeofstar-dust @leoeloo @just-simpins-blog

@poisamm @thequeenreaders @tinybirdhideout @aly29a2001 @mimi-sanisanidiot

@tojishugetiddies @pigeonmama @av3da @prettygirleli @koikohib

@jayskookies @snails-doodles22 @xo-zeze @planetxella @thedevax

@f1-hoff @stressed-cherry @pigeonmama @mozella @appledressing

@woahhajime @vicravluv @xodeity @somniasworld @obsessgurlll

@starboygf @undf-stuff @bmoplanet @alexxavicry @kaioaiks

[norizz-nation]

Pierre gasly smut with Leclerc!sister reader

Just imagine Charles is suspicious that his sister is seeing someone but he doesn’t know that it’s his childhood best friend is fucking his little sister.

Thats a great thought girl 🤌🏼

Craving each other 🩵

Summary: your brother, charles visited you after a long time and you forgot to hide the stuffs that belonged to your boyfriend, also your brother's best friend, pierre

Warnings: nsfw, 18+, slut shaming

It was a beautiful warm morning. You woke up by the feeling of pierre's arms around your waist as he snuggled his nose on the back of your neck. You smiled softly, your eyes still closed as you tried to get up. But pierre just wrapped his arms around your waist tightly, pushing his hips to meet yours. "Mm stay a little longer" he said with his sleepy voice.

You just smiled at him and rolled over so you were facing him. Legs tangled with each other. "But i have to get up. You know that baby" you said softly, caressing his face. "Please just 5 more minutes like this" he said, pouting his lips a little. You giggled and brushed his soft hair, kissing his forehead.

After cuddling and kissing for a while, you got up and went to the bathroom. You were watching tiktok while brushing your teeth and you rolled your eyes when you saw an incoming call from your brother, charles. You answered it after it rang 2 times. “Hey! Y/n where are you?” Your brother asked, sounding pretty excited. “Home” you said, sounding annoyed. “Well thats great because im coming to see you!” He said. Your heart started beating faster. “What- when?” You asked hoping he will say that after a long while or something. “Oh im almost 15 minutes away right now” your brother said and you immediately cut the call after saying a quick “okay”

Oh my god. What are you gonna do? Pierre is literally here. If charles finds out, he will kill pierre for dating his little sister.

You rushed back to your room as you clapped your hands to get pierre’s attention since he was half asleep. “Whats wrong love?” He asked. “Get up get up!” You said, hasting. As you collected all of pierre’s things and shoving it in his bag. “Why? What happened?” Pierre asked looking at you confusingly. “Charles is gonna be here. At any moment! Leave before he finds you here” you said as you continued to pack.

You let out a sigh, after finishing packing his bag. When you looked at pierre, you saw that he was still in bed. “Pierre get up! Im serious, you know charles better. You know how he will react” you said as you crossed your arms. Pierre just giggled and got up. Wearing his t-shirt as he came close to you. “Dont stress that much sweetheart” he said as he kissed your head and you closed your eyes, feeling soft in his touch.

“I’ll let you know when he leaves” you said as pierre looked down at you, adoring you so much that his face was screaming it. “Okay baby” he said as he left and you locked the door.

You rechecked the whole house again. Scanning every corner.

Nothing in the kitchen. Nothing in your bedroom. Nothing on the couch. Nothing.

You let out a relieved sigh as you waited for your brother to come home. You heard the bell ring and rushed to the door. “Hey charles!” You said as your smile grew bigger. He then hugged you tightly saying “oh i missed you so much” and you smiled softly. “Me too” you said as you closed the door. “I need to use the bathroom tho” he said as you chuckled. “Go! Dont ruin my floor” you said laughing.

“Y/n, why do you have men’s face wash in your bathroom?” Charles asked as your blood went cold. He then peaked his head out from your bathroom and looked at you, as you were sitting on the edge of the bed. “I uh bought it for you, since you were gonna come visit me” you said as you smiled nervously. “Then why is it half used, there’s only a bit left in there” he said as he showed you the face wash.

Fuck. Fuck!

You bit the inside of your cheeks as you gulped. You were about to say something but your brother cut you off. “Dont lie now. Youre dating someone, i get it” he said as you looked down on the ground. Trying to avoid eye contact.

The next few hours with him was pretty awkward. You were just hoping for him to leave. The only good thing is that he didn’t know it was pierre’s.

You let out a soft breath as you saw your brother walk away. You closed the door and stood there for a moment. Trying to feel less stressed. You then got your phone out of your pocket and went to pierre’s chat.

Come back home pierre, your best friend left.

You saw your text was immediately on read and closed your phone. You then took a nice bath and did your skincare. When pierre came home you felt all your stress go away. Your face lit up as soon as you saw him.

Dating pierre includes kisses and cuddles and fucking at any hour. You both craved for each other’s touch so much. There’s too many nights where you were on your knees for him. Taking him like a good girl. Filling your mouth with his cum. Swallowing it like a good girl.

“Charles was about to find out that im dating you” you said as you looked up at him. He smirked and brushed your hair, as he adored how you were on your knees right now. “Poor him” he said as his voice sounded deep. “Do you want me to take a photo of yours right now and show it to him? Show him whose little slut you are?” He asked smirking devilishly. You shook your head saying “no please” you pleaded as your cheeks went red from the temptation you were feeling. “Thats my good girl” he said patting your head. “Now lets see how well your pretty little mouth can take me” he said as he unzipped his pants and you already sticked your tongue out, smiling up at him with stars in your eyes.

A/N: requests are open! feel free to ask what you want me to write! luv you ❤️

[peri-helia]

Ichor

A ficlet that's been in my drafts for...anyway a fic about love, immortality and soup.

Nile shatters when the bowl does.

She’s clearing the plates from lunch, some gorgeous paella Nicky had whipped up to capture the sun drenched streets of Madrid, when it falls off the countertop and shatters on the tiles. It’s her own stupid fault, she’d been trying to get lost in her headphones, imagining she was at the heart of the crowd and feeling like she was a part of something again, instead of standing fifteen feet away from every other person in existence.

She’s seen the cavalier way the others handle historical artefacts for the simple fact that they’re not artefacts or priceless antiquities when they’re something you’ve used and bought for years, no matter how long ago that was.

Andy kept a Rodin in a cave for Christ’s sake.

And Nile’s spilling hot tears over a fucking bowl that is clearly 21st century.

It’s probably from IKEA for fucks sake. God, now she’s having visions of Andy, Joe and Nicky strolling round IKEA picking dishes and sitting on the floor trying to work out if they’ve got all the screws to build a dresser, which is just fucking surreal.

Christ.

It makes her snort laughing, which only makes her cry harder because there’s no one to tell. There’s no-one she can side-eye as if to say ‘do you see this?’ Like Jay. Or Dizzy. Or her brother. There’s no-one her age around or with her life experience or –or – no-one she’ll ever really –

The world shrinks to the desolate breadth of Nile’s ribs as she tries to catch her breath, as she tries to settle, one of her earbuds still blaring music, the blue bowl in jigsaw pieces around her. God it’s scattered so far, she can see pieces across the floor by the doorway to the tiny bathroom that never heats up and under the fridge, shards still rocking gently with the force of the fall.

“Nile?”

“Nile!”

Joe and Nicky call down the corridor, casual and then cautious. Because all they’d heard was a bowl drop and then gasping. It could be anything, given the way they live. It could be Goussainville.

Oh God, right.  The world rushes in, judgemental and disrupted and Nile slips to her knees, starts gingerly trying to pick the pieces. She keeps her face to the floor when she hears Joe and Nicky stop, hears the guns go away.

“I’m sorry – I dropped a bowl, it was stupid”

A teardrop falls traitorously onto the tile, as if Nile’s voice, thick and stilting wasn’t enough of a giveaway.

“Nile?” Joe asks, stepping closer. Out of the corner of her eye, Nile sees his boot nudge a piece of ceramic.

“It’s fine” she waves a frantic hand at them, “I can do this”

They all know she’s not talking about the goddamned bowl.

“Nile” Nicky’s gentle lilt steps in, his hand sliding into her vision, palm up. There’s the odd scar there, knicks and scrapes from a thousand years ago. The lines of his palm heavy. She’d done some palm reading one night, with a girlfriend years ago. Heart line. Line of life. Nicky’s curves from his thumb to the beginning of his wrist, starting off almost delicate and spidery and then thickening. She can’t see the end. Her ex hadn’t been able to find the end of hers either.  

Another tear falls. Nicky catches it in his palm.

“Ah, cara,” And Nile jumps. Her Italian is still rudimentary but when you have two people talking to you in it all day you start to get it and she knows what that means. She can feel the warmth of him, Nicky’s always so warm, they both are. “You do not have to do this alone”

Nile takes his hands, fingers grasping his wrists, letting him take the weight as they stand up, “Careful, here” Nicky gently directs her steps, until he’s led her back to the doorway. Joe’s hands replace his husband’s, reaching out for her.

Nile clings to him blindly, the need to not feel alone burning through the distant haze of shame that she has shattered so easily. Joe says something to Nicky, but Nile doesn’t catch it, too exhausted and burnt through to care.

There’s the couch, and then the hot sweet tea Joe buys for Nicky being pressed into her hands. She tries to quiet her sobs but that just makes them more obvious, ripping through the room loud and shuddering. Maybe it’s the shock, at long last. Nicky is the one who sits beside her in the end. He doesn’t say anything, mercifully, just sits beside her. Joe gently squeezes her shoulder and retreats to somewhere unknown.

“Fuck – sorry” she coughs, sipping at the tea and resolutely trying to stop thinking about it, about this pain that’s suddenly clawing at her chest, at her heart, that her knowledge of what she’d thought the world was had shattered as readily as that bowl, that this can’t be fixed, that it’ll never be the same again, never, never.

The tears flow faster. Nile cries. She cries for her family, for her friends, for Joe and Nicky who as far as she can see love life and people still after a thousand years, who still go out into the darkness even though it might cost them the one thing they cannot live without. For Booker and all that he’s lost, for Andy whose had the one thing that’s stayed constant finally ripped away from her and then had Booker be the one to put them all in their worst nightmare, and Quynh, God, poor fucking Quynh…and she cries for herself. 

She’s kind of forgotten Nicky’s there, in all honesty. Like there’s the weight of him next to her on the sofa, but that’s about as much as she registers. She lifts the cup to her lips and then realises there’s nothing left in it to drink.

“Oh”

“Finished?” and Nicky, God bless him, his voice is as it was in Goussainville when he’d shown here where to sleep, and given her a toothbrush and a towel of all things. Quiet, that lilt that’s light but not bright, just conversational. As if her heart breaking all over the sofa is normal. He takes the cup away, just stretches to deposit it on the carpet and Nile reaches out a hand to steady him, even though the worst thing would be he might accidentally overbalance and slip onto the floor.

His smile widens and when he shuffles back onto the sofa proper, he gently covers her hand with his on his bicep, squeezing gently once. “Thank you, Nile.”

Nile kind of blinks, because all she’d done was – not that much at all, really, but she smiles back and then wipes at her eyes, the tears lingering there. Nicky squeezes her hand again.

“Ya amar? Nile, habibti? Will you come here, please?”

They turn together at Joe’s voice and drift outside to the weed-filled yard, with its brass water tap and assortment of several lifetimes junk. There’s a little potting shed of sorts filled with firewood and Booker’s inks and plastic explosive. Leaning against the old sandstone wall is a worn table, where Nile can see Joe’s laid the shattered pieces of her bowl.

There’s tubes and brushes laid out, with a battered dining chair and a low stool.

Nile’s just forming the words to ask, when Joe smiles, and says “Kintsugi”

It’s so not what she was expecting that Nile laughs aloud, “Really?” she brushes a hand over the shattered ceramic.

“Really, really” he grins back, pleased to have made her laugh.

Over the next hour, they walk her through how to repair through kintsugi; gently applying the urushi lacquer, dusting the gold powder over it and she watches raptly as the bowl comes back to life, threaded through with veins of gold.

We may not have all the answers, but we do have purpose.

Joe slides the bowl, reformed back over the smooth, worn wood of the tabletop towards her. Nicky comes striding out with dinner and doesn’t even hesitate, pouring minestrone soup straight into it in one smooth motion.

It holds. The dishes are scraped clean. The soup is perfect – hot and tomatoey, with crunchy celery and just a bit too much pepper, exactly as she likes.

Thank you,” she breathes out, the tension having seeped from her shoulders long since, her face tight with dried tears. She’s not talking about the bowl.

And Joe and Nicky just smile, warm and golden.

“It’s what we’re here for”

Yeah. Yeah it is.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part Two

Part One

Eddie sits in his van, and he cries about it. He cries so much the already tangled mess of yarn in his hands becomes nothing but a colourful blur. He knows a lot of this is hormones; his neglected Omega falling further and further into depression.

If he neglects his Omega much more, another heat spent alone might actually kill him. Eddie vaguely recognises he's far enough gone that simply not waking up one day sounds kind of nice.

He bought the most expensive yarn he could afford. He knew it wasn't good enough for a pups blanket, but he just couldn't afford the nicer stuff. Yarn is fucking expensive.

So yeah, he got the cheaper stuff, attracted to the colours as much as anything, even knowing he'd have to double it over to make it thick enough to knit. And that was how the trouble started because doubling it over meant unspooling the whole thing.

And now it's just another thing Eddie has fucked up.

He's not a good Omega, he knows that, he's been told it his entire life; too brash, too loud, too imaginative, not good at cooking and cleaning and organising and all the stuff Omega are supposed to naturally be good at.

Which if he didn't care, then it wouldn't matter, but Eddie wants a pup. Wants one like it's a burning urge inside him. Wants to carry one, wants to make another person who's a part of him. His Omega whines and whines and whines and Eddie wants it. Wants it enough that he tries to be a good Omega; he just always fucks it up.

And that makes it so much worse.

Some of the Omega in senior year are already mated, already walking around with bites proudly displayed on their necks. Fancy Omega with good breeding and nice families who have chosen Alphas for them. Which, sure, Eddie's not sure he'd like to have an Alpha picked for him, but to have a pup of his own? Eddie would put up with a lot.

One girl is already pregnant, everyone congratulating her and celebrating with her; as soon as she started to show Eddie found he couldn't even look at her any more, the envy was eating him alive.

But it'll never be for him.

They're supposed to make pup blankets in Omega class and Eddie can't even afford the fluffy yarn. He's already failed.

And then Eddie nearly shits himself when someone bangs on the driver side window. He's been ugly crying, and he tries to wipe his eyes and snotty nose to see who it is, winding the window down. Steve Harrington; fucking wonderful.

"Hey, man, look, are you, okay?"

"Fine," Eddie answers, clearly not at all fine, one hand smeared in snot and the other wound so tight in the fucked up yarn his fingers are turning white.

Steve sees it, "do you, want a hand with that?"

"I don't think there's any saving it." Eddie says, defeated, but it was unexpectedly decent of Harrington to offer so he tacks on, "thanks."

"I was just here, late, you know, shooting some practice hoops, maybe if we go in the gym we could spread it out, maybe?"

Eddie just stares at him for a minute, because this is the nicest anyone's been to Eddie for ages and it's coming from and Alpha which just makes it that much worse so Eddie just...nods. Finds himself following Harrington into the gym.

They work in silence for a while, and at Steve's suggestion, they do end up cutting the yarn once to make it easier.

"Thankyou."

"No worries man, I knew we could do it, what's it for?"

"Omega studies," Eddie mumbles at the gym floor, "pup blanket"

"Ah, right, that's cool, Why'd you pick it? I like the colours."

And in what universe is Steve Harrington making idle conversation with Eddie Munson, "was all I could afford," Eddie admits, shame faced.

"They make you buy it?" Steve's frowning, "even though it's for a grade?"

Eddie just nods, and then shrugs.

"Oh, well what did your Alpha think?"

Eddie snorts, can't help it, the ridiculousness of it, "I don't have an Alpha," Eddie declares, much more loudly than he'd really ment to.

"Oh. I just figured...I mean you're so pretty. You must get plenty of offers."

Eddie just...stares at Steve. He must have fallen and hit his head, surely. It's the only explanation for what's happening here, Eddie laughs again, "sure, if I want to get on my knees in the bathroom." Which is true, Eddie gets plenty of offers, just not any he'd like to participate in. He's going to loose his virginity to an Alpha who cares for him, in a nest that Alpha built, even if it kills him.

Which it just might, if he goes through another heat alone. He sees the way Wayne looks at him, the worry in his eyes. He knows he's not well, but he's just going to ignore it. There's nothing else to be done.

"Oh," Steve says, he looks uncomfortable but then he ploughs on anyway, "you do smell...well, I...I can tell you're maybe not doing so hot."

Great. Time for Eddie to fucking bail on this. He's hit his limit on Steve Harrington pity for the day.

It's the next day when Eddie finds a paper bag hanging from the windshield of his van. There's five skeins of yarn inside; dark blue, a little sparkly, and the softest thing Eddie's ever felt. He looks around to see who could have done this; across the car park Steve Harrington gives him a shy, two finger wave.

[irisintheafterglow]

volleyball player bf!suguru never lets you drive anywhere. ever.

the silver volleyball charm clinks against the rest of the items swinging tauntingly above your head. it was the charm you bought him while your family was off on vacation, and now you were silently cursing the recipient's stubbornness.

"give me the fucking- what the hell are you doing?" curse him and his unnaturally long limbs. you jab a finger at his torso, colliding with immovable ab muscle; he doesn't even flinch, continuing to hold the keys just out of reach. your arm swings hopelessly back and forth, trying to hook a finger onto the keyring. it'd been about six minutes, you guessed, since you were supposed to leave with suguru to meet satoru and shoko at the restaurant. you could already imagine the melodrama of having satoru be the one to ask for a table for four. "babe, please give me the-"

"nope. get in," he states evenly with the slightest raise of his eyebrows. with one hand, he dangles the keys and opens the passenger side door with the other.

"we're gonna be late."

"you better get your sexy ass in the car, then, my distinguished president." he tries to keep his voice stoic and fails miserably, a smirk sneaking its way onto his face. "i'm driving."

"i said i would drive."

"and who's holding the keys?" you roll your eyes and poke his side again, but his resolve is unwavering. his head tilts toward the open side door again. "c'mon, we gotta go."

"you really don't need to do all of this anymore," you concede before stepping into the vehicle.

"yeah, but i still want to," he replies before shutting the door. his pretty mouth quirks in satisfaction and he arrogantly spins the keys on his finger while he walks around the front of the car, sliding into the driver's seat next to you. his bicep flexes next to your ear as he backs out of the driveway of your apartment complex. when he's on the road, his hand finds your thigh and unconsciously rubs circles on your skin with his thumb. despite the affection, your irritation is obvious.

"you mad at me?"

"not mad," you mutter, "just annoyed."

"that i'm driving?"

"that you insist on driving even though i got my license months ago. it's like... you don't trust me." you shrug and stare back out at the blurry cityscape passing by. he exhales deeply and you hear the tiniest "shit" from beside you. his hand leaves your thigh to drag it over his face guiltily before returning to the wheel.

"you know why i insist on driving you everywhere, right?" you nod. even before he officially became your boyfriend, suguru was asking if you needed a ride to a conference or event after just knowing you for a few weeks. he's always on time, always meets you at the door, always waits on your bedroom floor if you're still getting ready. watching you prepare for a date, he said, was one of his favorite things in the world.

"because you're used to it." your face starts to burn in shame, embarrassment rising at the memory of everyone around you having their license while you just kept failing over and over and over. it was even harder and took much longer to explain why you didn't like driving in the first place, how being behind the wheel was a level of responsibility you still weren't sure how to handle. how pathetic, being the administrative head of all the student activities in your school and yet you still needed your parents to give you a ride. it was the biggest weight on your shoulders, feeling like a burden to everybody else, but suguru was adamant that he didn't mind.

"because i want to do it. i never wanna have you worrying about needing a ride or driving somewhere ever again." his eyes shine in the fading afternoon sun, soft and tender as his voice. "you're too incredible to be worrying about shit like that, so let me take care of it. let me take care of you."

"i love you...more than anything."

"i love you too, babe."

"even though you cart me around everywhere?"

"especially because you let me cart you around everywhere," he winks. i'm gonna marry you someday, geto suguru. "can you let satoru know we're almost there and for him to grab a table if he hasn't already?" you chuckle at his earnestness and he raises an eyebrow in question.

"you have too much faith in him, su." his mouth falls open in exasperation and you have to push his face back to focus on the road.

"he hasn't left yet? we said 6:00!" he huffs, blowing a strand of hair from his forehead only for it to fall back into place. your fingers gently brush it away and tuck it behind his ear.

"he runs on satoru time, what do you expect?"

"whoever let him get behind a wheel needs their sanity checked," he concludes as he pulls into a spot and you're trying to stifle your giggles. "whatever," he sighs in defeat.

"it's okay. just gives you more time to keep showing how much you love me."

driving people is a love language, argue with the wall but anyway hope you enjoyed

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

[caramelcleopatraa]

WORKOUT

word count: 801

x: typed this out in a couple of hours because I saw these pictures and imagined Roman working out in the outdoor gym and just started writing whatever came to my mind (not proofread) Enjoy this impulsive imagine.

content: 18+ mdni, established relationship, Roman Reigns x reader, Exhibitionism/Vouyerism, doggystyle, (sorta) public

He bought an Airbnb for you two after losing his championship title. Time to get away from the rush of it all. So, you two escaped and went to Miami, enjoying quality time alone in the house, or eating high end food in sparkling restaurants. The house was beautiful in itself. The exposing windows that separated the modern house from the outside. A mix of beige, black, and green. Decorative trees and bushes sprinkled around the house, complimenting the beige and black interior. The house had everything. Multiple bedrooms and bathrooms, a spacious pool with beautiful greenery surrounding it, and an outdoor gym overlooking the water and other modern houses in the distance. Of course, The outdoor gym was his favorite part of the house. And you reeked of the benefits. Watching his beautiful face contort as he pushed through different exercises. His warm caramel skin shining brighter with the sun’s help. You never thought that you would find yourself using the outdoor gym equipment. Except for today, grabbing onto the stable black bar while you and Roman engaged in a…. different type of workout.

“Mhm that ass so damn fat, making me feel so fucking good baby.” Your hand was starting to hurt from how tight you were grabbing onto the gym equipment. Your other arm was no help, being held behind you by your samoan lover. Soo, you wouldn't have to worry about grabbing on to the bar, because your other arm would be held behind you as well. Usually, you shied away from doing sexual acts in public, but he looks so sexy working out, you forgot to have shame while he fucked you stupid. Neither did you try to find shame because of the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you. 

Your nails scratched at his forearms, yelling his favorite names in that sweet honey voice that hypnotized him into doing anything for you. “Ooohh~ shit! You’re fucking me so good!” The sight of his woman high off pleasure because of him gave him indescribable feelings of pride and happiness. “My baby so nasty, fuckk- keep talking to me mama,” Roman purred, burying himself deeper in your pussy, marveling at the wetness. Your legs were turning into jelly from his sudden slow and methodical, but forceful strokes. You needed more than that though. “Faster Roman…” His silence let you know what you needed to do. You knew that you would have to beg him to get what you wanted. “Daddy please stop playing! Fuck me for real!” But he didn’t give you any time to catch your breath, pulling you closer to his body by your torso and kissing you. He walked you closer to the edge, giving both of you a better view of the houses around you. But that also gave them a better view of you. 

“Ask me correctly.” “Baby, they can see us.” He held you tight against him, slyly slipping his thick hand between your thighs to rub your clit. “Let them see how good I’m fucking you. Ask daddy again.” You let out a heavy breath before saying, “P-please fuck me daddy. I need it so bad.” As much as he liked to tease you, he needed it as much as you did. Your arms were held behind your back again, but he submerged himself in the crook of your neck, talking you through it while sliding his dick back into you. Welcomed by the warmth and tightness he always missed when he pulled out of you. “That pussy feels so fucking good baby. You this wet because of me, huh?” You couldn’t respond before he started fucking you again. Your mouth fell agape, moaning like crazy. “Mhm, let ‘em hear. Let them hear how good I’m fucking this pussy.” His breath on your neck, his hold on you body, the way he fucked you, it made you dizzy. Your mind was going blank, and your knees were going weak, trying your best to communicate to him that you were going to cum without stuttering. “Daddy! Ugh shiit! Please let me cum.” “Go ahead mama, cum for me.” He held you up while you collapsed in his arms, legs shaking, eyes rolled back, screaming his name a couple more times while saying, “I’m coming!” as well. Your moans meshed with his deep grunts and groans, coming deep inside of you with some final thrusts, jerking your body forward. You could feel his chest rising and falling against your back. You grabbed the back of his neck, relaxing into his hold, sweaty and satisfied, close to your man. “Best workout you ever had huh?” He laughs at your joke, but doesn’t let you get the last word. “Just wait until after our date tonight sweetheart. You won’t ever need to hit the gym again.”

🏷️ tags :) @reignsboy19 @2-muchsauce @theninthwonder @harmshake @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @alyyaanna @empressdede @badbitchcentralinc @christinabae @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @cyberdejos2 @murrylove @sassginaswanmills @pixiedust4000

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine helping Benn get away to see a 'friend'

Benn: *trying to slip off the ship during dinner for the third night in a row*

Shanks: *notices he's gone almost immediately* Where's Beck?

Lucky Roux: *counting the money Benn bribed him with to keep quiet* I dunno

Shanks: *Runs out on deck to find Benn trying to sneak over the side of the bot* Where we going?

Benn: we aren't going anywhere, I'm going to port by myself.

Shanks: You're leaving the crew! *Starts to tear up*

The crew: *piles out when they hear Shanks' caterwauling* You're leaving! Without even saying goodbye!

Benn: I'm just leaving for the night, not forever...*realizes no one is listening to him* oh my gods, FINE! Fine, I'm not going anywhere.

Crew: *cheers as they herd Benn back into the mess hall*

An hour later

Benn: *finally manages to claw his way out of the impromptu game night to take a breather out on deck*

You: *watches him lean on the railing, trying to light night cigarette* Need a light?

Benn: *jumps in surprise and drops his lighter into the bay* You scared the shit outta me!

You: *hands him your lighter and leans against the railing*, so why were you trying to sneak off?

Benn: what's it to you?

You: maybe I could help if you have a good reason.

Benn: I wanted to go see a friend I always hook up with when we make port here. She knows I'm a pirate, but not what crew I'm apart of.

You: and you don't want us to meet her? Are you shamed of us?

Benn: *no hesitation* very...Nah, nah, it's just she's a sweet gal and rather timid.

You: and you think she'll be scared off when she finds out you're the emotional support idiot to one of the four emperors?

Benn: yes...Wait, I'm no one's emotional support idiot.

You: In order to stop Shanks from pouting you had to let him curl up in your lap.

Benn: so?

You: You looked like you were burping him, like a baby, when he's a whole ass grown man.

Benn: *purses his lips because he knows you're right, so he elects not to respond*

You: Anyway, you want help sneaking out?

Benn: No offense rookie, but I don't think you can help me. They're a group of seasoned pirates, and you.... You've only been in this life for what? Three years?

You: You're forgetting that they're also just a bunch of dudes who are children at heart.

Benn: what are you getting at?

You: What I'm saying is sneaking out will cost you.

Benn: how much?

You: Take me shopping tomorrow and we'll find out.

The next night

Benn: There's no way this is gonna work.

You: Boys! Benn bought you some stuff! *Presents them with a 10,000 + piece Lego set of the Red Force (I'm making Legos cannon for a plot device), a dial set of Uta's newest album, and twenty barrels of booze*

The Crew: *move like a wave, taking up the gifts*

Shanks: What brought this on?

Benn: Just thought we could use a new activity for tonight, you've all been working so hard lately and all.

Thirty minutes later

The crew: *absorbed in sorting Lego pieces and reading the instruction manual*

Benn: *also absorbed*

You: *elbows him* aren't you trying to get laid?

Benn: but Legos.

You: You really gonna pick Legos over pussy?

Benn: but what if they finish it without me?

You: I'll make it have an accident, so they have to start all over. Now get out of here.

Benn: I can't believe that your plan worked.

You: yeah yeah, get outta here before they notice you're gone

Benn: You're the best *kisses your forehead and flings himself off the side of the ship*

Support me on Kofi and Patreon

List of Up-and-coming works

[astro-ellie]

thinking about being ellie’s best friend and her being hopelessly in love with you. it’s painfully obvious to everyone around her, the way she looks at you, the way her body leans into yours subconsciously whenever you’re near. ellie is smitten, and she has been for quite a while. such a shame she can’t muster up the courage to tell you. she’s learnt to deal with it all though.

there are many instances when ellie’s feelings go from being manageable to overbearing, but they’re always over quickly so she just tries to suck it up and move on. she tries to suck it up and push the eruption of butterflies in her stomach to the back of her mind, tries to push the feeling of tingles spreading through her body, tries to push the warm and fuzzy way her chest starts feeling to the back of her mind.

some days it’s easy, some days it’s harder than others. today is one of those days, one of those days ellie struggles to remember that you’re her best friend and that she has to hold herself back from leaning forward and kissing you. i yeah, it’s one of those days today.

you’re having a private haul for ellie, showing her your newly bought dresses and bikinis for the summer. you’re pretending to be a runway model, doing a dramatic and sassy walk up and down the small space in your bedroom as if you were really a model showing of some fancy designer’s new clothing line. you’re trying to be funny, stopping when you get close to ellie who’s sitting on the edge of your bed and doing a slow 180-turn to show of the back.

ellie’s not focused on your attempt at being funny though, no, she’s more focused on your skimpy dresses and even skimpier bikinis. she can’t rip her eyes off your body, and she’s scared that you’ll hear the loud sound of her heart beating hard against her chest, or that you’ll hear how loud she’s breathing. if you do, the secret is out, you’ll know. you’ll know that ellie has the hots for you. you’ll know your pathetic best friend is in love with you, and you’ll know how gross she gets about your body.

even though it feels like ellie might pass out from the stress, she keeps on looking at you. she watches you with every step you take, she watches even harder when you turn around and give her a show of your backside. her hands are clammy, throat dry, and she’s starting to feel the wetness pool in her boxers just by imagining getting to slip down the straps of your bikini top down your shoulders, pull your bikini bottoms to the side.

ellie’s thinking about you laying outside and sunbathing in her backyard in one of those bikinis, her coming outside with two glasses of lemonade, you asking her if she could please help you reapply some sunscreen. ellie rubbing her hands over your naked back, you having already untied your bikini in the back. she’s thinking about how it would be if she slipped her hands lower and lower, until she was right at the edge of your bottoms, telling you she just wants to make sure she rubs the sunscreen everywhere.

yeah, ellie’s fantasies is enough to make her mouth dry and her thighs press together uncomfortably. the normal ellie hopes you don’t notice it, hope you don’t pick up on what’s going on with her while you’re strutting around half naked in those swimsuits. the gross ellie, the dirty ellie wishes you’d notice it and do something about it. ellie wishes that you’d notice and take the first step, maybe sit down in her lap and play with her hair, she wishes you’d take the first step so she doesn’t have to.

if you’d take the first step, if you could look at her like she’s looking at you now, not only would ellie’s heart feel full- she’d also maybe, maybe, be able to ask you for some relief. the stickiness is starting to feel uncomfortable, and ellie’s fingers are twitching in desperation to do something about the heat of pleasure forming in her lower regions. god, who could have thought that you showing off your latest findings from the mall would make her feel like this?

“ellie, are you even paying attention to me?”