#but I’m pretty comfortable with the experience so far

[quins-makeshift-menagerie]

I don’t mean to offend but does being pregnant make you feel dysphoric in any way?

No worries, Anon!

I’ve felt a lot of things but I don’t think dysphoric has been one of them lol Honestly I can’t say I’ve felt any dysphoria throughout this whole thing so I’m taking that as a win >:D

[deathsmallcaps]

I need advice.

I’m a white intern working in a mostly white southern(ish) high school. Students of Color number at under 2%, perhaps even lower. It’s a very white, rural community - I grew up in a fairly mixed, suburban northern community, and part of my family is Black.

Several of my white students say rude things to my Students of Color. I’ve told them to knock it off *as appropriately as I can* but I’m probably one of the few adults that actively discourage that behavior.

I don’t want to let this shit fly under the radar, but I also know that if an adult of authority *who will only be here for a couple more weeks* interferes, and then doesn’t stick around, it could make things worse. Additionally, I know these kids are probably very very very used to this ‘system’ and that making a short-term change could be more harmful than helpful.

I asked one of my senior students after a very racist incident *where she was laughing along with the perpetrator but I told him to stop anyway* that I can move him, or her, so she could be more comfortable (admin either does nothing or slaps wrists, especially for seniors). She said it was fine and that he was always like that.

I must emphasize, I think they were bantering (they talk so much I think they consider each other friends?), but it was also wayyy fucking out of line, especially in a school setting. And the guy says so much out of line shit I’m surprised he isn’t rocking a full set of dentures to replace the teeth he ought to have lost by now.

Another student took me up on my offer to move people, but I ended up moving him, which sucks because he was the victim in this situation. Unfortunately, I have to keep his aggressors in their spots, as they are highly rowdy in all the ways and require a lot more supervision than he did. And the class is really full. These were also all freshmen, so I wouldn’t be surprised if that affected the victim’s reaction.

So I’d really appreciate advice as to whether I should let it be, or continue as is, or step it up even more, from People of Color in largely white, especially rural, communities. Like any advice from current or previous educators, especially Educators of Color would be appreciated, but specifically southern/rural ones would be wonderful. I’m going to talk to my family members about it, but they’ve lived in more Northern settings their entire lives and they may have less … applicable (?) experience to the situation.

Again, I’m an intern, I’m going to only be there until winter break 2024, and I don’t want to fuck things up for these kids in the long run with my northern ally ‘sensibilities’. Thank you!

[yieldtotemptation]

NOVEMBER ft. Somi

somi x male reader smut

9k words

"It's this challenge I'm doing. One whole month—thirty days—without having an orgasm," you're explaining, failing spectacularly at keeping things professional. Something possesses you to add: "No nutting. Hence the name."

Somi just stares at you. Flabbergasted.

Leans forward, elbows on her knees, chin in her palms; tearing your entire existence apart with her eyes.

"Can I just say, and I genuinely mean this in the nicest way possible—but that’s the stupidest fucking idea I’ve ever heard."

—

Here's the conclusion you've arrived at from the one hour you've spent with her: Jeon Somi is some kind of demon.

It’s not a joke, it’s not some painterly metaphor you’re drawing—Somi has clawed her way out from the depths with nothing but a ponytail and an alarmingly tight pair of leggings; arriving on Earth, in the flesh, to make your life a living, breathing, sweat-drenched hell.

So, yeah.

Somi, the succubus. Or something close to that.

It's the only explanation for it really.

See, you're a photographer. Of women, specifically.

Beautiful women in intimate settings, sparse aesthetics. That’s your whole deal. Just homing in on the subject, capturing something ‘real’ without any distractions. Get the essence of who they are when there’s no one looking.

Pretentious, sure, but it’s what’s kept you in demand with the glossy magazines and the avant-garde galleries and the starlets desperate to convince the public that they’re more than just the pretty robots their agencies have programmed them to be.

So, suffice to say, you've met all the types.

The innocent idols that need a mountain of coaxing to come out of their shells. The stone-cold divas that barely acknowledge your existence, yet somehow still expect you to anticipate their every demand. And the flirts, willing to do just about anything for the camera with a wink and a nudge, if it means getting an edge on the rest of the industry.

But Somi? She just is.

Pure temptation incarnate, from head to toe, without even trying. Thighs that threaten to strangle your self-control, a waist that makes sinners out of saints, tits that would have physicists reconsidering the very nature of gravity, all topped by a dangerous smile that could melt a fucking igloo with its sheer wattage.

Somi’s hot.

She knows it, the world knows it, the public crucifies her for it. And she just takes it all, all of it. Melts it all together and forges it into armour.

And now she’s here, in your private space. None of the usual entourage of make-up artists, managers, whatever. Just herself and an absurdly sweet frappé. Looking so comfortable that it’s making you feel like you’re intruding.

She’s leaning on your table, ass flush against the wood, arms crossed, and her eyes—those fathomless dark pools—land on yours, holding them hostage.

Barely has to make any effort when she laces her words together, piles on an unhealthy dose of insinuation, cocks an eyebrow and asks—“So, how do you want me?”

Naked, preferably. On all fours, ass to the sky. Or maybe on her knees, mouth hanging open, tongue out, elbows squeezed together to make her tits sing.

Yeah, you're already composing the perfect shot in your head.

Fuck.

You rub your eyes. Maybe thirty days of self-imposed abstinence has finally broken you, and this is all some kind of feverish hallucination driven by your libido.

But no, Somi is still there, lounging in your studio, all curves and challenge. Just being insanely hot.

You cough, clear your throat. Put on the mask of someone far more professional.

“Anywhere you’d like,” you’re answering, keeping your expression decidedly blank. This isn’t the first time you’ve been the only outlet for a young sexpot desperate to let off some steam. You have the experience. But again—fuck. Thirty days is far too long. Somi is far too much. “Just keep it natural. Like I’m not even here.”

Somi just laughs, sweet and sinful, her whole thing. Pushes off the table with a grace that seems almost supernatural (again, see the demon theory), before adding a thought, like it just sprung up in her pretty head— “Easier said than done.”

Distractions aside, all things considered, she’s the perfect subject.

Gets what you’re going for immediately, makes herself at home amongst your studio's chaos. Glides around the room, runs her fingers over your equipment strewn about—the lights, the lenses, the negatives hanging in the corner.

The sway of her hips, the flex of her back. The dip of her brow and purse of her lips when she asks, "What's this for?", and the genuine interest when she listens to you explain about aperture, and light metres, and so on and so on.

(Snap a photo of her silhouette when she's by the window, leaning against the glass to spy on the passers-by.

Snap a photo of her smile, when you say something that's really not that funny, but she laughs anyway.

Snap a photo of her legs, when she finds a couch to lay on—stretching herself out, showing off their length, the tone of her thighs, the promise kept hidden by her leggings being pulled tighter and tighter.)

Another hour passes quickly, and you take a break there, more for your sanity than her endurance. Leave her to her own devices while you flick through the shots you’ve managed to get so far.

Only, when you scroll through your laptop, scan through the dozens upon dozens of rapid-fire photos you've taken—it's a horror show.

None of them work.

Not because of her, but because of you.

The way you've shot her. Far too revealing—you've put too much of yourself in these pictures. Turned them from images to confessions. Each one a fucking love letter to her body—her legs, her tits, her lips, her ass, her tits again—everything about her that makes you ache.

It's not art. It's borderline pornographic.

And yet, Somi's still just lying there.

Drinking down another pick-me-up that she's had delivered, this one with enough caffeine to take down several horses, chatting away so casually while you try to stitch your soul back together. Sipping and talking about who-knows-what, throwing out feelers, smiling easily, laughing sincerely, utterly oblivious to the havoc she's wreaking on your self-control.

An effortless grace when she lifts herself off the couch, saunters over to you and leans in far too close, gets far too familiar, lays on far too much charm when she asks, “Mind if I take a look?”

Yeah, you do, but you still force a calmness into your voice that you’re certainly not feeling when you turn the laptop so she can see.

“Wow,” is her initial review, and now she’s touching you, hand on your shoulder, tits pressed up against your arm and you’re certain that none of this is accidental, like an oh, just trying to get closer so I can better appreciate the photos you’re flipping through, never mind that you're getting a precise estimation of my cup size just from the feeling alone.

Do your best—ignore the pressure, the warmth, the softness. Watch her face, see all the tiny details; her eyes lighting up when she catches something she likes, her thoughtful hum at a particularly good shot. The smacking of her lips, the furrow of her brow, the recognition as you scroll.

One by one, with each photo, her expression morphing from curiosity to understanding.

She notices.

“You’re good at this.”

You wait for it. “That’s all?”

Her eyes glint, “None of these can be used though.”

“I know.”

The screen’s frozen on a particularly compromising shot: there’s Somi’s face, barely in it, just the bottom-half, her lips pouting out and looking all plump and delicious. Camera angled up high, pointing down the dip of her tight, sheer top and the shadowy valley that makes up her cleavage. Scanning down to her legs, folded to the side beneath her, the squish of her ass cheeks over her heels, spilling into the corner of the screen.

Sin, captured in fifty megapixels, barely contained inside a four by six frame.

A submissive dream.

“These for your personal collection, or—” and when she catches the heat rising up the back of your neck, changing directions, “—not that I mind, as long as I get a copy.”

Clearly finding all this much funnier than you are—that smile’s a knife to your chest. So sharp and knowing; it would have you gasping for air, if only you’d look.

Keep it cool, play it off with a shrug, “We’ll try again.”

“I doubt we’ll get any different results,” Somi’s predicting, bouncing on her toes now, getting closer and closer until she doesn’t need to make much of an effort to make herself heard. Close enough that she could feel you now, if she wanted to. Just brush her fingers over you and get a good idea of the reason why this photoshoot is going so far off the rails.

She instead leans her chin onto your shoulder, breath hot against your cheek. Like throwing a match on gasoline.

All the power of this girl, this woman, wrapped up in a single gesture. Wielding it so freely, so innocently, so easily. Heat that's self-aware, that knows just how much it's burning.

You caution, “Keep it professional.”

“Doesn’t that run counter to the whole aesthetic. I thought we were going for raw?”

“Natural.”

“What’s the difference?”

You need to stop yourself, shut the laptop, end the session right now before it’s much too late. Before you’re turning to her and realising just how close her lips are to yours, just how tiny her waist is compared to your hands, and you're saying the words that will end all semblance of propriety and professionalism— “With you, I don’t think there is one.”

“Well as long as we agree,” and Somi’s turning away, striding back to the couch, leaving you to breathe again. Making you thankful for the space, but missing the suffocation of her heat all at once.

Plopping herself down on the cushions, one leg folded under the other, leggings so thin you can see the shape of her underneath. Natural, just like you asked—looking like she's the only one here that’s exactly where she wants to be.

You’re thinking you’re off the hook.

Maybe you can get back to work.

Only, “So, it’s been a while, then?”

“Somi,” you’re saying her name for the first time, officially, and it’s coming out far too strangled. Far too needy. She loves the sound.

“Come on, humour me.”

“Somi,” again, you’re trying, clearing out the cobwebs from your throat.

“Sir.”

What the fuck.

She doesn’t move. Waits patiently for your answer.

You give her the inch, knowing she’ll take the mile.

Raking a hand through the back of your head. “Thirty days.”

The look on Somi's face is apoplectic. You're glad you have the wherewithal to capture it.

"It's a—" and you're feeling quite stupid as you explain it to her in detail; the abstinence for a month, the purpose of it all, the supposed benefits, "challenge."

That sends Somi ranting, hands flailing in the air. Incredulous, at you, at this challenge, at the idea of putting yourself through this self-imposed torture. “Stupidest fucking idea I’ve ever heard.”

And then, when she sees your face.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“But seriously. Thirty days? And not once.”

Your voice is dry. “No.”

“Not even by accident?”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Wet dreams, nothing? No jerking it? No sex? At all?” Somi’s bursting out laughing, hand flying to cover her mouth, barely even able to breathe. It’s so absurd to her.

And it doesn’t take long before she puts it all together. Processes the information, sees the picture she’s painted of you. The sad, desperate artist, with nothing but a dying hunger and a camera. Realises the predicament you’ve put yourself in just by having her here.

She’s not laughing any more.

“And so you chose today, November 30th, to schedule me?”

You’re very, clearly frustrated. “Not my choice.”

“I see.” She bites her lip. Angles herself just so.

“Dial it back.”

“Tell that to your boner.”

You look down. Pants distinctly flat.

Somi’s grinning. “Made you look.”

“Are you done?” You ask, forcing yourself to look away from her, busying your hands by screwing on a different lens, as if it’ll somehow make her appear any less distracting, like it’ll blur out all your worst intentions and bring back some actual decorum to this whole fiasco. “We don’t have much time left.”

Turning back to her, raising your camera, aiming straight and true and—

Somi, unzipping her heels, kicking them across the floor with a dramatic flourish.

Snap.

Somi, lifting her top up and over her head, stretching her arms up high to push her breasts out forward; making them tight, outlined, so obviously pebbled against the cotton of her bra.

Snap.

Somi, digging her thumbs into the waistband of her tights, pointing her legs up in the air so she can peel them off without getting up, thrusting her hips up off the couch to yank them over her ass.

Snap.

“Somi,” you’re saying again, because apparently, you’ve forgotten how to make other words.

“Just doing what feels natural,” she says, smile turning wicked, reaching behind her back to unclasp and oh, now she’s completely naked. Rearranging herself into this pose. As if she isn’t already the centre of your universe.

Thirty days, flushed directly down the drain.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

—

You’ve found it, the perfect photograph.

Somi, kneeling on the couch, hands folded on her lap, staring down the barrel of your camera with her tits out. Unreal. Works of art, both of them. Miracles of flesh, gravity be damned.

“You’re not taking any photos,” she points out.

You swallow hard. “I’m taking it in.” 

Her hands come up to cup her breasts, giving them a bounce. For fun. For you. For the look on your face. You capture the jiggle. "Good, because I'd hate to think all this was going to waste."

It’s a little fucked up, how right Somi is. You wanted raw, honest—here it is, Somi as she kneels. Just being herself, being the woman everyone accuses her of being—the sinner, the whore, the slut.

Being the woman she knows she is, with everything that it implies—the confidence, the appeal, the fucking powerhouse of magnetic attraction. Not an image being projected, not a role she’s playing, but the reality of her, shooting straight into your veins, raw sex personified—as natural as breathing.

And before you know it, you’re capturing her lips with yours, an ‘mmmph’ slipping out from her as your mouths collide and your tongues meet.

It’s not intentional, it just happens. You lean in, she’s hot, she smells like heaven and sin wrapped in a neat little bow and you’re kissing her.

Tongue finds hers, attacks, retreats, joins and intertwines, and it’s everything you imagined it would be turned all the way up—sweeter, hotter, and so much more fucking dangerous.

Lips head south, tongue sliding along her neck, teeth on her shoulder, kisses into her collarbone; and finally, you’re at her breasts.

Softer than a dream, tasting like pure addiction; you kiss the tops of her breasts, lap up all the sweat that’s beaded down in between. Drag your tongue down, follow the curve, the dip, and ending at the hard little points poking against your lips. Filling your mouth with as much of it as you can—licking, suckling, making a complete mess of spit on her chest, and then biting, just a little, just to make her moan.

“So this is what denial does to a man, hm?”  Somi slithers into your ears, under your skin, hands at the back of your head and holding you in place.

She arches into you, pushing herself closer, letting you taste, indulge. Feast on what you’ve been missing out over this long stretch of days.

And fuck, maybe it is the abstinence, the pent-up need, or maybe it’s the fact that tits in general are just fucking incredible things. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s that it’s Somi, in all her outrageously perfect glory, so happy to be the one that gets to ruin you, that’s making you feel like you’re going to spontaneously combust.

Not that it matters one bit.

Not that there’s any thoughts at all in your head; there’s just Somi’s tits and your tongue. Lapping it up like you’re trying to drink her in, memorise every contour, every curve, every little goosebump you induce with each swipe of your tongue.

Somi’s tits; a canvas, and your mouth’s painting the picture of a lifetime.

“Baby,” Somi coos, hands on the side of your face, lifting you up off the cushions of her breasts. She’s giggling, her fingers wiping at the strings of drool that you hadn’t even realised you’d been leaving behind. “Remember what we’re here for?”

Right.

The camera. The art. The job. The no-touching rule.

But your mind is a blurry mess of tits and need, and all your blood has headed south for the afternoon, and it's making you feel like you're melting from the inside out.

“Let me give you a hand.” Somi’s gentle with you, like you’re a stick of dynamite with a frayed wick, just the slightest touch and you’ll blow.

She takes your hand, fingers brushing against yours, little sparks of electricity making your hairs stand on end, and lifts your camera up to point directly at her.

And then, she smirks. As if to say, yeah, she’s read all your thoughts; seen straight into you and has discovered the vault where you’ve kept every one of your deepest, darkest impulses locked up for thirty long days.

Somi repositions herself. Poses her body, determined to bring every single filthy, desperate, starving fantasy of yours to life.

Reclining back into the couch, thighs apart, spreading her legs wide.

Showing off her cunt.

Bare and gleaming. Shaven clean—just this perfect, pink, wet little pussy calling out to you. Open like a fucking invitation.

You’re staring.

She waits for you to catch up.

“Now would be a good time to start using that camera.”

You take a step back. Heart racing, hands shaking; you’re usually so much better than this. Take a deep breath, lift the camera, do your job, make your art, capture as much as you can while you have fucking perfection putting herself on display for you.

The click, the shutter echoing through the studio.

It makes Somi sigh.

Her eyes find the lens, locking down her target. A fucking miracle of biology, that’s Somi. Born to have cameras on her, as in love with them as they are with her.

Her fingers dip, trace down over her ludicrously tiny waist, her abs, her bellybutton, stopping short of her mound. Dancing over her pussy, light as a feather.

Fucking grinning as she asks, “Like what you see?”

The camera’s flash answers for you.

Touching herself, stroking, circling, pressing down. Building a crescendo that you can see painted on her; through the tensing of her abs, the heaving of her breasts, her cheeks going pink, her breaths getting shorter, and her lips parting to moan.

You’re barely conscious of the fact that you’re talking under your breath, a singular demand— “Keep going.”

“Yes, sir.”

Thirty days of denial has turned you into a starving man, only for Somi to show up and make herself a full-course feast. The perfect model, but also the worst fucking thing possible for your resolve.

You take a deep breath, grip the camera tighter.

If you’re going to crack, you might as well go out with a bang.

Guiding her, as if she was any other client, and this was just another photoshoot— “Open your legs wider, Somi. Show me everything.”

Her eyes widen, pupils dilate. Sparks, excitement, lighting them up. She does as she’s told, pushing out her knees further, sinking down into the couch cushions.

Thighs quivering, pussy sopping wet and pulsing. All for you. For your camera.

Another click, the shutter again, like a time-bomb ticking down to your doom.

“Play with your clit. Tease it.”

Her hand obeys, delicate, slender fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles, hips bucking slightly with each pass. The noises she makes are obscene. Harsh, breathy whispers that make you throb; moans that get caught in the back of her throat.

It’s a rush of blood straight to the head, an almost dizzying sensation, having Somi so eagerly following your every command. Her face says it all, this slut positively loves being told what to do.

“Keep it light. That’s it,” you say, stepping closer, hitting your marks, your angles. “Turn to me. I want to see your face.”

“Like this?” Somi breathes, turning to face you fully, her hand still playing with herself, stroking in a way that's almost cruel—so gentle, so teasing, so obviously designed to make you lose your mind. “Getting the pictures you’ve been dreaming of? Someone like me all spread out for you?”

You nod, jaw clenched, keeping steady. Or at least, you think you are, considering how good Somi’s making this for you.

Making sure you get the right shots of her—her pussy, swollen and puffy, dripping down a puddle onto your couch. Her tits; pinched until they’re hard and sensitive, a vivid red against the stark white of her skin. Her eyes, wide and wild and looking straight down the lens, communicating her arousal in a million different heated ways without saying a single word.

Let it be known; Somi knows exactly what she’s doing.

Knows when to sigh, knows how to arch her back, knows in which direction to pout her lips. Knows how to make every click of the camera count.

“Good girl,” you’re telling her, praising her, and it’s enough to make her keen.

“Am I?”

“Of course,” you say, leaning in closer, close enough to feel the heat of her body, a furnace against your skin. See the sweat dripping down her thighs, tiny little droplets shimmering against the muscle, begging to be licked away. “You’re doing so good, Somi. So, so good.”

You’re getting closer now, kneeling. All for the sake of the perfect shot.

Seeing her fingers work, spreading herself open, exposing her folds, glistening. Her clit standing tall and proud. Her entrance pulsing, waiting to be filled. It’s like watching a masterpiece come to life, a photo that’s been taken a thousand times before but never quite captured right. Until now. Until Somi.

Somi's smiling down at you, all knowing, all tempting, making your mouth water, and it takes all your self-discipline to not drop the camera and replace your lens with your tongue.

She laughs, low and throaty. “Looks like you’re enjoying the view.”

“You have no idea, Somi,” you answer, adding, “But you can make it better, can’t you? Make it wetter. Hotter.”

“Mmhmm,” she agrees, getting to work at making your instructions real. She’s a professional too, after all. A master of her craft. Her other hand snakes down to join her first; one hand pressing firmly down on her clit, the other plunging two fingers up into her cunt. Pushing in, curling, until it’s hitting that sweet spot that makes her preen.

“Perfect, Somi.”

You’re transfixed, as Somi starts to fuck herself in earnest, the camera almost forgotten in your hand. She’s so drenched that every stroke is accompanied by a wet, slick sound; and the way she’s creaming around her digits, dripping down her wrist, it’s far beyond a simple performance being put on for the sake of a photograph. It’s the real deal.

Somi’s breaths come faster, her eyes glaze over, and she’s biting down on her bottom lip, trying to keep from crying out too loudly.

You know you’re getting the best of her, can see it across her face: this is what she truly enjoys. Being watched, being desired, being told what to do all for your pleasure.

“Oh, baby,” she’s barely managing hushed, strained whispers, “Oh, oh, oh…”

You feel like you’re in a trance, your own hand wandering down, needing to adjust lest you rip right through your jeans. The sight alone is devastating enough, but it’s making you swell, until there’s no point in trying to hide it anymore.

“That looks so,” Somi’s licking her lips, seeing the state you’re in, seeing the desperation in your eyes, the strain down below, “Nice.”

The camera is your anchor, your north star in this whole mess. You keep it steady, even as Somi’s breaths grow shallower, turn to pants. Losing herself to you, to the moment, to being captured in all her vulnerability.

She’s fucking herself even faster now, fingers sawing in and out of her pussy, wetter and wetter still, knuckles turning white with the force she’s applying.

“You’re doing so good, Somi, such a good girl for me,” you’re reassuring her, unable to hold back your own need, your own desire from leaking into your voice. It’s a battle, a war really, against your own urges, your innate desire to just drop everything and dive into her, feel her tightness around you, make her scream out your name.

But it’s too soon, Somi’s too close, and it would be a fucking crime to stop her.

“Baby,” she gasps, the word a prayer and a taunt in equal measure, “Baby, I don’t think I can last any longer.”

You’re grinning now, heart racing, camera at the ready. “Good.”

Somi’s on a knife’s edge, balancing on the precipice of climax. You can see it in how her body’s seizing, how she throws her head back, exposing her neck to you—needing your kiss, your bite, your claim. But you resist, intent on capturing every moment of her unravelling.

Because you want to know. Want to capture it. How she cums. What sounds she makes, what noises she can’t keep in. What she looks like when she falls apart.

“Cum for me, Somi,” you’re telling her, “I want to capture it all.”

Somi trembles. She wants it too.

Her eyes screw shut, her breath hitches, and she’s there, sinking back into the couch, letting out this sweet little gasp of anticipation.

The studio goes silent except for the sound of her fingers in her cunt and the shuttering of your camera.

In, out, snap.

In, out, snap.

Fucking herself. Fucking you with her very existence.

And then—“I’m going to—”

Her body arches off the couch, a scream ripping from her throat, her hand working furiously, pussy clenching so sweetly around her fingers. It’s the type of photo people spend entire careers never getting to capture, the most beautifully obscene sight you’ve ever been lucky to witness—Somi, in the throes of pleasure, wracked by her own orgasm, all for the sake of your camera.

It hits her hard and fast and all at once, turns her body into a bow, taut and tense, before it’s released, snapped, melting her down into a boneless puddle.

You watch in awe as Somi cums, writhes and wriggles, and she makes these noises that you’ve never heard from a woman before; crying out so loud you’re surprised the neighbours aren’t banging down the door to see what the commotion is about.

It’s only when she finally relaxes, is released from her orgasm, that you lower the camera, out of breath from the sheer exertion wrought by just watching her.

You’re both near devastation—Somi sprawled on the couch, chest rising and falling, eyes closed and an elated smile on her face, and you, knees threatening to give out, unable to tear your gaze away from the sight of her satisfaction.

“That was—” Somi tries shaping the words, but they don’t come. She just lies there, lazy and sated, catching her breath.

Moments pass before she can open her eyes again, only to find you, standing over her, jeans vanished, cock out and level with her parted lips.

“That was just the beginning, Somi.”

It's just the sight of you, but Somi’s delighted. Seeing you like this—exposed and so ridiculously hard. All because of her.

She slides off the couch, kneeling at your feet.

“Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it. Anything at all. Just make sure you capture it.”

“Then suck.”

Wet, hot heaven. Somi’s mouth is heaven.

Tongue darting forward, swirling around the tip, teeth grazing the head, and you’re groaning, hips jerking forward involuntarily until you’re falling into her mouth.

Somi’s got a way about her, a finesse that’s unmatched in everything she does. So, so good for you; opening her mouth nice and wide, hollowing her cheeks just right, pursing her lips to make sure you feel it when she sucks.

Just gleeful when your hand finds purchase in her ponytail, when hers wrap around the base of your cock, and you push. Inch by inch into the sweet heat of her mouth, taking it all, making sure you can see it, see how thankful she is to be granted the privilege of swallowing you whole; of having you completely filling her throat.

Holding herself there, nose pressed up against your stomach, eyes looking up, watering slightly around the edges. Not even gagging, just warming your cock with her throat, pulsing, tight, unbearably hot.

She raises her brows.

Ah, that’s right.

Snap.

Pulling off you, dragging her lips, her tongue up your shaft, leaving behind a choked, drooling mess that she’s so fucking proud of.

Giggling around a mouthful of your cock, laughter vibrating across your skin, and it’s a wonder you don’t lose yourself right then and there.

But somehow, you hold on; brace yourself against Somi massaging your balls, tickling the underside of your tip with her tongue. Playing with you, taunting, enjoying every second. Popping your cock out of her mouth so she can truly take measure of you at your achingly hardest, so she can breathe onto your cock in wonder, “Just look at you.”

Balancing your length in the palm of her hand, barely able to wrap her fingers around your girth.

“So big, so hard,” she’s rapt, talking to you, to herself, making sure the ghosts haunting your studio know exactly what she’s dealing with her. “And it’s all for me, isn’t it?”

“Darling,” you’re calling her, making her swoon, “Take it all.”

And she does. Somi, eager, opens her mouth wide, and lets you fuck her face. Getting you deep, so deep that you can feel her throat clench around your tip, slurping, moaning, choking now, but never, ever stopping. Just drooling down your thighs like the good little slut she knows you need her to be.

You’re back at it, taking photos, trying to get the perfect angle, but it’s proving a big ask when your knees are wobbling and your vision’s growing blurry. You’ve got Somi’s eyes in the viewfinder, all wide and blown with lust, looking straight through the lens of the camera and at you, daring you to break first.

But there’s still so much more of her to capture, so much more of her face to fuck.

Her red lips against your skin. Her cheeks bulging with your length. The line of her throat as she swallows. The tears in her eyes when she gags.

Somi’s arms loop around your back, cupping your ass, pulling you closer, urging you deeper.

Winking, giving you all the right cues; a muffled, “Here,” she says with her eyes. “This angle.”

And she’s right. It’s perfect. She’s got a talent for this.

Taking you deep, feeling like your cock’s never going to be able to leave her throat, only to pull back so you can see just how much she’s enjoying herself. How much she’s into this, so grateful to have you capturing every moan, every gag, every little sound she makes as you fuck her mouth like it’s the first time—and after a whole month it might as well be.

“Fuck, take it, Somi, you’re doing so well,” you tell her, knowing what it does to her—the praise, the adoration. Absorbed straight into her bloodstream, making her work harder, suck better, choke a little more. “Such a good girl.”

She loves it. Her eyes brighten, she squeezes your thighs, nails digging in. She loves it all.

You’re getting so close, you can feel it—thirty days of denial are about to come to a head, and she's going to be the one to bring you there. And yet, you still haven’t gotten nearly enough pictures to do her justice.

Somi sees it too, she can tell, knows just how close you are, but still, she's just lie you. She wants more.

She pulls back, an idea hatching in that filthy mind of hers, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Wait,” she says, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, cleaning herself of her spit, her drool, your leakage. “I want another photo. For comparison’s sake. Just for my memories.”

You’re not sure what she means, but you don’t ask questions. You just keep your camera at the ready, watching her move, watching her lean closer.

Your cock hovering just above her cheek, tip bumping up against her nose, leaving a wet streak across her face. She holds herself there, your length atop her face, and it’s all in view—her eyes fluttering closed, the tip of her tongue poking out to catch a taste of your precum, the way she’s breathing, deep and heavy, smelling the scent of you, inhaling it like it’s oxygen.

Somi—her face, her tits, her waist, her thighs.

Your cock.

All in view.

That’s the photo.

And when it’s done, you’re backing off, relearning how to breath, how to stand on your own two feet without crumbling to the ground. Somi’s tongue chases you but you’re out of reach, setting the camera down on the floor.

You need to get in on this. Fuck silly challenges. Fuck being a passive observer.

You’re done just watching. You need to feel her.

Somi looks at you all smug and satisfied, on her knees, awaiting your next instruction. “Finished taking pictures?”

You don’t answer.

Instead, you start peeling off your clothes, each layer like a heavy weight of your shoulders; until you’re just as bare and needy as she is.

Back to Somi, cradling her face, letting her lean into your palm. Running your thumb across her jaw, dragging it across her lips, stamping it onto her tongue.

She sucks.

Christ.

Thirty days of hell, given up for one moment in heaven.

Fuck it. She’ll make it worth it.

You tell her in simple, clear terms. “I’m going to fuck you now, Somi.”

“Please.”

It’s your turn now.

You relax into the couch, legs spread wide, cock throbbing in the open air, beckoning her to come closer.

Somi reads the room, your posture, your need, and she rises to the occasion. Joining you on the couch, back on her knees, thighs gripping on the outside of yours. Hands planted firmly on your shoulders, and the whole time, her eyes don’t leave yours, not even for a second.

Appreciate her, this woman, giving herself over to you.

Untying her ponytail, sending honey-brown hair cascading down her face, caressing her neck, her shoulders, meeting the tops of her breasts, perfectly rounded and waiting for the return of your teeth. Her waist, her abs, tensing and releasing, with every hot breath. And her pussy, already there, shimmering, dribbling down your cock, waiting.

Somi’s waiting for your permission.

So, taking her by the back of her neck, pulling her close, kissing her hard. Forcing this whine into your throat as your cock bumps up against her folds, sets off fireworks down her spine.

It’s a translation. Your need, from your tongue to hers, telling her that it’s only her that can do this you. Can rip you from responsibilities, from sanity, from all the shit that’s been keeping you going for the last thirty days.

Telling her that it’s worth giving it all up for just a taste, because maybe that’s the point of the challenge in the first place. Not a matter of self-control but a way to save yourself for something—someone—so potent, so powerful, so fucking irresistible that you just have to surrender to.

You pull apart, breaths hot and ragged, tongues still connected by strands, your hands already at her waist.

“You’re going to ride me, Somi. You’re going to cum on my cock and I’m going to watch it all.”

Somi nods, understanding.

Letting you guide her by the hips, sliding her fingers between her legs to take hold of your cock, aiming it at her entrance.

Lowering herself down, slow, so fucking slow, like it’s a brand-new form of torture, until your cock is nestled at the entrance of her heat, and you’re both vibrating with the anticipation of it, the gravity of this moment.

You take a harsh breath. “Ready?”

Somi presses her forehead to yours. Teasing, “Are you?”

And then, inch by inch, dragging her cunt down your shaft, making you feel every bit of her wetness, her tightness, every bit of her heat, Somi takes you in.

Pussy tightening around you like a fist, walls pulsing, massaging your cock, like she’s already trying to milk you dry. This moan that’s torn from her lips, deep and primal, something she’s been holding in for far too long, this needy, unholy cry that takes the shape of your name.

And when she’s bottomed out, when you’ve filled her until all she knows is you, Somi looks down in your eyes, nothing but pure, unfiltered lust strewn across her face. “Everything you were hoping for?”

You try, but fail, to form coherent words, just manage a grunt of pleasure, a nod of your head, and she laughs—it's the sweetest, most evil sound you've ever heard. She's got you, hook, line, and sinker.

“Good to know,” she says, and that’s all she needs to start moving, to set the rhythm that’s going to shake the walls, send them crashing to the ground until all that’s left is the two of you fucking amongst the rubble.

Her thighs tighten around you, hips start to roll in a way that’s just too fucking good, too fucking perfect. The friction is everything, makes the world narrow to just the two of you, the sound of skin slapping against skin, the drenched slick of her pussy, the heavy scent of her filling the air.

“Baby,” she repeats, each time her thighs slap down against yours, each thrust all the way up into her guts. “This cock is so perfect for me, so fucking—”

A snap of your hips into her, pulling her down hard, making her tits jump at the force of it, making Somi wail. There’s her cunt, spasming around you, tightening, trying to hold you in, trying to keep you there, but you’re not letting up.

You take over, holding by the hips and fucking her, like you’ve been waiting for, like you’ve been so fucking desperate for, like she needs so badly.

“God, you’re really—really fucking pent up, aren't you?" Somi's words are chopped up by the relentless thrusts of your hips, making her stutter, her voice all strained and breathy. Bouncing on you now, letting you set the pace, eyes screwed shut, just giving herself over to you. “I’m so, so lucky. So lucky that it gets to be me that breaks you. That takes you. That gets all this cum you’ve been saving this whole time.”

You’re gritting your teeth, unable to do anything but just fuck. Driven mad by it, by every impulse coming right up to the surface.

Everything you’ve been holding back, it’s all here, being unleashed onto Somi.

Fuck her, fill her, make her scream—‘Please, please, please’. Those are the only thoughts in your head now. Forget about the job, the photographs, the responsibility—just be yourself, a man on the edge, ready to jump off the fucking cliff.

“Baby,” Somi’s repeating, as your fingers find purchase in her ass, as she lays kisses on your shoulder, marking you up along your neck and down your jaw. There’s other words too—filth, all of it; whining to you about how you’re filling her up so good, about how she’s so wet for you, about how you’re going to make her cum so hard. But it’s all just noise to you. Noise that can be summarised in the simplest of requests, right from Somi’s lips—“Please, fucking use me.”

It's the perfect way to come apart—have someone like Somi, with her heavenly tits in your face, and her greedy, greedy cunt soaking up everything you’re willing to give. Begging, wanting, needing to be ruined.

“So fucking tight for me,” you’re kissing into her chest, finding your voice somewhere between her breasts. Telling her, “Fuck, Somi, your pussy. It’s so good for me. So fucking perfectly wet.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Somi sighs back, arms barely hanging on, holding at your neck, unable to do nothing but whimper and bear it. Bear this fucking you’re giving her, your cock invading her cunt, making her pussy tighten around it like a vice, making her abs clench, her tits jump, her throat swallow—making her sweat.

It’s like she was made for this—cunt made for your cock, body made for your arms. Somi, perfectly designed to be used by you. To moan and whine at your mercy; to be fucked, to be filled, to ruin you and to be ruined all the same.

“I can’t, I’m trying but I can’t hold on,” Somi’s teary-eyed, kissing at your face, your neck, her breath hot and sweet against your ear. “Baby, please. I need to feel you. Need more of you.”

And you’re only too eager to oblige.

Lifting your head, pulling her body closer. Catching her left nipple in your mouth, sucking hard, nipping at the peak until she’s gasping, until she’s arching her back, pressing her chest closer. Feeling the flesh flush against your lips, hitting your chin with each hard thrust.

Fuck, her tits. You could suffocate between them only to claw your way out of the grave just for another taste.

Her nails dig into your scalp, demanding more—more attention, more adoration, more worship. You give it to her—switching between each of her breasts, suckling and licking, making her whine and buck against your teeth.

“Just like that, you’re so good at that, so good with my tits,” she moans, short, tiny sighs that send your hips jerking upwards. Fucking her faster, quick, staccato thrusts that hit her just right, make her walls quiver around you. “They’re yours, all for you. All of me is yours.”

Her orgasm builds; it’s palpable, a storm brewing in the studio, sweeping up everything in its path. Each breath she takes is a hitch, a little cry, a whine. So tight around you, fucking her so hard, so deep that you can feel it coming from the inside out.

“Filling me so good, so, so good,” she mewls, and there’s still some fight in her left, a burst of energy in her thighs, allowing her to grind down harder, drop her ass on you—an up, down, up, down that echoes through the studio with each smack.

“You’re going to cum for me Somi,” you’re telling her, detailing exactly how she’ll come completely apart. “You’re going to cum all over my cock, you’re going to scream for me when you do it, okay? Tell me how good it feels.”

“Yes, yes, yes, tell me what you want—anything—I’ll do it, I’ll be so, so good for you—”

“You’re going to beg me for my cum, Somi. Going to beg me to give it to you until you can’t take any more,” you’re growling, your teeth sinking into her tits, your tongue pushing up against her flesh, making her sing.

You’re fucking her apart, tearing her in two with your cock. This girl you've only just met, who only just walked into your life; nothing but sex in a pair of high heels, and you’re already rearranging the furniture of her soul.

Now she’s the one that can’t make sense of things, can’t form full sentences—just incoherent whines and cries, each one stacking on top of the other, until the foundation’s all tilted and it’s going to collapse any second now.

Just waiting for you.

Separate from her chest, take a fistful of her hair, pull her back so you can look in her eyes and see. See just how badly you’re ruining her, how terribly she’s falling apart.

Make sure she can see you, has her attention on nothing but you when you tell her, finally, “Cum. Cum for me, Somi. All over my cock.”

She’s breaking.

“Now.”

“Please, I—” Somi’s words live and die on her lips, barely making it out before it hits her, seizes her entirely, forces her cunt to strangle your cock as she shatters.

It’s all there, her pussy tightening, pulsing, clenching, releasing in this quake of bliss that feels like a sucker punch straight through your gut.

When she cums it hits her, hits you, waves of heat washing over your cock, splashing down onto your thighs. It’s the sensation. So overwhelming, so undeniable, grinding down her orgasm onto you, pleading, over and over and over again, “Don't stop, don't stop, please!”

Writhing in your arms, needing to be held close to stop her from falling off the couch completely. Eyes rolling, head thrown back, exposing her neck, the perfect arc of her throat. Her body jolts, jerks, twitches, and it has you fucking hypnotised.

And all Somi can do is say, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!”

She keeps going, until each thread is unravelled, until you’ve fucked loose every last bit of control she’s got, until she’s nothing but a trembling mess in your arms.

But it’s not over, not yet.

You’re still hard, so fucking hard. Bursting at the seams. And Somi’s looking down at you, pulling herself back together. Seeing your cock, buried inside her. Seeing the mess you’ve made of her, her own pussy. Seeing everything.

And she’s smiling, because she knows what comes next.

“Use me.”

You lift her off your cock, so easy to carry; her tiny waist in your hands, she’s so light. Still shivering, these tiny, little aftershocks quivering through her, it’s like she’s clay in your hands, ready to be moulded at your discretion.

Somi gasps when she’s laid out on the couch, her legs spread wide, her cunt leaking down her thighs, all cream and cum. She adjusts herself, makes herself comfortable, presentable. Putting herself in the best possible state to be used by you.

“Use me, baby,” she repeats again, that sweat plea that’s going to be you’re undoing. She’s so, so needy, practically whining for more, for everything, for anything as long as it involves your cock and her.

You stand over her, cock at the ready, eyes on your next target, the natural stage for the grand finale, the pièce de resistance of this whole fucked up photoshoot—Somi’s breasts.

She follows your gaze, realises, “You want to fuck these tits, don’t you?”

You find your voice gravelly, deep. “Yeah.”

Somi giggles, hands at her chest, taking either side of her breasts, pushing them together with her palms and creating this gorgeous valley, just waiting for your cock. “Then what are you waiting for?”

“For you to beg.”

Somi blinks. Once, twice. Sees the look on your face, sees how hard you are for her, how desperate you are to let go.

But she knows how much you need to hear it. Knows how much she wants to say it.

“Please. Baby, please. Fuck my tits. Cum all over me. I need it.” Somi’s licking her lips, massaging her breasts together, showing you just how soft they are, how ready they are for you. “I need to feel your cum on me. All over me. My face, my neck, my chest. Everywhere. Let me do this for you.”

That’s it.

You’re back on the couch, straddling her stomach. Knees on either side of her waist, cock between her tits. Soft, warm, inviting.

“Like this?”

“Yeah. Just like that,” you manage, each word a mountain of effort as you watch your cock disappear between her breasts.

It’s a gentle push, that’s all it takes, and Somi starts to move, making her tits jiggle around your dick, squeezing it from either side as you slide your cock up and down. So focused, eyes on your cock, then back to your face, studying your every reaction, waiting for that moment when you crack.

And it’s coming so soon, you’ve been teetering on the edge since Somi first walked in—fuck, on edge for thirty days—and now you’re hurtling towards the fall.

You’re not going to last, not when Somi’s got you like this. Her hands moving with you, her tits bouncing in time with your strokes. The cushioning of her breasts around you; this gentle, sweet, torturous pressure that has you grunting, has you smearing drops of yourself all over her chest.

“Fuck, you look so good between my tits. So hard. Doesn’t it feel right? Like this is where your cock fucking belongs. This is what my tits were made for. For you,” Somi’s whispering, stringing these words together like a spell. “You can go faster, baby, I won’t break. Just let go and use me like the slut I am.”

Pleading for it, so desperate for you. Sweet words, encouragement, filth, like a drug, pushing you close and closer to the brink.

Just obey, pump faster, fuck her tits quicker, watch as your cock slices through her cleavage, the gloss it leaves over her skin. See Somi, licking her lips, devouring you with her eyes, just waiting for you to join her on the other side of oblivion.

“Cum for me, baby. Please, please. I need it—I need to feel it—please!”

Her tongue stretches past her lips, flicking out to catch the tip of your cock, making you groan. Leaning in, breath hot on you, cock hitting her lips with every thrust, every drive through her tits. So fucking greedy, so eager to taste, so needy to be the one responsible for your total ruin.

“Oh, oh, oh, baby—yes—yes—yes—yes—”

She pinches her nipples, twists them just right, moans—

You feel it immediately—your balls tighten, your cock swells, and then—release.

Intense is the only way to describe it.

So fucking intense.

White hot jets of cum spurt out, firing everywhere, making a mess of her, coating her chest, her neck, her chin, her lips, her nose—splashing down all over her.

It’s a frenzy, a natural disaster, a hurricane that’s been building for one long fucking month, and now it’s here.

The way her eyes widen, the way her mouth opens, gasping for air, the way she shakes—she wanted this, but there’s no fucking way she was prepared for it.

And when you back up, she dives forward, hand seizing the base of your cock and pumps. Wrists twisting in this aching motion, winding up and down your cock, wringing you out until you’re just a slave to her fingers, her tits, her touch.

“Keep going, baby, keep cumming for me, give me everything,” she begs, sending shivers all the way from your shaft down to your spine as she works your cock.

You do, you have no choice, no say in the matter. You give her everything.

You're coming apart, torn from your own body in sticky, hot waves that leaves you absolutely breathless.

And she’s a fucking mess. All of her—her face, her neck, her tits. So beautiful covered in you. So utterly used. So utterly yours.

It takes a moment for the tremors to stop, for the world to come back into the focus. You sit there, panting, feeling like you’ve just done a triathlon and then climbed a mountain. Somi’s just smiling at you, looking at you through her lashes, glued together with your cum, her own little giggles escaping every now and again.

She looks like a dream.

“Fuck, Somi—”

“Mm?” She looks so content, so at peace with the universe. Wearing your cum like fine jewellery. As if she’s the one that just had the best orgasm of her life.

“You’re—” But what the fuck do you say? That she’s ruined you? That she’s shattered your world? That you’ll never be able to look at a camera again without thinking of her?

Ah.

That’s what you’ll do.

You lean down, pick the camera off the floor, and then—snap.

Somi, looking so sloppy and obscene. Looking like everything you never knew you needed. Looking like she belongs to you.

She wipes away at her eyes, collects the cum on her finger, before dipping it into her mouth. Sucking, tasting the flavour of your need.

“Get the shot you wanted?”

You let out a long, heavy exhale, sliding off the couch, off her, sitting on the floor next to her. Resting your head on her thighs while Somi just lies there, sprawled out, utterly wrecked.

“You weren’t kidding,” she says. “One whole month.”

You remember to inhale. “Thirty days.”

She’s fighting a losing battle, cleaning the endless fountain of cum you’ve covered her with. Looking like she just streaked through a fucking snowstorm.

But she tries, collects as much as she can, smearing it into a sticky mess. Playing with it on her fingers, rolling it around her tongue, enjoying this way too much.

You raise the camera, aim it at her. The way she’s looking at you, the way her hand moves, so fucking casual—like it's her natural state of being. Making you believe that Somi should be covered in cum, all the time. It's only right.

You just can’t help yourself. You click.

“I haven’t been fucked like that since,” Somi starts, clearly not minding being the subject of your post-coital art. “Since ever. That was—"

“A trainwreck,” you’re saying, and then finishing when you catch the look on her face, “Not like that. It was insane. Intense. Really, thirty days or not, it was fucking life changing.”

Somi smiles. “Good to know I didn’t disappoint.”

“Just. These photos. Completely unsalvageable. None of that can be sent to your agency.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Somi says, so easily, so carefree, as if she didn’t just obliterate every single professional boundary you’ve ever set. “Let me have a look. There must be some photos at the start that are useable. From before you… lost focus.”

You pass her the camera, let her scroll through the shots, see all the pornographic filth the two of you have created. She flicks through, each click another photo, another reminder of what you’ve done, what she’s done to you.

And she’s enjoying it. These little smirks, the nods of approval. Fascinated by these photos of her, of her body in these stages of ecstasy.

“Ah, yup. No. Nope. Definitely not. Oh, and that one is just… yeah.” Somi’s voice is light, teasing, but there’s a hint of awe in it. “You really don’t hold back, do you?”

“It’s what you do to me.”

“I can see that,” she says, continuing until she gets to the last of the photos. “That’s pretty fucked. These are pretty fucked up. But, like. Beautifully fucked up.”

“Thanks,” you say, throwing your hands up, letting one fall on Somi’s thigh. It rests there, draws a circle over the smooth warm, skin.

It’s a good feeling. Having her here, like this. So relaxed, so comfortable. Knowing her in the most intimate ways possible, yet still not knowing much about her at all.

She sighs when your hand moves higher. You throb.

Yeah. After thirty days, only one time is not going to be nearly enough.

You already want to dive back into the land of debauchery with Somi, bring up more of those repressed fantasies you’ve been waiting to realise, even though you’re still knee-deep in the aftermath of the first round.

It’s in Somi’s eyes as well, you can feel it in the air, from the heat radiating off her skin—she's not done with you either.

Far from it.

You're going to ruin her again. You're certain of it.

“So,” she says, making a show of cupping her tits, raising them up to her mouth. Licking them clean.

Your response is swift. Immediate. “We’re going to have to reschedule.”

Somi’s laughter is pure gold. “How does thirty days from now sound?”

You blink. Stare at her, unamused.

She raises your camera.

Snap!

[razrbladekiss]

CRAVE | Joel Miller

SUMMARY: there’s only one thing that joel craves, and it isn’t the mental fucking torture of an overly stubborn twenty-something teasing him ‘til he’s blue in the face. and balls.

PAIRING: dbf!joel miller x afab!reader. legal unspecified age gap.

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI, 18+ CONTENT BELOW THE CUT. alcohol consumption. pervy old man joel. reader’s dad (i’ve named him sorrrry) is there before joel gets pervy. some religious themes and also descriptions of religion in a negative light (this is MY experience with christianity, if you do not agree then please don’t read), no explicit smut but descriptions of what joel wants to do to youuuu so: mentions of piv, cock-riding, oral f!receiving, choking if you squint, dirty talk asf, joel being cocky which leads to his cock being sad and alone. reader is cunty. not proof-read ‘cus, once again, i’m a lazy bitch and i don’t have time for that. enjoy. 🫶🏻

An end to craving is an end to suffering.

Today’s last stream of sunlight fulgurates through the branches of your father’s prized Texas Ash, hitting perfectly the dime-sized crucifix situated comfortably between two pert tits sheathed in sheer black cotton.

Joel tries not to stare, but it’s impossible. He’s been watching you all fucking night. Every time you get up, he’s been glued to your ass. Whenever you lean over, Joel can’t seem to pry his eyes away from your cleavage. The more he’s been drinking, the more brazen he’s been with his stolen glances.

When your father rambles about some work-related spiel—and you’re sitting so innocently across the way—he can’t help affixing his eyes to the swell of your breasts. Wondering what it’d be like to touch, and grope, and suck on them.

Your mother was right about him. For all of the years that she knew Joel while your parents were together, she’d always say that he was trouble. A good-for-nothing, splenetic, perverted old-man who was but a bad influence. And you never noticed, never cared. You always thought that he was a great friend, and a stand-up guy.

Until today. Until you saw him scrutinizing your form—in front of your dad—you had a lot more respect for Joel. But now you realize that your mother was right. He is a perv. But—fuck—do you love that.

You’re not sure what you enjoy more—disrespecting your insane Catholic mother, or knowing that Joel is undressing you with his eyes—but you can’t help yourself feeding into his fantasy.

“Daddy?” Your father hums, not entirely bothered by the fact that you’ve just interrupted his conversation. He smiles. “Do you want another beer?”

“Please, hon.” He hands you his empty bottle, mumbling something about how he was going to get himself one and that you don’t need to. But you insist.

The blanket over your thighs is being discarded, hiking your dress up with it. Joel gets a glimpse of your lace panties that he likes to imagine you wore just for him, and shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Bare, supple skin is on display as you get up from the deck chair. You turn to him with a prurient twinkle in your eye, and ask if he wants a drink too. “Yeah, another won’t hurt. I’m already pretty—“ he hiccups, “pretty far gone, anyway.”

Dad laughs while you saunter to the cooler and make a big show of bending over, completely unaware of the way Joel is trying to conjure up a plan to get you alone tonight. But then…

“Same ‘ere, bud.” He laughs before he’s nodding toward Joel. “Stay the night, if ‘ya wanna. I mean, you’re in no fit state to drive—none of us are—and I got a spare bedroom.”

His nose scrunches up, as if to decline, before you’re turning around with two unopened beers and a small bottle of wine. Your hand wraps around the neck almost romantically, leaving very little to his imagination.

“Yeah, you might as well stay, Miller.” You put down the beers on the table, still holding firmly the Merlot. “I’m stayin’. I got nowhere to be in the mornin’, and dad bought breakfast stuff.”

Two brown eyes are latched to each of yours, and you feel beads of perspiration roll through the valley of your breasts. Despite the evening cooling down, you’re stifling beneath his unyielding gaze.

“Alright, I’ll stay.” Joel concedes. He takes his can and cracks it open, lifting it up to cheers your father. “S’long as you’re makin’ me breakfast, Gary.”

Dad salutes and you smile, sinking into the purple cushion with a satisfied hum. You ogle Joel, biting fiercely the skin of your bottom lip. And it doesn’t go unnoticed.

Joel swigs his beer—letting your dad drunkenly ramble—and doesn’t take his eyes off of you. Wondering how he’s going to make you pay for torturing him like this.

But this hadn’t been your intention when Joel showed up to watch the Cowboys v Browns game this afternoon. In fact, him staying past nine o’clock was completely unintentional and if it weren’t for your dad pumping him full of Coors and Old Milwaukee, he’d be fast asleep at this very moment.

He supposes that he doesn’t mind, being here. Especially because he’s buzzed—still able to speak and think coherently, which is surprising—and gets to spend some rare time with you. Even if it is with your dad.

You watch them converse—the way that friends do—admiring how patient Joel is with him despite him being a little bit too inebriated for his own good. He’s the kind of friend that your old man needs; understanding, forbearing. And it baffles you that they’ve not known one another for longer than seven years, but surmise that they’d definitely be best friends in every other timeline because they just work so well.

But it’s the thought of them being friends—brothers—that urges feelings of unease. Trepidation. Gary’ll have a cow if he finds out the way that his so called buddy has been making googly eyes at his little girl’s titties for the last eight hours.

Joel senses the shift in attitude—you’re not teasing him now—and turns the topic of conversation to you. Dad doesn’t mind, though. Never minds talking to—or about—his kid.

“What made you stay in with us oldies tonight, huh?”

Wine is being swiveled around the glass before you take it back in one swig. A grimace flits over your features, but they both catch it.

“Didn’t feel like hittin’ the bars.” Candidly, you say. It’s refreshing. “Can’t be dealin’ with pervy old men tryna touch me.”

Less refreshing.

Joel’s blood runs cold, and you smirk. He swallows thickly the liquid acrimony bubbling from the chasms of his throat. He wants to screw that stupid grin off of your face—stuff his cock straight between those plush lips and throat fuck you ‘til you’re crying and gasping for air.

He just nods instead of saying anything.

“I’ll kill anyone that touches you.” Dad says, not sensing Joel’s sudden frigid state. “Seriously. ‘Specially if it’s an old fuckin’ degenerate asshole—“

“Alright, Gary.” You halt the hate train, pouring the last few dregs of wine into your glass. “No need to get all protective. No old coot is comin’ anywhere near me.”

You look directly at Joel when you say; “old men can’t do what guys my age can, anyway.”

Dad grimaces. Joel scoffs. You can’t help smiling, feeling very proud of yourself.

“Y’know, you’re still my kid? And hearing this shit is nasty.” Your father tells you around a burp, and realizes that this might be the time to call it a night.

He’s never been able to handle his alcohol, especially after being married to your psychotic beer-loathing, hymn-signing, prayer-group-leading, holier-than-though moronic fucking mother.

He lets himself get too drunk too fast, now. Ever since she went back to Kansas—which was totally code for I fucked the priest and got extradited from the church—he’s really let his hair down, and you’d be lying if you said this version of your old man wasn’t the very best. Because he’s living his life the way that he wants to, now.

It’s nice.

“It might be nasty, but ‘least you don’t have to worry about me bringing home a man your age. Or even worse; older.”

Gary gets to his feet—knees clicking and cracking as he does so—and nods. “‘Spose that’s true, kid.”

Joel. Is. So. Fucking. Pissed.

As you say your goodnights—and put on a few lights so that your dad doesn’t trip over his own feet—Joel is mentally counting down the minutes until he gets you alone on this damn patio. He’s determined to make you regret the few little comments that you’ve made tonight.

“Don’t stay up too late. Y’know how cranky ‘ya get with no sleep.” Dad reminds you. “You too, Miller.”

You hum your response, lifting your empty glass and indicating that you’ll be retiring to your room soon, too.

“Night dad.”

“Night, pumpkin.” He turns to Joel. “Make sure she ain’t up too late.”

He nods and shifts his gaze to you, eyes darkening. “Yessir. I’ll put her to sleep.”

Your father grunts and slides the patio door to close. Leaving his daughter and best friend alone together might be the biggest mistake that he’s ever going to make.

Joel watches him intently behind the glass door, heeding him stumble across the tile. He might be about to rearrange your guts, but he at least wants to be courteous.

Your legs squeeze together, for the only sound you hear is the reverberation of Joel’s I’ll put her to sleep in that sexy, beer-slick tone.

He sees it.

“She makin’ ‘ya squirm?”

You blink at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your pussy.” Joel—as candid as ever—elaborates. “Is she flutterin’ ‘cus ‘a me?”

The fallout of a chemical bomb would be much more appealing than having to look Joel in the eye after such a lewd statement.

“Don’t worry if so. I have that effect on the ladies.”

“Makin’ yourself sound like a slut, Miller.” Coolly, you respond. Your hand is reaching for a can of beer, twining fingertips around the base while another pulls the tab.

Two eyes screw shut when a spritz of alcohol is flushing over your face, neck and chest. Droplets of Bud trickle between those perfect tits that Joel’s eyes have almost burned fucking holes into; forcing even the horniest man on planet earth to render himself utterly speechless.

You trail a finger through the valley of your breasts, collecting the sticky liquid before you’re putting it straight into your mouth; sucking it clean. Your eyes are locked on Joel’s.

“What? Cat got your tongue?”

Slowly, he shakes his head. The sight before him is truly one to behold; his friend’s sweet daughter with her fingers between her tits out in the patio. Nobody’d ever believe him if he told them this. Joel probably wouldn’t even fucking believe himself.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t ’ya?” Is what he says in response. He’s quick witted, you’ll give him that. “My tongue stuck in your pretty little pussy—“

Heat flashes over you.

“You’re fucking vile.”

“Ain’t that the way it’s meant’a be?” He lurches forward, and your eyes travel to the small opening of his shirt’s midsection that highlights perfectly the fact that he hasn’t a base layer beneath the flannel.

You see a small patch of hair; brown, and gray and seems a little fuzzy. It’s a sudden reminder that this man is a smidge too old for you. But you can’t find it in yourself to care very much.

“Don’t think so.” Trying to out-douche him, you respond. Joel’s thick fingers are twined together, hands resting over the peaks of his knees. “Think youre meant’a have some kinda respect for me. Y’know, as my dad’s buddy, ‘n all.”

Joel snorts a laugh.

“I’d have respect for ‘ya, but the way that peachy fuckin’ ass was in the air when ‘ya bent over the cooler tells me that daddy’s ’lil girl is more of a slut than me.”

Your jaw rolls. Reaction: gauged.

He inches nearer to you; slimy grin plastered across rough, rugged features. “Only pullin’ your leg, hon. I know you’re no slut. Too much of a prissy bitch—“

“Oh, really?” Irked, you spit.

Joel nods. Pushing at your buttons has never been much of a difficult feat. It’s something that he quite enjoys, actually.

“Mhm, yeah.” The man is leaning backwards in his chair, now. Arms folded behind his head; hands pressed against his dark curls. “Gonna have to prove that you ain’t like your mama.”

Your blood boils. And then it runs cold.

“Don’t gotta prove shit to you.” You defend. Very defensively.

“No, that’s right. Don’t gotta do nothin’, kiddo.”

You see the outline of his dick as it stiffens within the confines of his dark, navy-denim jeans. He’s actually getting off on this.

“Unless you want to—“

“Nah, I’m good.” You’re leaning back, now, lifting your legs to sit criss cross applesauce. The barely-covering-your-crotch sheer fabric of your thong catches his eye; a glint of something wicked flickers through them as he clears his throat.

If you’re playing the long game, then so is he. He can out-stubborn anybody.

“So I’ve heard.” He jabs, insinuating that you’re a prude. Again. “Can prove ‘em all wrong, if ‘ya wanna.”

It’s killing him, this. It’s torture. But he’s strong. Ish.

You shake your head, reaching for your almost-empty can of beer. You’re taking another long pull, making a dramatic show of tilting your head back and puffing out your chest as you do so. His lips purse.

“I’m good.” You tell him again with a syrupy smile. “Rather we just talk. Y’know—be civilized, ‘n all.”

His arms are moving to the sides of his deck chair, now. Joel’s tongue runs along his bottom lip. He gives a quick bob of his head.

“Yeah, we can talk.” His eyes zone in on your pussy; the engorged wet patch situated on the part of fabric that kind-of clothes your cunt. His mouth waters. “But what’ll we talk about, baby girl?”

Another surge of pleasure oozes out from between your thighs, turning what was once a purple thong into a jet-black one. Joel doesn’t mind, though. The sight is sweet; it’s prurient, in some sick way.

“Hm.” You pretend to think, all the while spreading your legs a little bit more. He sees perfectly the outline of your folds as fabric hugs and highlights the inner workings of your beautiful anatomy. “Why don’t we start with what you’re thinkin’ about, Mr. Miller?”

A weakness of his, that is. You referring to him as Mr. Miller has always gotten him hot. It’s innocent, almost. It’s like that’d been engrained into your brain by the god-fearing fruit-loop that brought you up, and you can’t quit saying it in these situations.

“Oh, doll. Not sure you’ll wanna hear what I’m thinkin’ of.” His tone is rough, now. Like 180 grit sandpaper against the wooden walls inside of your fucking brain. You hum.

Mentally, Joel’s cock is spearing open the tight hole between your legs; making you scream his name. He’s thrusting his prick up into your cervix while you ride him like he’s the last cowboy on earth, desperate to feel a kind of pleasure that no man your age could ever bestow upon you.

In his head, he’s picturing your crucifix dangling in his face while you’re pleasuring yourself on his length; glistening with sweat, and cum, and Sierra Nevada. Howling at his girth, speechless at the size of him.

He wants nothing more than to wrap a hand around the base of your throat and fuck you into next week; feeling damp walls contract and seize around his cock—

“No.” You snap him back to reality; halting his train of thought. “No, you can tell me. I’m a big girl, I can take it.”

Oh, I’m fuckin’ sure she can.

“Fine.” He clears his throat. “Just thinkin’ of stufin’ that warm ‘lil cunt with my big ‘ol cock, ‘s’all.”

“Oh, is that all?” Your tone is teasing.

Joel does not like to be teased.

“If you’d shut your fuckin’ mouth, I’d be able to finish.”

In a moment of pure, unapologetic submission, you nod. The skin of your bottom lip is getting fucking gnawed at by your teeth in an attempt to conceal a moan.

It works. Kind of.

“What was I sayin’…” He strives to recall his last few words; and then he remembers. “Oh, yeah. Stretchin’ out that cute pussy ‘a yours.”

That cute pussy ‘a yours, is twitching. Fuck that, it’s pulsating.

“And you’re so sure of that? You being able to stretch me out, I mean.”

“Dead sure, angel face.” He quips. “I know for a damn fact that you’d be havin’ trouble takin’ my fat cock all in one go; be cryin’ for everyone to hear.”

Through long, thick lashes, you stare at him.

“You’d be seein’ stars; and not just the ones above us right now.”

You look up to the sky and hope to alleviate some of the mental pain being bestowed upon you right now. Which is entirely your own doing, of course.

Joel shifts in his seat so that he’s a little bit more sunken, able to heed clearly the sickly sweetness blanketing the chair you’re on.

“I’ll eat your pussy, too.”

Your attention is snapped back down to Joel, now. Your brows raise.

“Suck your soul right out from between your legs.”

“Oh, Joel.” You moan, a little. He lets his eyes shut for a brief moment, only to open them again to find you taking off your panties.

It’s like Christmas fucking day, this.

“I’d love for you to take me right here; fill me up on one ‘a the sunloungers.” You’re getting off your chair, and Joel’s heart is starting to pound within the chasms of his chest.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

You’re walking toward him; thong in hand. Fingers wreathed through soaked purple cotton.

“Can’t think of anything that’ll bring me more pleasure than you fuckin’ me ‘til I’m crying. Or gasping for air.”

“You ‘n me both, beautiful.”

You smile. You give Joel your underwear, before you’re running your fingers through his hair and he’s letting a hand glide up the meat of your thigh and beneath your skirt.

“Just a shame, ain’t it.”

“What’s a shame, sugar?”

The feeling of his fingertips—calloused and covered in rough skin—is almost orgasmic. But you’re stronger than what he is. So you pull yourself away from his hold, and begin to feel an unwavering sense of need. You shirk it, though.

You’re leaning into him now, breasts pressed against his shoulder, lips touching the shell of his ear. Goosebumps prickle over his neck and you assume that they’re making their way down south, too.

“Huh?” He says to get your attention, for you still haven’t answered. “What’s a shame?”

Fingertips trace over broad shoulders enveloped in soft, warm flannel. You’re leaning closer; hot breath on his skin. Your lips part to whisper:

“If daddy ever found out about this, he’d kill ‘ya.”

“Baby—“

You’re taking the panties from his hand, and tucking them into the breast pocket of his shirt. Fighting a blush—feeling very proud of yourself—your face remains straight.

You tap at his chest and walk away, but not before throwing a “night, Miller” over your shoulder.

Joel looks down at the ground, presently wallowing in some sort of self-pity. But then remembers the visible effect that his words had—and the way he looked at—you, and he can’t fight the stupid fucking grin pushing its way onto his face.

He might’ve just experienced blue-balls at his big age, but to see you submit to his gaze was absolutely worth it.

He just hopes you’ll never tell a soul about his dirty-talk. He has a reputation to uphold, these days.

[neofelis----nebulosa]

Ugh I accepted a job and I’m starting to have second thoughts

[bunnis-monsters]

Experimenting

Male!Vampire Scientist x Fem!Experiment Reader

Bunni’s Monstertober Event

Oct 18th

Oct 17

Oct 19

summary: when a vampire needs a source of unlimited blood, he turns to science. You’re his experiment, and a bit spoiled…

warnings: blood drinking, cock warming, male lead is a bit manipulative

a/n: shut up if I have any spelling mistakes 🙏 I’m trying to catch up

You let out an annoyed whine as he poked his head into your room. You were in the middle of a movie, eating a snack.

“Darling~”

He walked in, throwing his lab coat aside and jumping into your bed. The man had a habit of coming to you after a long day in the lab, being clingy and over baring.

“H-hey, don’t jump in my bed before you wash up!”

You pouted, squirming as he pulled you on his lap and rubbed his cheek against your neck.

“Oh, don’t fuss my dear… you know I just adore you, it’s hard to stay away for long.”

Before you could whine anymore, he moved his hand between your thighs, pressing against your wet panties.

“Don’t you remember who saved you? Who’s spoiled you rotten?”

You did remember.

Before you had been living on the street, hungry and barely hanging on. One night you were caught in the middle of a shoot out, and nearly died from blood loss,

He found you curled up in an alleyway, buried beneath trash and filth. You had already died, not even turning you into a vampire could bring you back…

So he used the knowledge he had gained from his research so far from both science and witchcraft to give you life.

One of the side effects was that you overproduce blood, and had to be drained daily. It was a happy surprise, and he decided to keep you for himself as his blood bag.

You were kept in a sterile section of his lap, your bed a plain cot and your food some sort of nutritional mush.

It was hardly the place for a girl… but it would do. You were just an experiment, after all.

That had been his idea at first, to keep you in his laboratory and feed from you every once in a while… but he grew fond of you quickly.

A room was decorated with your interests in mind, and he made sure you were comfortable and had everything you could ever want.

You were almost like his doll, something he could play with when he was bored. He dressed you up, kept you in a pretty room… you were his perfect, pretty little doll.

That’s what he told himself. In all reality, he truly cared for you. Once you bring someone back from death and care for them for months while they recover, you become fond of that person and want to see them thrive.

As he thought this over, your memory was a bit different.

You reached out for him to help you, and he carried you back to his lab himself, not caring that you were dirty and smelled of decay.

Your spirit watched as he carefully cleaned and stitched up your broken body, his hands gentle and caring. Even though you were simply a corpse, he still dressed you and placed a pillow under your head while he researched ways to save you at his desk.

When you woke up in your body, you were in something much softer than the ground you slept on every night. Every day you ate until you were full, and always had energy to walk around.

You weren’t hungry or cold or dirty anymore… that was enough for you, but he gave you even more! A room just for you, dressed and games and books and all the attention and love you could ever ask for…

But it was so hard to accept all of this, to really give in to being spoiled. Especially when you were crushing this hard on him…

His fangs brushed against your neck as he slipped the silk panties he bought for you aside. Lately his affections had turned from platonic to sexual, and he had been toying with you a lot.

Experimenting.

“I see… this is how wet you get when I rub here, hmm?”

He licked along your neck, eyes on your fat cunt as he flicked your clit, causing you to yelp and your hips to buck.

“H-hey…”

His cock hardened when you squirmed, your plump ass moving against his hard on. “That hurts…”

You were pouting, your face warm and flustered.

“So cute…”

He lifted your hips with ease, his cock rubbing against your cunt before he slowly lowered you into it.

Though you’d never taken cock before, he had been slowly stretching you out for weeks now, pumping his fingers in and out of you, getting you ready to take him.

You could only whine and whimper, embarrassed that it felt so good. You attempted to move, but he kept you still, his fingers toying with your clit.

“Relax, love…”

His fangs sunk into your neck, causing you to wiggle and writhe in mild discomfort, which made his cock twitch inside of you. The man continued to stimulate your clit as he fed from you.

Your soft body felt warm against him, and having your blood flowing through his felt intimate. You were connected in a way no one else could be.

As he finished up his feeding, he began lightly bouncing you, letting you ride out your orgasm as his cum spurted into your womb.

Afterwards you were tired and a bit cranky from the blood loss, so he carried you to a bath and washed you up before tucking you into bed.

Why did he do so much for you? He wasn’t sure… but you knew.

He loved you, his little experiment had become his mate and he hadn’t even noticed yet.

want more of this? my commissions and kofi are open!

——————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat

[drdemonprince]

Is there a polar opposite of transphobia?

Like I’m a newly transitioned trans man and suddenly everyone wants a piece of me. In a weird way. Like people have started asking me to join committees and talk to youth groups and shit so they have their “representation”. I’m now the token trans person. I live in a small lefty town. People either want to ask me allllll the questions or they are too scared to even talk to me in case they offend me. Suddenly everyone wants to be my friend. I feel like I’ve joined a club I did not agree to sign up to. Like is this normal? Is there a term for it? I have a lot of gay male friends who are awesome, no other trans people local. I’ve started connecting with people online.

I mean some people have been cunts for sure. But mostly it’s nauseating fawning. I know this is a stupid thing to be complaining about but I guess I’m curious.

I’m not that special, I’m actually just an angry little man.

My brother dear, what you are experiencing is a very common combination of the growing visibility & tokenization of being a newly out marginalized person, and the massive increased authority, social trust, social value that comes with being a man.

Welcome to male privilege baby, to put a spin on a far more undermining phrase that typically gets hurled at trans femmes. You will be considered a trustworthy authority on trans issues, a valuable contributor to panels and workshops, a needed (but also highly convenient to access) form of "diversity" for a workplace, a welcome attendee at all manner of events, and you'll be deferred to over women, especially trans women, for pretty much the entire rest of your life, if you continue to remain out about the trans side of things.

Guys like us are invited, centered, included, listened to, treated with respect, treated with WARMTH, viewed as intelligent, perceptive, sensitive, safe, trustworthy, reliable, and desirable to include. In the eyes of the cis public, we are a "safe" kind of trans person who does not make people uncomfortable to look at and who doesn't challenge their pre-existing understanding of gender hierarchy; when they listen to us, they get to trust in the certainty of a MAN giving them information, but they can also feel comfortable and safe around us as a kind of enlightened, sensitive nonthreatening figure.

We're men who can can explain sexism right back to women. We're trans people who went from being subjugated as women to being rewarded with privilege as dudes. In this way, trans men being positioned as an authority figure reinforces the existing gender hierarchy, which feels soothing and right to people's brains.

You will have to be conscious of this power differential for the rest of your life, around cis and trans women alike, because otherwise it plays out in a pretty traditionally sexist fashion: people (especially women) will go quiet when you start speaking, you will be given credit for ideas that were a collective effort, your emotions will be more likely to be taken seriously and seen as a sign of principle rather than weakness, and you will be regarded as special and memorable while dozens of other people and their concerns are passed over.

Another factor that is at play here is a phenomenon that is less specifically gendered, because it does happen to trans women too, and that's the phenomenon of cis groups making the newly-out trans person their token and educator, because typically it is the newly out person whom they have the most access to and power over.

The moment that a trans person transitions they immediately start getting singled out as an expert and resource on the trans experience, asked to lead workshops at their jobs and explain concepts to people and attend events and sit on panels. I think on some intuitive level cis people kinda *know* that the newly out are in a vulnerable, uncertain state and have fewer communities ties and less experience than more seasoned trans people do, and so they make the ideal "translator" of trans experiences to them as an audience.

In cis people's minds, you're not gonna push back, you're not going to complicate their narratives, you're not gonna be tired of answering offensive questions, and you will be freely available to them as a resource, because you've just come out. You'll put a friendly face on transition, one marked by newness and hope, rather than be jaded, complicated, or assertive at them. That's their expectation.

It makes no logical sense to make a newly out member of the community the arbiter of transness or the educator on the trans experience, but it DOES make sense that a powerful group would view such a disempowered and disconnected (relatively speaking) member of the trans community to be the most attractive to include.

Of course, this might not be true to who you actually are. But on a gut level, this is how the newly out trans person is typically seen: nonthreatening, moldable, convenient, so thankful to be included that they won't be angry. And you will be doubly rewarded for fulfilling that role if you are a man.

The only way to upend this narrative being forced onto you is for you to speak up, every single time you are invited to an event, and demand that just as many trans women be included in that event as trans men. Make sure to have a nice list of experienced, wise trans femme friends whom you can recommend as speakers and co-panelists in your pocket.

More often than not, you will be thanked by cis people and rewarded for having the brilliant idea of including women in a conversation about gender minority status. How the trans women in the equation get treated, well, you'll need to pay close attention to, and be ready to stand up and speak out the moment any passive aggressive exclusionary bio-essentialist fuckshit gets going. You can do it! And lots of times you ARE the person with the power to set things right. You're trans and you're being singled out, but you also are a man.

[aurynsia]

Slim Pickins

James Potter x Reader

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Summary: You pine over your roommate’s friend from school at a party while he’s on a call with his ex…

Warnings: Miscommunication trope, slight hurt -> comfort, James is stuttering like a lovesick FOOL so good luck reading the dialogue, reader is referred to as a girl with she/her pronouns and presents femininely, Marlene being the greatest match maker of all time!

Word Count: 1.1K

Masterlist

A/N: “A boy who’s jacked and kind…”so, James Potter?

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Sitting alone at your roommate’s dinner party, you gazed longingly at the boy who poured a sudden dose of affection into your once-loveless world, a disgruntled frown pressed against your lips.

Only meeting a few weeks ago on a frantic night of music and drinking, Marlene had practically dragged you over to the tall boy with a grand smile spread across his bespectacled face.

You were so enamoured after your first introduction, you completely missed the way the boy - James - leaned tentatively over to Marlene to whisper words of admiration.

“Just like how you described…is it too early to ask for her number? So pretty…” the muttered compliments and queries were drowned out by the blasting music, assisted by your complete lack of self awareness as you pined over the way his hair tickled his neck when he leaned towards your roommate.

You had danced your way through the nerves, guided by the soothing rhythm of pumping bass and new beginnings as you formed a core memory with your roommate and new friends.

Tonight was a different story.

James stumbled around your living room, a few drinks too many compromising his composure as he rambled on the phone to his old girlfriend.

Marlene had told you all about James and Lily, king and queen of their grade, and the sudden end to their relationship after graduation.

While you were relieved to hear the boy was single, you couldn’t help feeling a tinge of jealousy as he rambled on about something excitedly, cheeks blushing and smile only growing wider.

You nursed your drink in your sweaty grasp, feeling the depressing effect of alcohol wash over you like a wave over the Scottish shoreline.

James passed subtle glances towards you, throwing his drink around in his hand as he spoke animatedly down the line to an undoubtedly amused redhead.

Your jealously sparked into unbridled envy, willing yourself to turn back time and dance carefree once again, grinning at the handsome new face as you crossed the dance floor blindly in your memory. You slumped in your seat, allowing your vision to blur as your eyes fell in your intoxicated haze.

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

James was all but yelling down the line to his lover-turned-friend, gushing enthusiastically through a permanent smile. “Seriously, she’s so cute! I wish you were here to meet her, I think you’d really get along,” He rambled, glancing in your direction every second moment.

“Yes, Potter, I’m sure we’d form an unbreakable bond over shared experiences of being relentlessly pursued by you,” Lily quipped, voice laced with a lighthearted tease. “Oh, shush. You won’t have to deal with my antics anymore if this lovely girl has anything to do with it. I think I’m gonna ask her out tonight, Lils!”

Lily was the only person in the school-born friend group who moved too far away to attend any of Marlene’s late-night gatherings, only kept in the loop by drunken phone calls from the bustling London apartment.

She meant the world to James as one of his closest friends, so he assured her repeatedly that it was crucial she knew about his obsessive new crush before he made a move. Physical distance couldn’t stop him from updating her on every new development in the capital city, constantly obstructing the peace and quiet of her comforting cottage.

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” Lily sighed in partial satisfaction, but mostly in exhaustion at the late hour of the night. “Go get your girl, Potter.”

With that final encouragement, James passed on hurried farewells before hanging up on the past. Now, his gaze was fixed on his future. His cheeks heated at the sight of your soft face, eyebrows furrowed in drunken fatigue.

With a final breath of courage, he pushed through his chorus of friends, Marlene squeezing his shoulder as he passed in knowing encouragement.

Striding along the path of dirtied plates scattered across your dining table, he finally found comfort in leaning against the wooden surface just in front of your current seat.

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

You stirred at the sound of a deep cough - James clearing his throat to gain just a moment of your attention. “Enjoying the party?” he laughed nervously, never one for small talk with a girl he fancied.

Your eyes winced as you forced your best, welcoming smile at the boy. “Yeah, I am, just uh- lost track of my drinking an hour or two ago…” you admitted, forcing your eyes open to meet James’ bashful gaze, feeling almost sinful at the pleasurable warmth that shivers through you at the sight of his golden eyes.

“So, listen- uh…Marls said you were too good for me and I can’t help but agree with her, I mean,” he shifted his weight to balance his drunken nerves, “you’re brilliant. But I promised myself I’d shoot my shot anyway.” He scrambled to sit beside you, abandoning his position against the table as you stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief, blinking in a fluster that successfully woke you from your alcohol-induced slumber.

“So, um…I really, really like you. You’re so bright and- and gorgeous, and I’m really quite obsessed with you,” he rattled with embarrassed laughter, “I thanked Marlene a thousand times over for introducing us, and I just can’t let an opportunity like this - with you - go to waste. So, with this liquid courage…” he shook the drink in his hand, “I was wondering if you’d want to grab dinner some time. With me. Just us.”

You might as well have called for “clean up on aisle your floor” because your jaw wouldn’t be lifted from the wood beneath your feet any time soon.

“I- I mean, yes! Of course! That…that would be great, James, really,” you responded on autopilot after stunned silence, lost in his lovesick gaze as you subconsciously leaned closer to his warmth. James lit up like a lamp at dusk, grinning ear to ear as you inched closer in unexplored yet familiar comfort.

“Brilliant.”

Your roommate and her friends watched on with smiling pride before leaving you to whisper and giggle like school girls sharing meaningless secrets, bathing in the light of blossoming romance over the candlelit remnants of dinner.

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

[xxsabitoxx]

Nanami Kento NSFW A-Z

Part of my 20k follower celebration (past due)

Warnings: if it isn’t abundantly clear, this is smut :)

A/N: in honor of hitting 20k followers a while back, I’m going to be posting 10 NSFW alphabets for JJK men — scheduled post 9 :)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Kento prioritizes aftercare, he doesn’t care how tired he is after the fact. He’s making sure you are happy, comfortable and your needs are cared for. Kento will make sure you enjoyed yourself, making sure to ask if he was too rough or if there was anything you didn’t enjoy. He’ll ask if you’re sore at all and will take the time to massage where you’re tender. He’ll clean you up and get you water if needed. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He’s prone to saying all of you. There isn’t one part of you that he doesn't deeply adore, but when it comes down to it… especially if you tell him he can only name one thing… he’ll say your chest. Kento is a boob/chest lover. Doesn’t matter if they’re huge, big, average, small, flat, Kento adores your chest. 

On his own body, Kento is quite fond of his thighs. He’s a bit shy about admitting that but he thinks they look pretty damn good in his suit pants and workout attire. He also thinks they look pretty damn good when you’re grinding down on them. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Bless him, Kento loves coming all over your chest. He loves seeing his pearly cum paint your chest in ropes, going as far as to smear it further before sticking his fingers into your mouth to clean them. He thinks he’s a little bit sick for having  that fascination  but you assure him you enjoy it just as much as he does. And, like most, Kento will never turn down coming inside of you if presented with the opportunity. Though he’s guilty of doing the same thing he’ll do to your chest… collecting whatever drips out before plunging them back inside of you or bringing them to your pretty mouth. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

If given the opportunity, Kento would gladly wear your underwear. But not a clean pair… no they have to be already worn, maybe even with a stain or two from your own arousal. Though he can’t last very long in them, getting way too worked up to not take them off and use them to jerk himself until he’s spilling all over them. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Kento may not have much experience, but you’d never know it. He loves raunchy novels, opting to read them in his free time when he can. He’s not huge on porn but when he was younger it was his go to. Kento has no shame in actually putting research into these things because he wants to make sure his future partner is satisfied whether they are his first or his fifth. So when he fucked you for the first time, you’d never ever guess that you were only his second “hook up” which evolved into much more. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Kento is a sucker for cowgirl. Both regular and reverse, he loves watching your face as you struggle. The position also allows him a perfect view, he gets to watch his cock disappear and reappear inside of you over and over until you topple over and beg him to take over. Kento works out often, so it’s not surprising that he’s able to angle you just right and thrust up into you without breaking a sweat. He’s also partial to watching your body bounce and jiggle every time you drop yourself down on him. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Kento leans heavily on the more serious side of things when it comes to sex. It’s like… mildly impossible that he’ll crack a joke or say something funny when fucking you. He’s serious but not in a way that would make you uncomfortable, if that makes sense. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Kento maintains his hair very well, not too long and not too short. He prefers to have some hair down there opposed to bald. He actually did shave it all off once and was not a fan of the regrowth process so he decided to not do it again. Also yes, it’s blonde like the rest of him but just a tad darker, like his eyebrows. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Kento is a little awkward at first with intimacy and being romantic during sex. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be, he’s just unsure on how to go about it without making himself cringe. He wants to make sure you’re comfortable with the things he does and says but that takes time to learn through trial and error. But once he’s used to the whole idea, he’s pretty romantic when fucking you. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Kento rarely jacks off now in his late twenties. When he was younger he would do it probably 2-4 times a week mostly to unwind, but now that he’s really gotten busy with sorcery work (and he had you) he doesn’t really have the time alone anymore. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Hair pulling… choking… orgasm control… things that all mildly bleed into the realm of BSDM. Kento was a bit surprised when you thought he would be more on the vanilla side of things. Kento is also heavily into breast play (both giving and receiving) and spanking. He likes being called sir but doesn’t know how he feels about daddy.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Any location in your home but preferably the bed, countertop, couch or dining room table. If he’s very daring he would fuck you stupid in a public but private space (such as an empty classroom in jujutsu tech and/or his old office) 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Cuddling… not to say he can’t cuddle and keep it G rated… but when you’re laying in bed with your ass pressed into his groin and you purposely start wiggling your hips? He’s done for. Kento lives for your massages, the way your hands dig into his tense shoulders and slowly move lower. He also really enjoys you wearing his clothing… with nothing underneath. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Kento downright refuses to do anything cuckolding or threesome related. It just isn’t for him. Now he’s not going to say it will never ever happen because who knows. But at this point in his life, he is not willing to share you and quite frankly you aren’t willing to share him. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

GIVING. Kento is utterly obsessed with giving head. He would spend hours between your thighs if he could (what's stopping you hmmm). Kento uses it as a way to calm down and unwind after a stressful day, lapping at your sex until you’re mewling and making a mess of yourself. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Kento is slow and sensual, even when he needs to take some stress off. He’s rolling his hips into you deeply, so slowly that it's impossible to not feel every inch of his cock penetrating you. The only exception to this is when you are riding him. You set the pace and Kento is more than willing to accommodate it and keep up with it when you inevitably get tired.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Kento isn’t super into quickies, he doesn’t like being in a rush when it comes to sex. He likes to take his time with you, blocking out the rest of the world for an hour or two while he treats himself to some much needed “self care” aka a hot shower, a good meal, and fucking you senseless until his bones feel like jelly and he can’t move. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Kento isn’t super risky, he’s open to trying a handful of things but he’s not really keen on it. Kento is also not into the idea of public sex… at least in locations where there is no door to lock or there is a highly likely chance that you’ll be seen and/or walked in on. So overall, not that huge of a risk taker but he’ll try something new here and there. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Nanami can last anywhere from 5-8 minutes per round. The amount of rounds he can go depends on how tired and/or stressed out he is. Typically he can always go two rounds if you’re up for it. The most you’ve ever gone with him was six total rounds but he says he can go longer… 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Kento is more reserved in this sense but he will buy a vibrator if you want one (he already owns one…) he’ll use his ties as restraints and his own hands for “spanking”. He can think of alternatives for pretty much everything but a vibrator. But if you really want to buy some sex toys, Kento will amuse you and buy them. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Kento?? Unfair?? Yeah no. Kento may tease you when you are alone, a teeny bit in bed, but he is all about you and your pleasure… even when he’s stressed or mad. He will never withhold anything from you while fucking and he will never tease you until you’re crying. He much prefers making you cum so many times you’re delirious from pleasure. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Kento is definitely on the quieter side but that is mildly due to his deeper voice. Kento isn’t really one to moan, he’ll groan and curse and gasp more than moan. But that’s not to say he can’t. If you’re getting him off real good? A couple unrestrained moans will slip in there and you’ll notice his cheeks flush because of it. You tend to leave it be, not teasing him about making such noises because you know if you do he’ll probably never make the noises again. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Loves taking dirty pictures for you. He was so awkward about it at first when you initially asked him for a nude/dick pic. But that awkwardness actually worked to his advantage because the nude you received was good enough to be framed in your opinion. After the first one, Kento is an accidental pro and lewd photo taking and even has a folder in his phone for all of the ones he’s taken… he also has a separate folder of your nudes and nudes he’s taken of you. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Kento is 5.5 inches when soft and a whole 7.5 when hard. He’s a big boy, girthy like the rest of him and he sticks straight out. He’s a nice tan color with a pretty pink tip, a few prominent veins running up his shaft too. He’s a bit shy about his size because he knows he’s quite large so he keeps that in mind when getting ready to fuck you. He’s understanding when you go down on him, encouraging to take things slow and not force yourself to take more of him than you can handle. He likes to massage your jaw after, and praise you. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Kento’s sex drive isn’t astronomically high but he will never say no to sex when you offer/initiate something. He’s easily turned on by some of the things you do but he also has enough will power to control his desires. He’s quieter, which makes him freakier idc what anyone says. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Kento can fall asleep within two minutes after sex but he keeps himself up to make sure you are clean and comfortable. He’ll pull you in close, wrapping his arms snuggly around you and try his damn hardest to wait for you to fall asleep first. It’s really a 50/50 on if he’ll win that battle.

[omega-e123]

!! NSFW !!

CW: Masturbating, Blowjob, Scent kink

In A Rut…

Prologue || Part 2 (HERE!) || Indulgence || Adoration

Restraint.

Shadow thought he was doing so well keeping it together… as well as someone who keeps an arms length from their partner wherever applicable. Details. He would have been doing far worse without these precautions.

Until it was movie night. One of the most uncomfortable experiences he’s ever had. While you were lying down cuddled up to his side, Shadow sat upright with his arms crossed. Your head in his lap completely distracted him from the movie he picked.

His heart was beating in his throat.

Fuck. Your pretty little face so close to his cock. Hands tangling themselves in your hair and grabbing a fist full. He wouldn’t be able to resist holding you in place while he fucks your mouth. Tears streaming down your face as Shadow pushes you to your limit. Oh to have complete control over your head, bobbing it up and down. Pressing his length to the back of your throat.

He’s grateful there’s a blanket separating you and him. Little indents are left in his upper arms from grasping too tight. Careful to not draw any blood, otherwise there no way getting out of that conversation.

Your head turns to look up at Shadow, asking if he’s okay. You can feel the tension in his muscles, but naturally, he brushes it off. Reaching up, you attempt to comfort him, whatever’s bugging his mind via placing a hand on his cheek. Shadow intercepts it, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

“I’m fine.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

After months of keeping Shadow’s jacket in your possession, finally it’s been returned back to its rightful owner.

Not that Shadow minded it went missing for a long time. It brought a sense of pride in him seeing you in his clothes. To Shadow, it was like you were showing off to the world you belonged to him.

He figured later down the line, once it gets cold again, you’ll be back to snatch that jacket for yourself. Additionally, it’s not out of the ordinary for you to give it back to him for a day or two so he could ‘refresh the scent’.

“It just smells better when you wash it”, you claimed.

Speaking of, Shadow could tell you’ve worn this recently and haven’t cleaned it yet. One whiff and he’s on his bed hugging it. Already missing you.

His body begins to move on its own. The article of clothing pressed against his face while his hips slowly begin to rhythmically press up against the mattress. With every inhale, Shadow falls deeper into a spell.

Shadow knows he probably shouldn’t be doing this. Embarrassing how a simple jacket with your scent on it has him on his hands and knees. Turned into a mere animal. Shit. Fuck, He wants to stop. It feels too fucking good. Try as he might, his moans refuse to be silenced.

More.. more..! He needs more friction. Cursing under his breath, Shadow moves a pillow to sit right underneath him. With each thrust elicits a guttural moan. Sweat beads on his forehead as he picks up the pace.

Fangs sink into the fabric, imagining it was your own collarbone. His arms hook under your knees, pressing them towards you, in order to gain better access. Deeper in to release his seed. Shadow is practically snarling and singing your name. Even after being over stimulated, he keeps you trapped.

The humping becomes erratic as Shadow chases his climax. One hand is released from the jacket and claws tear into the sheets next to him. Damn it. Add that to the list of things he needs to buy tomorrow.

Finally he stills, heavily panting. If only you were here. Here to cuddle with him so he didn’t have to do the walk of shame to clean up his bedding… and himself off. Rotating to his back, Shadow lays an arm over his eyes. A hand over his heart.

Contemplating.

How is he going to keep this up for one more month.

[goldsainz]

❝ NSFW ALPHABET ❞

MASTERLIST!

pairing . . . aemond targaryen x reader

◦∘｡ﾟ. warnings . . . MINORS DNI! smut (unprotected sex, slight sub/dom dynamics, voyeurism, mummy kink (but not really), cum play, rough fucking), lewd language, slight mention of aemond’s first visit to the brothel, touch-starved aemond, barely proofread.

◦∘｡ﾟ. summary . . . aemond’s behaviour in the bedroom.

◦∘｡ﾟ. note . . . ignore that the man in the picture has dark hair, it’s hard finding good quality aesthetic pictures😔 requests are open for aemond (he’s a bad man but he’s my man okay… like i respect a good villain i’m sorry) (but also hate him cause why you beefing with lucerys and rhaenys…). anyway, happy reading i hope you all enjoy this!

[ word count: 2,6k ]

A — AFTERCARE . . . what they're like after sex!

Aemond doesn’t really know what aftercare truly entails, he learns how to be better at it with you. He will clean you if a mess is made, can run a bath if necessary, and then lay down with you. It takes time for him to cuddle, but eventually he caves in. He may not say it but he craves that affection and security by knowing you're so close to him. 

B — BODY PART . . . their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner's!

THEIRS . . . His torso. It might be a weird thing to love about himself , but he most loves it because you cling around his waist and place your head against his chest. He is incredibly toned, just a mass of hard muscle but he can see the comfort you find in it. Another thing he loves is seeing the marks you leave on him, he’s prouder of those than any scar he receives while battling.

YOURS . . . He adores your tits. Adores watching the way they move when you’re breathing in those tight dresses you always complain about, he also adores resting his head on them and seeking comfort in the soft flesh. Aemond peppers kisses on them so much you have to resort to wearing high-neck dresses to hide the marks, which in turn means getting even more because your husband cannot control himself. 

C — CUM . . . anything to do with cum, basically!

This man is messy. He does not care where he cums, whether it's your face and chest when you suck him off or deep inside you, he’s a mess. You need to clean yourself thoroughly after being with him because he leaves you covered in it. He knows he could be more controlled with it, but something about you being sticky from his cum makes him feral and thus he cannot be any other way. He likes to takes his hand and spread over your body, placing his cum-covered hand and placing it between your lips and has you suck on them.

D — DIRTY SECRET . . . pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs!

Aemond wants to fuck you with an audience. He craves staking his claim over you for all the realms to see, to have the world see but never know how good you feel. Have you moan his name, make you desperate for him, while the others boil with envy at the connection the two of you have. Though, as much as the imagery makes him hard, he is far too possessive to ever really dare do it. 

E — EXPERIENCE . . . how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?

He has little to no experience. Aegon dragged him to a brothel once, but he didn't learn much from and rather steered away from that world. Still, Aemond loves to learn and study so he gathered whatever knowledge he could from books and then put them into practice when he married you. He learned all the little things that made you squirm, how to get certain noises from you, and how to take care of you. With time, he became an expert and you were always left more than satisfied from your activities. 

F — FAVOURITE POSITION . . . this goes without saying!

Mating press is his preferred position. He gets everything he wants from it, the intimacy from being able to see you and the dominance of having you pressed against him, willing to take whatever he gives you. The skin-to-skin contact, the intimate eye-contact and deep penetration makes him adore this position. It is raw and primal, all the things Aemond longs for when being intimate. 

G — GOOFY . . . are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.

Aemond prefers it to be a serious moment. He finds that passion is what's most important during the act, with him willing you to submit to him while he takes charge. If something humorous occurs he won't be deterred by it, most likely indulging in what happened and slowly bringing the mood back into a more serious atmosphere. Truthfully, he’s not a person to joke around much and the bedroom will not be the place to start doing so. 

H — HAIR . . . how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.

Probably as well groomed as the times allow him to be. He finds it to be more comfortable, to be finely polished all-around, he’s a bit of a perfectionist and any thing that is not up to measure he detest. Have you seen how beautiful his locks are? That does not end in just the hair on his head. As for the carpet matching the drapes, his hair is that beautiful silver shade of white all over. 

I — INTIMACY . . . how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect.

He wants to be romantic, but he resorts to small shows of affection. He is deeply passionate but it does not come from a romantic place, more so an urge to claim you. In his head he wishes to be more romantic, to show his love for you in the sheets, but since he does not know how to properly do so he refrains from trying. Not that you seem to mind, you also lean into the more primitive ways he fucks you, rough and senselessly. Intimacy is displayed by the way he holds you, the eye contact you make (eyepatch off, he trusts you so he is totally bare), and the deep kisses he gives you.

J — JACK OFF . . . masturbation headcanon!

Only when he is away from you. His touch does not even begin to compare to yours, his hand is not as soft as yours or even as gentle. He much rather prefers to build up his need for you and  just wait to fuck you than the mediocre orgasm he could get with his own hand. 

K — KINK . . . one or more of their kinks!

Mommy kink… look at him and try to argue that. That man needs an affectionate touch, one that slightly resembles a child. It takes him a while to really lean into it, perhaps he does not outwardly call you “mommy” but his actions and the way he almost whines when you run your hands through his hair, he’s definitely thinking about calling you mommy so bad. Another kink he has is voyeurism, as previously mentioned, he fantasises way too much about that scenario. He has taken you in places where you could’ve gotten caught, that rush makes it all the more sweeter for Aemond. Being a dominant is also something he indulges in more, making you be his only and have you all to himself. That eagerness you have to submit to him, the look you give him almost like he’s a God? He could almost melt on the spot.   

L — LOCATION . . . favourite places to do the deed!

Anywhere where he can have you spread, eager for his touch and he can touch every single inch of your skin. He is not picky of the surface in which he fucks you on, Aemond is always ready to be inside you. While he prefers your bed because of its comfortability, he is actually not as picky as one might think. There was one time where he was in the council room, and he sneakily dragged you in and ravaged you on the council’s table. You trying to stifle your rooms, the risk of possibly getting caught and the rush he got from fucking you in a room that was not meant for such an act, it was all too much to bear. He sometimes dreams about that evening, wishing to repeat it.

M — MOTIVATION . . . what turns them on, gets them going!

Everything about you attracts him, but those moments when you act like a brat and give him attitude? Aemond does not know what to do with himself. In his mind all that he can muster up is the need to put you in your place, but not because he’s mad at you, never that; because he loves to be the one to tame you. Your combative attitude is reserved just for him, to the realm you're the picture of grace but to him? Sometimes you cross the line, if you weren’t his wife he’d surely punish you… and he does, but in a most pleasurable way. 

N — NO . . . something they wouldn't do, turn offs!

Anything that involves sharing. You’re only his, no other being deserves to be even looked by you, much less touched. He also wants you to be sound of mind when you’re intimate, if you’re drunk or asleep, he is not pursuing any sexual desires. Though when you’re drunk you’re much bolder, he is only amused by it not aroused. 

O — ORAL . . . preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.

He quite likes being the receiver. There is nothing alike to the sight of you on your knees, pleasuring him as if it was your only duty. Aemond doesn’t mind being the one to go on his knees, with an eager tongue and the prize of your breathy moans. It is much harder for him to submit to you which is why he’d much rather you pleasure him. Even you like being under his mercy, giving him that dominance that he so craves. 

P — PACE . . . are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.

Aemond is usually fast and rough, he fuck you so hard you can feel him for days and leaves your insides aching. He usually worries about his harshness, seeing you limp right after tugs at his heart. Yet, when he’s pounding in you and you scream for more, he forgets about most of those thoughts. He can be slow and sensual if he wishes, taking his time and making you cry for his touch, he sometimes needs that reassurance that you want him just as much as he wants you.

Q — QUICKIE . . . their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.

He thoroughly enjoys a good quickie. It gives him a moment to relieve his stress, to have some semblance of comfort. Whether it’s his study or against one of the library shelves, he aches to have you even for just mere minutes. Aemond likes them so because it is a taste of what he will surely have later, it almost makes him need you and your touch more. It is safe to say he approves of quickies. 

R — RISK . . . are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.

Taking risks is something he loves. He is always eager to try out a new position or christen a new place in the Red Keep. Aemond wants to try all that there is to partake in at least once, some he does again and some he swears to keep hidden, never to be mentioned again. Is he slightly too feral about all things related to sex? Mayhaps, but you enjoy it just as much as he does. 

S — STAMINA . . . how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?

Aemond is a skilled swordsman, his stamina is off the roofs. He trains for hours on end, making himself the perfect warrior, it is not surprising that all that pent up energy is used on you and your bedroom activities. He can easily go for 2 - 5 rounds, lasting for about 8 minutes when he is inside you… though if he is needier, it could take just a few minutes. It is almost impossible to exhaust him, in fact, you’re sure he could be rustling all day between the sheets but as much as you love your husband, there is so much your body can take. 

T — TOYS . . . do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?

He has some, but they are rare. It is not like he doesn’t like the, but he prefers you reaching your peak solely by his hand than another object. Besides, there are not many sexual toys to begin with. Not unless he visits a brothel or has them shipped from Essos.

U — UNFAIR . . . how much they like to tease!

Biggest tease on all of Westeros. He’s making you beg like there is a reward for it, has you squirming and whining for him to touch you more and to stop touching (though that is not what you truly want). He builds up your desire until you cannot form a coherent thought anymore. Aemond takes his time kissing your body, brushing his fingers against your bundle of nerves. He needs you to give yourself wholly to him, tears in your eyes as you beg him to claim you. 

V — VOLUME . . . how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.

Not really loud, he lets out rough grunts and breathy gasps when he ruts inside you or his cock is in your mouth, but that’s as far as it goes. He much prefers listening to the sounds you make, attentive to the way your body expresses all that you feel because of him. Aemond lets out a deep groan when he spills himself inside you, that is the moment he makes the most sound.  

W — WILD CARD . . . a random headcanon for the character!

Aemond once tried to coax you to let him touch you while riding on dragonback. It was a short trip above King’s Landing and he had decided to take you with him to spend more time together, and he took the opportunity to propose a wild idea (he still thinks it wasn’t that wild). But you only looked at him as if he were crazy, shaking your head side-to-side and turning down his proposition. There were many things you were willing to try, but this was too out there. You didn’t feel totally secure in the air to do such an activity, even if it was only touching. Also, poor Vhagar, she doesn’t deserve to be witness to such depravity… She just wanted to fly peacefully for once!

X — X-RAY . . . let's see what's going on under those clothes!

Around 14 cm or 5,5 inches. Though what makes him more impressive is how girthy he is. He hits all the right spots inside you, filling you to the brim. Aemond becomes so greatly skilled that there is no way you can complain about anything. 

Y — YEARNING . . . how high is their sex drive?

He is insatiable. Thinks about all the ways he wants to ravage you at least once a day. If you’re near him? That man is about to risk it all, lose all honours he has just to have a taste of you. Aemond needs to get off you, honestly, he is almost too attracted to you. He needs to have you at least once a day, he doesn't care about anything. You’re on your period? That man simply does not care. You are not feeling well? He knows something that could cheer you up. Nothing could deter him from being intimate with him. 

Z — ZZZ . . . how quickly they fall asleep after sex!

Only falls asleep once he knows you are, he likes to pretend it's for your safety but truly he enjoys watching you be so calm around him. Sleep does not come easy to him, usually plagued by nightmares and thus avoids fully giving himself to the darkness. But being with you helps, your body wrapped by his, hugging you tightly and caressing your hair. He admires your sleeping form and how beautiful you are, that soothes him. The best sleep he has ever gotten has been with you in his arms, no doubt about that. 

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

By Your Side Always

Summary: You comfort Astarion after he breaks down due to your near-death experience.

The last thing you feel before the ground hits you is a burning hot pain in your stomach where a sword had run you through, your mouth opening in a small ‘oh’. The last thing you hear is a familiar voice screaming out your name, filled with anxiety and fear. The last thing you think about is how Astarion would react when he saw your body. Would he mourn? Would he continue on with his life as though nothing had happened? You hoped that he would find the strength to carry on and become his own person, unafraid of others. With the last of your strength, you try to search for his face, wanting to see the vampire you had fallen hard for one last time, but darkness claims you before your eyes can lock with his.

“Y/N!”

The first thing you feel when you wake up is the coldness of someone’s hand tightly wrapped around yours. The first thing you hear is the soft whisper of his voice telling you that you’re safe, that he’s right here with you, sending waves of reassurance through you. The first thing you think about is whether you’re in heaven or hell, but that wouldn’t make sense since Astarion was here. You were pretty sure you died or something when that sword ran you through.

“Y/N.” You look up into ruby red eyes filled with concern.

“Star.” The word catches in your dry throat, sending you into a coughing fit. Astarion quickly hands you some water and makes sure you finish it all before speaking again.

“Where are we?” You rasp.

“At camp, darling. Don’t you worry,” he presses a quick kiss to your forehead.

“The goblins –”

“All take care of, dearest!” He chirps, far too chipper for your liking.

“Astarion, what happened to me?” The smile falls from his face, ruby red eyes downcast. He stares at the bedroll you’re lying on, playing with the cloth of his tunic before looking back up at you, his smile no longer reaching his eyes.

“Nothing Shadowheart couldn’t fix.” The smile is plastered to his face, a facade perfected over the course of almost 200 years but you see right through it immediately.

“Did I die?” You decide to go straight to the point.

“Well, I don’t believe I’m dead dead so I doubt you’d be seeing me if you were in the afterlife,” he gives a hollow laugh.

“Astarion,” you frown. “You don’t have to fake anything around me, I won’t hurt you.”

His face falls, his genuine feelings shining through at your words and you automatically reach out but he pulls away to compose himself. He fears he will simply break down if you were to hold him right there and then, giving you more problems. He’s on the cusp of baring himself to you, and the very thought scares him. He searches your face, looking for signs that you will tear him down after he’s shown how vulnerable he is but as per usual, finds nothing. The nagging voice in his head, however, says otherwise and he’s torn between trusting you and trusting that voice.

“If it’s too much for you, you don’t have to say anything. I’m just worried about you bottling it all up, I don’t want to see you suffer.” You force yourself to sit up despite the sharp pain the action brings, schooling your face to ensure Astarion doesn’t notice the pain you’re feeling. He’s already struggling with his own emotions, you don’t want to add to his burden.

“I thought you were dead.” The words leave his lips in a whisper. “I was afraid, far more afraid than I’ve ever been. Your barely conscious body scared me far more than Cazador ever could. You were lying so still with that damn sword sticking out of you and all I could do was wish that you were still alive, still breathing as Shadowheart did everything she could to heal you.”

He squeezes your hand so tightly it begins to hurt, his bottom lip trembles and he bites down on it to stop the trembling. Astarion can feel tears pricking at the edges of his eyes, a lump swelling in his throat that he tries to choke down.

“Didn’t work for me,” you grin, pressing a kiss to his tear-stained cheek. “I’m right here, alive, and the goblin who tried to kill me is dead.”

He clutches at your sleeve, desperately hugging you as he inhales your scent and feels the warmth of your skin against his. You’re here, alive, warm. Your heart is beating, a steady thrum in your chest that fills his ears and reassures him that you’re safe.

“I’m sorry,” he presses his forehead against yours, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left your side, I should have been faster, I should have seen the attack coming.”

“I failed you.”

He shrinks at his words, body tensing up. Sharp nails dig into his palms as terror floods his mind. He failed you. You’d punish him for it, kick him out of the party, leave him to fend for himself. He can’t bear the thought of leaving your side, he can’t envision a future where you’re not there, lying right next to him as you hold him in your embrace. He doesn’t want to.

“My star,” you murmur, reaching out to wrap him in your arms despite the twinge of pain in your chest. You can feel him shaking and your heart shatters, an ache that is replaced by a wave of anger at Cazador for what he did to your lover. You nuzzle into his soft silver hair, pulling him close so that you can tuck him in your embrace. The pain from your stab wound is nothing, not when your beloved so clearly needs you right now.

“You didn’t fail me. I’m alive, you killed the goblin who attacked me, and you’re right here, by my side. That’s all I need.” Pressing your lips against the top of his head, you gently rub circles on his back all whilst cuddling him. He leans into your touch, gripping your shirt and curls against you, biting back his sobs. He’s supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around and yet here he is, getting all emotional while you console him.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” you whisper, pressing comforting kisses all over his face. “I promise, I won’t leave or abandon you. You’ll always have a place with me.”

“You…mean it?” He hates how pathetic he sounds but the soft look in your eyes eases some of his worries. You look at him with such genuine love and care, eyes devoid of the lust he’s used to seeing in the prey he brought back for Cazador and devoid of the malice Cazador’s eyes always held. Your every touch is filled with gentleness and warmth, flooding him with a nice feeling he can’t quite describe, he only knows he can never get enough of it.

“Of course, Astarion. You’re my star, I’ll get lost without you.” If your younger self could see you right now, they would never believe their eyes. It wasn’t long ago when you would do anything to avoid physical contact, hissing whenever anyone brushed against you, even if by accident, and yet here you were, initiating a hug so tight that Astarion would have suffocated should he have needed to breathe.

Astarion squeezes his eyes shut, imprinting the feeling of your arms around him in his mind. He feels safe, loved, needed in your embrace.

“Promise me,” he chokes. “Promise me you’ll never put yourself in such danger again, innocents be damned. I don’t care what happens to anyone else, I just need you to be safe.”

“Then I’ll need you to continue fighting by my side to guard my back, don’t I?” You run your fingers through his hair, admiring how soft it is despite its owner clearly not having taken care of it in a good while.

“I suppose you do. After all, what will you ever do without me?” A hint of confidence floods back into him, a small smile playing on his lips. He gives you a grateful look, undead heart soaring at your declaration of your need for him.

“Hmm, I don’t ever want to find that out,” you give him a peck on the lips, “but I would like my star to at least clean himself up before cuddling with me any further.”

“Anything for my love,” he happily nuzzles you. “I’ll see you in a bit, Shadowheart should be here any time now to check up on you. After that I’m all yours.”

“And I’m all yours too,” you smile. “Now go.”

With one last kiss, he reluctantly leaves your side and you let out a sigh of relief. He was dealing with your near-death experience rather well considering how new he was to having someone to call his own.

“No more martyring then,” you chuckle to yourself, “not when there’s someone who cares so deeply about me.”

[taesancult]

leehan + fingering

a/n: his hands are pretty. that’s it. that’s all i have to say.

warnings: inexperienced!reader, fem!reader, leehan is slightly inexperienced, fingering ofc, making out/bit of spit, dirty talk, bit of a praise kink, some insecurity/worrying, use of the names baby, pretty girl, my girl, and princess (again i went overboard… this is kinda graphic & way too long)

SMUT UNDER THE CUT. MDNI.

when you first started dating, you told leehan upfront that you hadn’t really explored your sexuality. when you brought up intimacy with him, he also shared that he didn’t have ton of experience either, making your heart calm down a bit. him being him, he was so kind and understanding. he never pressured you, never made you feel like you had to have sex at any point. he was willing to wait for your comfort, telling you that he doesn’t mind at all to be patient and that the ball is in your court. he wanted you to initiate things, so that he knew it was what you really wanted. that whole conversation was basically just him showing off how much of a green flag man he is, and again, you felt that same sense of relief.

to this day, you still haven’t really done anything with him besides making out. you wanted him, of course you did. your heart yearned for him, you wanted to make him feel good. you wanted to see what he looks like when he’s overcome with pleasure. you wanted to hear the sounds he makes caused by your body, your hands, your mouth. your nerves just got in the way of things, until today.

you were riled up all day, not knowing how to handle yourself. you kept thinking about what it would feel like to finally have leehan inside you; the sounds, the sensations, the love that would be shared. you two spent the day together and it seemed like everything he did somehow turned you on. you especially felt like his hands were making you go crazy. your boyfriend had the prettiest hands ever. you wondered what it would feel like to have them inside you, sliding in and out while he watches you, hopefully praising you. god, you knew it would feel so good to get praised by him. have him tell you how pretty you look when you fall apart-

“baby, are you doing okay? you seem like you’ve been out of it?” he asked you as you two sat on the couch together. you completely zoned out while thinking about him. “yeah- i’m fine, just a little bit stressed i think?” you responded, to which he pouted slightly while thinking for a moment. his eyes lit up as if something clicked and he looked at you with a sweet smile before saying, “how about we go on a night drive? we can talk and you can tell me everything that’s on your mind?” you nodded in agreement, but were freaking out on the inside. the thought of being in such a closed space with him made your heart rate go up.

you drove around a bit, before finding a nice parking lot that was pretty much empty. you put the car in park, while keeping it on so you could have some chill music softly playing in the background. you sat there in silence for a moment, before he broke it by asking “wanna get in the back?” you nodded as you both climbed in the back, but you made sure you were sitting as far from him as possible.

“what’s wrong? did i do something?” he asked you as he noticed immediately the distance you put between the two of you. he never misses anything. “no! i promise it’s not you- i’m just stressed.” he looked at you for a bit, noticing how you refused to make eye contact with him, before asking “but why are you so stressed?” you took a big deep breath in, feeling as though you should just be honest about the fact that your body craved him. fuck it, might as well spit it out before he starts to worry that he did something wrong.

“it’s just embarrassing- but… i haven’t been able to stop thinking about you all day.” you admitted as your cheeks started heating up. he smiled at you, “but i’m right here? why would you be thinking about me?” he asked in sincerity. you couldn’t believe he didn’t get the hint at first, maybe he just thought you were so innocent that sex wasn’t really on your mind or something. you sighed in defeat, “leehan, i can’t stop thinking about your hands. i’m curious, i guess? i mean if it’s okay-“ he interrupted you, knowing you were about to go on a tangent, “what? that’s not embarrassing at all. it’s natural to want your lover.” he said in a gentle, but deep voice. god, even his voice was enough to make your pussy leak. “can we… maybe do something?” you asked as you hid behind your hands, feeling your face get even warmer. he scooted over to get closer to you. he moved your hands away so he could see you, and he had a soft smile on his lips as he asked “yes. are you sure, though?” you nodded enthusiastically, feeling like your body was on fire with how much you needed him.

“just relax for me, pretty girl.” he whispered as he got even closer to you, kissing your forehead, closing the space between you two. his soft, full lips melted into yours as he kissed you with such passionate. just the feeling of his lips on yours was enough to have your head spinning and your insides doing somersaults. his tongue made its way into your mouth, playing with your own. his hand pushed back a few strands of your hair behind your ear, then started caressing your cheek. you broke the kiss, both of you out of breath, before you whispered “more” to him. you attacked his own lips with yours; this kiss was much messier and full of desperation. you wrapped your arms around his body, pulling him close to you. he broke the kiss, a bit of saliva still connecting the two of you. “gonna take such good care of you.” he said as he gave you another soft kiss then started kissing your neck, nipping at your soft skin, making you moan out. “leehan, please, i need you” you whined as you felt like if he didn’t touch you, you might combust.

“so needy. what am i gonna do with you?” he laughed lightly as he pulled back to look at you. “you’re so beautiful… can i take care of you?” he asked as he gestured to your bottoms. you quickly nodded your head and even started to take off your bottoms for him, making him chuckle at how eager you were. he gently moved your hands, wanting to do it for you, and he took them off so you were only in your panties. he took a deep breath in as he was able to see the big wet patch. “so wet already, you must have been aching for me, huh?” he questioned, and once again you nodded with a “mhmm” as a response. he brought his hand to your clothed cunt, his index finger just barely traced the wet spot, making you flinch. he barely touched you and your body was already so sensitive. the way you flinched made your body start to heat up, getting embarrassed at how needy you must seem. “s-sorry about that…” you apologized with your head down. he immediately picked your chin up, so you were looking directly at him. “you’re okay, princess, gonna make you feel so good.” he said as he looked at you with a sudden look of concentration. “can i take your panties off?” he asked as he started circling the large wet spot again, and smirked as you immediately let out a breathless “yes.”

he practically ripped your panties off your body, staring at your now fully exposed pussy. he went in for another kiss, then asked “can i touch you?” “i think i’ll die if you don’t” you admitted to him, causing him to laugh. he took his index and middle fingers into his mouth, making sure to coat them well before taking them out. you felt yourself clench around nothing as you watched him do probably the hottest thing you have ever seen someone do, and he must have noticed as he asked you “like what you see?” he raised his eyebrow. you were going to answer before he took his two fingers, gliding them between your folds.

you were so sensitive, you let out a moan as this sensation was completely new to you. just the feeling of his fingers sliding between your soaking folds felt like electricity was coursing through your body. he focused on only using his middle finger, swirling it along your clit. you felt butterflies in your stomach and felt a fire in your tummy as you whined for him to just enter you already. he smirked, making his way down to your entrance, slowly pushing into the opening. he took his time, not pumping his fingers just yet, he wanted you to really feel it. he wanted you to be comfortable. shortly after, he slowly started moving in and out.

you whimpered at the feeling as this was something you had never experienced before, you didn’t want to be too much so you were trying so hard to contain yourself. “you’re so pretty like this, trying so hard to keep it together. i can tell, you know?” he said as he continued easing his middle finger in and out of your soaking cunt. “f-feels good, but is embarrassing” you said, which just motivated him to start going faster. “it’s not, i want you to let go and give me everything.” he said as he started curling his finger up, gently hitting that one extra sensitive spot in your body. you threw your head back, the feeling becoming too much, and gave into his wishes. “f-fuck leehan.” you moaned out. “that’s it, let me hear those pretty moans.” he encouraged you as he kept fucking you with his finger. “want me to add another?” he asked as he thought he could make you feel even better. “mhmm,” you whimpered out as he added a second finger. his pace slowed, making sure you experienced not a single ounce of discomfort, until you grabbed onto his wrist. “don’t- um… don’t go slow…” you told him, getting a look of surprise from him in response, which quickly turned into a grin.

he started picking up the pace, sliding his fingers in and out quickly, but not too quickly. you couldn’t hold back your moans, it was all too much. a wet sound started to fill the entire car and you covered your face with your hands again out of embarrassment. “what’s wrong?” he asked and you just whined out, “sounds so embarrassing.” “i promise, it’s not, here, feel.” he assured you by taking one of your hands and putting it on his hard cock. “it’s making me so hard, seeing my girl like this.” he said as he continued focusing on you, you softly squeezed his cock in his pants, causing him to pause for a split second. he took a sharp breath in and went back to you, this caused you to become curious. you started pawing at his pants, noticing a similar wet spot like the one you had just moments ago. he curled his fingers upwards, hitting that spot again to distract you from his cock. he wanted you to cum before all else and he was more than determined to make that happen.

you clawed at his bicep, clinging onto it as you fell victim to his hand. you felt a weird tingling sensation in your belly, you’ve felt it before when you touch yourself. however, it felt different this time, as if it were 10x more intense. “l-leehan-fuck!” you cried out as his thumb started rubbing at your clit. “close? is my pretty girl going to cum for me?” he said as he continued fucking you with his fingers. “yes! gonna cum so hard for you.” you told him, not even phased anymore as those words left your mouth. “yeah, princess? is your cute little pussy gonna gush for me?” you felt that same electric feeling like your nerves were slowly being set alight one by one. “yes! yes! just keep going, please” you rambled on as you were right there on the edge. he came close to your ear, whispering to you in that heavenly deep voice of his, “i’m so proud of you, my good girl.” that was it, that statement alone caused you to fall apart immediately. your orgasm hitting you so hard you could barely breath. you cried out his name, your back arching as he rode you through the euphoria.

“that’s it, feels good right?” he smiled at you as he watched you come down from the most intense high you’ve ever experienced. you could only nod at him, feeling your eyes become heavy. he slowly took his fingers out, making sure to lick up all your essence with not a drop left behind. the sight caused a shiver to run up your spine. he grabbed your discarded clothes, dressing you with care. “you feel okay?” he said as he kissed your forehead. “do i feel okay? i feel like so good i can’t think right now, that was insane.” you admitted and he went in to kiss you. his lips against yours were much softer as if he was trying to tell you just how much he loved you through it.

once your brain cleared up, you realized he was probably still hard. “can i touch you?” you asked with a pout. “don’t worry about it tonight, baby, we have all the time in the world for that.” he said as he grabbed you in for a hug. “i love you. thank you for letting me make you feel good and trusting me.” he said as he wrapped a secure arm around your body. you felt your heart explode in your chest at his sweet words. “i-i love you too, you’re so special to me.” he smiled at your words, and squeezed you tighter. “so let’s talk about that praise kink of yours-“ “my WHAT?”

you spent the rest of your night in each other’s arms. you talked about anything and everything. it wasn’t awkward after like you expected it to be, in fact, you felt even closer to him. it was such a sweet, but extremely sexy, experience and you were happy you got to have it with him. you went to bed that night in his arms, feeling extra loved and extra satisfied.

[discordantwritings]

Practice Makes Perfect (Katakuri x Reader)

Warnings: gn AFAB! Reader, Reader is normal human size, virgin! Katakuri, some feelings, size difference, big giant ass size difference, it’s basically monsterfucking, oral, premature ejaculation, grinding, frottage

WC: 5.2k

Summary: Katakuri is worried about his lack of experience in the bedroom should he get married off by his mother. You, a kind and concerned friend, are here to help him out.

Notes: this was supposed to be just a little warm up……. Oh well

Tagging: @keiva1000

While neither of you nor Katakuri would say it out loud you were both the closest thing either of you had to a friend. You didn’t verbalize it since it would be improper- you were one of the few high ranking pirates in the Big Mom Pirates that wasn’t a part of the family so you knew your position was precarious. Katakuri had his reputation to think of so you never blamed him for his occasional distance. But in the precious moments you two got alone, both of you relaxed just a little bit.

Like now.

“And that’s all the reports from the morning. Any news from your breakfast with Big Mom?” You sat on the edge of Katakuri’s desk, the only spot in his office that made it so neither of you had to strain your neck to look at each other.

“No new movements of changes to current plans.” Katakuri answers, his slightly muffled voice through his scarf as always but there was something in the way he answered that gave you pause.

“Was there something else?” You know how much he loves his mom- but everyone knows that she can be beyond overbearing.

“She says she wants me to be happy.” Katakuri sighs and you immediately understand the situation.

Everyone knows Big Mom is obsessed with growing her family. And while Katakuri is spared some of the overbearing pushing of his mother due to how much responsibility he took on- Big Mom still wants to see her darling commander in a happy relationship. But for someone like Katakuri finding someone casually isn’t an option and you know how long he’s been pushing back from an arranged marriage.

“Well, it might be nice?” You offer, but you both can easily tell you’re just trying to make him feel better.

“It’s not like I don’t want something like that…” He pulls on the overlap of his scarf, securing it even further on his face. “I just don’t want to force someone to be with me.”

“I know it’s not a great situation but anyone would be lucky to be married to you.” You offer him a reassuring smile. “You’re one of the kindest people I know. I’m sure you would make a wonderful husband.”

It isn’t until you see a blush creep over the edge of his scarf that you realize you might have gone a little too far. It was all honest- perhaps too honest- but you should know better than to be so upfront with him. Despite his cold exterior he’s incredibly soft underneath and the few times you’ve complimented him he’s practically ran away.

“Ah- well-“ You watch him flounder and decide to help out.

“I mean all of your siblings who have had their marriages arranged and that’s worked out pretty well for them! Sure it might take some getting used to but this is a really nice place to live.” You take the heat off of him and watch him relax a bit, still buried more than usual in his scarf.

“I guess…” From his voice you can tell there’s a bit more going on but you decide not to push him just yet.

“Well I have to get going and take these reports but I’ll be back later for the evening debrief?” You grab the reports sized for normal humans and slide off his desk, landing with a small thud.

“Yes, of course.” You can’t see his mouth but you can see the smile in his eyes as you wave goodbye.

You don’t stop thinking about Katakuri having an arraigned marriage for the rest of the day. Big Mom has clearly been bringing it up more recently and as much as you also wanted him to be happy you couldn’t help but feel a certain sadness whenever it was brought up. He was the one person you felt even remotely comfortable around and him getting a partner might disrupt the small world the two of you shared.

Of course, you couldn’t have a crush on your commander. There’s few things that would be worse than that. It would be catastrophic if you pictured yourself with him, spending time in his large embrace, sharing food, seeing what was under that scarf…

So, of course, those are things that are not happening. And even if they were to happen it’s unrealistic for so many reasons. Not only the fact that he was a commander but- well- he was big and you were not. Sometimes you forget that you’re an average size person when you spend your days with the Charlotte family. There’s no way Katakuri would want someone basically a third his size.

You though?

Well you wouldn’t mind being with someone basically triple your size.

It’s shameful the way your mind wanders when you look at his massive hands or the way you’re directly in eye line of his broad chest when you sit on his desk. The way he could overtake you in every sense of the word-

Your body had carried you back to Katakuri’s office for your evening debrief while your head swam with thoughts you quickly shoved deep down as you knocked on his door. Katakuri’s voice calls for you to come in and you really really hope observation haki can’t secretly be used for mind reading.

You take the ladder specifically set for you up to his desk, laying out the fresh reports for him. “Nothing noteworthy, just resupply requests and normal Marine movement.”

“Mhm…” Katakuri looks through the papers but you can tell his eyes are glazing over the words and not actually reading them.

“And tomorrow is a quiet day, just a few meetings that everyone will come to you for.”

“Ok.” He’s still staring at the paper that you know has no interesting information on it.

“Katakuri?”

“Mhm.”

“Katakuri!” You yell, not out of anger but just to get his attention- and it works.

“Ah- sorry- I was just… thinking.” He sets the papers down, adding them to a stack on the corner of his desk.

“You’re not still worried about this arranged marriage thing are you?”

“I… yes I am.” He admits, eyes looking shamefully to the side.

“We talked about this- I know it’s not the best but it’s not like you’ll be holding someone hostage.” You offer, sliding closer to him in an effort to get him to look at you.

“I understand that.” He sighs and finally glances back over to you.

“But?”

“But… it’s-“ He shakes his head and pulls up his scarf more. “Nevermind.”

“Katakuri.” You reach you and gently touch his forearm that’s laying on the desk next to you. “You can talk to me.”

You watch a blush creep up over his scarf at the touch but you don’t move your hand away. “It’s… I don’t want to be crass.”

Now that has you even more curious. “I won’t hold it against you. Besides, if it’s troubling you this much I want to help.”

“It’s- ah-“ He turns his gaze away again but does answer you. “I just have… no… experience.”

Ah.

Well.

Honestly, now that you’re thinking about it, it makes totally sense. Katakuri won’t even show his face to anyone and you’ve never seen him be casual with anyone besides very close family members or you. He was someone who took his duty very seriously so running off in his youth and having fun would be out of the question too.

“I’m sure the right person wouldn’t care about that.” You reassure him honestly.

“But there are certain expectations- and I can’t even be sure it would be the right person since I won’t have that much of a say-“ To hear a man of few words nervously ramble catches you off guard and makes you realize how painfully insecure he must be about this.

“Katakuri- hey-“ You lean into your hold on his arm.

“And- I mean there are only so many people in the world as tall as I am Mama was lucky enough to find people with comparable heights for everyone else but what if that isn’t an option-“

“There are ways to make it work.” Both of your hands are on his arm at this point, leaning to try and catch his gaze.

“And I could just accidentally hurt-“ He stops mid sentence as he processes what you said to him.

There a moment of painful silence as both of you catch up on your words. You’re probably blushing just as hard as Katakuri at this point, realizing where the conversation was headed.

“I mean- that-“ It was your turn to flounder, embarrassed that even a sliver of your thoughts had breached the surface. “There are… less than traditional ways to- never mind!”

You pat his arm and stand up, planning on leaving the desk and hoping you bash your head on the way down so you can forget this ever happened. However, as you’re about to do so Katakuri’s hand hovers in front of you, stopping you in your tracks. You don’t turn to look back at him but you can still hear him clearly.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable but…” There’s a long pause and you turn to see him staring down at you, gaze surprisingly serious. “I would be indebted to you if you gave me some guidance.”

“Of course.” You answer before you can think yourself out of it. “What are friends for?”

There’s something that flashes behind his eyes at your words but you can’t read him before he’s awkwardly settling back into his hair and giving you space to sit down again. You sit back down, suddenly aware of just how hot your body has gotten.

It’s probably best to start easy. “So you haven’t- I mean I know you keep your face covered- have you ever kissed someone?”

“When I was really young, just some silly childhood stuff…” He’s back to not making eye contact with you, nose buried in the scarf. “But even kissing is…”

You’ve heard stories about what lays under his scarf- all sorts of tall tales that you’re sure aren’t true. You scoot closer to the edge of the desk.

“Can I see?” You ask softly- hopefully.

You watch his hand slowly creep up to his scarf, hesitating at the frayed edges. It’s unnatural to see him scared. You’ve watched him decimate hundreds of Marines without a change in expression- but here even you could notice the fear.

“Just don’t- please-“ You’re not sure what he’s asking but you nod knowing you would do anything for him.

He slowly pulls the scarf down and away from his face and it’s all too clear why he’s hidden that part of himself away. Large fangs rest at the corner of where his mouth should end but you see the thin line where his mouth continues close to his cheekbones. Despite how unnatural it is you can’t help but feel like it fits his face perfectly. The contrast of his pink blush against the sharp fangs is so perfectly him- nothing looks out of place. He’s watching your reaction closely, you can tell he’s using his observation haki from the way his eyes narrow but you don’t have to hide a single thing.

“Katakuri you’re perfect.”

You watch your honesty sink in with him, long moments of silence as he grows impossibly redder before he forces his gaze away to the ceiling.

“I guess- ah- well you can see why kissing would be a problem.” Thankfully he doesn’t move his scarf back up, content for now to tug at its ends nervously.

“Well…” You hum thoughtfully. “There would have to be some caution but I don’t think it’s a problem. Besides, if a person isn’t as big as you are then their mouth could fit right in between your bigger teeth.”

“I guess…” You watch him shift in his chair, occasionally glancing back over at you before refocusing back on a spot on the ceiling.

“So, see, nothing that can’t be worked around.” You nudge his knee with your foot, trying to make the air in the room less heavy.

“You’re right…”

There’s more quiet as the next part of the conversation looms, both of you knowing the real issues he was thinking about. You try not to be eager to talk about it, not wanting to push him too far and not wanting to come across as some pervert. You give him the space he needs and after a minute he speaks up again.

“I just don’t see a way around the… size problem.” His voice is quiet and breathy and you force yourself to ignore the heat rising in your stomach.

“There’s a lot that can be done without… insertion.” You cringe a little at your own word choice, but that was the least sexually charged term you could come up with.

“But I thought…” You see a small flash of embarrassed panic as his eyes dart back to you. “I mean- I’m aware of the other things! I just didn’t think that was, you know, enough…”

“It’s enough. More than enough if you know what you are doing.” Your gaze was locked on him and it seems like neither of you could look away anymore.

“Oh that’s… good to know. Very good.” You can feel your heartbeat in your ears as you fight to keep your face normal as he slowly responds. “I guess that I just… need to know what I’m doing.”

“And I’m sure that you would be receptive to learning.” You know that not all men are but you know that Katakuri would be.

“I like to think I would.”

The way he’s looking at you so intensely and speaking so softly- you throw caution to the wind.

“I can help you learn, if you want.”

“Please.” His response is so quiet you almost think you’re making it up in your mind but when his large hand softly runs over your leg you know it was real.

You nod, not trusting your voice in the moment as his hand travels to the outside of your thigh and his thumb rubs comfortingly into your side. He leans in, large face taking up your whole vision as he hesitates just a hair away from you.

“We should probably go to my room.” His breath fans over your face as he talks and you nod, even if your body is screaming that you need to touch him now. “Is it alright if I carry you?”

The idea makes you giddier than you care to admit. “I’d like that.”

He smiles down at you as he stands up, easily picking you up with one hand and holding you close to his chest. Instinctively you reach out to steady yourself against him, your hands finding his chest. Your face burns as you realize you’re practically groping his pec but that doesn’t stop you from leaning into his skin.

You’re thankful there’s no one in the halls between his office and his room, unsure how either of your would explain this situation. He quickly pushes into his room, locking the door behind him before gently setting you down on his large bed. As much as you try not to you’re right at eye level to stare at Katakuri’s crotch. His large bulge strains against his leather pants to the point it must be painful for him. Before you can fully process just how big his cock is you force your gaze up to his face where you find him watching you carefully. Smiling up at him you push yourself further up into the bed, settling your back against his large pillows.

“Come here.” You say softly and he follows your request automatically, crawling overtop of you.

You reach your hand up to hold his face and he leans into your hand. You don’t push him to go faster, letting him slowly adjust to your physical contact as he hovers above you, propped up on his elbows. His chest presses down into your legs, a comforting weight against your body.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, full of sincerity.

You nod and he slowly moves down, hesitating just before his lips touch yours. From there you close the gap, gently pressing your lips to his. Your mouth fits snuggly between his fangs, only the smooth outsides press into your cheeks. Katakuri is frozen against your mouth and after a few second you pull away and look up at him with concern.

“If you don’t want-“ Before you can get the rest of your sentence out he surges back down, eagerly pressing his mouth to yours again.

He’s clumsy as moves his lips against yours but he more than makes up for it in how enthusiastic he is. Katakuri isn’t pushy though, letting you take the lead as you mouth molds to his. You take it slow and steady as he learns to match your motions. He’s a quick study though and the both of you easily transition to him being in control of the kiss. You don’t pull away until your lungs force you to, gasping as he nuzzles your nose with his.

After you catch your breath you press one more quick kiss to his mouth before speaking. “How do you feel about kissing now?”

His wide mouth cracks into a smile. “I think I like it but I’m not quite sure yet…”

You giggle as he captures your mouth in a kiss again, now more confident in his movements. You let your hands tangle in his hair as you lose yourself in the kiss. Eventually he releases your mouth to press more kisses into your jaw and neck. You can’t stop the breathy moan that eases out of your throat at his actions as your hands pull at his hair. He clearly hears you because he stops in his tracks, darkened eyes glancing back up to you.

“Tell me what to do next.”

You nearly faint at how sincere he is- but at the same time there’s a nagging thought in the back of your mind that you might be using him. “If you lay on your back I can-“

“Tell me how to please you.” He shifts so his weight is held by one elbow, large hand running down your side.

“You don’t have to do that.” You say, barely clinging onto your reservations.

“Please let me.” Fingers lay at the waist of your uniform and the last coherent thought flies out of your mind when he pushes your shirt up and kisses your stomach.

You lift your hips up to quickly shove your pants and underwear down to your thighs before Katakuri helps them the rest of the way, tugging them off your legs and discarding them. He moves down the bed slightly, large hand splayed over your left hip and thigh gently keeping your legs open. Your breath is heavy as he stares between your legs and you fight off the urge to be insecure.

“Tell me- show me-” His breath tingles on the soft skin inside your thighs.

You let one of your hands drift down your body and between your legs, fingers seeking out your folds. It’s no surprise to you just how wet you are as you use two fingers to push apart your folds, to show Katakuri what you’re doing. Your other hand follows and you use your pointer finger to slowly draw circles around your clit. A whine drags its way out of your throat, already so worked up and on edge.

Katakuri watches you in a trance, fingers digging into your skin on their own accord as you whine and moan at your own motions. Ready to take it further you use your hand previously holding your folds open to dip inside you, two fingers sliding in with no resistance.

“You don’t- fuck- you don’t have to be inside but a lot of people like a- a mixture of internal and external-“ You do your best to explain as you pump your fingers in and out of yourself, the lewd sound of your slick loud between your words.

“My fingers might be too big.” He’s not wrong as you watch them drift to the inside of your thigh and close to where you are working yourself.

“Don’t have to- you can use your mouth if you-“ Just the idea of him eating you out has your walls clenching around your fingers.

“Can I try- please-“ He sounds desperate, on the edge of begging you.

“Yes- fuck please-“

You let your hands drop as Katakuri uses his fingers to part your folds. His other hand maneuvers your legs up and around his face, your knees settling near his temples as he gets his mouth closer to where you need him. You watch his mouth split open and his tongue slip out, anticipation killing you as he moves slowly. Finally his tongue moves, the large muscle dragging a long stripe through your folds and up to your clit and you moan loud at the sensation. One of your hands grips into his hair as he repeats the motion, tongue digging deeper into your folds this time.

“Is that good- you taste good-“ He doesn’t even wait for your answer before he dives back in again, movements gaining confidence.

“Yeah- fuck- just like that just-“ You grind your hips into his face when his tongue reaches your clit again and he understands what you need.

He uses the tip of his tongue to press against your bud before sliding the thick muscle down again to slip between your folds. Slowly he presses his tongue into you, the size already overwhelming compared to your fingers. Despite his careful movements he pushes in too far too fast and you pull his hair hard.

“Hey- easy-“ You warn him and he pulls out of you quickly to look at you with concern.

“I’m sorry did I hurt you? We can stop I-“

“Just too much too soon- you just have to let me stretch out a bit.” You run your hand through his hair, petting him to calm him down.

“Okay, I can do that.” He presses a kiss to your thigh before diving back in.

He’s careful but he’s messy- part of it due to just how big his mouth and tongue are really. You feel your slick and his saliva coat your thighs as he laps at you, tongue seeking out every inch of you. The next time he pushes into you he’s much slower, letting the muscle flex inside you as you writhe beneath him. It’s wonderful but it’s just not quite enough. Your free hand goes between your legs and you almost have your fingers on your clit before Katakuri sends you a glance that stops you in your tracks.

“No-“ He says, barely pulling away. “Let me.”

You retract your hand and feel Katakuri’s thumb move to take its place, pressing down lightly as his tongue snakes it way back inside you. You swear loudly as he moves, grinding your hips into his fingers and tongue as he lets you use him to chase your pleasure.

“Just need you to- just move your finger a bit-“ You guide him and he obediently follows your direction, thumb moving in small circles like your finger had done before.

Looking down at him you watch as he’s lost in your taste, moaning into you at every grind of your hips and pull at his hair. You don’t miss the roll of his hips on the bed, no doubt desperate for the friction of the mattress beneath him. It’s all too much for you and you cry out his name as you cum, white blocking your vision. Katakuri doesn’t stop though, eagerly lapping at your juices even when you regain the strength to pull at his hair.

“Kat- fuck- baby stop-“ You don’t even register that you’ve said the pet name as he finally pulls off of you, confused.

“Did I hurt you again?”

“No ‘m just sensitive and it was a little too much right after I came.” You explain with a dazed smile.

“So you…” You nod and he smiles wide. “Didn’t want to assume-“

“Me screaming your name is a safe indicator.” You say with a small laugh.

He rests his head down, squishing your thigh and stomach a bit but you don’t mind the pressure at all, combing your fingers through his soft pink hair. The two of you sit like this for a bit, the silence comforting. Eventually though, you break that silence.

“I know you don’t like laying on your back but if you just want to sit up-“

“Oh- um- I’m-“

You’re a little confused at his reaction so you prop yourself up lightly to get a better look at him. “This is a mutual thing Katakuri- I don’t want to just-“

“Please, really don’t worry about me-“ You watch his face bloom with pink again and it clicks for you.

“Did you finish already?” You ask softly, no traces of judgement in your words.

“I’m sorry-“

“No- don’t be sorry.” You push yourself down so your face is level with his. “If you ask me it’s really hot that you came just from eating me out.”

“Oh- well-“ You press a light kiss to his mouth before he can stumble any further with his words.

“If you don’t want more I understand but if you can go another round there’s still some things on my mind…”

He captures your mouth in a messy kiss, a far cry from the chaste one you gave a moment ago. You can taste yourself on his lips as you’re pressed back into the bed by how eager he is. When you push on his shoulder lightly he breaks away and lets you breathe.

“Just don’t tell anyone about me being on my back.” He says seriously and you nod.

He rolls over, careful not to squish you in the process. As he does so you throw your shirt off, finally fully naked. Once he’s settled you climb onto him, his muscles flexing under you as you settle on his lower stomach. You watch as his hands ball into the sheets, forcing himself to stay still. As you slowly slide back though, he catches you off guard with a quiet question.

“When you said you had some more things on your mind… have you thought about this before?”

That freezes you in your tracks, embarrassment and shame filling up your stomach and catching in your throat. You lock your gaze to the side of him as you try and find your words. Logic tells you it’s stupid to be embarrassed at this point- he’d already enthusiastically ate you out- but your emotions dragged you down as you wonder if this really is just a practice run for him.

“You probably don’t want to know.” You answer, suddenly aware of how naked and cold you are.

“I just want to know if- hey…” One of his hands untangles from the sheets and a finger lightly presses against your chin to make you look at him. “I just want to know if you’ve been thinking about this as much as I have.”

That catches you off guard and while you think for a second he might be lying to you you see the honestly in his eyes. Of course. Why else would he show his face to you, lay on his back for you. You feel stupid for not realizing it sooner.

“I have been.” You confess, leaning your face into his hand.

You let yourself enjoy his touch, the warmth of his skin finally seeping into you and giving you the confidence to slink back down his body. You drag yourself down over the bulge in his pants, his cock already hard again. You slowly undo the large belt and fastenings of his pants, opening them up to see the dark patch in his boxers. Taking both your hands you tug the elastic waistband down and his cock springs out.

“I’ll just-“ One large hand gently picks you up as he raises his hips and shoves both layers down past his ass with the other, setting you back down where you were.

You would say thank you if you weren’t caught up staring at Katakuri’s cock. Obviously, it’s big. He’s big it makes sense but there’s a large gap between knowing something and seeing something. He’s flushed a beautiful shade of pink, large veins standing out along the underside. Your hand moves on its own accord to slide up it and the second you touch him you hear him groan. You scoot up closer next to him, and you would compare the length and girth to about the size of your thigh.

“Ah- I get the sensitivity thing now-“ He gasps and you smile.

“I have an idea- just let me-“ You swing your leg up and over so you’re straddling his length.

You’re still slick with saliva and your own juices, making it an easy glide as your grind yourself against his length. Katakuri’s hips buck up and you fall forward but before he can apologize you take advantage of this new position, licking at his smooth tip as you let your body slide against him.

“Fuck- that’s-“ You have the prefect view to watch his abdominals contract after every slide and lick you give him.

Your movements are not entirely selfless though, angling your hips so your clit grinds against him, bumping against his veins. You use your feet to slide up and down but it’s a bit hard to find a good rhythm as your legs aren’t used to this kind of movement.

“Need your help. I want you to slide me up and down.”

Katakuri looks at you, hand hesitating in the air. “But- I don’t want to just use you-“

“I want you to use me- please- this feels good for me too I just can’t keep it up.” You beg with him and that’s all the encouragement he needs as his large hand wraps around your midsection and slowly moves you.

There’s something about him using you, letting the soft skin of your stomach and thighs and folds grind against him, that makes your head go fuzzy. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before and it was bliss. It’s not very long at all until you feel Katakuri’s dick twitching under you and you know he’s going to cum again.

“Just let go for me, please Katakuri I want to see you-“

Your pleas are more than enough as you watch thick ropes of cum spill from his tip and onto his stomach. He holds you down as he cums and you don’t mind at all, getting a great view of his face from here. Eventually he relaxes and you slide off of his cock and wiggle your way up to his shoulder to lay your face next to him.

“Feel good?” You ask nuzzling into his neck.

“Very good.” He responds, still catching his breath. “Did… did you..?”

“No but that’s okay. Felt good.”

He huffs and you’re about to comfort him again but suddenly you’re flipped around with your back on the bed again. He stares down at you with a now confident smile.

“I think I could use some more practice then.”

[kinopio-writes]

Hi! Would you be willing to write something for Adam with a sensitive reader?

Everyone knows that he is loud-mouthed jerk, even reader, and she loves him regardless, but one day he crosses the line and says something particularly mean that makes her cry. Like REAL mean. To the point that he pauses because he did not think before speaking (or, well, less than usual lol)

I'm happy with whatever format you feel like using! Thank you!

A/N: I will be more than delighted to write that for you. But would you excuse me for a moment? AHHHHHHDISJDIOEOFJSKXJND���I’m sorry; I love this idea so much. Reading ‘Adam with a sensitive reader’ got me hooked instantly. But I’ll go over that in the headcanons, along with the general stuff. And I’ll add a oneshot at the end that plays the exact scenario of Adam taking it too far.

Holy sh!t. I made it so that the reader being sensitive is their greatest but also weakest point and it turned out pretty angsty. Has a bit of hurt/comfort, though. Did I go overboard? Maybe. That’s why it took so long. Sorry, anon.

Words: 2,328 (edited)

Warnings: Sex is mentioned (only a bit, surprisingly), Angst, Adam being Adam

———

Adam w/ a Sensitive!Reader

• ha, this man is also sensitive himself

• well, sensitive about himself

• he feels his own emotions strongly, so he’s not the caring, easily able to pick up on other’s feelings and empathize type of sensitive

• you, on the other hand, are on the opposite end of the spectrum compared to Adam

• so you experience other people’s emotions just as strongly as yours

• you easily know what makes someone tick

• you’re selfless

• you’re able to admit your mistakes and apologize

• you’re respectful and actively listen to people when they talk about themselves

• you don’t push people down to make yourself seem better

• you try to make everyone feel good and comfortable

• you’re everything he isn’t

• because you fit in Heaven perfectly

• you deserve to be there

• and Adam knows that he doesn’t belong (subconsciously at least)

• you’re able to draw people in just for being yourself

• and he’s envious of it

• so he demeans you and is snarky about everything you do, and every time people give you praise or affection, he tries to divert the attention to himself or just stares at you with utter hatred from afar

• although all of that is just when he hasn’t even had a conversation with you

• after a while of being around you, he’ll cling to you because you give him the reassurance and validation he oh-so craves (he acts as if he didn’t hate you before. What do you mean? You two were always buddy-buddy!)

• you acknowledge all of the things he puts his worth to

• heck, you hang out with him—you sometimes even initiate it—willingly, and you’re genuinely interested in everything he has to say

• but he‘ll only hang out with you where no one recognizes you (so you don’t get all the attention)

• terrible transition here, but he notices that you mimic people’s expressions often

• he definitely makes fun of you for it

• and also mocks you

• up until he realizes that you do the same thing to him, too

• which is fine and all, if only you didn’t do that when he’s upset

• well, you mimic him when he’s joyous as well, but he (already subconsciously) expects you to. I mean, why wouldn’t you? He’s fucking hilarious!

• so you copying his negative emotions just stands out more

• and he…doesn’t like it

• that’s only really what he doesn’t like about you

• and the fact that you hog all the attention

• and the fact that people see you as perfect…

• buuut what happens when he gets to see a new side of you that isn’t exactly upholding that image?

———

Your phone lit up from your bedside table, brightening your otherwise dark room along with the soft glow of your halo. You only moved your eyes to the light, not wanting your tears to spill and dampen your pillows.

You had an inkling as to who was texting you this late—if the fact that your phone lighting up several times in the span of 5 minutes had anything to say.

When the texts stopped pouring in after a few seconds, you heavily sighed, wings ruffling. You resisted the urge to rub your face as you went to grab your phone.

HEY (2:34) HEY (2:34) HEY (2:34) ARE YOU UP? (2:35) I’M BORED (2:35) GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE (2:36) IF YOU’RE UP (2:37) ARE YOU? (2:38) DID I TELL YOU THAT BITCH WITH THE HUGE TITS GOT FIRED TODAY? (2:39)

Figured. Of course, it was Adam. He was the only person you knew who’d be awake at this ungodly hour. And the only person you knew who’d disturb your peace if it meant curing anything that ailed him. Which was now about boredom, it seemed.

You read a few of his texts displayed on your lock screen before tapping one of the notifications and opening the app, scanning the rest of the unread messages.

Adam was going on about ‘that bitch with the huge tits’—her name was Tiffany, you were sure—and how she was rumored to have slept with an archangel to assume higher authority. He also went on to complain about how he didn’t have the chance to bed her anymore since she was basically deemed an outcast and that he couldn’t be seen with someone like her.

You frowned, not believing any of it, but you didn’t have time to think about it enough when he began typing again.

SO YOU’RE AWAKE (2:43)

You barely finished reading the new message when another one popped up.

DON’T IGNORE ME BITCH (2:43)

You frowned deeper, quick to type out a reply.

i’m not (2:43) i was just reading your texts (2:43) don’t worry (2:43) i’ll be there soon (2:44)

When he stopped typing, you placed your phone back on the nightstand, sitting up on your bed as you carefully wiped away your teary eyes. You hugged yourself for a moment, wings functioning as a cocoon while a hand tugged on your hair.

Today had been draining—both mentally and emotionally. Just like the day before, and the day before that. But you didn’t want to think about it, lest you start to cry some more and smear your face with tears this time. What mattered was that everyone was back on their feet again.

Since you didn’t bother changing into your sleepwear when you got home, you only checked your face in the mirror to see if your eyes were puffy or not. You then took in deep breaths, holding up your drooping wings before putting up a charming smile.

You couldn’t stay in the bathroom for long, quickly leaving to tread the path to Adam’s.

•••

“BOO!” Adam’s masked face suddenly peeked from the corner of his hallway, earning an indescribable scream from you as you jerked back. He burst out laughing, brows creased in confusion but also amusement. He couldn’t even make fun of you for getting scared. “What the—what the fuck was that scream?”

Recovering rather quickly as you blinked, you only smiled at him. You were expecting him to wait for you on his couch as his front door was left unlocked, but you weren’t complaining; his action took away any drowsiness you just had.

When Adam didn’t hear you laugh with him, his laughter subsided as he opened his eyes to look at your face. He raised his brows and placed the back of his hands on his hips. “What’s up with you?”

Shit. There was no way Adam was seeing through you.

“Nothing; I just love hearing you laugh.” You heard a tiny squeak in response. “Anyway, what did you make me come over for? Surely not just to scare me.” You moved past Adam and tightly crossed your arms, entering his spacious living room.

“Pshh, fuck no. You’re so easy to spook. Though that was a first. Didn’t know you could hit high notes, (Name).”

You didn’t know what to say to his…compliment? And sort of insult? Was it really either of them? Should you thank him? But in a sarcastic way? No, you weren’t known for being sarcastic, so he might think you were being genuine and look at you weirdly. And it would also seem highly egotistical.

Not as if Adam had much to say about that…

You tugged at your hair when you caught yourself with those thoughts. Shit, that’s so rude! You can’t think that! You shouldn’t think that!

You settled on an awkward chuckle, making yourself appear smaller as you averted your eyes to his TV space.

It was different, certainly. The modular couch pieces were rearranged into a pit sectional. And it looked as though he had chucked a bunch of pillows and one large blanket as an afterthought. It appeared messy, but at least it looked cozy.

“What’s this?”

“Hm? Oh, well, since you were taking your sweet ass time coming here, I thought to switch things up a bit.” You flinched when his head appeared right on your shoulder. “What’d ya think?”

“It looks super comfy.” Adam wore a goofy grin behind you as you walked closer to the area and noticed that he already prepared snacks on the low table. “Is this a way to say you wanna do a movie marathon?”

“You know it, baby.” He flew past you and landed on the sofa, patting the space beside him with a smile you just couldn’t reject.

•••

Heaven’s natural light beginning to peek through the open windows indicated that it was already dawn. Thank goodness you didn’t have work today.

You two—or rather, Adam—had settled on watching the film series, Die Hard. Every single one. You didn’t mind, but you didn’t understand why Adam invited you over if you two were just going to rewatch the film series for the eighth time.

He had also been pretty immersed in the large screen in front of him, so he hadn’t attempted to converse with you ever since the first movie started. In all honesty, he could have just watched them all by himself.

But you didn’t question it. This time was the same as the last seven, after all. You always concluded that maybe he just wanted someone to watch movies with, no talking necessary. Even if the no-talking part sounded a bit out of character.

Was it though? Because he did that quite often. For instance, he constantly brought you along to whatever mundane errands he had to do during the weekdays and never really talked with you unless he found something cool and pointed it out.

Although, the earlier times you tagged along with him on his errands, he kept yapping his mouth off about the ‘totally awesome’ things he does. He talked about music, his own albums, his band, women, sex, and himself as the first-ever man.

As time went on, however, the talking was replaced with silence. You wondered if he just ran out of things to say or if he found it unnecessary to talk anymore.

You also sometimes wondered what was going through his head when he thought you didn’t see him glancing at you while he was doing something he believed was boring.

The sound of Adam’s stomach rumbling broke you out of your train of thought.

You both looked at each other blankly as if either of you were to blame.

He blinked to break the eye contact between you. “(Name), I’m hungry.”

You snorted, facing ahead. “You ate all of our snacks before the first movie even finished.”

“Don’t blame me.” He hugged the pillow he held tighter. “I’m still fuckin’ hungry, though.”

You hummed as you reached for your pocket. “Do you want me to—oh. I…I forgot my phone.” You frowned. You never forget to bring your belongings.

Adam merely stared at you, unblinking.

You averted your eyes and held your legs tighter. “Uhm, We could get delivery if you want. Can you lend me your phone?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” He casually tossed you the device before laying on his back and looking up at you. “I’m down for anything.”

His phone hit your knee before you could catch it, silently landing on the cushions. “Are you sure?” You picked it up, opened his unlocked phone, and stared at his basic home screen.

He didn’t really use his phone that often to know that it could be changed. He only really used it to fetch one-night stands or occasional dates, text, play music aloud, look at outdated memes, take random blurry photos, and right now, order delivery.

“Totally.” His crow’s feet displayed on his mask as he puffed out his cheeks.

“Because last time you said that, you didn’t like what I had to pick.”

“That’s because the 5 ʼn 2 is so fucking overrated!” he suddenly started to complain. Your wings ruffled. “Jeez, I swear, every fuckin’ time I take a chick out and ask her what her favorite eatery is, basic bitches always go, ‘Oh, bREaD & fIsH, ceRTAinLy’ or ‘bReAD & FiSh’S a cLAsSIC’” He used his hand as a puppet to imitate their words before waving it. “Like, helloooo? Can’t you see the joint that’s literally on the other side of the street’s a hundred times superior? It’s cheaper, too, unlike Bread & Fish. Overpriced ass. You get me, right—?”

“Then you pick!” Adam jumped at your volume, and your eyes widened upon noticing yourself. You quickly gave back his phone as you turned your face away from him, and he slowly took it with a weird look.

“Shit, chill, (Name). The fuck’s up your ass?” He kept his gaze on you before turning to his phone.

While he was serious about his opinions of your bland tastes, he didn’t think it was that personal. Your preferences were the same as everyone else and that was boring. He was just being honest. And you usually didn’t take the things he said that seriously.

“Adam, I’m sorry,” you spoke up after a moment of silence and ran a hand through your hair. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

“ʼs not a problem.” He was still a bit weirded out, but he was willing to shrug it off.

You insisted, however, “I mean it. I’m not mad at you.”

“Okay…?” he muttered when he saw a notification pop up from Lute. Her message consisted of how some of the exterminators got into a quarrel during roll call and the ones involved got injured in the process. She said she was going to discipline them.

Adam did not want to know what she meant by that and was most likely not going to stop by their place today.

“Really. I’m not. Sorry. It’s just that yesterday’s been…”

“Uh-huh…” At this point, Adam was not listening to anything you were saying. But when he still heard the static noise that was your words, he groaned. “Look, sweetie, I really don’t give a fuckin’ shit about your fuckin’ apology, ʼkay? I don’t fuckin’ care. Now what do you want?”

You saw Adam’s confused yet concerned expression after he looked up from his phone and immediately noticed that you were starting to cry. You instantly turned your face away as you carefully wiped your eyes.

“Sorry. Sorry. I’m not crying because of you.” You didn’t know if that was true. You didn’t know if you were crying because of his words or were crying because of everything else.

That was the first time he ever used a sweet petname for you in a long time. He only ever used that to demean or mock other people.

Shit. Stop thinking—you were going to cry more. But even after carefully wiping your eyes away, new tears kept flowing. You couldn’t stop. This was humiliating. You wanted to disappear. You didn’t want anyone to witness you in this state. It was mortifying.

“Shit.” Adam’s voice came out panicky as he held his hands out towards you, but he hesitated. Hesitated in what, he didn’t even know.

He…didn’t think you could cry.

Adam didn’t know what to do; this emotional shit wasn’t his thing. He couldn’t ask you to leave, he knew that much, but he didn’t want to leave himself. This was his place. Why should he leave?

So, he did the only thing he could do in this situation.

You suddenly felt something warm envelop you.

You didn’t look up, but you knew it was Adam. You could feel the texture of his robe on your hands and the side of your face. You could feel his hands on your shoulder blade, but you couldn’t quite feel his arms on you.

You stopped wiping your eyes for a moment.

No one had ever hugged you before when you were sad.

No one had ever let you be sad.

Adam heard you sob.

Fucking great. He made it worse. What the fuck was he supposed to do then?

But when he went to unwrap his arms, he felt yours slip around his midsection, pulling him closer than before as he grunted from your firm hold.

So you wanted to be hugged? Alright. Whatever.

Adam slowly hugged you back after you muttered a ‘sorry’ and loosened your grip.

The next seconds were silent, so when he heard muffled words coming from you, he looked down. You also looked up moments later when he didn’t respond, realizing he must’ve not heard you.

Your gaze softened as you two held eye contact, and with teary eyes, you smiled. “Thank you, Adam.”

Something about his expression changed, but before you could stare any longer, you felt a hand behind your head push you back to his chest as the arm on your back held you tight.

“Yeah, whatever…”

[navybrat817]

Hey- if you're still taking prompts for ficlet Friday- Bucky and #31- pinky swear.

Oh, this is sweeet! How about more of our drunk!Bucky before that night out?

Pinky Swear

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: Over 800

Warnings: Talk of fear of heights, backstory, slight angst, slight fluff

A/N: Takes place before Pretty Girl.

Bucky deeply inhaled the cool evening air and exhaled slowly. He hadn't moved from his spot on the outdoor sofa since he sat down, but he knew the number of steps it would take to get from his seat to the door. Looking at the rooftop guardrail, he reminded himself it was more than tall and sturdy enough to prevent anyone from falling. He was fine. Everything was fine.

“Bucky!” your pretty voice beckoned to him over the rest of the chatter from the group. “Come look at this view.”

Finding a stable point to look at was always good practice when he was afraid, and who better to look at than you? His pretty girl. You weren't technically his girl, but you were in his heart and you looked extra pretty tonight. He told himself the reason his heart stopped was because of how pretty you looked and not because of how close you were to the guardrail.

And here you wanted him to join you, but his body wouldn't move.

“I’m good right here,” he said, his smile tight. He gripped his beer bottle so tight he almost shattered it.

“You sure?” you smiled over your shoulder.

All he had to do was take a breath, get up, and join you. His head spun at the very thought, and he couldn't do it. He was a fucking coward. “I’m good,” he said again.

There was a frown on your pretty face as you went over to the sofa and sat beside him. “Hey. Are you okay?”

You always seemed to know when he was feeling off and he wanted to remove the concern from your eyes. “I don't…”

“You don't what?”

He inhaled and exhaled again, and he felt your pretty gaze on him as he ran a hand through his hand. There was nothing wrong with telling you. Maybe it would make him feel better. “I don't like heights,” he said above a whisper, feeling some of his anxiety subside.

It stemmed from his childhood when he lost his dad in a parachute accident, and it never went away. The fear only got worse when he fell from the train. When he was under HYDRA’s command, he wasn't allowed to experience fear. They locked it away deep inside with the rest of him. Now that was himself again, his fears came back to the surface stronger than before.

“Oh, Bucky.” You moved a little closer and angled your body as if to shield him from the view. It was sweet of you. “Are you okay?”

His jaw clenched, but he nodded. “I'm fine as long as I don't go to the railing.”

Your eyes widened and he felt like shit when he saw the guilt that swam there. “Oh, my God. I'm so sorry. I wouldn't have asked you to look if-”

“Don’t be. You had no idea,” he said, putting his hand over yours and quickly pulling away when he realized what he did. “I know you wouldn't have asked if you knew.” You were one of the most thoughtful people in his life. If you knew in advance that he hated heights, you not only would've kept him far from the railing, but you would've made the gang move the gathering somewhere else to accommodate him.

“No, I wouldn’t push you out of your comfort zone,” you confirmed, staring at your hand where he touched it.

“You’d somehow widen the comfort zone so I felt okay,” he smiled. That was the kind of person you were.

“Maybe,” you smiled. “May I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he nodded. Anything you wanted.

“If you don't like heights, what made you come up here?” you asked curiously.

You.

But he didn't admit that you were the reason. It would've been the right time or place. “I… I don't want it to be a big deal. Besides, I wouldn't look like a team player if I skipped,” he answered, and he was telling the truth. You were still the number one reason though.

“Well, if you aren't feeling it, we can go to the lounge. Just say the word,” you offered.

“We?” he repeated.

You played with the hem of your shirt, which made him smile. “Yeah, I mean, if you want the company.”

Bucky always wanted your company. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he smiled, leaning in a little closer. “And listen. I know this is silly, but if you could not say anything. Steve’s the only one who knows and…”

Bucky was learning to be vulnerable again. He was trying. And if there was anyone who wouldn’t use his fears against him even in a joking manner, it was you. He trusted you.

“I won't say a word,” you whispered.

“You swear?” he smiled.

You surprised him by wrapping your pinky around his, and your touch would linger long after you let go. “Pinky swear.”

Love and thanks for participating in Ficlet Friday! ❤️ And we still need him to confess.