#but the curve of your waist... the soft ridge of your belly...

[jisokai]

My brain has been rotted so ignore me but—

Tattoo artist Sero…

with his hair tied back, stray strands falling over his eyes while he works. His style is simple, mostly sketchy and fun pieces, but he sports a sleeve of intricate, delicate swirls. He's professional and kind while you talk through what you want, but excited—with a giant grin and eager eyes.

You're going for a stomach piece, one that stretches along your side, ending at your hip. Sero is focused while he works, usual grin replaced with a pursed mouth, brows knit tightly.

The pain is manageable, a flurry of fiery ants trailing your torso, but his warm fingertips distract you as they run up and down your skin, holding it in place as he makes each meticulous line, sometimes pressing the back of his hand into your navel. You hold your breath with each stroke and look away, overwhelmed from the sight of him—him so focused on you.

When he nears the end, where the ink continues down your hip, the tip of a slender finger curves into your waistband where it's ridden up. He's gentle, respectful, pulling just enough to uncover the edges of the final lines.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, eyes meeting yours for a split second—to confirm you're okay—before immediately returning to the skin under his fingers.

You lean your head back, clenching your jaw as you stare at the ceiling, taking steady breaths to manage the pain—and that tingling heat everywhere he's touching you.

shinsou thoughts...

[sashiavi]

HEAR ME OUT HEAR ME OUT!!.....Big voy Zhongli...I MEAN-- THE Geo archon? Morax? Come on! He has to be a big boy, after all he shaped Liyue's mountains!!

♡ Genshin Impact Big Boys ♡

You're so righttt omg BigBoy!Zhongli/Morax my king ♡ I'm writing this in his prime Morax era I hope that's okay mwah ♡

My fave genre of Zhongli cough I even have two fics about it cough ◇ ◇

Warnings : 18+ Smut | Morax!Zhongli | possessive | dumbification | dom/sub & master/pet | abuse of power dynamics | Size Difference | monster cock - knotting - belly buldge- breeding | God/Mortal | potential dubcon | the more I write the more warnings come up | 'cunny' as a descriptive word for afab anatomy |

→ᴰᵃʳᵏ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ ᵂᵃʳⁿᶦⁿᵍ←

♡Be in charge of your own reading and look after yourself♡

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BigBoy!Morax who towers over many. Easily over twice the size of an ordinary mortal, effortlessly tall, thick, strong, with heavy muscles coursing with omnipotent power. Carving and shaping the mountains of Liyue, with the effort of a minimal wrist flick.

BigBoy!Morax who lazes on his throne, heavy robes draped off of his body, legs spread apart, cheek pressed into the palm of his hand. His body absolutely dominates over your own, dwarfing you while you rest in his lap. His other arm practically cups you, coddling, with you napping away, head agaisnt his chest, your own pretty peppery floral robes water-falling off of his throne.

BigBoy!Morax with the sheer power of a mighty Dragon, supreme, pre-eminent, forced to take extra care and precaution with you; His pretty little pet.

BigBoy!Morax with a hand easily over twice the size of your own. His thumb longer than your jaw, swiping over your cheek and ear. He practically engulfs your face when he cups the side of it, fingers cradling the back of your head, thumb gently dancing over your closed eyelid. The soft core lapis glow of his hands illuminates your pretty, soft features, allowing him to admire you for hours on end- chanting sweet praise and compliments over and over.

BigBoy!Morax who's hands absolutely shrink your stature. Curving over your waist, gripping your hips, fingers effortlessly wrapping themselves around for frame, tickling at the soft bumps of your spine.

BigBoy!Morax who eyes you from above when you walk by his side - On the rare occasion he allows you to walk, much rather opting to carry you everywhere you went - height barely grazing up to his waist, your hand wrapped around just a few of his fingers.

BigBoy!Morax with his even bigger bed, covered in waves of soft silks, the space around dazzling in pretty little things belonging to his hoard. Archons, the treasure-hoarding being marvels at the prettiest little thing in his collection, all splayed out just for him.

BigBoy!Morax with a thick, forked tongue, perfect for hot, spitty kisses, barely battling for control, relishing at how his pretty pet just submits to him. Archons, the feeling of your little tongue sliding over his own, suckling on him obediently.

BigBoy!Morax and his appetite. Eagerly licking and lapping, tongue fucking that sweet little spot inside your cunny, swallowing down all those sweet juices. His large mouth practically engulfs you, thick fangs pin pricking gently into your cunt, lips suckling on your achey clit. His massive hands wrap around your waist, pulling your pretty self into him, forcing his lips to smush, fangs to bite, tongue to curl over and over.

BigBoy!Morax with claws all too sharp to press into your prefect pussy, forced to tongue fuck you into your first orgasm, stretching you out for him.

BigBoy!Morax with a heavy, thick cock. Standing tall despite its size, holding its own, drooling agaisnt his stomach. It was almost otherworldly, ever so slightly unhuman, with ribs and ridges, a pointed tip and a thick, fat knot right on the base of his length. He's always marvelled at your silly reaction, the awe in your eyes, swallow of your throat, eyeing the dribbly tip of his pudgy cock with a look of unease. He laughs, almost purs, soft in his chest, hand on your cheek.

BigBoy!Morax who has to go slow. Just the tip, juuust the tip. Circling your sticky clit with his thumb, rough, slow rubs forcing your cunny to gush, wetting his cock, letting him slide in bit by bit.

BigBoy!Morax who bottoms out in your cunt, cock pressing into your tummy, bulging up into your guts, leaving the lovliest indent of his cock on your front. He cuddles you, coddling his pretty pet, hushing and soothing away all the tears and hiccups with kisses and licks to your face. Oh, you're so full, aren't you? It's not easy taking the cherishing gift of a God, pretty pet doing such a lovely job.

BigBoy!Morax absolutely relishes in the sweet squeeze of your cunny on his thick, bullying length. Hugging him tight, drooly, sticky pussy lips kissing agaisnt the knot on his base, poor pink little clit grinding on his pelvis.

BigBoy!Morax who is not at all afraid to manhandle your body, giant hands latching to your waist, fingers almost intertwining with themselves over your back. Up your hips go, only your very upper back and shoulders lay on the bed as Morax sinks you down on him, himself. You're forced to wrap those legs around him, barely managing to properly anchor yourself, obediently taking him in like a perfect, little, fuck doll.

BigBoy!Morax watches that fat bump in your gut press up over and over, his thick pudgy head soothing under your belly. He can't help but press a thumb into it, massaging over that spot, listening to those insolent little whines and begs your dumb little mortal brain spews at him.

BigBoy!Morax who was still a merciful God, spitting hot globs of spit on to your cunny, keeping it nice and wet for his cock, letting that knot slip in just for a moment. His other thumb comes down, down, down, rubbing large and slow circles into your clit, forcing out those little gushes and squirms.

BigBoy!Morax, gentle as he is, still managing to to fuck you silly. Long, rhythmic slides of his cock, hands guiding those pretty hips, lifting and pulling in delicious motions- Tip to knot, thick inches squelching in and out, filling up that pretty cunny, little Pet so full, pretty dolly servicing his weepy cock.

BigBoy!Morax who can only last so long with that tight gushy squeeze on his length. Poor Morax who looses himself a little. Prettiest cunt sucking him in so, so well? Can't just dangle that sweet, juicy forbidden fruit in front of him and expect him to not take a bite.

BigBoy!Morax who let's his hips fuck into his precious, darling Pet's cunt. Meeting those hips he forces into his own, thick and slippery knot edging, pressing, slipping- The God growls, capturing your lips with his, thick tongue swirling around your own, forcing you to suckle and nip into him.

BigBoy!Morax hums low when he finally slips that thick, swollen knot into your dumb little mortal cunny, fat tip squirting and oozing thick spurts of cum into your tummy. Oh, he needs to be deeper, nestle his breeder cock up in your gut, paint your cervix white with seed.

BigBoy!Morax eggs his lovely pet on, those hands pulling your hips into his still, now grinding that juicy abused clit on his lower tummy. He feels that pretty cunny squeeze, hears those cries and moans, feels them vibrating agaisnt his tongue. He thrusts as much as he can with that locked knot in your pussy, clicking wetly with the hot pressure of him all stuck in you. His heavy balls continue to squeeze, bursting hot ropes of heavy, thick seed into you over and over. Slow and drawn out, his orgasm could last for minutes on end.

BigBoy!Morax who finally, finally gets that sweet cunt to squirt, making a mess all over his lap, gushing and pulsing, letting that buldge press in, impossibly deeper. Another hot weep of cum, milked out by that heavenly squeeze of you wrapped around him.

BigBoy!Morax laying peppery kisses over your face and neck, maneuvering your smaller-than-his frame around, hushing your sweet mewls when your poor body quivers. Poor, poor overstimulated little you, body reacting to the slighted of touches.

BigBoy!Morax who has you laid on his chest and tummy, thick cock stuck in your cunt, nestled and still drooling. His massive hands soothe over your thighs, massage into your back, pat your hair and caress your teary face. Awh, sweet girl. His lovliest, prettiest little doll. It's alright, your God is here, he'll soothe those aches and kiss away the pain. In the meantime, take a little rest, right on his chest, nice and comfy. Poor little mortal, always so tired. Keep him nice and warm now. Just like that.

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I may have gotten carried away.. but I hope you enjoyed regardless ♡

A Small Risa Message: You are loved, you are appreciated and you are allowed to enjoy this kind of fiction ♡

Property Of; SashiAvi

[godjo]

✮ — warrior’s executioner. 

you’re an earthquake that rocks his steady rhythm. 

tags — zoro x afab!reader. 1.3k wc. soft -> rough, like really, dappled with a lot of prose (i hope they make sense tbh). huge cock!zoro. creampie. a LOT of cum, sue me. cervix fucking. very explicit smut. minors, blank, and ageless blogs dni.

from hunter — i… don’t know. i felt so, so, soft for zoro in this fine afternoon. this fic made me vulnerable lmao. this is hardly proofread btw. ✮

imbued with an ache for glory since the sprout of his childhood, the way of the warrior lives in zoro’s skin and bones like a malignant disease of no existing palliative. he inhales the roughened edges of a samurai’s principle like air his lungs need to survive. these beliefs are claws of death that have grazed him one too many times, yet he wears the thousand cuts with pride. 

they whisper about him across the four seas: the devil wearing a human’s flesh, they say, siphoning his unyielding strength from the depths of hell. enemies see his swords like the embodiment of death, the extended hands of sharp torment, while allies revere his strength. 

his hands are tainted with blood from hard won victories. and zoro has never even thought of cleaning the proof of endless wars snaking along the lines of his palms until he’s met you. 

“are you sure you want this?” zoro asks for what seems like the third time, and for each you answer him with a feathery chuckle. “i don’t want to hurt you.” 

“you won’t hurt me, zoro.” there’s a spark of assurance in your eyes, fueled by conviction that it would take more than his tenacity to inflict pain upon you. 

zoro admires you for it; he desires you for that inelastic poise. and so he moistens his lips, guiding the raw end of his cock through your supple pussy lips. he’s been leaking like crazy, transparent lines of precum smeared all over your bare stomach where his rigid cock had been resting.

he palms his girth as if to soothe the stiffness; he’s unimaginably hard, pulsing with fierce vivacity. tremors rack zoro’s body, not on the account of anxiety, such is a distant feeling, but because of how much he wants to shove his thick cock right into your pussy, fuck you until your insides crumble.

“spread your legs wider for me,” he whispers, breath catching up in his throat when he feels the wet caress of your slabbering cunt around his flushed cocktip. 

you share a shuddering breath when he sheathes himself to the hilt, closing his good eye in concentration, in savoring the gummy embrace of your pussy around his twitching shaft. all the might and the brawn he’s built for years now melts into a thick puddle underneath his wavering feet. 

you’re an earthquake that rocks his steady rhythm. 

hovering above you, cautious as to not crush your ribcage with the weight of his immeasurable desire and wanton lust, zoro moves with calculated tempo. he pitches his head right below your chin, staggering breath fanning the crater between your collarbones. seconds— a dribble of a moment within which he loses his composure— that’s all it has taken for his gruff hand to cage the tender flesh of your waist and pull you with snapping vitality, therefore burying his hungry cock further in your insides. 

with an obscene yelp, you toss your head back. your weakened frame finds its leverage on zoro’s broad shoulders, leaving wild stripes of crimson on his golden skin with your nails. you can feel the ridges of his girth, the angry veins scraping your cunt repeatedly, making the little wet hole swell. 

“i’m sorry,” zoro confesses softly against your heated cheeks. “did i hurt you?”

you wish you can pour your heart out and say no, he’s not hurting you and he never will. tears grace the corner of your eyes, from the fluttering emotions hugging your belly, and you can only shake your head. at last, your hands find the curve of his flushed cheeks. he looks feverish, pushed into perpetual agony and terror of breaking you. like you’ve never done before, you tug him by the face and seal his lips with a kiss that quickly forms a whorl of saliva inside your mouths. you never let him go. 

zoro’s heart will burst, he swears it will. the unspoken consent triggers his primal need, the animalistic urge of wanting to prove how you drive him to the edge of insanity.

he pounds your pussy like a mad man freed from restraints. he folds your knees to fuck you properly while watching your cunt swallow his needy cock to the base. there are strings of transparent liquid connecting your pussy to his shaft, augmenting the smacking sound whenever he brings his weight down your soiled cervix. hungrily, repeatedly, mercilessly. 

“z… zoro!” your unabating and quivered chant injected with pleasure. “more… i need you— want you.”

need. 

his eye dilates as the word flows inside his system. he slides his upper body down to meet yours, a breathless yet fervent chuckle rising from his throat. zoro has been maiming your cervix with his insatiable cock for what seems like forever now. he’s been fucking you so maniacally that his bladder shudders and your pussy has turned a damped mess under his vigorous thrusts. all this is accompanied with brutal strength. 

instead of cowering away, you tell him to sink in you deeper. 

you, who emit the air of lavender blossoms and speak with honey in your mouth. you, whose featherlight touch whispers life into every withered thing. you, who keep a universe of all things soft and kind and gentle locked inside your velvet chest. 

“you’re perfect,” zoro murmurs against your mouth, pinning his cock one more time to your slabbering cunt. “and you’re mine.”

your belly heats up from the fervid claim. rapture, its pleasurable hand reaching for you, as zoro’s movements become deliberately slow. his spine moves like waves, the roll of his hips jittery yet deep. you feel it all at once when he pops your hardened nipple in his mouth. zoro suckles, salivating around the areola while maintaining his slow pace.

the heat picks up its intensity, along with the furiously lewd moan gaining strength and fleeing your lips. caged in a bubble of sensitivity that will burst at the seams with an airy touch, you clamp a hand over your mouth but zoro takes your wrist to pin beside your head. his final savage thrust sends rolling waves of euphoria squeezing your chest until the only way you can breathe again is to shout his name with a piece of your soul attached in it. 

zoro tattoos your expression in a huge part of his memory; the narrow of your brows, how your pretty lips shape his name, and the tears of release like silver satin adorning your eyes. with that image he buries his cock between your velvety walls, down and down until his cocktip meets your cervix again, and there— bouts of thick cum burst in your uterus. 

he screams your name, placing his life and his love between its syllables. you touch his face, soothing his shivers, but he just won’t stop filling your womb with fresh and viscid cum like he’s not busted a fat nut in a hundred years. zoro’s eye teared up at the sensation. 

“i… i can’t stop. fuck— it’s seeping. fuck, fuck—”

you lock your legs around his hips. “let it all out.”

zoro admits defeat and collapses on top of you. his cock continues to plug your pussy with blobs of cum. he withers beside you, then, and finally pulls out achingly. even without the grip of your cunt his swollen tip lazily oozes all over the sheets. 

“how are you feeling?” he tucks you in, securing your body with the warmth of his. 

“definitely sore,” you breathe, tracing the mark of stitches on his chest with a delicate finger. “but happy. how about you?”

he ponders at the question. how does he feel, truly? once, he wondered if his tenacity is just another word for wickedness and if shedding blood is the only purpose his unmatched strength serves. he pondered about the hunger he’s shackled in his core and whether it could only be satiated as he felled each enemy with a sword. 

zoro fears that he’ll never learn how to hold you close to his heart without tarnishing the perpetual twinkle of light in your luminescent eyes. but then he kisses you, and you do not flinch from its violence. 

zoro has found the answer, then. 

how could he ever hurt you when you make him tender?

how could he ever hurt you when you turn him to pieces?

[ginnsbaker]

empty crib

Summary: “So?” you ask, not lifting your gaze from the crib you've been assembling for the past thirty minutes. Wanda simply shakes her head, discarding the pregnancy test into the trash.

Word count: 5.3K+ | Tags: Smut (18+), Angst, ILGOSS Universe, Slight breeding kink

A/N: Another oneshot in the ILGOSS universe, this time requested by anon who wanted something about Wanda and Reader's struggles with getting pregnant.

Masterlist

-

You slide slowly inside of Wanda with a groan, starting with steady, shallow thrusts. Your hands find their way to her waist, fingers inching towards the softness of her lower belly. Each movement of your hips against hers is fueled by the tantalizing idea of filling her. The thought is driving you crazy, and you can't help but visualize a future where Wanda carries a piece of both of you inside her. 

Ever since the two of you finally decided to get pregnant, and that Wanda would be the one to carry the baby, you've been constantly consumed by the thought of impregnating your wife, fucking her like an obsessed, horny teenager every time you get the chance. Wanda hasn't expressed any complaints either. She seems to want you too, in that desperate, touch-me-or-I’ll-die kind of way. The last time you were both this intoxicated with each other was during your honeymoon, but the difference now is that you're both more comfortable and daring in bed, having had ample time to learn about each other's likes and dislikes.

Now is no different; in fact, the atmosphere feels even more heady since Wanda recently received the embryo implantation. Lifting your wife’s hips slightly off the bed and putting the rest of your weight on your knees, you begin thrusting into her in slow, deep strokes. You make sure to pull out with just the tip of the strap inside, before pushing back in with more force. You repeat the action with rapt attention and soon, the unmistakable sound of wetness fills the room—a rhythmic squelching accompanying every thrust of the strap. 

“God, Wanda,” you groan, feeling the wetness of her coating your cock, watching it trickle down her soft thighs, “You're so fucking wet, you’re dripping.”

She lets out a throaty moan, her voice dripping with lust, “Because of you.” Wanda's own hands move to the roundness of your ass cheeks. She grips them tightly, nails digging into the flesh, urging you with a silent plea to drive into her with more force. You struggle to keep your eyes open, even as pleasure begins to stir in the depths of your stomach. They trail over Wanda's body, taking in every exquisite detail. The soft, blue hue cast by the moonlight makes her skin look even more ethereal, highlighting the slight sheen of sweat that has formed on her forehead and neck. The delicate curve of her breasts draws your attention, especially her tight, pink nipples that stand erect in the heat of the moment. You take a deep breath through your nose, inhaling the scent that is distinctly hers, a mix of sweat, arousal, and the lingering fragrance of her perfume. 

Her lips, plush and rosy, are half-parted, soft moans escaping them every time you move within her. But it's her eyes that capture you the most. They dart to yours every now and then, holding your gaze, the vulnerability in them enough to make your heart race. As you continue to move, you notice the little details—like the way her face scrunches up in sheer pleasure when you angle yourself to hit that particular spot deep inside her. The way she bites down on her lower lip, trying to muffle a particularly loud moan. You're hopelessly enthralled by her, that sometimes you toy with the idea that you can cum just by looking at her, by filling your senses with everything that is Wanda Maximoff.

In the heat of the moment, you allow yourself to be fully immersed in the experience. You imagine the strap is a part of you, a real extension of your own flesh, and you feel—or at least, you pretend to feel—every ridge, every hot, slick part of her clenching around you.

Wanda whimpers on cue, as if reading your thoughts. “I want all of you. Now.”

Suddenly, you feel her fingers drawing slow circles around your rim, teasing the sensitive skin there. The unexpected sensation makes you gasp, your rhythm faltering momentarily. “What are you—?” you start, only to be silenced by her lips crashing onto yours.

The kiss is fiery, desperate, and when you pull away, she whispers, “More.” 

You comply, thrusting with renewed fervor, driven wild by her touch and her words. “I'm close,” you gasp, the coil in your belly winding tighter with each thrust. You're slicker, your thrusts becoming deeper, and with a particularly hard drive, you're pushed deeper inside her than you'd imagined possible.

“Do it,” she moans, her middle finger slipping inside your ass, “cum inside me.”

Wanda's inner walls clench tightly around the toy, signaling her own impending release. Her legs lock around your waist, pulling you in even deeper, and you can't hold back any longer. With a strangled cry, you climax, your body shaking with the force of it. You bury your face into the crook of her neck, biting down on the spot where her neck meets her shoulder, leaving a mark that will surely be visible tomorrow.

The two of you ride out the waves of pleasure together, your breathing ragged and in sync. But the moment of rest is brief. Sensations still course through you, and with a sense of boldness, you start moving again, this time at a pace that leaves both of you breathless.

“W-wait,” Wanda stammers, her body already trembling from overstimulation. “It's too much.”

Instead of slowing, your fingers deftly find her clit, beginning to circle it with precision. Her protests turn into moans, her body arching up to meet each of your thrusts. And then, with a gasp and a shuddering sigh, she comes undone beneath you once more.

Moments later, her eyes flutter open, and there's a look of sheer astonishment and satisfaction in them. “You... you're incredible,” she breathes. “I've never felt so full, so complete.”

“You did so well, love,” you whisper, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You took everything I gave, and you looked absolutely stunning doing it.” Unable to resist, you lean down to capture her lips in a tender kiss, before your hand moves to caress her belly. “I love the idea of filling you up,” you murmur against her lips.

She chuckles softly, her fingers tracing patterns on your back. “I noticed,” she teases.

Not ready to break the connection just yet, you wrap your arms tightly around her, savoring the closeness. And with a gentle roll, you shift positions, with Wanda now on top of you. The toy remains in place, and you both shiver from the sensation, even as the urgency of earlier has mellowed into a languid post-orgasmic haze.

Wanda nuzzles her face into the crook of your neck, her soft breaths tickling your skin. “Let's just stay like this,” she whispers, her fingers lazily drawing circles on your chest.

“You know,” you muse aloud, a dreamy quality to your voice, “I’ve always liked the name ‘Elena’ for a girl. And maybe ‘William’ for a boy. What do you think?”

Wanda giggles, her breath warm against your neck. “Already thinking about baby names, are we?”

You shrug, feeling a bit bashful. “I can't help it. I'm just... excited, you know?”

She pulls back slightly, looking deep into your eyes with her own sparkling ones. “I know, darling. But remember, it's only been a week since I got the implant. We don't even know if I'm pregnant yet.”

You sigh, the reality of the situation sinking in. But then a stubborn grin forms on your face. “How about we make sure you are?” you say as you gently rock your hips upward.

Wanda gasps, her cheeks reddening. “You do realize that's not how it works, right?” But even as she says it, you can notice her gaze already darkening.

“But it doesn't hurt to... practice, right?” you whisper, your movement becoming more deliberate.

Wanda bites her lip, considering, then nods with a smirk. “Alright then. Let's 'practice'.”

-

It’s the third attempt that ends with Wanda not being pregnant. To be sure you're doing everything right, you and Wanda decide to visit a different reproductive endocrinologist.

The sterile walls of the clinic, coupled with the waiting room's soft music, can't quell the anxiety bubbling up inside both of you. You glance at Wanda, her fingers drumming a nervous rhythm on the armrest.

Soon, a nurse calls you into the doctor’s office. It’s more welcoming than the antiseptic hallway outside. A tall, thin woman with a kind face and graying hair greets you both with a warm smile. “Hello, I’m Dr. Adams. Please have a seat.” She gestures to two comfortable chairs opposite her desk. You both take a seat, and she flips through Wanda's medical charts, scanning the numerous notes and test results. After a few more minutes filled with the sound of pages flipping and muffled conversations outside the room, the doctor finally looks up, focusing specifically on Wanda.

“I’ve gone over your charts and the lab results,” she starts evenly. “Everything looks promising. The numbers, hormone levels, all of it—it’s in the range we’d hope for. In clinical terms, you're a great candidate for conception.”

You and Wanda release a synchronized breath; Both of you have been overthinking this, searching for any fault, so it's reassuring to hear that everything is not only normal but also as it should be—perhaps even great.

Dr. Adams continues, “However,” she leans forward, “conception, in my personal belief, isn’t solely a game of numbers. God, or whatever higher power one might believe in, still has a say. There’s a mysterious element, a touch of magic, if you will, in the process.”

Wanda nods, her eyes a bit watery, “We just want to be parents. It's been harder than we imagined.”

The doctor nods, clasping her hands together. “I understand. I always tell my patients, 'Do your part and let the universe handle the rest.' It might sound a bit philosophical, but I've seen countless stories of hope and miracles throughout my career.”

Squeezing Wanda's hand, you're buoyed by the hope in those words. In return, she offers you a tight smile.

“With that said, let’s go over your treatment plan. It says here in your clinical history that you’ve been on COH for a while now, so let’s just retain that as we might need to harvest a new batch of eggs again

“We'll also introduce a GnRH Agonist, probably Lupron, to make sure there's no premature egg release. And as a precaution, we might add a GnRH Antagonist like Ganirelix.”

“And after you retrieve the eggs?” Wanda asks, hoping for something different, something that could easily be the missing piece in all of this.

Dr. Adams smiles gently, “Then, we'll give Progesterone, perhaps in the form of an injectable or a vaginal gel, to prepare the uterus for the embryo implantation. And we may supplement with Estradiol for the uterine lining, especially if we consider a frozen embryo transfer later."

She pauses, completing the prescription as she continues speaking. “Around the embryo transfer, I'd also recommend antibiotics and possibly a low dose of steroids to enhance the chances of implantation.”

You both exchange glances, feeling as though you're back at square one. Dr. Adams catches the look shared between the two of you. “I understand your apprehension,” she says, “and it might feel as though we're taking a step backward or starting all over again. But sometimes, we need a new approach or a minor tweak in the process.”

You rub Wanda's back soothingly, but you can feel her muscles tense beneath your fingers. The medical jargon, the never-ending cycle of hope followed by despair, it all starts to blend into one blurry narrative. You take the prescription from Dr. Adams, thanking her for her time and insight.

At home, you both decide to take a break from the overbearing thoughts and treat yourselves to a quiet, simple dinner. 

-

You’re about to reach for the strap when Wanda stops you.

“Can we maybe... just for tonight—” Wanda's gaze meets yours, her lip caught nervously between her teeth, her eyes searching for your response as if she's made a misstep. “Just... just you. That’s all I need. Please?”

You place the strap aside, focusing solely on her.

“Okay, okay,” you whisper back, fingers delicately skimming the contour of her cheek, absorbing the heat of her flush. “Just us.”

You keep your gazes fixed on each other as you slowly guide her back onto the bed. The look in her eyes tells you she needs more from you—not just the need to come. You desperately want to tell her that whatever it is, she just needs to ask. Or that you wish you could understand her unspoken needs, so she wouldn't have to voice them, and you'd still fulfill them. But somehow, words fail to leave your lips.

Frankly, words have been failing you for quite some time now. And so, you let your mouth and your fingers do the talking.

-

“So?” you ask, not lifting your gaze from the crib you've been assembling for the past thirty minutes.

Wanda simply shakes her head, discarding the pregnancy test into the trash. For eleven months, you've both been diligently adhering to every guideline—tracking ovulation cycles, maintaining the prescribed diet, optimizing sleep schedules, even monitoring the daily water intake. You've both undergone all necessary tests for IVF, from basic hormone assessments to detailed embryological evaluations. Despite all efforts and precautions, Wanda still isn't pregnant. Of course, there's a pang of disappointment, but giving up isn't an option. 

“We just have to keep trying.”

Wanda scoffs as she pours herself a glass of water. Sparky scuttles up to her, hoping for a fallen morsel. “Easy for you to say.”

Distracted by her remark, you shift your focus from the wooden pieces that refuse to align. Your brows knit together, and your lips pull into a slight frown. Meanwhile, Sparky trots over and nudges your leg with his snout. “What do you mean by that?” you ask Wanda, while absentmindedly patting Sparky's head.

Wanda’s silence is a more powerful response than any words could have been, but she quickly sidesteps the tension in the room by changing the subject. “Do you want bacon?” she asks, her eyes focusing on arranging the ingredients on the counter.

Baffled by the sudden shift, you answer, “We don't have bacon. We've been on that strict diet, remember?”

“I picked some up yesterday,” she replies, her voice a tad too casual as she avoids eye contact, focusing instead on cracking an egg into a mixing bowl. You study her for a moment, sensing there's more beneath her words. 

“Wanda,” you begin gently, “talk to me.” She remains silent, but her grip on the pan's handle speaks volumes.

With no response from Wanda, you release a resigned sigh and refocus on the crib you’ve been struggling with. An insight strikes and you manage to align the elusive pieces. As you start hammering them together, the sound ricochets across the quiet morning—a rather unpleasant sound.

The clamor clearly irks Wanda, causing her to hurl the turner onto the sink with a resounding clang that captures your attention. The sudden motion startles Sparky, who retreats to a corner with a soft whine.

She spins around, her chest heaving with pent-up emotions. “You want me to talk? Fine, I'll talk. Why did you tell Natasha we were trying to have a baby?”

Your hammering ceases abruptly. Her rage blindsides you. It's true, you had shared your hopes with Natasha as early as a month into trying with Wanda. But that was a long time ago, why was this a problem now?

“You know Nat is like a sister to me, and I didn't think it would be an issue,” you try to explain. “It’s been so long since then, why bring it up now?”

Wanda’s face contorts as she struggles to hold back tears. “Because last night, she looked at me with pity, with sadness... I don’t want people’s pity!” she cries out. You set down the hammer and walk towards her.

“I promise, Nat doesn't pity you,” you say, taking Wanda’s hand. She struggles against your grip for a moment, but you don't let go. Eventually, she gives in, and you pull her into a hug. “But I'm truly sorry for sharing without your consent. That was my mistake.”

When you pull back, she doesn’t meet your gaze, her eyes fixed on the crib behind you. It's a beautiful piece, elegant in its design, something any parent-to-be would cherish. But for now, it only makes Wanda seethe even more.

“Natasha gave us that crib, didn't she?”

You nod, remembering the day when Natasha had surprised you both with the gift, her way of showing support for the new chapter in your lives. “Yes, she did. Out of love, Wanda.”

But Wanda’s eyes blaze, her voice breaking, “While you feel gratitude when you see it, all I feel is pressure. You know what I see when I look at it? The symbol of my failure. I feel like I'm letting you down, and now with Nat knowing, I have another person I feel I’m disappointing.”

You’re heartbroken hearing her express her anxieties. You had no idea she'd been carrying such a burden. Pulling her close, you hold her tightly. “I don't ever want you to feel that way. We're in this together, no matter what. And nobody—not even Nat—can make us feel less than.”

Wanda buries her face in your chest, allowing herself to release the pain she's been holding back. She clings onto you, her fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt as she seeks comfort in your reassurances. “Don’t you ever leave me,” she murmurs amidst her tears. “I just want to make you happy.”

Your lips press tightly together. Of course, you'd never consider leaving Wanda. The thought wouldn't even cross your mind. Where is all this coming from?

“You do make me happy, every single day,” you reply, your words soaked in the truth of your love for her, “with or without a baby, our happiness is crafted by the love we share, not by the expectations of others or the gifts they give.”

“And you love me?” Wanda asks.

Gently cupping her face in your hands, you make sure she’s looking directly into your eyes when you say, “Every inch, every fiber, every moment.”

Her eyes search yours, a shadow flickering within them that you can't quite pin down. After a long beat of silence, she whispers, “Okay. Then return that crib to Natasha.”

-

Natasha's apartment is a study in minimalist elegance with clean lines and straight forward colors. You ring the bell, adjusting the large box you're holding, and rehearse the speech in your head. After all, you've never returned anything Natasha has given you before.

The door swings open, revealing your best friend in a tattered shirt, her hair pulled back into a high ponytail. She eyes the box, then shifts her gaze up to meet yours, arching an eyebrow. “That's...a large box.”

“It's the crib,” you state simply, seeing no reason to beat around the bush.

Her eyes flash with understanding and perhaps a hint of curiosity. “Come in.”

You push the box through the door with some considerable effort and take a seat on her plush sofa, noting how her living room has changed since your last visit. New artwork on the walls, a couple of throw pillows that weren’t there before.

Natasha takes a seat opposite you. “How's Wanda?”

“She's... coping,” you reply with a bit of hesitation. “Some days are better than others.”

After Wanda confronted you about sharing the private details of your married life with your best friend, you've been extra cautious about what to share and what not to. With people like your boss Scott or your colleagues at work, it's easy. But with your best friend, it's hard to hold back, especially when she's the only other person you turn to for advice and confide in.

Natasha nods in understanding, her sharp eyes analyzing you. “You look...fit. More so than the last time I saw you.”

“Yeah, been on a restrictive diet to help Wanda keep hers. Thought it'd help her with food temptation if I joined in.”

She smirks, “That's sweet. But is that the only reason?”

You smile sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck. “Well, initially, yes. But I've started enjoying my time at the gym. It makes me feel... more confident, I guess. And it's been a good distraction, especially with all the stress at work.”

“That’s good to hear,” she says, her gaze flitting towards the box. “But what’s up with the crib?”

Taking a deep breath, you began to recite the rehearsed explanation about your mother wanting to gift you a crib, how it seemed redundant to have two, and how—but Natasha cuts you off with an amused chuckle.

“Come on, Y/N,” she grins, shaking her head. “I’m not buying that crap. Just tell me the truth. I won't be offended.”

“Alright,” you start, dropping the facade. “Wanda's been finding it hard. The crib... it’s like this looming symbol of expectation and pressure for her. We’ve been trying for months and it's been weighing on her. And, honestly, on me too.”

Natasha’s eyes soften at your admission. “I can’t even begin to imagine how tough this must be for both of you,” she says. “But let me ask you something, Y/N. How do you feel about all of this? Not just the crib, but Wanda not being able to get pregnant?”

For a moment, you appear deeply engrossed in thought, gazing at the box and the unfinished crib, then your eyes shift back to meet Natasha's. “It's difficult. Every month, there’s this hope, this expectation. And when it doesn’t happen, it’s... crushing. Not just for Wanda, but for me too. I watch her go through it every time and it kills me that I can't do more to help. That being said, I don’t blame her, nor do I see her any differently. I love her, no matter what. But it's hard to watch her go through this pain.”

“Does she know that?”

You’re about to say yes but then your most recent argument with Wanda stops you.

Don’t you ever leave me. I just want to make you happy.

It’s clear that you haven’t been telling her enough. Maybe a part of you doesn't want to admit that there's a twinge of disappointment, or that you've started to believe you could be the one to try in her stead. But you haven't shared any of this with Wanda. In keeping silent, you mistakenly thought you were reassuring her. Wrapped up in your career, you've been blind to the emotional strain it's placed on your wife, how it's shaken her self-esteem and her trust in your love.

Maybe you'd been too caught up in your own head, too busy trying to protect her, and in doing so, inadvertently pushed her away.

“I mean, I thought she knew,” you say with a shaky sigh. “But maybe I haven't been clear enough. I've been trying to maintain a positive outlook, you know? But I think I messed up.”

After a pause, Natasha rises and offers, “Want a beer?”

You nod, then lean back, exhaling audibly. “I'm even thinking about... you know, maybe I should be the one to try. But I'm scared it'll seem like I've given up on her.”

Natasha's eyes widen slightly as she hands you a cold can of beer. “Whoa, that's big. But just, when you talk to her about it, make sure she knows it's 'cause you two are in this together. Not 'cause you think she can't. And is…that what you want?”

“We want kids, Nat.”

“But does it have to happen now?”

You pop open the beer and take a deep sip before responding. “I mean, I don't think either of us envisioned it would be this hard. It's just... We both felt ready, you know? And after all the effort and disappointment, it's not easy to just push pause.”

“I don’t know, Y/N… Sometimes life throws us curveballs, and we've got to decide if we want to swing or wait for the next pitch.”

“You've been hanging around Clint too much.”

Natasha grins. “Maybe. But seriously, what's the rush? If the universe is telling you something, maybe it's worth listening.”

You look down at the beer can, condensation slipping down its side. “I just hate seeing her hurt. Every negative test, every failed attempt, I can see how much it's breaking her.”

“Then talk to Wanda,” Natasha says. “Ask her what she wants. Stop making assumptions and trying to fix everything.”

The thing is, you don't want to give up. That's probably why you're so nervous about mentioning to Wanda the idea of pausing and rethinking things. You've been self-centered for too long, and as much as Wanda wants to make you happy, you need her to be happy too.

“Thanks, Nat. It means a lot,” you say, rising from your seat. Just as you're about to reach the door, Natasha's voice stops you.

“I'll hold onto the crib for when the time's right, okay?”

-

You are startled awake from a light slumber by the sound of soft moans beside you. As your eyes flutter open, you see Wanda, her hand moving frantically under the sheets. The sight sends a warm thrill down your spine, but you notice her face turning a shade redder as she realizes you've woken up.

“Oh, I-I didn't mean to wake you,” she stammers, trying to pull the sheet over her actions, but you catch her wrist gently. It hurts a bit to realize that Wanda tried to hide her actions from you. It's in this moment you recognize you've been neglecting her physical needs as well, and you can't remember the last time you made love to her in earnest.

“Hey, it's okay,” you whisper reassuringly, your sleepy eyes now more alert and focused on her flushed face.

You reach over to the nightstand and turn on the lamp. Now, with better visibility, you can see the sheen of sweat on her forehead, her lips slightly parted as she bites down on her lower lip to stifle any further sounds.

“Sorry,” she mutters again, looking away shyly. “I didn't think I'd wake you.”

“No need to apologize,” you respond softly, your heart pounding against your ribcage. “Can I... can I help?”

Wanda nods her head bashfully, her breath quickening. You smile inwardly; you've lost track of how many times you've done this to her, to each other, yet there’s still this little dance you do even though you both know what it’s going to look like within the next hour.

You can tell she's probably expecting your fingers, which is why when you maneuver yourself down to the foot of the bed, her eyes widen with a blend of surprise and arousal.

You settle between her legs, taking a moment to admire the goddess before you. As you slowly slide off her panties, you take the opportunity to press tender kisses along her trembling thighs.

“You're so beautiful,” you murmur against her skin, feeling her shiver under your touch. “You smell so good, so delectable.” She whimpers softly as you continue, “You've been such a wonderful partner, Wanda. You complete me in every way.”

Wanda is enough. Whether the path to pregnancy is smooth or rocky, what matters most is this—the life you share together, the bond you’ve formed over the years. You'd rather have her happy and content, than stressed and miserable over what might not be.

Without further ado, you delve into the act of worshiping her with your tongue, making her gasp and clutch the sheets beside her. Her name falls from your lips like a prayer as you navigate through her soft folds, each stroke of your tongue eliciting a beautiful melody of moans and sighs from her.

You don't consider yourself particularly religious, but you send a silent thanks to whoever might be up there, that you get to experience everything with this woman—for better or for worse.

-

“Branch manager? But I thought—”

“You need the experience, Y/N, so I can properly recommend you for an AVP position,” Scott says, adjusting his tie—a habit you've observed he resorts to in awkward moments.

You blink in surprise, trying to process the unexpected turn. “Scott, that's... I'm honored, truly, but I was under the impression that the AVP position was nearly within my grasp.”

He exhales, avoiding direct eye contact. “Look, Y/N, you're incredibly talented, and everyone knows it. But there are some procedural checkboxes we need to tick, and having branch managerial experience is one of them.”

“But there must be some catch to this 'promotion', right?” you ask.

Scott shifts uneasily in his chair before replying, “Well, there is a trade-off. You'll be temporarily relocated to Westview, New Jersey.”

“Westview?”

He nods, “The branch there needs significant improvement, and the higher-ups believe you're the best person for the job. They would be immensely grateful for your expertise.”

Swallowing the sudden lump in your throat, you inquire, “How long do I have before the move?”

“Less than a month,” he admits, sounding apologetic.

The prospect of relocating, even temporarily, is daunting, especially given the current circumstances at home. You haven't even touched on the idea of perhaps pumping the brakes on conceiving with Wanda, and now this added responsibility looms ahead.

-

You push open the front door of the apartment, immediately hearing Sparky's playful barks. Wanda is lounging on the living room couch, a bowl of green salad in her lap. She's back on her restrictive diet, you note, and she looks more refreshed than she has in weeks.

Attempting to be discreet, you try to slide the platter of sushi behind a cushion, but Wanda's observant eyes catch the movement. “Is that...sushi?”

Ah, there it goes—your surprise. “Um, yeah,” you mutter, bringing the platter around, “I thought maybe we could enjoy something different tonight.”

Her eyes dart between the sushi and your face, the question clear in her eyes. You sigh, deciding to cut to the chase. “I think maybe we should...take a break from trying. Just for a little while.”

Wanda looks stunned, and before she can say anything, you continue, “It’s taking a toll. On both of us, but especially on you. And with this new opportunity at work, which requires me to relocate temporarily…”

She’s silent for a beat, and then you see her eyes well up with tears, the dam breaking as she cries softly. It's a quiet cry, one of acceptance and understanding, but it still breaks your heart.

You pull her into a hug, letting her tears soak through your shirt. “Hey, it’s just a pause. And it’s a chance for us to enjoy things we’ve missed,” you say, holding out the platter of sushi toward her.

She looks at the platter and then at you, her tears mingling with a soft smile. “I've missed sashimi,” she whispers, her voice cracking.

You smile back, wiping away her tears. “And I've missed seeing you enjoy it,” you reply tenderly.

With a small sigh, she picks up a piece, enjoying the flavor that she's missed for so long. You both know that this pause doesn’t mean giving up—it's just a small detour. You’re looking forward to a new chapter with the move to New Jersey. Who knows, maybe if things in your career stabilize, you can discuss with Wanda the possibility of you being the one to carry. It's a delicate suggestion, for sure, but deep down, it kind of feels like that might be the way things should go.

But still, you can't help but ask—

“Hey, we're okay, right?”

Wanda seems to search for words for a moment before answering. Her eyes, now clear, meet yours with a fondness that's always been there.

Her hand reaches out to hold yours, and you latch onto it, feeling your need for her to stay grounded.

“We’re okay.”

-

A/N: Yeah, we all know what happens next...

[mellowswriting]

nothin' in the world belongs to me but my love

pairing || Joel Miller x f!Reader

word count || 3k

summary || Joel wakes up to the pretty sight of you in his bed and he just can't help himself.

content || SMUT, somnophilia (wake-up call via Joel Miller's fingers), fingering, some intercrural sex, rough sex, p in v, unprotected sex (don't be silly wrap ur willy), possessive and pussy-whipped Joel, the perfect balance of soft and rough

a/n || i'm BACK baby 🤠 and of course I'm returning with my patented balance between soft and sweet domesticity and feral rough sex

Joel Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Library Blog

Joel wakes to a warm slice of sunrise cutting through the curtains and blazing against his face. His face scrunches in irritation as he rolls away from the intrusive light - right into you. The two of you drifted apart as you slept but he finds his place against you with practiced ease. Your warmth soaks back into him and the annoyance slips away into oblivion. It feels right with his arm curled around your waist and his chest flush against your back.

His nose trails up the back of your neck. He rememorizes each ridge of your spine. A long, content sigh fans against your skin and his arms tighten around you. These soft, quiet moments drag in the most peaceful of ways. Joel kisses the base of your spine, his lips lingering as sleep begins to fade. He can’t help it. The temptation of a few more hours is nothing in the face of your sleeping form. With your scent surrounding him and the taste of your skin on his tongue, nothing else exists.

Here, in these moments, he’s just yours. You are just his.

He can’t resist the siren song of so much warm, soft skin. His hands slip beneath the old shirt you stole from him. His palm flattens to rest low on your belly and drags up, up, up until he brushes the underside of your breast. Even in sleep, your body blossoms at his touch. You lean back into him, into his wandering touch. Opening yourself up to him, begging for more without a word. It ignites something hungry in him, something sinful and desperate and aching.

Joel grabs a handful of your ass and squeezes gently. Your back arches just so, falling into the perfect angle that pushes your ass into his cock. A low rumble rolls through his chest, desire stirring low in his belly. He shamelessly presses his cock between your soft thighs and a shudder wracks his body as he feels you. Warm and wet, lingering from the good fuck he gave you last night. He rocks his hips slowly and he can feel you getting wetter. It's almost impossible to resist the impulse just to pin you down and fuck you awake.

“Sweetheart,” He whispers against the shell of your ear, his voice rough and thick with lust. He kisses that sweet spot just below the curve of your jaw and you hum a sleepy little sound. “There’s my girl…”

“Joel…?” You murmur his name softly as you emerge from sleep, right into the warmth and pleasure of his touch. Joel doesn’t answer the question inherent in your tone. He’s too busy sucking a mark into your neck and wedging his hand between your clenched thighs. He cups your cunt with slick fingers, putting just enough pressure against your clit to make you gasp. Whatever questions were about to tumble from your lips are overcome by a moan that damn near makes him snap.

Fuck. Joel just wants to ruin you. He wants to hear you cry out his name until you’re voice disappears. He wants to see that perfect body tremble from the pleasure-pain of overstimulation. He wants to watch your expression melt into that dazed, post-orgasm smile that never fails to send him reeling with how much he loves you. His arm tightens around you possessively, as if he doesn’t already have you in every way that matters.

You reach back and card your fingers through his hair. Joel shivers at the touch. God, it’s so good. His hips jerk harshly as your grip tightens at the back of his head. You tug his head back and he doesn’t bother holding back the guttural sound it evokes. He knows how much you like to hear him. The two of you move in synchronicity, too familiar with this little dance to need words. He gives you space to shift onto your back but he’s quick to crowd back to your side.

He tugs the sheets back with a sharp flick, too anxious to get his eyes on your body as he pleases you. He helps you pull the stolen shirt from your body. The seams pop under his eagerness. The moment the shirt disappears onto the floor, you drag him into a hungry kiss that makes him lightheaded with an intoxicating mix of fondness and lust. Your fingers wrap around Joel’s wrist and guide his hand between your spread thighs.

“Needy…” Joel murmurs against your lips amusedly.

“Says the one who woke me up with his cock between my thighs.” The sarcasm melts from your voice as his fingers teasingly stroke along your cunt. A pleased sigh falls from your lips and Joel preens. He lives and breathes for those sweet little sounds. You kiss him again, this one slower and a little messy, but no less starved. His tongue glides along the seam of your lips and your mouth opens for him eagerly. It takes two fingers sinking into your cunt for you to break away with a breathy, “Fuck, Joel!”

You grind down into the cup of his hand, your head tossed back into the pillows. Joel watches you sink into the crashing waves of pleasure, his eyes alight with his own wildfire of lust. His gaze trails up the line of your exposed throat, over the curve of your lips and the crease of your brow. He lets his palm bear down at the crest of your cunt and he revels in the cry it draws from the depths of your chest. All rough and almost feral, and he can’t get enough of it.

He wants more. He wants it all, everything all at once. Every goddamn inch of you is a temptation that beckons him, a siren song of heaven and desire. Greed and impatience flare in his chest and… fuck it. Why decide when he can just keep you? The animal that lurks in the back of his mind purrs at the thought of keeping you here, pinned beneath him at his mercy. Joel’s touch never leaves your body as he moves to kneel between your thighs, all too ready to make you beg for him.

You writhe and whine as he curls his fingers, and Joel can’t help the sly grin that grows on his face. He knows you too well; the last few years of his life have been spent right here in this bed, memorizing every sensitive spot your body has to offer him. Every little sigh, every whine, every twitch of muscle. He knows it all too well. You cry his name and - as much as it fucking kills him - he stops. You make a broken little sound, your walls spasming around nothing as his wet fingers squeeze your inner thigh. God, he thinks. What a perfect little slut. Before you can start squirming, he grabs your jaw and forces your attention on him.

“What’s wrong?” Joel whispers tauntingly, stroking your cheek with his fingers. He slides the head of his cock along your slick folds, teasing it against your clit. You just whine his name and give him those big, begging eyes that almost always make him give in. “Gonna let me fuck you, pretty girl?”

“Please,” Your voice trembles so sweetly. Joel tuts at you, his eyebrows furrowed in an obvious demand for more. It’s so cute to watch you struggle to form coherent words with the head of his cock barely dipping into you. Your hips rock beneath him and you whimper with every glide of his cock against those sensitive spots. You pull him down by his neck and kiss him so softly it almost feels out of place. So lovely in the midst of pure obscenity that it leaves him dazed. Your lips brush his as you whisper, “Fuck me, Joel.”

Those three words snap him out of the hazy fog of your sweetness. Joel surges down and captures your lips in a short and bruising kiss, drinking in your gasp as he finally sinks into your cunt. There isn’t a second to adjust to the stretch of his cock before he’s buried as deep as your body allows. Molten pleasure sinks into his body with every rhythmic pulse of your cunt. His hips grind against you, trying in vain to force himself deeper. You sob out a broken sound that has him bearing his teeth, growling out some indecipherable curse.

His eyes almost flutter shut at the pleasure but he forces them open, just to take in the sight of you pinned beneath his body, speared open on his cock. The way you look at him… Never has he felt so coveted, so desperately wanted in the most basic of ways. The pure desire in your eyes only fuels the possessive fire that burns hot in his chest, a vicious cycle he can’t get enough of. He circles his hips and grinds deeper again, just to watch the way it makes you writhe. You throw your head back into the pillows with a broken sound - and Joel finally breaks.

The pace he sets is relentless. It knocks the very breath from your lungs and you wail, far too loud for this sleepy neighborhood. His palm clasps over that filthy mouth of yours and every muffled cry sends his ego soaring.

“Quiet, baby,” Joel murmurs in your ear, playfully biting your earlobe and savoring the yelp it draws from you. “Can’t have the neighbors knowing what a desperate little slut you are, now can we?”

You sob his name behind the weight of his hand but he doesn’t let up. The wet squelch of your cunt fills the room, easily heard now that he’s quieted your dirty little mouth. It drives him crazy - you drive him crazy. So wet, so eager for him to make a mess of you. Joel straightens up, his pace never faltering, and he groans at the sight of his cock splitting you open. Everything glistens with your wetness - your thighs, his groin, all the way up to his lower belly. His free hand parts your cunt, holds you open so he can spit right on your clit, and you moan. He can’t help the cocky grin on his face.

Joel knows the power he holds over you - and he revels in it. He knows how to handle this perfect body, how to curve his hips just so to make you convulse around him. He drives into you so harshly that your entire body jerks with it. Your nails bite into the muscle of his shoulder, leaving little red crescents amongst the innumerable scars that litter his skin. Every little curse and cry he draws from you is addictive. Fuck the neighbors. He needs to hear you, to taste your sweet little sounds right from the cup of your mouth. His pace slows just enough to make sure you’re coherent enough to really hear him.

“Are you gonna be a good girl if I move my hand?” Joel murmurs. You nod emphatically and those big, begging eyes send a thrill through his body. You draw in a deep breath the moment he releases you. It leaves you in the form of a delicious, breathy little moan. “That’s it, baby. Feels good, don’t it?”

“So good, so fuckin’ good,” You’re a goddamn mess, your voice all heavy and slurred and lilting with his every thrust. “Please don’t stop… I-I, fuck!”

You don’t have to say it for him to know just how close you are. Your orgasm simmers just below the surface - he can feel it in every quiver of your cunt, in the slick that soaks into the hair at his groin. Part of him wants to prolong the torturous pleasure, to keep you hanging on the precipice until you’re wrecked. But he knows there will be time for that later, once he’s already made you come on his cock and his fingers and his tongue. Again and again until you’re crying and soaking the sheets.

But for now… he gives you what you want. His strokes grow sloppy, the finesse of his movements disappearing as that feral part of him takes over. Every thrust of his hips buries his cock all the way against your cervix and he just knows it hurts so good. Your nails scrabble down his chest, leaving little red trails in their wake, and Joel growls at the slight sting. You take it beautifully and Joel adores it. He adores how much you crave his brutality, how you demand the intensity only he can provide. You don’t shy away from the grip that’s sure to leave bruises on your hips and thighs. No, you lean into it, beg for more, more, more.

You claw him closer as you choke out his name and Joel gives in without hesitation. There isn’t a breadth of space left between you as he draws you closer and closer to that devastating release. Joel drinks in your pleasure, watching you with that manic light burning in his eyes. Your brow furrows and your body locks up as tight as a bowstring. He brushes the stray hairs from your face, his hand coming to rest at the crown of your head. He holds you tight, an assertive presence that never fails to make you feel so safe.

“That’s it, pretty girl.” Joel’s tongue flits out and licks up the salt of your tears. You shiver at the filth of it. “Come for me.”

That soft command drags you over the edge. Your back arches like lightning dances down your spine and your cunt spasms - and suddenly everything is wet and hot and it feels like the world is collapsing in on him. He can barely hear the sound he wrenches from you over the rush of blood in his ears. His hand slams against the headboard, a rough sound ripping through his chest at the feeling of you locked so tight around him. For a split second, he thinks he can hold out against the barrage of pleasure - but then you go all limp and pliant and you sigh his name - His orgasm snaps through him and he fills you, sinks into your cunt over and over until it spills from your twitching hole. He murmurs your name low in your ear as his full weight sinks into your body.

It’s bliss - pure bliss that sings through his veins and settles into his bones. Joel buries his face in the crook of your neck and wraps his arms around you. Nothing exists but the low hum of pleasure that thrums through his body and you. The trail of your fingers tracing lazy lines along his shoulder. The easy rise and fall of your chest with every breath you take. The low pulse of your cunt around his softening cock. He drags sloppy kisses along your throat as his mind slowly emerges from the fog of pleasure.

Joel only manages to drag himself away from the comfort of your body with the knowledge that it won’t be for long. He returns a few moments later, arms full of everything he needs to take care of you.

“Look at you,” Joel murmurs as he drags a warm, wet cloth along your skin. He carefully cleans you up, shushing your winces and whines as he goes. “My gorgeous girl… you did so good for me, you know that?”

“Oh, I try…” You say teasingly. You let him coax the water down your throat, his fingers propped under your jaw as he tips the bottle at your lips. You snag his wrist before he can pull away fully and draw it up to your lips. The warm kiss you press to his sensitive skin makes him shiver. “I love you.”

No matter how many times he hears you say those words, it never fails to draw him up short. He can’t help the flush that heats his cheeks, blushing like a damn teenager at the attention of a beautiful girl. His thumb brushes a stray drop of water from your chin. There’s a gentleness in the way he handles you. Something he thought was long gone, a flicker of the life of before. Yet here he is. The woman he loves in his bed, leaning into the cup of his palm, whispering those sweet words to him.

“I love you, too,” Joel whispers.

You give him that blinding smile that could outshine the sun itself. You press up on your knees and kiss him, the warmth of your palms soaking into his cheeks. Joel’s hands slip down to your waist to pull you closer. He can feel you smiling into the kiss and it only stirs the desire that still simmers in his belly. You give him one last kiss before pulling away and moving to climb off of the bed - but Joel has no intention of letting you go. His hands snag you around your middle and pull you back into him.

“Wh- Joel!” You laugh, all bright and pure, and it makes his cock twitch in interest. He manhandles you down onto your back and straddles your thighs, trapping you beneath his weight. You wriggle beneath him, a halfhearted attempt to get loose. “What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” He counters. It’s far too easy to capture your wrists and pin them into the sheets. His cock ruts against your belly and watches your lips part at the feeling. He presses a line of kisses along your jaw and down your throat. Your pulse flutters beneath his lips as he murmurs low against your throat, “You think I’m lettin’ you leave?”

You make a dismayed sound tinged with amusement, but it morphs into a breathy moan when the blunt edge of his teeth digs into your neck. The fight fades from you as his teeth and tongue work another mark into your skin. He makes sure to leave it high on your neck, too high to be covered by any shirt. Pretty little bruises for everyone to see just what you are - his girl. He sits back just enough to get a look at that pretty face.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joel grins down at you, all cocky and self-assured. “You ain’t leavin’ this bed til I’m done with ya.”

[lupinmoonlight]

helloooo i am so grateful to have found your page🥹 i’ve recently become hyperfixated on lupin again & your fics are a godsend!!

small request: (of age) student often visiting lupin for office hours although she doesn’t need any help; lupin secretly infatuated w her since the start of term, he’d been imagining her in various ways while he was alone & playing w himself; fluff & intimacy & smuttttt

i know you’re super busy so feel free to get to this whenever u can or even want to, love! thank you!!

Tea, Professor Lupin?

Masterlist AO3

Summary - You always found an excuse to visit Professor Lupin in his office hours. After a cup of tea one evening, you end up straddling him, grinding yourself against him. This is the beginning of many more encounters, until one afternoon he can't take it anymore and has you against the wall of his office. (2,229 words)

Warnings - teacher/student, age gap, biting, marking, making out, grinding, dry humping, rough sex, unprotected sex, my grammar (english is my second language), not proof read.

Notes - Thank you for your kind comment Anon! I had a lot of fun with this one. I don't even know if it all makes sense but I hope you enjoy! Little surprise at the end!

Remus Lupin sat in his quarters, a parchment lying forgotten in front of him, quill dried from lack of use. His mind, usually focused, was a mess of conflicting thoughts, of forbidden emotions, all centered around one person: you. Merely thinking your name sent a rush of heat through his loins. 

It was a torturous loop, playing over and over in his mind—the way the light from the window caught your hair, turning it into a shimmering halo; the way your lips parted slightly when you were lost in thought; the curve of your collarbone peeking out from the neckline of your school uniform, leading his gaze to places it shouldn't wander.

He remembered the way your skirt would hitch up slightly when you sat down, revealing just a bit more of your thigh, nothing inappropriate, but enough to stir a feeling within him—a reminder that he was, after all, a man.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and there you were, that demure look in your eyes, the slight flush on your cheeks, your skirt hiked up around your waist exposing the pale skin of your thighs. In his mind, you were kneeling right before him, looking up through long lashes, waiting for his command. The imagery was so vivid, so erotic that he could feel your breath on him. 

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, painfully aware of the growing tightness in his trousers. He palmed himself, pressing down on the hard ridge beneath, trying to alleviate the tension. But the contact only made it worse. A low groan escaped his lips as he decided to give into the sensation. 

There was no turning back now. The need for release, the burning desire, became overpowering. With trembling fingers, he unbuttoned his trousers and slid his hand inside, palming the warm, hard length of himself. He freed himself from the confines and began stroking, starting at the base and moving upwards, his thumb brushing over the sensitive tip. The sensation made his hips jerk in response and he couldn't help letting out a low curse. 

His thoughts spiraled further into fantasy - your soft moans, the fluttering of your eyelashes as you looked up at him, your lips stretched around him. A breathy "fuck..." escaped his lips as he felt himself nearing the edge. 

The tension coiled tightly in his lower belly, building with every rhythmic motion of his hand. His grip tightened, and he quickened his pace, driven by the impending climax. And then, with a final, desperate thrust into his own hand and a barely suppressed shout, he came, warmth spilling over his fingers in thick, pulsating spurts. His heart pounded in his ears as he tried to catch his breath, a lingering feeling of guilt for letting his mind wander like that. 

He told himself it was the last time he would give into such forbidden fantasies, although he knew his resolve was not very strong. Because you were his weakness. Every day you were his weakness. 

Every office hour you were his weakness. You would show up, knowing you absolutely did not need help with anything. Your intentions were not exactly pure; it was more about the man behind the desk than any lesson he might teach. You just wanted to be with him. To see him. To feel his gaze on you. So here you were again, hesitating at the door before knocking softly. 

"Come in," he called. 

You entered, your eyes finding his immediately. "Professor Lupin," you began with feigned innocence, "I was wondering if I might use your office to study? It's so quiet and calm here." 

He looked up, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Of course, Y/N," he replied, gesturing to a small desk by the window. "You're always welcome here."

You settled into the seat, trying to focus on your textbook, but acutely aware of the intensity of his gaze. Every so often, you would catch him stealing glances in your direction. His eyes would travel, lingering on your legs when they shifted or the curve of your neck when you leaned over your books. 

For Remus, the ritual became a torturous loop. The simple act of you being there, so close yet so far, tormented him. He found himself lost in his thoughts, the pages of his book becoming a blur. The tightening in his trousers a cruel reminder of the tension in the room. 

As the weeks went on, your interactions grew less formal. You would often arrive without a pretense of studying, and your conversations flowed easily. So much that one evening, you walked in without knocking, a playful grin on your face. "Professor," you teased, "I thought I might stop by for some tea and company." 

Remus chuckled, setting aside his paperwork. "Dropping the excuses, are we?" he responded, warming to your presence. 

You shrugged, your face glowing in the light of the fireplace. "Perhaps. I've come to appreciate our little talks." 

He summoned a pot of tea and poured you both a cup. "So have I," he admitted, his eyes searching yours. You both settled on the couch, the warmth of the fire creating a cozy atmosphere yet there was an undeniable tension. 

In the midst of your conversation, you drew nearer to each other, perhaps unconsciously, your knees brushing every now and then. Remus's every breath became a battle against his own desires, the proximity testing his resolve. 

He shifted uneasily, the close proximity awakening a forbidden hunger. "Y/N," he began, voice slightly raspy. "It's getting late. Perhaps you should head back to your dorm."

Your gaze moved from his eyes to his lips, your voice soft and innocent as you murmured, "But Professor...I don't really want to leave." 

He swallowed hard. "I don't want you to leave either," he almost whispered, every word heavy with the unspoken desires. "But I wouldn't want you getting in trouble..." Even as he spoke, he found himself leaning in, the pull impossible to resist. You were so close now; your breaths intermingled. 

You had every opportunity to pull away, but you didn't. And then the distance between you vanished as his lips met yours. The initial contact was tentative, a gentle exploration, as if he was asking permission. But the restraint soon faded as the kiss deepened, rapidly transformed into one of burning need. 

In an impulsive move, you swung a leg over, straddling him. You could feel his very evident arousal against you, making him groan as you began to move. 

"We shouldn't-" he managed, his voice thick with lust. But his protests were silenced by another deep groan, spurred by the rhythmic pressure of your movements against him. His hands, once hesitantly placed at your sides, now gripped your hips with a possessive fervor, guiding you as you continued to grind against the hard ridge of his length. 

Your moans and whimpers were intoxicating. His mouth trailed to your neck, biting and sucking on the delicate skin, tasting your warmth, leaving a territorial mark on you. The pace of your movements increased until you were unable to hold back anymore. He felt your body tense, a telltale sign of your climax, and his control slipped away rapidly. The soft whimper in his ear was all it took to push him over the edge. His hips jerked involuntarily as a sticky warmth seeped through his trousers. 

You stayed like that for a few moments, foreheads touching, catching your breaths and coming to terms with the line you'd just crossed. Remus looked mortified. "I...I'm sorry," he murmured, a hint of embarrassment in his voice. "This shouldn't have happened. It can't happen again."

You looked at him, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. "No, it shouldn't," you replied sarcastically. And that's when he knew he had corrupted you, or perhaps you had corrupted him. It didn't really matter anymore because every evening, the ritual repeated. The pretext of "tea" had become a thinly veiled excuse for the intimate encounters that transpired between the two of you behind the closed door of his office. 

Remus was not even trying to dissuade you anymore. More often than not, he would pull you into his arms as soon as the door clicked shut. Your lips met, and the world outside disappeared. A light bite on your lower lip would elicit a whimper, and his mouth would quickly travel to your neck, where he discovered you were more sensitive. He reveled in these moments, intoxicated by the power he held over you. He loved marking you, a visible claim that you were his, although he knew he had no right as your Professor. 

There were nights where your need for intimacy transitioned from the physical to the emotional. He would be sprawled out on his office couch, and you would nestle yourself on top of him. His fingers would thread through your hair, and he would lean down to press a gentle kiss on your head. "How was your day?" he would ask. 

"It was okay. Potions was...intense," you murmured, the hint of a smile playing on your lips. 

Remus chuckled lightly. "Snape still giving you a hard time?"

You shook your head, your fingers dancing over the fabric of his shirt. "No, not really. I think he's just...Snape." 

Remus laughed softly. "True. That man is an enigma." He paused, his fingers stilling in your hair. "Y/N, we...we need to talk about this," he began, his voice hesitant, "about us." 

You lifted your head, your eyes meeting his, filled with a mix of fear and hope. "I know," you whispered.

He sighed, pressing another gentle kiss to your forehead. "It's just...our positions...it's complicated. I should've never allowed myself to act on my feelings. I had no right."

You shook your head, a silent tear rolling down your cheek. "But Remus, I feel safe here, with you. I want to be with you." 

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you tightly. "I feel the same way," he admitted. "But we have to be careful." 

You nodded, burying your face in his chest. "I understand."

Yet, his actions never followed his words. He would eat you alive with his eyes every class, touch himself to the thought of you at night, or pull you aside in the corridor to steal a kiss in the middle of the day. 

The sight of you, there in the hallway, acted as a siren's call. It was different this time. His gaze was not soft and playful. It was predatory and it went straight to your core. Without a word, he snatched your wrist, his grip firm, and pulled you along towards the closest room- his office. 

"Remus? What's going on?" you began, a bit surprised. 

"You," he growled, pressing you firmly against the wall. "I can't get enough of you," he breathed against your neck, his fingers working with a frenzied haste to lift your skirt and push down your panties swiftly. You gasped, sensing the barely contained need in his every movement. 

With a groan of frustration, Remus quickly undid his trousers. His erection was painfully hard, and he pressed it against you, savoring the wet heat and intimacy of the contact. "You feel that?" he whispered harshly, grinding against you. "This is what you do to me." 

You could barely respond, your breath hitching as you felt his tip rub against your entrance. "Please, Remus," you panted, your nails digging into his shoulders, back arching against him. 

He didn't need any more encouragement. With a sharp thrust, he entered you, burying himself deep as your legs hooked around his waist. 

"Fuck, Y/N," he grunted. "You feel so good." Every thrust was hard and frantic, the slap of your bodies echoing in the confined space. 

You clung to him desperately, your body rising to meet each of his powerful thrusts. The pleasure was almost too much, and soon you felt that familiar pressure building. "Remus," you whimpered, your walls clenching around him as you reached your climax. 

Feeling you tighten around him was his undoing. "Fuck..." he cursed again, thrusting even more relentlessly. "Gonna fill you up," he rasped. "Take it. Take all of me." 

Without further warning, he buried himself to the hilt, holding himself deep inside you as his release overtook him. You cried out, the intensity of his climax and his depth almost too much to handle. Each pulse of his length seemed to go on forever, filling you completely. 

Finally spent, he rested his forehead against yours, both of you panting heavily. He remained inside you for a moment longer, the soft pulsing of his length a lingering testament to what had just transpired. Slowly, he pulled out, his seed trickling down your thigh and onto the polished wood below, only for it to vanish with a flick of his wand. 

In a daze, you felt your panties being pulled back up. Moments later, you were back on the familiar couch, his arm wrapped protectively around you. 

Floating towards you were two cups of steaming tea. Remus looked down at you, his eyes still dark but with a hint of mischief. "Tea, Miss Y/N?" he teased. 

You smirked, taking the offered cup with shaky hands. "Why, thank you, Professor Lupin." 

[daryltwdixon]

The Heart of Us: Chapter 16

notes: im telling you sometimes I think if I had access to Daryl Dixon every day id jump his bones every chance I got so that's what we're doin

warnings: slightly NSFW

You wake to the soft gray light of morning filtering through the curtains, Daryl’s warmth pressed tightly against you. His head rests on your chest, the scruff of his jaw brushing your skin with each slow, even breath he takes. One arm is wrapped firm around your waist, the other tucked beneath you like even in sleep, he’s afraid to let go.

Your fingers move instinctively, brushing through his messy hair. He stirs, nuzzling closer, his face burying deeper into you. The weight of him is grounding, comforting. You don’t want to move, don’t want to disturb this quiet, fragile cocoon you’ve found together.

Then his lips graze your skin—soft, hesitant, against the curve of your breast. Heat stirs low in your belly as his breath hitches, his grip tightening. You feel the change before his eyes even open—the flex of his fingers, the subtle press of his body aligning closer to yours.

“Morning,” he mumbles, his voice low and raspy with sleep.

“Morning,” you whisper back, your voice catching as his lips brush your skin again, more deliberate this time.

His eyes blink open, lazy and hooded as they meet yours. There’s a softness there, a quiet yearning that tightens your chest. You trace your fingers along his jaw, tilting his face up toward yours.

“You’re already thinkin’ about somethin’,” he mutters, his voice rough as he shifts slightly over you.

“Maybe.” A small smile tugs at your lips, teasing but inviting.

That’s all it takes. His lips find yours, soft but insistent, and his weight presses down as he moves fully over you. His hands roam, tracing the curve of your waist, slipping beneath the blanket to brush against your thighs.

You tug at his shirt, pushing it up until he pulls back just enough to shrug it off. The fabric falls to the floor, forgotten, and your hands are on him immediately—tracing the lines of his shoulders, the hard ridges of his collarbone, the scars etched across his skin. Each touch seems to draw something from him, his breath hitching, his muscles tensing under your palms.

“Stop,” he mutters, his voice low but wavering, his lips twitching in a faint, reluctant smile.

“Ticklish?” you tease, your fingers lingering along his ribs. “Good.”

He growls under his breath, his hands firm on your waist as he pulls you closer. There’s tension in his grip, restraint in the way he moves, like he’s still learning how to let himself have this. You lean in, your lips brushing his jaw, his neck, tasting the salt of his skin as he exhales a shaky breath.

“C’mere,” he grumbles, his voice thick with need as he shifts, settling fully between your legs.

His kiss is slow, deliberate, the kind that leaves you breathless. His hands explore, rough fingers brushing the bare skin beneath your shirt. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, your body arching into him as your hands fumble with the waistband of his jeans. He pauses for a moment, his forehead pressing against your shoulder as he breathes heavily, grounding himself.

“Daryl,” you murmur, your voice soft but urgent.

That’s all the encouragement he needs. Clothes fall away in hurried, clumsy movements, and his lips follow the trail of exposed skin. He takes his time, his kisses lingering on every hollow and curve, each touch reverent and deliberate. When his lips find your center, the world disappears, leaving only him—his name spilling from your lips as he unravels you piece by piece.

When he finally moves over you, his hair falling into his eyes, you see something raw and unspoken in his gaze. You reach up, brushing the strands back, your fingers tangling as you pull him down for a searing kiss. He enters you slowly, a quiet groan escaping his lips, the sound mingling with your soft gasp.

The rhythm you find together is unhurried but consuming, every movement a quiet promise. His lips find your jaw, your neck, your shoulder, and the way he says your name—rough, breathless—leaves you undone.

When it’s over, his weight presses into you, grounding you. His forehead rests against yours, both of you catching your breath in the quiet. His hand moves absently over your hip, tracing lazy circles against your skin.

You close your eyes, letting his presence chase away the lingering chill of the morning. But the quiet between you grows heavier, the edges of reality pressing in.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave,” you murmur, breaking the silence.

Daryl shifts, his brow furrowing as he looks at you. “Ain’t nothin’ out there that won’t wait,” he says, his thumb brushing your side.

You bite your lip, the ache in your chest deepening. “I know. But I still wish I could come with you.”

His gaze searches yours, a flicker of guilt crossing his features. “Won’t be long,” he says, like it’s that simple. But it never is.

Your mind drifts to last night—to Rick. His drunken voice, the way he’d cornered you, his words slurred but heavy with meaning. The kiss had come out of nowhere, clumsy and desperate, and you’d pushed him away immediately. The regret in his eyes had been instant, but it didn’t make it easier to forget.

The thought of facing him now makes your stomach twist. You exhale softly, your fingers tightening against Daryl’s back. “It’s not that,” you say finally. “I just… don’t want to deal with everyone. Not today.”

He studies you for a long moment, his jaw tightening, but he doesn’t push. “I get it,” he says simply. “Ain’t gotta explain.”

He leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, soft and unspoken. When he pulls back, his eyes flick to the clock on the nightstand.

“Shit,” he mutters, sitting up and running a hand through his hair.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching as he swings his legs over the side of the bed and grabs his jeans from the floor. He moves with that quiet efficiency he always has, pulling on his shirt and lacing up his boots without a word.

You feel a pang of something—disappointment, maybe, or just the weight of knowing he’s about to walk out the door again.

He glances back at you, his expression softening when he sees the look on your face. He leans down, cupping your cheek as he presses one last kiss to your lips.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough but steady.

“Love you too,” you whisper back, your hand lingering against his wrist as he pulls away.

Daryl straightens, grabbing his crossbow from where it leans against the wall. He gives you one last look before heading toward the door, his boots heavy against the hardwood floor.

You hear the creak of the stairs as he heads downstairs, and the sound settles over you like a weight. You lay back against the pillows, the quiet of the room feeling far lonelier now than it did just a few moments ago.

➳

Rick

In the second bedroom across the stairs, Rick Grimes stared blankly at the speckled ceiling above his bed. The early morning light filtered through the slats of the closed blinds, dust drifting lazily in the sunbeams. The faint warmth of it on his skin did nothing to ease the throbbing in his head.

His throat was dry, raw, like sandpaper with every breath he drew. The pounding behind his eyes wasn’t just from the hangover, though the bitter tang of last night’s beer still clung to his tongue. No, the ache in his skull came from something deeper, something worse—the weight of his own regret.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the pulsing pain to stop, but it only seemed to grow stronger as fragments of the night before flickered across his mind. Her face. Her voice. The way she’d looked at him, startled and furious, after he’d crossed the line.

Rick groaned quietly, his hand dragging across his face, the stubble on his jaw scratching against his palm. He could still feel the heat of the moment, her arm slipping from his grasp as she shoved him away. The memory made his chest tighten, his stomach churn with a sick kind of guilt that no amount of sunlight could chase away.

He’d screwed up. Royally.

He was a man of morals—a man who held himself to a certain standard. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. Some days, he almost believed it.

He wasn’t sure when it had started, this gnawing feeling just beneath the surface. Maybe it was the walls, the illusion of safety they cast. People had started to breathe again. Rick wished he could say the same.

That was the problem with walls. They gave your mind too much space to wander, too much time to pick apart the things you’d shoved deep down while running for your life. For so long, it had been about survival—about keeping them alive, about staying ahead of death. There hadn’t been room for anything else.

But here? Here, the world slowed down just enough to let the cracks show. And in those cracks, his thoughts crept through—uninvited and unwelcome.

He told himself it was nothing. That he was just tired. That he was still adjusting to this place, to the idea of normalcy. He told himself that every time his eyes lingered too long, every time he found himself drawn to her voice—her sarcastic remarks, her quiet truths. His mind would scream that it wasn’t like that. That it couldn’t be. He wasn’t that kind of man. But then he’d look at her, their eyes meeting in a shared understanding, of everything that they–the group, and just him and her–had been through. It was rare and fleeting, and his chest would tighten in a way that made him question everything he thought he knew about himself.

It wasn’t just that she was beautiful. No, it was more than that. It was the way she moved through this broken world like she was built for it, like she belonged to it. Or more…how it belonged to her.

Y/N.

It shouldn’t have surprised him, not really. She’d always had a way of lingering in the back of his mind. Back when Shane was alive—when Shane couldn’t seem to leave her alone. Rick hadn’t paid much attention then, or maybe he hadn’t wanted to. He’d told himself she was just another piece of Shane’s mess. Another reminder of the man Shane had become in the end.

But when he saw her in Daryl’s arms that night in the field, lifeless and bloody, something shifted. Something in her—and something in him. Maybe it wasn’t even romantic feelings, not at first, but it changed him. It changed the whole group.

He had expected her to cry, to kick and scream at the world after that night. But she hadn’t. She’d gone inward, pushing everything down for their survival. She didn’t break. She bared her teeth like a wolf, standing tall against the world that tried so hard to crush her. If anything, she’d become stronger—fierce, sharp, like a blade honed by the chaos around them.

There was a ferocity to her now, one that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t loud or reckless—not anymore. Instead, it was quiet and purposeful, an unyielding determination that Rick couldn’t ignore. She didn’t flinch when things got hard, didn’t hesitate when someone needed to take the lead. And when it came to the group, she protected them fiercely. Rick respected that about her, even if it unsettled him sometimes. Even if it reminded him a little too much of Shane.

But she wasn’t Shane. That much was clear.

Shane had been consumed by his own darkness, driven by rage and desperation until it swallowed him whole. Y/N, though—she’d taken that same darkness and turned it into something else. She carried it with her like a weapon, wielding it with precision and purpose. It was as if the world had tried to break her, and instead, she’d learned how to break it.

Rick found himself watching her more than he should. The way her eyes never stopped moving, scanning for threats even when everyone else was letting their guard down. The way she always kept one hand near her knife, like she didn’t trust the peace of Alexandria any more than he did. She wasn’t like the others here, wasn’t fooled by the fences and the false promises of safety. That was something else they had in common.

But then, when he saw her with Daryl…

That was when the guilt settled in, heavy and unshakable. He’d heard her thrash in her sleep for months and saw the emptiness in her eyes during the rare moments her guard slipped. But Daryl was always there, always ready to hold her, whispering things Rick would never hear.

Daryl.

Shit.

His brother in every way that mattered. Rick couldn’t do that to him—wouldn’t. No matter how much the thoughts lingered in his mind all day, no matter how often his gaze drifted to her when he thought no one was looking. She belonged to Daryl in ways Rick didn’t dare question, and that should’ve been enough to silence it.

It wasn’t.

With a heavy exhale, he swung his legs off the bed and headed to the kitchen, bracing himself for the day ahead.

[goodeapple]

unravel me (aemond x baela x oc)

The dragon must have three heads...

pairing : Aemond x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC) x Baela

warnings : it's a three for all (ffm), breeding, tongue twister, under negotiated/undisclosed kinks

word count : 2,000+

title from "Unravel Me" by Sabrina Claudio

“So good for me, my love.” Baela whispers against her cheek, and her tone is so pretty and praising that it sends Ysilla whining, and she burrows her face into her cousin’s naked shoulder. Soft hands slip over her back, fingertips dancing up the curve of her spine like a snake in the sand. Wisps of Baela’s curls tickle her face, the moonlight strands pecking her with a million tiny kisses. 

A brush of lips at Ysilla’s right shoulder signals the last piece of her puzzle notching into place. 

The sound that builds in Baela’s chest is more that of a rabid beast than a Velaryon Princess. 

“She's mine.” Baela snarls, pure dragon, and yanks Ysilla closer to her.

Their breasts meld, their skin sticky from the summer heat that refuses to break, even though night has fallen and blanketed the scorched earth below. Baela clutches her tighter, rolling Ysilla forward along the thigh squeezed between her legs. Ysilla’s breath hitches, eyes glassy, and she rocks her hips back and forth, grinding her wet cunt along the smooth ridge of it. 

A snicker, mean in sound and careless in its release, is an answer Baela does not want to hear. 

Aemond curls his hand around Ysilla’s ankle and with one good, strong tug, he rips his niece away from the other girl, splaying her out on her belly, her legs suddenly dangling off the side of the bed. Ysilla gasps, startled at the new position. She feels him press up behind her, the linen of his trousers soft and thin. Her arousal starts to soak through the fabric, and she tries not to arch back into the bulge she feels nudging apart her folds.

“Let’s not talk about who this one belongs to, girl,” Aemond brings both of Ysilla’s wrists behind her, securing them with one hand at the dip of her lower back, spacing her feet further apart so she’ll be a bit more stable for what’s to come.

“Because when it’s my cock inside of her, she loses all fucking thought.” 

Baela glares at him with enough hatred to fuel a thousand fires. Ysilla stares, drinking in her cousin’s state as if she is a cool drink. She was made by the Gods themselves, Ysilla swears it. Long, powerful legs that climb to muscled thighs- rider’s thighs before the curvaceous flare of her hips demands devotion. Then, up to a tapered waist before her chest blooms with beautiful, bouncy breasts that Ysilla always seems to find in her mouth. All of her gorgeous, heavenly body wrapped up in smooth, lucious sunloved skin that seems to glow and whisper take me, take me, take me into your den and keep me. It’s one of the many reasons Ysilla asked for her hand, even though her other was already entertwined with Aemond’s. 

Through all of that, the pinched look on her sweetheart face detracts from Ysilla’s happiness. How many times must they go through this? 

“Enough you two, I’m tired of hearing your- nnngh.” Ysilla cuts herself off with a guttural groan. She’s so wet, absolutely dribbling with want from Baela’s sweet touch that Aemond slides inside of her without any resistance. He drags her back and forth off of him, her trapped arms easy for him to loop his own through and puppet master her through their coupling. The bedspread crinkles under their movements and the softness scrapes at her nipples that sends bolts of overstimulation streaking through her tendons. He finds that perfect spot inside of her, as if his cock is a compass determined to find her pleasure, and drives the blunt mushroom head of himself straight into it overandoverand over again.

Ysilla screams, smothering her face into her sheets. She shoots up onto the tips of her toes, her peak washing through her like a tidal wave but Aemond doesn’t pause in his pace, fucking her through it brutally, her walls fluttering weakly at his assault. He’s trying to prove a point, even if it’s at her cervix’s expense. But Ysilla can’t bring herself to mind, her brain a puddle sloshing between her ears. 

“Baeeee-la,” Ysilla slurs. It’s hard to think, to talk, to breathe while Aemond does his best to fuck her stupid. Her paramour looks at her, the venom in her beautiful brown eyes dissipating to make room for tenderness and she sits up straighter, giving over her full attention. 

“Yes beloved?” Aemond growls at the name and Ysilla manages to curve her leg around his calf, stroking up and down the muscled limb. He’s such a boy- never knowing when to share.

“You didn’t… finish earlier…” Ysilla manages to croak out, biting at her lip as Aemond drags himself through her walls in a way that makes her ache. Baela gifts her a small smile, at the ready with a dismissive shake of her head. 

“No, no.” Ysilla answers before she can be told. She twists around, giving her lover a pleading glance. His skin is slick, glistening like his bejeweled eye. Scars and muscle weave a story Ysilla knows every word to, her husband a man just as complicated as he is handsome. Aemond nods, unlacing his arms from hers only to circle one around her hips. He always needs to be touching her. Ysilla slithers up his body, enjoying every ridge and dip along the way. 

“You’re doing so good for me, sweet boy. Taking such good care of me. How I love you so.” Aemond blushes, she can tell from how hot his face feels where he presses it to her neck. Ysilla drops a kiss beneath his ear, stroking the arm around her lovingly. He reaches up to cradle her breast in his hand, and he plucks and pulls at her nipple in a way that has her gushing. 

“Come here, ñuha prūmia." Ysilla lets her eyes fall heavily onto her lonely lover, her voice deep and thickened. It’s constant work, to spread her attention (her admiration, her desire) between her husband and wife. Their hers but not each other’s, not even with all of Ysilla’s begging and pleading. She only pokes them enough when the time is right, careful about toying across their battle lines. 

Baela blinks, unable to tear her stare from the veiny, pale hand swallowing up her wife’s tits. Aemond is so much bigger than both of them, so much stronger, it’s a bit intimidating. Sometimes, when Uncle and Niece get lost in each other, her rage dims into something more… warm. The intimidation into something a lot like yearning. Baela doesn’t entertain that feeling. 

The dragonrider comes back to herself, seeing an expression that’s far past pleading spelled out on Ysilla’s face.

“Now, Baela.” She blushes, a perfect cherry tint to her umber skin and Ysilla is so fucking hungry for her. Baela crawls forward and while Ysilla loves her face as much as the rest of her, the swing of her breasts is hypnotizing. She’s finally close enough, the sweet mint on her breath wafting over Ysilla’s face and the Princess finds her fingers and laces them with hers.

The girls’ lips brush, demure and proper, something barely considered as a kiss. Baela frowns, trying to stomp down her jealousy as Ysilla breaks away to gasp out a cry. Being made to share her wife with a man who she knows to be undeserving of her drives her to madness. Having to witness him bedding her is like salt in a wound and some days, the only thing stopping her from tearing through The One-Eyed Prince with her teeth is the pleading purple eyes of her ābrazȳrys. 

Baela could- no, can make Ysi cum harder, moan sweeter, love deeper than he could ever hope to. Spitefulness bites at her heart, and her voice crawls up her throat, forming into would you like me to leave you two alone? until Ysilla rolls her head forward and lets the longing in her eyes drip over Baela like hot wax. 

“Spread your legs for me, Bae.” Baela sighs happily, her girl’s attention back to where it should be. She settles back on her elbows, butterflying her knees apart and offering herself up on a platter. Who is she to deny her Queen? 

Ysilla dives in, all tongue, lapping her cream with a hunger reserved only for their bedchambers. Baela drops her head back, a ragged gasp ripping from her throat. Her hips swivel off the bed, rising to fuck Ysilla’s eager tongue. She can’t help it, when she reaches up to cup her own breast and rolls the plump weight in her skilled hand. She tangles her fingers in Ysilla’s roots and pulls, slanting her face harder into her soaked cunt.

Aemond moans and it’s such a nice sound, Ysilla will try to have him make it more often. He’s rutting into her, animalistic and fevered, spurred on by the sinful painting his wife and her lover make right before him. Ysilla slips a hand between her legs, caressing her clit in a way that sends her spasming and her husband groaning. She lets her slick pool over her fingers, getting them nice and drenched before tearing away from herself, and sliding them into Baela’s tight hole.

“Ysi!” Baela gasps, hips bucking wildly and if it were just the two of them, Ysilla would climb on top of her and ride. “Ysi, fuck, don’t stop!” 

Driven by nothing more than greed- rocking back into Aemond, pushing her face forward against Baela, Ysilla drowns herself in the scent/feel/taste of them, feral and needy and endlessly ravenous.

“Silli, iksan jāre ribazmoqitta kesīr.” Aemond curses into the back of her neck before he lifts her up, hunching over her back and fucking into her like she’s a ragdoll, like she’s just a hole for him to dump his cum into, like she’s a Dornish slut busy with her Velaryon consort- fuck!

His release takes him by the throat and squeezes. He thrusts deeper, however possible that may be, his spend sloshing from her juicy walls as he burrows into her womb. Aemond collapses onto her back. His heavy breaths at her neck and the weight of him on her is a comfort, keeping her pinned so she doesn’t float away from her body. It keeps her focused too; she still has a job to do. Her jaw aches but she fights through the burn with gusto, her focus unwilling to waiver. 

Aemond’s left hand joins her hold on Baela’s leg, his pale fingers digging into the dark flesh. They’d look so good together, so right. They’d fight before they’d fuck, or maybe both at the same time. Baela’s hand wrapped around Aemond’s narrow neck, choking him out as she bounced on his lap. His hand striking each of her ample cheeks, the buttery globes quaking before he snaked his long fingers to the dripping honeypot purring between her thighs. Ysilla wraps her lips around her cousin’s pretty little pearl and sucks, long lost in the haze of her fantasies, curling her fingers up to press at the spongy spot that undos all of Baela’s ties. 

Baela shouts, back bowing and head flying back, her curls waterfalling off her shoulders. She searches blindly for Ysilla’s wrist, desperately yanking her hand still when she finds it, guiding herself through her own peak and humping her wife’s fist to draw out her tremors. Ysilla flicks her tongue over the wiggling flesh, reveling in the sharp rise of her wailing.

Aemond’s thumb strokes Baela’s quivering calf as his other goes to strum at Ysilla’s button like she’s a harp string. The Princess shudders, finally giving herself over to euphoria, cushioning herself between both halves of her world. 

Baela flexes her toes, her whimpers dying out, deep rattling breaths taking their place. Aemond hums, sated and sound, edging Ysilla up the bed so that they can both curl up and rest. Baela presses the sole of her heel into his forearm to stall his movements, in a way that’s not quite as threatening as it appears tender. He drums his fingers down her leg, before pinching at her ankle. Ysilla watches and smiles, peppering kisses along the silky skin of Baela’s inner thigh. She pulls out her fingers gently, making sure to go nice and slow, letting her feel every inch that pulls out of her. Her wife shivers, crossing her thighs, perhaps suddenly aware of Aemond’s heavy eye getting quite the view of her womanhood.

Ysilla lets herself be selfish, happy that Baela is still lost in the clouds before she turns to her husband. Grinning slyly, she feeds her fingers into Aemond’s mouth, his hungry tongue swirling around them and sucking ravenously. 

Se zaldrīzes ēdruta emagon hāre heads. 

.

.

.

ñuha prūmia  .  my heart

ābrazȳrys  .  wife

iksan jāre ribazmoqitta kesīr  .  I'm going crazy here

se zaldrīzes ēdruta emagon hāre heads  .  the dragon must have three heads

[jlmichigan]

OUT OF THE CUIRASS

Warning: My first fanfic attempt, please be gentle. Soft smut read at your own risk, episode 8 ending left me with a question I had to answer...

~set just after Willow episode 1x08~

The city gates behind them, they paused for a moment, looking to the horizon. Only way out was back to the water, back the way they came. They would have to figure the rest out from there.

Hearing a soft metal clanking beside her, Jade glanced over to see Kit self consciously smoothing her new chain/plate armor down her trim waist. She let her eyes travel down past Kit's hands, to where the armor hugged her deliciously curved bottom in a way Kit's leather trousers never had. "Mmmh". The sound escaped her lips before she could stop it.

"What?" Kit glanced back at her. Jade could only smile helplessly. A warm tingle lit in her belly at the way the Cuirass outlined every curve and valley of Kit's athletic frame. As many times as she had admired her friend's body, mostly in stolen glances while Kit rambled on about the next adventure she wanted to take, Kit had never looked like THIS. The tight fitting armor left little to the imagination. Her eyes started to slip back down across the suit...

"I'm gonna take it off," Kit asserted, looking back towards the horizon again. Jade's smile widened, a sudden thought of the soft skin underneath causing her cheeks to flush. "When?"

"As soon as I figure out how," Kit tugged a finger at the collar of the mail shirt.

Kit really had no idea how beautiful she was. She was fidgeting wth the armor the same way she always tugged at her gowns, as though she felt exposed in anything other than the loose manly shirts and leathers she normally chose to wear.

As the group started walking across the sand, Jade leaned in to murmur in Kit's ear, "I'm sure we can figure something out."

"Yeah? Well we better, because this thing is giving me a wedgie like you wouldn't believe". Kit hopped slightly, trying to shake the chain mail more loosely around her legs.

A sudden laugh bubbled out of Jade's mouth. She felt almost lightheaded, the loss of adrenaline leaving her shaky. How long since they'd had a good rest? Gods, and a bath. She still felt crusty from all the "camouflage" and rock dust.

"What's the plan?" she called up to where Boorman and Willow were leading the group, followed by Airc and Elora, who were talking earnestly.

"You're lucky a sorcerer plans ahead" Willow called back. "Everyone was so quick to run off the edge of the world, no one thought to bring supplies."

"Just so happens, I tied our things together with some inflated pig bladders, and sent them off the edge ahead of me. They should still be tucked safely by that big rock where I climbed up out of the water. We can rest there while we plan how to get back"

True to his word, Willow had managed to salvage most of their meager belongings. A worn tarp they could use to get some relief from the unsetting sun. The bits of fishing tackle and catch nets they had used to procure food on the long trek across the Shattered Sea. Two cracked leather bladders for carrying water. Flint and stone, a battered tin pot. And a pouch of tough as leather eel jerky. Ugh. If they ever got back home, Jade would happily forswear any food that came from the sea, especially eel.

"Ladies, who's up for a skinny dip?" Boorman boomed, already stripping his shirt off.

"Ugh," Kit exclaimed, while Elora flushed furiously. "Uh, I don't think so."

"No one? Your loss!" Boorman shed the rest of his clothing unashamedly, then climbed the rock to dive headfirst into the swirling waters.

"Ladies, if you want to clean up, I think there are some tidal pools around that hillock" Willow stated. "Prince Airc, if you'll come with me. I want to see what you remember of the Crone. Maybe we can gain insight to plan our next encounter with the Order of the Wyrm."

True to Willow's word, there were several shallow rock pools on the other side of the ridge. They could almost not hear Boorman's whooping and splashing.

Elora stripped down to her shift and entered the closest of the pools, sighing with satisfaction as the water pulled the sand and ash from her skin.

Jade took Kit's elbow and walked them a bit further, settling on a deeper blue pool with a flat outcropping on one side. "This look alright, princess?"

"Gods yes." Kit dunked her face and hands into the water, then shook her hair out like a dog drying off.

Jade sat on the outcropping and pulled her boots off, setting them carefully aside, then reached up to start unbuckling her leather tunic.

"Here, let me." Kit plopped down next to Jade and reached for the buckles of Jade's shoulder pauldrons. As she deftly pulled the straps from their buckles, her wet hair tickled against Jade's neck. Jade shivered. They had helped each other into and out of their fighting gear countless times, but there had always been an understood distance between them. The knight-to-be and the princess. Now she wasn't sure what they were. Kit's hands gently pulled the leathers off and set them aside, leaving Jade in just a thin shirt and breeches. One of Kit's hands softly brushed the base of Jade's throat.

"What about the Cuirass, your highness?" Jade croaked, then cleared her throat.

"Um, yeah. This should be easy to figure out." Kit started patting her armor down, looking for straps and edges to pull it apart. "Hunh. Where's the... I can't find the edge of this."

Jade twisted and started running her hands over the armor as well, looking for loose pieces. Despite the combination of plate and chain mail, there seemed to be no beginning or end to the garment, it all seemed made of one piece. Jade blushed as she realized where her hands had come to rest, on the rounded front of the breast plate. Uh, literally. She pulled her hands back as if burned. Self consciously, she looked back down the coast, and saw that Elora had her back to them and was singing to herself.

"No, hey..." Kit grabbed her hands. Looking directly into Jade's eyes, she put her hands back where they ached to be, on the swell of Kit's breasts. Jade's breath caught. "That's nice." Kit's breath sounded a bit ragged too.

"Your highness..."

"Don't. I'm not anymore. Or, I won't be after we bring Elora home. She'll be the royal and I'll just be the knight protecting her. Don't you get it, you and I, we don't have to play those parts anymore. We can just be... us."

Jade stared wonderingly into Kit's eyes, starting to see the possibilities. Could that even be true? Her hands trembled.

Something moved under her right hand as a finger twitched. Suddenly, with a series of metallic clicks, the Cuirass started folding in upon itself, returning to the smaller form it had been before it was activated.

Kit's eyes got wide. "You found it!"

"Unnhh," Kit's eyes suddenly rolled back in their sockets and the life went out of her.

"KIT!!!" Jade screamed.

∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆

"What's wrong with her?" Jade was frantic, patting at Kit's cheeks as she crouched on her knees beside her.

"Back up, I can't see." Willow lifted Kit's wrist in one hand, flattening his other across her forehead. Elora peered over as well, her red locks dripping onto Jade's shoulder and Kit's neck as she pressed in tightly against Jade. In the blur of moments after Kit fell over, Elora had fetched the sorcerer and alerted the party to Kit's distress. Jade sensed the others around them, but she only had eyes for Kit.

"You say this happened right after you deactivated the Cuirass?"

"Yeah. We didn't know how to get it off. I found the switch by accident, it's the Lux that does it."

"Elora, I don't know if you can see anything I cannot, but there doesn't seem to be any evil magic about her. I think she's just unconscious."

"I'm not sure how I would..." Elora sucked in a breath and blew it out slowly, closing her eyes and stretching both hands towards her friend and protector. "Ohhhh, there's this... Green glow thingie. It's like it's pulling some kind of energy out of Kit and drawing it into that, the flox capacitor..."

"Lux arcana" Jade supplied.

"Right. That."

"You mean it's draining her? We've got to get it off of her right now!" Jade fumbled at the straps on Kit's shoulders. The others lifted Kit's torso so Jade could slide the Cuirass off. She tossed the cursed thing to the side and gently lowered Kit back down, but the princess did not stir.

"I don't think that helped," Elora stated. "It still seems connected to her."

"I think I know what's happening," Willow interjected. "In magic, there is always a cost. Mystic artifacts, even and especially ones of great power, demand a price. In our world there must always be a balance. When that balance is upset, nature corrects."

"So you're saying she took out a power loan, and now the Cuirass has come to collect with interest?" Boorman puzzled. "Bummer."

"Eh. Something like that," Willow answered. "What powers did the Cuirass give her? From what you've all said, she had blinding fast speed, super strength, invulnerability... All while resisting the forces of darkness. That energy has to come from somewhere."

"Is she going to be all right?" Jade was desperate to know how to help her friend.

"I think so. Suffice to say, she won't be using that armor again anytime soon. A point we should consider when we plan our next encounter with the forces of darkness. I think she just needs rest, and some restorative nutrition. Elora, let's see what we can find for dinner."

"I can fish," Airk spoke up. "I'm the best at hunting and fishing. If there's something out there to catch I can find it. Here. Let's get sis back to camp, we already set up the shelter."

Jade grabbed one arm while Airk got the other, and they supported Kit's limp form between them, one arm over each of their shoulders.

"Here, I'll get your..." Elora quickly collected Jade's boots and leathers, while Boorman snagged the Cuirass with one hand and trailed behind them.

∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆

Jade twitched as a finger started tracing her eyebrow. Her eyes cracked open to see Kit's brilliant hazel eyes mere inches from her own green ones.

She had settled Kit's unconscious form against hers with Kit's head on her shoulder as they reclined on a cloak, Jade's own head cushioned by her boots, providing what little comfort she could to her friend in this harsh terrain. The flapping tarp over their heads provided the only shade from the ever present sun. The others didn't seem to be nearby, though she could hear the crackle of a fire somewhere outside.

"How you feeling?"

"Good. I think. Thirsty."

"Hang on." Jade's free hand patted behind her until it found the bladder of water she had left there. "Here."

"Mmm." Kit half rose to a sitting position and accepted the drink, wetting her lips and then drinking deeper.

Jade let her eyes rest on the movements in Kit's neck. Thought about how it would feel to place a kiss right there, at the base of Kit's throat.

"So what happened?" Kit's voice still had a slight rasp to it.

"That damn Cuirass. Pardon my speech, your highness. Apparently it gives you all this power while you're wearing it, then sucks it all right back out of you when you turn it off."

"Hunh. Well. It was too tight anyway."

"It looked just right on you."

"Is that so?" Kit settled back against Jade, one arm draped across her chest, her eyes catching Jade's again. A roguish grin pulled at the side of her mouth. "You think I'm sexy," she teased, her eyes sparkling. One of her legs tangled in between Jade's.

"I..." Jade started to protest.

"Don't think I didn't catch you staring, madame knight. You looked like you wanted to undress me."

"Uh!" Jade tried to look indignant, then sighed and gave it up, her head knocking back against her boots, her eyes helplessly roaming across Kit's oh-so-beautiful face, the pulse at the side of her neck.

"Gods, Kit. What'm I going to do with you?"

"Well I dunno," Kit laughed, her head dipping down until her nose brushed against Jade's and her sweet warm breath puffed against Jade's lips. She half rolled onto Jade, her knee pressing up between Jade's thighs. A groan escaped her, which only made Kit laugh harder.

Her mouth lowered to brush Jade's as she whispered. "I hope... everything."

[heartbrake-hotel]

I just want BDE to hold me; cradle me in his lap like a baby while he reads to me as I lay my head on his chest. Is that too much to ask for?

nonnie.. NONNIE.!! i wish you could hear the wistful sigh i let out reading this. i'm kicking my heels and twirling my hair about Big Daddy every chance i get 💌

just wanna curl up with him anywhere - in bed, on the couch, in the backseat of the car - wherever he is, wherever he's already comfortable, that's exactly where i wanna be.. 💓

[also i was just rambling i didn't mean for this to turn into any aCTUAL writing but.. uH 👉👈 yah sure whatever it's a blurb now ig]

wanna sneak up and slip into his lap while he's got that pretty nose of his buried in a book, disrupting his focus for only a second as he holds his book away to make room for you while you get comfy. his arms wrap securely around you once he's sure you're done moving, holding you tight, keeping your bodies flush as he reopens the paperback in his hand.

what follows is a kiss on the cheek and a murmur of sorry, didn't mean to bother you, just wanted to sit with you a little. go back to your book, and he hums a little absentmindedly in response as he keeps reading. you're pressed so close you can feel the rumble of it deep in his chest.

you busy yourself with nothing in particular, playing with the tuck in his shirt sleeve or the fringe on his jacket, occasionally running your fingers over some of your favorite parts of him: the plush swell of his belly or thighs, warm and strong underneath you; the soft slope of his shoulders, the curve of his neck, sometimes even reaching up to trace the ridge of his brow or the line of his nose. never for an extended period, just long enough for him to register and relish in the gentle touch. you wouldn't think he even noticed, too absorbed in his reading, except for how he squeezes your waist every time.

eventually, you sigh and wriggle in his arms, and he immediately drops them and clears his throat, faking that he's unaffected at the thought of you getting bored and leaving... but you're just sitting up a little higher in his lap to adjust your reach. you pout a little in discontent at the loss of his sturdy closeness so tight around you and pull his arms back where you want them. the barest hint of a smile on his face is given away only by the slight blush that colors his cheeks as he chides himself for bein' foolish, but it immediately widens to a cheshire grin as you begin running your fingers softly through his hair instead.

you don't know how much time passes like that, both of you content just to soak in the others' presence, before he speaks. wan' me to read out loud to ya, baby? his voice is quiet and sweet - not shy, per se, but like he's savoring the moment, like he worries you might get up anytime now and he wants to appreciate you here, snug and lovely in his arms, while he's still got it. you just nod in response, knowing he can feel it. he nods once, too, throat working as you watch his pillowy lips begin to form the words.

he thinks he's being surreptitious, but you're not so distracted that you don't notice how he flipped back to the very beginning of the book - a ploy to spend more time with you, but you don't mind one little bit. you hide your answering grin in his shoulder, sealed w a kiss pressed there, into the warmth of his body underneath the silky fabric of his shirt.

his voice is a little hoarse, at first, from slight disuse, but the longer he reads, the smoother it gets, the rich ebb and flow characteristic of his extensive vocal range becoming apparent. his cadence is lilting and musical in and of itself, so much so that you almost aren't listening to the words in favor of focusing on the sound.

the more he reads, the more comfortable you get, your fingers moving down to twirl in the fluffy curls at the nape of his neck as you rest your head on his shoulder. soon you find yourself sliding back down into his lap even further, to settle more firmly against the breadth of his chest. you can feel more so than hear the steady thump-thump of his heartbeat under your cheek. you've never felt so safe and loved as you do right here with him, and you know he knows it.

before long, lulled by that feeling, you find your blinks growing slower and your head growing heavier. you lost the plot of the book long ago, too distracted by his delicious closeness to keep track of the host of details, but now even the white noise of his voice is blurring in your ears as you drowse in his arms. not gonna fall asleep on me, are ya, little? he chuckles, his fond amusement audible. you grin a little but don't open your eyes, playfully slapping his shoulder as you settle more firmly against him. that, mr. presley, is for me to know and you to find out. now keep reading!

anythin' you say, honey.

[not-your-fucking-kacchan]

♡︎𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢♡︎

Day 18 of Kinktober 2022

Summary: He wants to get you pregnant, and he can't wait.

Props to my beta reader for today @sasualblxd - thank you for your amazing help!

750 words.

Shouto's hunger for you is insatiable.

He's never wanted anything in his life more than he wants the feeling of your lips clashing with his- he fantasizes about it at work, just imagining what it would be like to pump you full of his cum right there at his desk.

So when he finally came home to the smell of fresh food that his wife had so generously made, a sigh of relief escaped parted lips.

Part of him still doesn't quite believe that he actually married you, but nevertheless, he slips his arms around your waist and mutters into the freshly washed skin of your neck. Strawberries and cream scented soap invades his senses, and your hair is cold to the touch, probably still a little damp from the shower.

"You know you don't have to cook for me, right? I'm happy to come home and cook for you..."

He trails off at the dismissive flick of your wrist and your faint smile, tilting his head in the likeness of a confused puppy.

The truth is, although you limit yourself to cooking simple, homely dishes, you take pride in catering for your little hero. And that's exactly what you tell him. You're proud of him. And you're proud to look after him as much as you possibly can.

This may have been lost in translation, however, since you next find yourself being bent over the kitchen counter. Maybe he has a praise kink?

Shouto feels so loved, and he can practically feel your devotion radiating off of you. All that he can think about is fucking you 'till daylight. Maybe he won't wear a condom.

Fuck it. He's not wearing a condom. Images of your belly bulged with a future baby flash in his head, enticing him, and it doesn't take much for you to crumble under his touch.

He wants to make you pregnant. He wants to fill you up and have you bear his children.

Of course, the two of you have talked about having kids in the past, so this isn't a completely new feeling, but he's feeling awefully bold and very, very needy today, so even as you squeak and scold him in a hushed voice, telling him that dinner's going to be ready soon, he makes up his mind that he's gonna be quick. He wouldn't want all of your efforts to go to waste.

"I'll be quick- I just want to fill you up before dinner... I want to make you pregnant, baby"

You're stunned silent, hearing Shou's soft breaths by your neck and whining as your belly already stirs. You slowly nod your head, figuring that he's hungry for something that's not dinner.

It's not like you can deny how turned on you are right now though.

It doesn't even take a second for him to be lifting your loose skirt and tearing your underwear off of your body, and the faint sound of his zipper being undone catches your ears. So no prep, then.

It's not like it makes any difference, after all, since almost every morning you like to wake your husband up with morning sex, but you've never done it without a condom before...

He slips right in without a problem, the feeling of slowly being filled with your boyfriend arching your back and drawing out a little mewl. He pants softly, already being merciless with each thrust of his hips as you take in the full feeling of your lovers cock, and each little ridge and vein brushing against velvety walls.

Already Shou is close, imagining your tummy filled with his seed and your curves filled out in the perfect picture of fertility. You can still smell the stress of the day on him as he bends you over the clean kitchen counter, his hand placed firmly on your mid-back to hold you down while he fucks your brains out.

Once you feel his twitching and that sudden telltale warmth deep in your core, you can tell he just came, and the overwhelming thought of being filled until you're sure to be pregnant has you tightening and spasming around him, cumming on your lover's spent cock.

Part of him wants to make a joke about having desert before dinner as he catches his breath, marking your neck with love filled kisses and bites, but he thinks that may be overkill.

But hey, the overwhelming urge to tell dad jokes all of a sudden must be good news, right?

© 2022 not-your-fucking-kacchan

◃ 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 ▹

[getoswhore]

‘ STRAP ON THE SPURS! — jean kirstein.

☰ ft : jean x f! reader

+ synopsis : riding your fav ‘lil horseys pretty ‘n thick thighs.. | est. 0.8k wc

cw/tw : pwp + thigh riding, dirty talk, praising, slight overstimulation, squirting.

“atta girl, keep goin’.” there’s something about the way jean feathers his breath against the nape of your neck and up the shell of your ear. it's magnetic, always drawing you in to heed his words, as if he's able to resonate with all of you.

and the rhythm of your hips picks up against the muscle of his thigh on request, gasping when your puffy clit catches on the ridge of the leather belt wrapped around his pant. rolling your hips against him with want, rutting him till your cunt soiled his jeans with a trail of your slick.

“like makin’ yourself feel good with me, baby?” clipped nails seep into the curve of your hip, striding you to grind harder against him. feeling a swell of heat coil in your belly bubble and up your throat till it pans out raw with a heavy sob to follow, “oh, fuck.. y-yes, jean.” the whine that faltered from your parted lips comes out breathier than you’d meant it to — needier.

“yeah, i know you do, look at that pretty face, all fucked out,” he groans, taking a moment to admire the way you use him; pretty eyes hooded, almost knocking to the back of your head, swollen lips bitten raw puckering out, the rounded swell of your breasts, the soft curve of your ass, the dip where your thighs and hips meet..

“i love it too, like it when you use me.” his words could only affect you in more ways than you thought they could, the slight wisp of it layering goosebumps to lick up your spine, it's soft and delicate to your ears, purely auditory caramel.

lost in the sweet pleasure now that you had a good and fast rhythm, letting out wanton moans and whimpers, all getting muffled by the smear of his lips against yours. a wet tongue trying to pry its way into your mouth, budging its way through till it met with yours, twirling and swirling spit and mumbles of soft words he passed through at each kiss.

“can feel you,” he breaths through a sloppy leading kiss, “soaking through my pants, pretty pussy lovin’ this huh.” he's so smooth with it too, yet sloppy with his kisses, getting drowned in the pleasure himself. enjoying the wet feel of your warm tongue gliding against his, and loving the feel of your cunt rubbing against his thigh.

trying to angle yourself just a little more so your weeping clit can pass over that same curve of his muscle, feeling it flex beneath you every time you did. and you whine into his mouth at the feeling, growing wetter and wetter with each drag of your hips to the point you almost topple over.

the blissful pressure and friction felt so good, too good, and you knew you were going to cum soon from it all, feeling your core bubble up with that same churn, cunt beginning to throb in sync with your heartbeat, vision getting fuzzy. and jean knew too, the look in your hazed eyes, almost out of focus told him it all. and he couldn't help but add to it; raking a large hand over the soft mound of flesh at the curve of your ass and gliding it up to your waist, feeling how your ribs expand at each heavy breath you cease in before cupping it up to your perk breast, tweaking a nipple between his fingers.

“gonna cum for me, princess?” he runs his other callused hand down against the curvature of your back, warm and firm against your fevered skin, feeling your spine curl forward.

“oh! yes, yes jean!” the pitch in your voice when you swung your head back shoots a strong pang between his legs, the ache in his cock jerking in his confines. your whole body shakes with the force of it, curling into him as pure bliss burns into your core, soaking his jeans further, your slick trailing down the thick of his leg.

“good girl, makin’ a pretty ‘lil mess for me..”

[indianamoonshine]

“Yours.” | Reader x Knight!Din | Knight!Din anthology

Summary: Reader has been hiding something life-changing. Din is the first to notice.

A/N: As always, minors DNI. 18+. This is a one shot regarding my Knight!Din universe. Reader is the queen! It is a forbidden relationship! All the good stuff!

It first began as a kiss.

Something stolen in the midnight hours. Meet me tonight you’d written him in a note, small and compact in your hand as it was slipped under the backband of his horse’s harness.

That abandoned hallway on the east side of the castle was a lighthouse; a safe-haven for lovers of the highest caliber to exile themselves to. You knew it well, but only with Din. The two of you had etched yourself in its stone walls, growing with ivy from years without societal use.

Din had you pressed gently against the curve of the wall, lips tracing the shape of your collarbones. The stairs underneath you led to an attic with a makeshift bed good enough to endure for a few hours before your spine ached. But while you were used to luxury - of downy feathers and silk throws - the sleep you managed to steal in this attic was the greatest you’ve ever had.

It was also now a place of sacred ritual.

You’re waiting for Din to whisk you up the stairs, to slowly uncover every inch of frivolous pageantry this nightgown has to offer. His hands slide from your cheeks to your waist, inhaling the delicate part of your neck that meets your shoulder.

“You smell different,” he whispers.

His tone is that of sheer arousal, desire dripping from his very lips. He pulls back far enough to cast a glance at your lips, plump from the onslaught.

You raise a brow, chest heaving with breathlessness. “Oh?”

He can’t possibly…

In the flickering candlelight, Din’s expression turns to puzzlement. His hand, that had been wrapped gently around the curve of your waist, falls to the plush part of your belly. You’ve always carried a bit of extra weight so it wasn’t discernable to anyone else. The heavy fabric and stay of your gown hid all bumps and ridges on your natural-borne body. Who would be able to notice? Phillip? He hadn’t seen you naked since last month. Besides, he wouldn’t notice; it wasn’t outstanding.

So far, this secret belonged to you only.

Tonight was the full moon - you still had not bled. But Din knew your body like he knew his own creed.

He presses very gently against your stomach and you inhale sharply. It doesn’t hurt, but it does feel odd; you were a fortress now.

Penetrable. Alive. Trembling.

The resistance against his touch is all the proof he needs.

Din raises his eyes to yours and, for the first time, they are wetting. “You’re with child.”

You nod fervently, touching his hand upon your belly with a gentleness meant to calm his nerves. The two of you take a few moments to register the proclamation. It’s been said aloud for the very first time.

How beautiful it is, to announce life in halls such as these.

Din struggles to keep his composure. “Is it…”

Last month, above your heads, Din had taken you with such urgency, such fire, that it took. Phillip wasn’t capable of having children - you’ve tried. But Din, as it turned out, was capable of quenching a burn within you - a void you were terrified would remain and make its home.

“Yours.” You grip his hand, bringing the other to rest at his cheek. He leans into your touch, allowing his eyes to spill over with tears. “They’re yours.”

You can’t help but cry as well, the insurmountable joy in your cup runneth over. In your arms, the true father of your child lets out a gleeful laugh. Never have you seen him smile so brightly - not in the five years you’ve known him.

Din kneels, balancing unsteadily at first, his hands still cradling your belly like it is the heart of the world. He leans his forehead against you before pressing a delicate kiss against the slight swell of it.

He wraps his arms around you, ear pressing against the softness. “You are the most important being there ever was,” he says. “And you will do amazing things.”

For now, it is just the three of you. And that is enough.

[hornime]

hi inky!🧡 for your lewd event could i have softdom!atsumu w a fem!reader and body worship w praise? thank you so much! you’re the best!!💗

EYE OF THE BEHOLDER | MIYA ATSUMU X F!READER

part of my a whole lotta lewd event! [ details | masterlist | CLOSED ]

warnings: 18+, tbh nothing it’s just soft sex

a/n: i. loved. writing. this. i’m gonna ramble but usually i find it hard to write for entps because, as an entp, i hate entp characters (it’s an ego thing LMFAOHGIOS) so writing for atsumu/kuroo is difficult but then i had the epiphany that i should just write what i would do in x scenario and boo yah! problem (for the most part) solved. anyway this was actually so much fun to write and i hope you like it <3

it's hard to focus on anything but the way atsumu's looking at you: his honey brown eyes wide with adoration, his tongue poking out between his pink lips. his hands are restless, mapping out every curve of your body with hot and heavy touches, sending goosebumps all across your skin.

and absolutely nothing compares to the way he babbles every thought that's in his head. the man runs his mouth like nothing else. it'd be cute if it wasn't already so fucking sexy.

"you're so pretty," he murmurs, fingers coming up to pinch at your perky nipples. "all laid out and pretty just for me."

his hands trail back down your stomach, the sensations so light and fleeting that it almost tickles, before his hand presses down underneath your belly button. his thumb nudges at your clit as his hips simultaneously thrust forward to meet yours, and you let out a broken keen, head pushing into the pillows beneath you.

"just so," his voice cracks as you tighten around him, "fucking pretty." his palms move lower yet, dragging along the inside of your plush thighs and hitching them higher.

"these thighs," he groans, grip constricting for just a second, fingers digging into your flesh and forming little indents. "i think about them all the fucking time. in jeans, in those teeny tiny skirts," his breath hitches, "around my waist," he throws his head back, voice weak, "pressing into the sides of my face—fuck."

you beam under his praise, chest heaving as his words go straight to your already-dripping pussy.

he drags his cock out to the tip before pushing back in, and you moan.

"shit, 'tsumu, feels amazing."

"yeah, you do, baby. you feel like absolute heaven." he thrusts in again, slow and sensual, every ridge on his shaft pushing just right at your walls. "this pussy—god—it's fucking perfect."

you whimper something nonsensical as he draws his attention back to your clit, rubbing small circles against it that have your toes curling near his shoulders. he makes a choked noise, barely able to speak, as his eyes flutter shut at the intoxicating feeling of you wrapped around him.

"ah fuck, you're so tight, so wet, so s-soft—"

pulling out and pushing in again, you sigh happily as his balls slap against your ass. his eyes open to take in your blissful expression and, overcome by something stronger than lust, he leans down to press his lips against yours. the kiss is uncoordinated and sloppy, but it feels so good. 

it all just feels so good.

he turns his neck downwards to suck at your tits, gently nipping at the soft mounds with his teeth.

"and these tits," he whispers, letting his tongue explore the lush expanses of your chest. "god, these tits. would spend forever between them if i could."

you clutch at his shoulders as he rocks his body in and out, a relaxed and leisured pace that has your eyes rolling back and his mouth spilling the prettiest noises.

his lips move farther and farther up, climbing the column of your throat, until they're at your face again. you giggle as he kisses your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, and his chest rumbles in a small laugh.

"you wanna know my favorite part of you, though?"

you hum, eyes glittering in delight.

"sure."

"my favorite," he says with a light lilt in his voice, "is this beautiful face of yours."

"this big brain," he starts, thumbs brushing the stray hairs away from your forehead.

"these gorgeous eyes," he continues, kissing at the corner of your eyelids and making you squint.

"these cute cheeks," he pinches one of them and you playfully slap his arm.

"and, of course, these perfect, perfect, kissable lips of yours."

you crane your neck to kiss him, your tongues sliding past each others' lips in indulgence. it's like you want to taste every part of each other—who cares about time? all you need is him and all he needs is you.

you pull back, brows furrowed, and he pouts.

"wait," you mutter. "that's more than one thing. that was like, four things."

atsumu opens his mouth, speechless.

"i was trying to be romantic!"

if you enjoyed, reblogs + comments are appreciated!

© property of hornime 2021. do not plagiarize any of my writing and do not repost/copy my writing onto any other sites.

[rosethornxs]

Late Kinktober 2021: Prompt 22

Day 22: Thigh Riding

Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Kinktober 2021 Masterlist

Rated: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 964

Summary: Day 22 for @the-purity-pen’s kinktober 2021 prompt list. Thigh riding with Din Djarin.

Warnings: smut, thigh riding, tiny bit of cum eating, pet names, praise, dirty talk, implied PiV, no y/n

A/N: Hello, once again, I was inspired by one of the kinktober prompts well into November so here it is! 

“Come here, sweet girl,”

His voice is low, rasping with the hint of something wanting. It sends a shiver down your spine. You look up at him, hands stilling from their tinkering at the little mechanical object in your lap. He looks relaxed, spread out in the pilot’s chair of the Crest, armour shining under the glow of hyperspace — but his stare is intense, made even more so by the dark void of his T-shaped visor. 

“What is it?” you ask, brow pinching quizzically. 

“Come,” he beckons you with a crook of his gloved finger and you stand, setting your little project on the seat behind you before slowly stepping toward him. 

He reaches for you, large hands grasping your hips to pull you toward him. 

“I want you, cyare… can I have you?”

Oh. 

“Yes.”

It comes out breathier than you’d meant it to — needier. But there’s something about his voice, and the broadness of his shoulders, and the way he sits so casually with his thighs spread wide — you can’t help the swell of heat in your lower belly. 

He rids himself of his gloves and wastes no time tugging at your clothes as you clumsily kick off your boots. Nimble fingers undo the button of your pants — the warmth of his bare fingertips seeps into your skin as he pulls the garment down your thighs. You lift your shirt over your head and allow it to drop to the cockpit floor with the rest of your clothes. 

When you’re left in nothing but your panties he slows, hooking his thumbs into the fabric to drag them down your legs. He takes a moment to admire you — all your soft curves in the starlight — the dip where your thighs and hips meet, the rounded swell of your breasts — you look so beautiful.

You grow impatient, the blooming ache between your thighs urging you to reach for the bulge in his pants. His hand closes around your wrist, pulling it away and you frown in confusion. 

“Not yet, sweet girl,” he murmurs, adjusting himself with a low groan.

“But…you said…” 

“I know. I want you to do something for me first.” 

“What?”  

He taps the Beskar strapped to his right thigh, “Sit.” 

You blink at his request but oblige him, lowering yourself onto his thigh as he reclines in his chair. The cold metal sends a jolt through you when it finally comes into contact with your hot cunt. Your breath hitches in your chest at the sheer intensity of it and you grasp his pauldron for support. 

“Make yourself cum.”

 You stare blankly at his visor, warmth rising in your cheeks as you process what he just said — what he just asked you to do. 

“Come on, sweet girl,” he purrs, “I know you can do it.” 

He places a warm hand on your waist and pushes gently, encouraging you to move. You shift slightly, gasping when your clit catches on the ridge of his thigh plate.

“Just like that, mesh’la,” he praises, “keep going.” 

You tentatively roll your hips against him, trying to angle yourself so your clit passes over that same spot again. It’s hot on cold, soft on hard and you whine at the feeling, growing wetter and wetter with each drag of your pussy over the Beskar. 

His filthy praises fill your ears as you grind against him.

Fuck, sweet girl, you look good like this — so pretty using my thigh. I bet it feels nice, doesn’t it… Maker, look at you — I could cum from this sight alone. 

He wonders if this is sacrilege — having you use his armour like this — so obscenely. But how could it be, when you look so divine — so ethereal taking your pleasure from the Beskar. Even the maker couldn’t deny, this is a religious experience. 

Your fists tighten in his cowl as you rock against his thigh, panting and whining as you work yourself closer and closer to release. He tears his eyes away from your face — plastered with the effects of your pleasure — and glances down at his Beskar. It glistens with the essence of you, shining and wet in the blue light of hyperspace. He groans, hand moving to palm his cock through his pants. 

He wants you so bad but he also wants to watch this — watch you come undone over him. He’ll take you after — bend you over the console and fuck you until you cry for him.

“Din…oh — ohh,” you moan, grinding yourself against the armour in quick, short movements. 

“Cum for me, sweet girl,” he urges, “wanna see you make a mess on my armour.” 

You shudder at his words, falling off the edge with one final roll of your hips. Your whole body shakes with the force of it and you curl into him as pure starlight burns in your core and travels up your spine. He runs a hand down your back, warm and firm against your fevered skin. 

It takes a moment for your senses to return and you rest limply against his chest. After a beat, he taps your hip and you sit up, watching as he drags a finger through the mess on his thigh. 

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs and you obey, squeezing your eyes shut. 

You hear the hiss of his helmet releasing and then the sound him sucking your slick off his finger. Your skin burns as it echoes in the cockpit.

He shifts and helps you off his thigh, gently turning you until you’re pressed against the console. His belt jingles and then he’s caressing your bare hips with his hands.

“Are you ready?” He asks, voice hoarse with desire as he presses the tip of his cock to your entrance.

“Please, Din.” 

Tags: @keeper0fthestars @deadhumourist @zinzinina @saradika

[epigstolary]

Morning

Golden sunlight streams through the window, casting your undulating curves in alternating ripples of light and shadow. You lie on your back, still asleep, one arm draped over your chest and sinking into your soft skin; the other at your side, pillowy and following the gentle arc of your belly as it spills into the middle of the bed.

I roll over, not yet ready to greet the day, and turn to bury my face in your side rolls. I lay my arm across your belly, gently taking a handful of the doughy flesh and sighing, relaxing into its warm softness. You stir, and I feel a ripple moving throughout the chubbiness all over you, as you sense my body against yours and rise from the depths of sleep.

“You’re on my side of the bed again,” you say, teasing but with good humor in your grogginess.

“Mmm, it’s only fair,” I say. “When you take up at least two thirds of it.”

“Maybe, but I can hardly help that, can I?”

You put your arm around me, and the fat on your bicep and forearm spreads over my shoulder and side, enveloping me in a warm, flabby blanket. Its divine heaviness is immeasurably comforting, and I can’t help but doze beneath it.

I squeeze the bottom of your belly, feeling the skin pucker and the fat shift back toward me where I lie against you. You stroke my bare side, letting chubby fingers run over the bony ridges between my arm and hip. I squeeze you tighter and plant a kiss deep in your rolls, before blowing a raspberry into your belly.

“Hey! Quit that,” you laugh. “You can’t start with me this early.”

“What early?” I ask, resting my head atop the expanse of your belly and looking at you, absentmindedly running my finger around the huge dimple of your bellybutton. “The sun’s already up.”

“It’s early until I’ve had breakfast, and I don’t see anything breakfasty anywhere, do you?” On cue, your stomach makes a low rumble, loud enough for me to feel it vibrate with my head against you.

“Man, I thought for sure you’d still be stuffed after that buffet last night.” I drum my fingers on your belly and give it a light shake. “But I’m not disappointed I was wrong.”

You put your hand over mine, sliding thick fingers in the spaces between my slender, sinewy counterparts. “Mmm, you’re just stalling so you don’t have to get out of bed.”

“Can you blame me? Why would I ever want to leave?” I kiss you up the length of your torso, sinking into your softness with each one. Once I reach your lower chin, I linger, feeling you beneath me and taking in your rosy morning glow.

“You’re too sweet,” you say, reciprocating my long, deep, passionate kiss, grabbing me by my scrawny waist as I grasp your immense side rolls. “But as much as I’m enjoying this — believe me — that plate of eggs and bacon with blueberry pancakes isn’t going to make itself.” You wink. I smile.

Your belly wobbles back and forth as I hop off you. You stretch, trying to wake up, your chubbiness bulging everywhere as you change positions, but especially from your flabby arms like water wings raised above your head. You rest your hands on your belly, anticipating the buffet of breakfast foods I’ll be cooking up for you. The sunlight warms the growing expanse of your skin taking up most of the bed. You yawn, and soak it all in.